By Tanner Barbeau

This journey was not only about the pursuit of trophy fish; it was a holistic exploration and a dance with the elements that define the Amazonian experience. From the intricate logistics of reaching this remote paradise to the months of preparation leading up to the trip, every aspect of the adventure added layers to the narrative.

First, I would like to shed some light on how I got the chance to experience this bucket list trip. To sum it up, without boring you with unnecessary details, a couple years ago I was hired by a wealthy family to be their fly fishing butler, for lack of a better term.

One of my many rolls was "trip coordinator." This meant seeking out unique fishing experiences and taking care of all the planning and logistics that go into making trips like this one happen. I realize that without this connection a trip like this would have likely remained a fantasy for me.

The Prep:

As the designated host, I took charge of orchestrating the essentials for our week-long adventure. From gathering rods, reels, and lines to coordinating flights and preparing an array of flies, my responsibilities spanned a spectrum of tasks for myself and three fellow guests diving into the heart of the Amazon.

For this trip, our weapon of choice was a quiver of Douglas fly rods. Each of us carried two Douglas Sky G 9' 9WT rods, one equipped with a floating line and another with an intermediate sink tip for exploring the deeper waters.

In the lead-up to our journey, I meticulously tied a diverse collection of flies. Ranging from baitfish imitations and mouse patterns to oversized grasshoppers, cicadas, and even flies mimicking fallen fruit.

While the primary target of our mission was the fabled Golden Dorado, the river system we ventured into also harbored other fascinating species. Among them were "Pacu," also known as the jungle permit—a large omnivorous fish resembling an oversized dinner-plate.

We also encountered the "Yatorana," pound-for-pound the hardest-fighting fish of our trip, along with a variety of catfish, including the captivating "Surubi" adorned with tiger-like markings.

Getting There:

Our journey started with a ten-hour flight to Viru Viru International Airport in Santa Cruz De La Sierra, Bolivia. Navigating through Bolivian customs with some broken Spanish, we met our host for this leg of the journey. As he drove us through the city to our first-night hotel, he provided a glimpse of what the next day's travel would entail.

The following morning, a shuttle took us to a smaller airport, where we engaged in a brief exchange with anglers completing their week at the lodge. With looks of exhaustion they told tales of the fish they caught and how torrential downpours ended up preventing them to fish the last three days of their trip. They warned us that we would likely see some effects of this storm on our first day of fishing. After all it is the rain forest...

Soon, we boarded a small, single-engine passenger plane. Departing from the city the view from my window shifted swiftly from high-rise buildings and a bustling city to a jungle canopy stretching as far as the eye could see. After a short 45-minute flight, we began our descent into a sea of green. Suddenly, a small dirt and grass landing strip emerged seemingly out of nowhere.

Once off the plane, we were warmly welcomed by the lodge manager, Chucky, and a group of Indigenous people who assisted in unloading the plane. After swift introductions, we were ushered onto a fleet of dugout canoes, commencing the final leg of our journey - an hour-long boat-ride up the river to Pluma lodge.

The Accommodations:

We made it! Ascending the stairs, leaving the riverside behind, we stepped onto the lush forest floor and laid eyes on our home for the next seven nights - a beautiful lodge buzzing with energy from eager jetlagged anglers gearing up for the next day's adventure.

The lodge was thoughtfully divided into two sections: one for anglers utilizing a mix of motorized buggies, dugout canoes, and their own two feet to explore farther up the river system, and a separate section for those lucky enough to have a helicopter at their disposal. Each of us had our own room, complete with a private bathroom.

The dining room welcomed us with a fully stocked bar and comfortable couches, perfect for sinking into after a physically demanding day of fishing. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the jungle came to life. Some sounds were soothing, others unsettling, but they all served as a welcome distraction from the nerves building up. The next day marked the beginning of our fishing adventure after over a year of meticulous planning.

The Fishing:

On the first morning, after swiftly devouring a light breakfast, I returned to my room to gear up and organize my pack for the day. I carried a submersible backpack that held all the essentials: water, sun screen, bug spray, a compact first aid kit, a box of flies and an assortment of tippets in various sizes.

Among them was knotable wire, which was a crucial tool for landing these toothy creatures. A good pair of salt water pliers was also necessary for cutting the wire and removing the hooks.

The distant hum of helicopter blades warming up cut through the thick jungle air, creating a sense of anticipation.

Once airborne we could see the tannic stained waters that the other anglers had warned us about. A little different than the gin clear rivers I'd been dreaming of for the last year.

