With Father's Day approaching, I've found
myself thinking less about fish and more about the person who taught me how to
catch them.
My father.
Roberto "Beto" Alba.
Like many fathers and sons, some of my
earliest memories involve water.
Rivers.
Lakes.
Road trips.
And fishing.
What makes those memories special isn't
necessarily what we caught.
It's that we were there together.
Learning the Hard Way
When I was a kid, fly fishing in
Argentina was very different than it is today.
Equipment was difficult to find.
Good equipment was even harder.
And replacing broken equipment was often
impossible.
My father owned a fly rod.
One fly rod.
And understandably, he was very
protective of it.
If I broke that rod, there was a good
chance he might spend a year without fishing.
There were no easy warranty programs.
No overnight shipping.
No replacement sections arriving a few
days later.
So when we went fishing, my father
carried the fly rod.
And I carried a spinning rod.
I hated it.
I wanted the fly rod.
I wanted to cast like he did.
I wanted to fish the way he fished.
But I also understood why he wouldn't
hand it over.
At least most of the time.
The Second Rod
Everything changed when my father finally
bought a second fly rod.
Suddenly there was one for him.
And one for me.
The first time I truly fished with a fly
rod remains vivid in my memory.
I loved it immediately.
The fishing.
The casting.
The challenge.
The feeling of sending a fly line through
the air.
Being a lifelong sports enthusiast, I
quickly became fascinated with the casting itself.
And my father happened to be an excellent
caster.
Like many sons, I watched closely.
Tried to imitate him.
Failed repeatedly.
Then gradually improved.
What started as curiosity quickly became
obsession.
I was hooked.
November First
For years, our calendar revolved around
one date.
November 1st.
The opening of trout season in Northern
Patagonia.
Every year, without fail, we made sure we
were there.
The plan was always the same.
Travel on October 31st.
Wake up early.
And make the first cast of the season on
the morning of November 1st.
Seven in the morning.
Eight at the latest.
Those trips became traditions.
Sometimes with family.
Sometimes just the two of us.
The destination often changed.
The ritual never did.
And looking back, it wasn't really about
being first.
It was about sharing something we loved.
The Trip That Changed Everything
Years later, a fishing trip would change
our lives in a way neither of us expected.
That trip took us to Estancia Laguna
Verde.
At the time, there was no established
lodge as people know it today. We traveled there together simply to see this
remote corner of Patagonia for ourselves and experience the fishing in this
unknown lake we had heard about.
By the time we returned home, something
had changed.
What began as a fishing trip eventually
became a new chapter in both of our lives.
One that would lead us to become part of
Estancia Laguna Verde and, ultimately, shape much of what Dream Waters Angling
would become.
The funny thing is that none of it was
planned.
We simply followed our curiosity.
And fishing opened doors we never knew
existed.
Beyond Patagonia
One of the greatest gifts fly fishing has
given us is the opportunity to see the world together.
Alaska.
The Caribbean.
Mexico.
Belize.
The Bahamas.
Atlantic salmon rivers in Russia.
Saltwater flats.
Remote lodges.
New friendships.
New cultures.
New experiences.
Every destination taught us something.
Not only about fishing.
But about people.
About hospitality.
About adventure.
About life.
Many of the ideas that later influenced
our own lodges and operations were born while traveling together and learning
from others.
Three Generations
These days, something special has
happened.
My own sons have become fly fishermen.
And over the years we've shared trips
involving three generations of our family.
My father.
My sons.
And me.
There is something difficult to describe
about standing in a river and watching the person who taught you fish alongside
the people you are now teaching yourself.
It feels like watching a circle close.
And begin again at the same time.
Why We Really Fish
People often ask why fly fishing becomes
such an important part of people's lives.
The answer is rarely the fish.
At least not entirely.
The fish bring us there.
But they are not always what stays with
us.
What stays with us are the conversations.
The long drives.
The shared meals.
The silence.
The stories.
The moments when life slows down enough
for real conversations to happen.
Fishing trips have a way of creating
space.
Space to talk.
Space to listen.
Space to understand one another a little
better.
Some of the most meaningful conversations
I have ever had with my father happened while driving to a river, sitting in a
boat or walking along a shoreline.
Not because we planned them.
Because fishing made room for them.
A Father's Day Reflection
As Father's Day approaches, I feel
incredibly fortunate.
Fortunate that my father introduced me to
fly fishing.
Fortunate that he shared his passion with
me.
Fortunate that we still fish together
today.
And perhaps most importantly, fortunate
that what began with one carefully protected fly rod has grown into a lifetime
of memories.
The older I get, the more I realize that
the fish were never the most important part.
They were simply the excuse.
The real gift was the time together.
And if fly fishing has taught me
anything, it is that there is no trophy, no destination and no memorable catch
that can ever replace that.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.
And thank you for that second fly rod.
By Luciano Alba