By Matt Harris: www.mattharrisflyfishing.com
I wake long before nature’s alarm clock begins its fanfare. Padding out into the first half-light of dawn, I stand on the boat’s decking, sip my coffee, and listen to the enchanting, lyrical music of birdsong spreading across the vast canopy of the Bolivian jungle.
I greet my fellow anglers, and after devouring a delicious breakfast, we gather our gear and walk through the trees to the helicopter pad. As the last of the early morning mist clears, our pilot, Cappi, lifts the little Robinson helicopter into the clean, clear air as we climb over the treetops, exposing the vast carpet of emerald, green stretches out for what seems like a million miles in every direction. Cappi skims us over endless swathes of dense, pristine jungle, working the helicopter over a high ridge and then easing us down into the serpentine valley of the Slotosama that meanders through the high forest.
Below us, the tumbling freestone tributary snakes between the trees, glimmering brightly against the deep dark shadows of the jungle. We swerve and slalom upstream, swooping into the narrowing canyon of the valley and heading even further up the meanders of this river that appears to have no end.
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