Back Where It Started

The day ended with me, alone, standing on a colorless sandbar a million miles from anywhere – deep in the Amazon Jungle on the Rio Marie. The stars, that night, looked as if they had never seen light and shone as brightly as any I had ever seen. The air was warm and calm. Those may have been the most peaceful minutes of my 54 years here on earth.

The year was 2015, and this was the third night of a weeklong trip fly fishing for peacock bass in Brazil with my lifelong angling buddy, my dad. He was sleeping soundly in his tent while I pondered life and the day's lessons.

Usually, we would have been aboard the Untamed Amazon mothership, relaxing with friends, armed with pitchers of Caipirinha as we settled into another world-class dinner prepared by Leandro, the executive chef. It's a special place to sit with other anglers, exchanging stories from the day and angling journeys elsewhere.

Always Go

The head guide pulled me aside before dinner, and I listened closely to his contemplation.

Dad and I were given the chance to head upriver on an overnight exploratory excursion to waters that were difficult to access in 2015 because of extreme drought and historically low river levels.

The Untamed Amazon is a pretty nice place to spend the night. It sounded like we would be trading air conditioning, hot water, clean clothes, and Leandro's seafood payara for a night on an air mattress and fish cooked over an open fire. The fishing might be good, the boat ride would definitely be long and the accommodations would be "rustic."

I had already been a fly fishing guide for about 15 years at this point, so I knew to pay attention when a fishing guide says something along the lines of: “Hey, I have an idea – it might be a bad idea - you guys want to try it?”

He had me at “idea.” It took my dad a little convincing, but hey, he’s my dad, and he’s going to roll with whatever I want to do, anyway. That's what dads do.

And that's how I ended up on that sandbar in the jungle on the dark night of November 7, 2015.

Earlier that day, I fought and landed a true, giant peacock bass in the 22-23 pound class while working a 10' baitfish pattern in an expansive lagoon off the Turi River (a tributary to the upper Rio Maire). The experience and the interaction with that amazing fish changed me forever, for the better. The fishing, as it turned out, had been good!

Stay With It

Steady rains and rising river levels characterized the rest of the week. Conditions were tough, with very few fish coming to hand for anyone in the group during the last few days.

I’ve spent the better part of my life fly-fishing on rivers; nothing puts fish “off” like a sudden rise in streamflow. And so it was.

Guides, Dad, and I fished down the last grass-lined riverbank as the clock ticked down on this last day of the trip, November 10, 2015.

The moment will stay with me forever. I was the last one standing in the boat and the rain was nothing short of a deluge. I was struggling to turn over my go-to “Brent Dawson Special” on a 9-weight fly line, using my last intact fly rod - a Scott S4 11-weight - hope had succumbed to frustration.

Halfway between the bank and the boat - on what was to be one of the last few casts – the line went tight, an explosive boil followed, and the reel handle pummeled my knuckles as the reel free-spooled its way to infinity. The drag was set too light, and I had a hard-charging monster on the other end.

Quick adjustments were made; the boat came alive, and I regained control of the fight and the fish. We ended that day and that trip with a stunning 21-pound fish to hand.

What a moment and what a week!

I should tell my dad someday that having him there, sharing the boat with him that week, was THE highlight of the trip.

He is the best! He and I have fly-fished around the world together. We started our angling journey on the bass lakes of East Texas and never dreamed that we would venture to places like Kamchatka, Alaska, Chile, Belize, Bolivia, Mexico, Brazil, and beyond with fly rods in hand. My kids were young then; I hoped that they might feel the same about me someday.

And So The Story Goes

I was at “The Fly Fishing Show” in Denver, Colorado in early 2022, visiting old friends and customers as the world reopened, beginning to feel normal with the pandemic now in the rearview mirror. After a brief morning walk around the show, I ran into Rodrigo Salles at the Untamed Angling booth.

He was busy, and I had to run too. We said quick hellos and briefly reminisced about an early 2021 trip to Rio Marie with my son, Alex. That was Alex’s first “Big” trip – just he and I – during which he out-fished me and began to come into his own as an angler.

As a dad, it was the first time I fully realized that my little boy was gone forever, replaced by a kind-hearted, fun-loving young man whom I get to call my son. Rodrigo was on that trip with us as the omicron variant wreaked havoc across the world while we were immersed in the jungle, and a new friendship was born.

