There are trips you plan. And there are trips that ambush you.

This one started with a glass of Malbec in my hand, a crackling fire, and two friends telling stories that should probably be illegal because of how much they influence your decision-making.

We were at the Rio Gallegos in Patagonia, enjoying one of those evenings where wine and stories mix into an explosive cocktail of temptation. Somehow, the discussion drifted to the Rio Irigoyen. I had never fished it, but the way the guys talked, I pictured a mythical river guarded by sea trout the size of small pigs.

Rio Irigoyen — I asked to see a photo.

Big mistake.

One look and my brain said:

“Great, now you’re screwed. You have to go.”

Only one problem. I had also promised myself to return to saltwater soon, because in my heart, I’m a warm-water junkie who likes sun, turquoise flats, and the pleasant illusion that I cast better in a T-shirt than in five layers of fleece.

Bottle just fly fish — My inner voice immediately started a fight:
*Patagonia or Los Roques?*
*Cold or warm?*
*Sea trout or bonefish?*
My head hurt already.
Then Carsten dropped the bomb:
“Why not do both? You’re already in South America.”
I almost choked on my Malbec. Both?
My brain: *“This is genius.”*
My wallet: *“Absolutely not.”*
My heart: *“Shut up and pack.”*

And that was it. A trip from the extreme south of the continent to the extreme north. From frozen mornings to sunburn. From Malbec to cerveza. From sea trout to bonefish.

Now I just had to survive the packing.

Packing for Two Climate Zones, Three Airlines, and One Mild Mental Breakdown

Packing for a normal fishing trip is already a challenge. Packing for Patagonia AND Los Roques in a single suitcase is like trying to push a sofa through a cat flap.

My mind kept running circles:

“What rods? How many jackets? Do I pack waders or swim shorts first? Why is all this gear so heavy? Why do I have a drone? Why did I think a drone was a good idea?”

Meanwhile, Carsten smugly reported his luggage weight:

23 kg.

A personal insult.

I stared at my mountain of gear thinking:

“Okay smartass, how?”

Fly Fishing Luggage — In the end, I packed:

5 rods
Enough reels to open a small shop
Lines for everything from delicate to “stop a truck”
Waders, boots, layers, more layers
Camera gear
A drone
Too many flies
Too little space
Increasing panic

All while juggling business trips to Asia and fighting off back-to-back colds. My body was not impressed.

“You want to fish for two weeks with this shoulder? Good luck.”

But the clock kept ticking. And suddenly it was time to fly.

Strikes, Delays, Empanadas, and Finally: Takeoff

Because life loves drama, Germany went into full strike mode right before departure. Flight cancellations everywhere. Everyone panicked. I refreshed my flight status every three minutes like a teenager checking messages from a crush.

Miraculously, my Munich–Frankfurt flight stayed alive.

“Okay,” I thought. “This might actually happen.”

In Frankfurt I met Dirk and Rob. A glass of wine later we boarded the long-haul flight to Buenos Aires. Thirteen hours of no phone calls, no emails, no nothing.

Honestly, flying is underrated.

It’s the one place where you can’t be reached.

Heaven.

We landed in Buenos Aires greeted by warm air and chaos, just the way I like it. Customs, luggage, transfer to the domestic airport, a stop for the holy trinity of travel food (beer + empanadas), and then another four hours to Ushuaia.

At this point I had no idea what day it was. But I knew one thing: we were finally closing in on the end of the world.

Aerolineas Argentinas — At this point I had no idea what day it was. But I knew one thing: we were finally closing in on the end of the world.

The Road Into Darkness: Journey to the Lodge

Ushuaia greeted us with mountains, evening light, and the feeling that civilization was slowly fading behind us. After landing, we switched to a bus for a four hour drive across Tierra del Fuego.

At some point we changed to a truck.

Why? Not fully sure.

Probably because the road looked like it had been built by drunk goats.

I tried to stay awake to take in the landscape.

Wind. Hills. Endless nothing.

My brain kept imagining early explorers.

“This must have been insane in wooden ships.”

Then I fell asleep.

Then woke up.

Then tried to sleep again.

The usual.

Finally the lodge lights appeared in the dark like a mirage.

Rio Irigoyen Lodge. We made it.

Carsten said he wanted to get up early to fish.

At 1 a.m.

My body: “Hard pass.”

I told him I’d join in the afternoon. Best decision of the trip.

First Morning: A Calm Start Into Wild Country

I woke to soft morning light creeping into a warm wooden room. Hot shower. Strong coffee. Fire in the lodge. Heaven.

While the others went fishing, I organized my gear properly and stepped outside to explore.

Within minutes I saw:

A caracara
Wild horses
Guanacos
Birds everywhere
The Irigoyen flowing quietly like it had all the time in the world

I walked to the river mouth, reached the Atlantic, and stood there thinking:

“Imagine seeing this coastline for the first time after months at sea.”

When the others returned, empty-handed, I smiled inside.

Slow morning: 1

Over-eager fishermen: 0

First Casts in a River With Secrets

That afternoon I finally stepped into the Rio Irigoyen. Two Colours Pool.

A narrow, dark, story-filled river wrapped in old trees and quiet.

Casting felt good

The air was crisp. The water alive. Horses grazed on the bank in the moonlight.

I didn’t catch anything that night.

Didn’t matter.

Sometimes the river gives you atmosphere instead of fish.

Dinner in the lodge was outstanding.

Wine, good food, and a dessert so pretty I wasn’t sure whether to eat it or frame it.

Fishing, Frustration, and Finally: Action

The next day: Lazy Sunday I guess. A few bumps. Zero landed.

But the scenery made up for it.

Then came Monday, March eighteenth, and we decided to step things up. After the frustration of the previous day, I knew I needed the lodge’s secret weapons.

So I raided the tiny fly shop, grabbed a handful of mysterious streamers, and hoped the river would finally take pity on me.

And sure enough, late in the morning it happened.

Fish on

My first sea trout of the trip. Not a monster, but a solid fish that easily broke the 50-centimeter mark. And of course, it happened again at the Two Colours Pool. That place clearly has its own magic.

I released the beautifully marked fish back into the dark water and stood there for a moment, soaking in the warm Patagonian sun, finally feeling like the river and I were on speaking terms again.

Then came the moment that changed everything.