My attempt, literally just moments ago, to fish the River Limay (in the Andes) has failed. Epically. This was my third outing this year, and at least this time I did hook a fish... but it got away. Of course it did. But not before I'd hooked a low-hanging branch of a tree, an underwater root (I had to bite through the line in the end), and my own finger (I was totally stoic as I pulled the hook out of my own flesh). I had never realised just how dangerous a sport this could be... but if it weren't for the British (cold) weather, I really do think that even if the fish wouldn't be, I would be... hooked, that is.