As we parted ways at the show, Rodrigo mentioned a new, exploratory camping itinerary for no more than four guests, twice a season, in the headwaters of the Rio Marie, almost in passing. He wasn’t trying to sell me on it; we were just talking. Instantly, I remembered those stars that night on the sandbar - thought of my dad and my two sons – and probably said something to Rodrigo along the lines of “can I pay now?”

The Stars Still Haven't Seen Light

And here I was on the 16^th of September, 2025: streamside on the Rio Marie, river levels on the drop, my two sons nearby, and our good friend, Rodrigo, along for the week.

I walked away from camp and ambled my way up another colorless sandbar to see if those stars that had never seen light were still out there. It had been 10 years, but yes, they were still there, and I felt wholly content.

I thought of my dad, my mom, and how much I love them. I thought of my wife and how fortunate I am to have found my soulmate all those years ago. They think my passion for fly fishing is “a bit much” at times, but they always tell me to go, no matter what. I knew that I couldn’t be standing there that night, feeling content, without them in my life.

My dad ended up tearing his rotator cuff, having surgery, and was in no shape for this kind of adventure. We wished him a happy birthday over FaceTime from another sandbar the following night.

The fishing this week – for us – was focused solely on the pursuit of trophy peacock bass. There are plenty of butterfly and smaller Temensis peacock bass to be had for anglers looking to pad the numbers, but we were there for the big ones. This isn’t a numbers game; it’s a hunt for a few big fish spread out across hundreds of miles of river. The focus is on backwater lagoons, ranging in size from a few acres to several hectares. It’s needle-in-a-haystack stuff – If I hadn’t done it before and seen the fish that live in these lagoons, I would have been skeptical

The week was magical; my kids(and Rodrigo) out-fished me.

The Googan Grew Up

My youngest son, Matthew (18), skipped his second week of college to join us (with parental approval). He’s a natural angler, among the most skilled I’ve ever been around. He “just knows” where fish live. I want to say I taught him everything, but the truth is that I just took him fishing – a lot.

So, it was no surprise to his older brother or me when he landed the biggest peacock bass that we had ever seen – on a fly he tied (a “Beast Fleye" to be precise). Both boats were fishing near one another, so we were all able to share the moment, take photos, and release this impressive 24.5-pound specimen, together.

Words don’t do justice to the emotions I felt in that moment. I just stood back and watched my son glow with pride and happiness, truly happy for him and proud of that young man who stole my youngest baby boy.

He has grabbed life by "the horns" these days and is off at college way back east in Ohio. He's as fishy as ever, mastering swinging for lake run steelhead and tying spey flies, supposedly going to classes in between rains.

Bobo The Angler

My older son, Alex (26), did not embrace the angling life until he discovered that day drinking was, in fact, a standard part of fly fishing. However, he has now fully embraced the life aquatic and is a highly skilled angler. Fish with him for a day and you'll see that his joy on the water is unmistakably genuine, infectious, and pure.

It was a surprise to Matthew and me when Alex returned to camp, shaking with adrenaline rather than the effects of one too many beers, the day after Matthew landed that beast of a fish.

Rodrigo was giddy, the guides looked stoic, and Alex couldn’t get the words out, so he showed us in pictures instead.

Making It Count

There he was, holding a 26-pound peacock bass in knee-deep water the color of East Texas dirt.

“Wow” is what my dad would have said, and we could all hear him say it in our heads. I echoed his sentiments out loud.

The story was epic, too verbose for here, but here’s the gist:

They were in a big lagoon that seemed void of life for hours. Blind casting, blind casting, blind casting. Antonio, while swatting bees away from Alex’s head, excitedly says Azu (big peacock bass, essentially) and points ahead to the back of the lagoon where a giant wake is gliding from one side to the other.

Rodrigo tells Alex, “My friend, that is a monster peacock bass, you’re only going to get one cast at it.” Alex strips out 80’ of line, makes a few hauls, and lets it fly…as I recall, the fly landed about 40’ short and 60’ behind the fish. But Rodrigo was wrong - for once - Alex had one more shot, and he made it count.

Alex joined me in running Fins and Feathers Guide Service - our family-owned Bozeman, Montana, fly fishing guide service this past summer. Fishing and working with him almost every day has reminded me of the reasons I started down this path as a professional angler some 25 years ago. Full send it and make it count.