However, here I was, flying over the amazon jungle in a helicopter going to explore possibly the most remote fishery of my life. The excitement level was through the roof.

The first day was spent blind casting into slack water pools due to the off-colored hue of the river. As an angler who predominantly targets trout, often with streamers, fishing these unfamiliar waters felt surprisingly natural.

This river system was reminiscent of the trout streams I fished back home so for me it seemed easy to read the water and find the structure that held fish. With lightning fast takes, rows of razor-sharp teeth and acrobatic leaps, learning how to land the dorado proved to be a little more difficult.

As the day progressed, the water began to clear, and I had successfully landed several golden dorado. With favorable weather forecasted for the week, I eagerly anticipated what other surprises the jungle had in store for us.

The morning of the second day, one of our companions opted for a rest day at the lodge, choosing to forego fishing to avoid burnout on only the second day.

Understandably so, after all he was an elderly man and as glamorous as heli-fishing sounds, it proved more physically demanding than any of us had anticipated.

The helicopter facilitated drop offs and pickups, but traversing large boulder fields, turbulent rapids, and dense jungle foliage was entirely on us. Not to mention remaining vigilant for jaguars, caimans, malaria-ridden mosquitoes, and other potentially hazardous insects. Even I was exhausted after the first day and I'm less than half his age.

This decision meant a solo fishing day for me, resulting in one of the most extraordinary fly fishing experiences I've ever had. The river had returned to the crystal clear water I had envisioned, and the helicopter had dropped us off at a sizable pool lined with cliffs.

Using our airtight backpacks as makeshift floaties, we swam up the pool, rods in hand, with massive shadows of catfish lurking beneath. After reaching the other side, we dried off in the sun, enjoyed a light snack, and continued our journey upstream. After catching countless dorado throughout the day, it was time to face our next jungle adversary.

I'll admit when planning this trip, I had my eye set on the golden dorado. The other species of this system were merely an afterthought. However, my first dance with a Pacu changed everything. The sheer power and speed that this particular fish took a fly with was astounding.

Within seconds the Pacu had put me deep in my backing and left me with bruised and bloody knuckles. After a few more seemingly endless runs, I had landed my first jungle permit. I found myself quickly fishing my way through the "dorado" water to find the next big slow pool that could hold Pacu.

I was awestruck by these fish. Sure, they didn't go airborne repeatedly and they weren't clad in golden armor but what they lacked in showmanship they made up for in raw power and mystique.

Some are willing to eat dry flies off of the surface or even a well-presented streamer, but most of these fish are caught using imitations of fruit that falls from the surrounding trees

The remaining days of the trip unfolded in a similar fashion. We continued to navigate the challenging boulder gardens and swift runs, targeting Dorado along the way.

Our journey seamlessly progressed towards the next expansive pool, where our focus shifted to the pursuit of Pacu and catfish. Towards the end of the trip our group had accumulatively landed a staggering number of Golden Dorado with a few Pacu and Yatorana springled in the mix, but still no catfish.

On the final day, at the last hole to fish before the helicopter was scheduled to pick us up, I observed the shadows of several catfish lurking in the depths.

One catfish, in particular, positioned itself towards the back of the hole, approximately 7 feet deep. I hastily grabbed my rod equipped with a sink tip line and positioned myself for the cast.

Following the initial two casts, it became evident that I wasn't getting in the strike zone, prompting me to make adjustments. On the third cast, I watched my fly swing in front of the catfish's face. The fish slowly turned off the bottom and started to pursue. A few moments later my line went tight with what would be the biggest fish I had ever caught.

A Moturo catfish, that, if I had to guess, weighed in the neighborhood of 100 pounds. I knew I was under gunned so I pointed the rod tip at the catfish and fought it with the reel as it bulldogged its way back and forth across the bottom of this expansive hole.

After approximately 15minutes, I had the catfish into shallow waters, allowing the guide to safely tail it. This was the perfect way to cap off the trip as I had just landed the apex predator of this river system.

The Take Away:

In closing, this journey into the heart of the Bolivian Amazon has been an unbelievable experience, blending the thrill of fly fishing with the mesmerizing beauty and challenges of the jungle. Every cast, every struggle, and every triumph etched memories that will linger long after the last flight out.

I'd like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to Tsimane Lodge, a sanctuary in the wilderness, and its dedicated team—especially Lodge Manager Chucky, the skilled guides; Nicolas Gomez Lengyel and Juan Pablo Marchelletti, and the rest of the staff.

Their commitment to creating an extraordinary experience in this remote paradise is unparalleled. Until the next adventure, tight lines and a huge thanks to all who made this unforgettable journey possible.