THE LAST FLIGHT OF MR. MOUSE
Qualitative Lessons in Southern Chile
That film reel in your head is an unforgiving medium. It replays constantly, on a grainy endless loop, delivering jolts of exhilaration and tragic disappointment, one right after the other, in painfully slow motion.
First there’s the attack from beneath on the skated mouse pattern. Violent. Breathtaking. Exhilarating. The line goes tight to the massive brown trout that has punched its way from the river in pursuit of the fly. It’s so big you can feel your pupils open up, enabling you to take in more of the fish—more light, more detail, more sheer energy. The sounds of the river tumbling over gravel and rock as it works its way out of the Andes and on to the Southern Ocean go eerily silent.
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