Success All Around

There was a time when I would have been jealous, not necessarily with envy, just jealous. Even of my kids! I guess I’m older and wiser now, because joy was all I felt in both of those moments as I watched my sons bask in their angling successes.

Meanwhile, Rodrigo was fishing hard from start to finish each day. Making one effortless 80’ cast after another with precision strips and a hook set that would even make Bill Dance blush. He found plenty of 20-pounders that week. Although he fishes with a relentless focus, he is as fun a person to fish with as I have ever come across in my decades spent fishing with people.

His sincere love for the sport of fly fishing, the Amazon, and the indigenous peoples with whom Untamed Angling partners at each of their destinations is what we talk about most when he's not around. He's a father, husband, angler, conservationist, and one helluva an entrepreneur.

He's the kind of guy that you want your kids to fish with, at some point.

Back In The Club

So here we are, it’s the last day, and the weight of my situation feels heavy on my shoulders.

None of them wants to say it out loud, but I've been doing this a while; I can hear my sons, in my head - ”Hey baldy (my sons’ nickname for me), are you going to catch a big one or not?”

I can feel it, they feel it, the guides feel it, and Rodrigo is doing his best to act like it’s no big deal. But we all know this trip won't be "all it could be" unless I finally show up.

I mean, I usually do, get it done...maybe I've lost "IT?" Am I really THAT old?

Alex said something to Rodrigo that morning over breakfast that I overheard in the background: “Jumanji (our nickname for Rodrigo), these are the days when my dad shows up – without fail, he’ll get it done, no doubt."

I had my doubts. My arm was sore from days of casting, my hands ached with each cast - I had blisters on top of blisters on my rod thumb - and I ate my last Advil three days before.

I fished with Matthew that day, and it was a hot one. No wind, humid, and all 493 species of bees decided that this was the day they should spend with us on the boats rather than in the jungle. I lost count and quit caring after the 10^th or so sting in the first hour.

I finally got one - a bit over 20 pounds - sometime in the late morning. Pressure gone, checkboxes marked, trip a success. Matthew asked me if he could start fishing hard again.

Relief is not the same as joy.

Can It Get Better?

We had some trolling motor issues shortly thereafter, and it seemed like our day was ending early. Rafael, our guide, disassembled the entire unit and rewired it from start to finish – he was done before we finished lunch, and that was no simple task.

The day was winding down, and we were all fishing the same, final lagoon together, mentally preparing for the long boat ride back to the Untamed Amazon and a fine, Leandro creation for dinner.

I was also thinking that Leandro is a fantastic chef; it's hard to believe he's been the chef at Rio Marie all these years. I wondered if he had seen the same stars I had and just decided to stay. Yes, AC, a hot shower, and reprieve from the bees were starting to sound better than one more cast by that time of the day.

Rodrigo landed two more giants, Alex was day drinking the afternoon away, casting furled leaders at turtles, and Matthew found one more trophy-sized paca willing to eat his beast fleyes.

I was thrilled. Truly grateful to be there, in that place, with every one of those fine human beings that I am blessed to call family and friends.

I felt the weight of the moment and my dad’s absence from this adventure. Something familiar went off in my head, telling me that times like these are the ones that life is really all about. I looked at my kids and the rest of the Jumanji crew and came back to the present, taking it all in.

A million miles from anywhere and right where I was supposed to be.

Full Circle

Yes, my line went tight right about then. The fly line burnt right through my index finger as the fish roared through the depths and toward the tree-lined bank opposite our position. The guides were yelling, Rodrigo was yelling, my kids were screaming - everyone telling me to stop that fish before it reaches the trees -"I know, I know," I thought to myself as I just tried to hold on.

I twisted the drag knob full down and pulled with the little strength I had left in my right arm, with the fighting butt buried deep in my stomach, stopping this last, one, good fish just feet before the jungle.

Another 20-pound fish in my hands, from the Rio Marie, on the last cast of a trip.

Rodrigo took a photo of me holding the fish with my kids draped around my shoulders, screaming their heads off and not saying a word.

The trip was over, and the question I had asked myself back in 2015 had an answer. I am to them, like my dad is to me.

The Jumanji Crew - 2025

Antonio, Alex, Rodrigo, Cichla Temensis, Joaquim, Rafael, Toby, Mathew, Allison

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