My friend Vikki tells me that my musical tastes are deeply offensive to her. I just smile and nod — she’s a few years older than me, but, despite her advancing age, she’s much more tuned into what’s popular now than I am.

“You’re not that old,” she chides. “Why do you like that old-man music?” And “old man” comes out as if it’s some sort of epithet. An insult.

As a child of the 70s and an 80s teen, I’m proud of my musical era. In my estimation, it’s unmatched by anything that’s come along since, and it certainly beats what’s being pumped out by today’s pop artists. Say what you will, but love ballads from the 70s, or country tunes from real country singers (not Justin Bieber with a twang) from that era have aged perfectly, like a fine wine, sharp cheddar, or a classic bamboo fly rod.

Vikki and I are great friends. But we are not musical soul mates. We can meet in the middle sometimes — we both think The Dead South is solid bluegrass, and we’ve been known to high-five during a Shaboozey song, but that’s about where our tastes start to diverge. She’s invested in the streamer world, and I’m still, more often than not, a radio guy.

Vikki? She’s just as happy listening to Post Malone or The Weeknd. Me? Give me a little England Dan and John Ford Coley, or maybe some Dr. Hook, the Doobie Brothers, or put News of the World on the turntable. I like old-man music. She likes Skittles, espresso martinis and (gag) Chris Young.

The good news? I have, indeed, found my musical soul mate. And I found him in the least likely of places, as I rode shotgun in his weathered SUV with its expired suspension across the vast, open pampa of far southern Patagonia. I’d traveled south at the insistence of two friends and business partners, to explore the fishing on a private estancia at the edge of Torres del Paine National Park. There, while we hunted big brown trout in the shadow of some of the world’s most iconic peaks, I found Mauricio.

Brandy. She’s a fine girl.

As we bounced along the pitted gravel road through a vast estancia in fishing guide Mauricio Seguel’s truck, I couldn’t help but wonder if my phone had somehow blue-toothed its way onto the 28-year-old’s car stereo. The ultimate one-hit wonder song from the 1970s blasted out through the vehicle’s tired speakers, and I watched as Mauricio kept time with his fingers on the steering wheel.

“There’s a port on a western bay

And it serves 100 ships a day

Lonely sailors pass the time away

And talk about their homes.”

As I sang along with this Looking Glass classic, Maurico looked over at me and smiled. We’d just spent a particularly fine morning casting to oversized brown trout in a gorgeous, meandering spring creek that flows through the estancia with the imposing granite towers of Torres del Paine looming in the distance. These near-vertical minarets just don’t appear … real. They look like something that Dr. Seuss might have crafted. The fishing was a bit unreal, as well, on this blustery fall day in Patagonia, and the mood was light.

“There’s a girl in this harbor town

And she works laying whiskey down

They say Brandy fetch another round

She serves them whisky and wine.”

I looked down at my phone and quickly realized that this was Mauricio’s music, not mine. But it could have come right off my playlist.

And, as if we both knew what was coming, Mauricio belted out the chorus.

“The sailors say Brandy you're a fine girl!”

I, of course, jumped in on backup

(“You're a fine girl!”)

“What a good wife you would be!”

(“Such a fine girl!”)

I was 3 years old when that classic 1972 song hit the airwaves. Mauricio’s mom wouldn’t be born for another four years.

Photo: Chad Shmukler.

Trout under the towers

The whole point of my visit was to quell my skepticism of an idea pitched by those aforementioned partners in cahoots with a Chilean outfitter we’d become friends with over the years. The pitch was simple. On the edge of one of the planet’s most iconic national parks sits a 30,000-acre estancia that is home to roughly 35 miles of private trout water. The fish are oversized. The dry fly fishing is unusually good. What’s more — and this is the rub — perched on a remote corner of the estancia, mere footfalls from one of the ranch’s spring-fed creeks, there just happens to be a historic gaucho’s cabin begging to be converted into a small fishing lodge. The warm and welcoming family that owns the estancia and has cared for its waters for the last half century was on board. The only one that still needed convincing was me.

I got my first look at the spring creek from atop a bluff looking down on a stretch of some of the sexiest trout water I’ve ever seen. The creek meanders for some 20 miles off the Andean steppe, drunkenly making its way due west across the ranch. It meanders and, in more than one tight corner, it almost curls back and meets itself. Its undercut banks, bend pools, foam lines, tuneful riffles, over-your-head holes shaded by streamside brush, and long, flat slicks provide ideal habitat for its eager brown trout. Fifteen additional miles of freestone river flow through the estancia, as well as another, smaller spring creek, and numerous productive lagoons. Through an angler’s lens, it’s trout Elysia. If asked to describe perfection, I honestly don’t know a small-stream angler who wouldn’t offer up this place as an example.

No matter where you are on the ranch, the striking peaks of Torres del Paine can be seen reaching to the heavens. To the north lies another striking backdrop — Sierra Baguales. This craggy range of mountains, were it in any other geographic location, would be the dominant feature in any toothy selfie. But, since it shares the horizon with the Paine massif, Sierra Baguales is almost an afterthought.

This corner of far southern Patagonia has long been beloved by hiking, climbing, biking, and sightseeing travelers. Annually, increasing numbers of such adventurers arrive to clamor along its trails, which wind through the rocks and the pampa of Torres del Paine National Park. They also come to see its cornucopia of wildlife — like guanaco, rhea, Andean condors, gray and red foxes, English hares, and charismatic armadillos — all of which exist largely at the mercy of Patagonia’s broad-shouldered answer to the mountain lion, the stocky puma.

And yet, Torres del Paine has remained largely off the map for fly fishers. Do a little digging and it’s easy to understand why. Whether you search the web, ask one of the region’s “adventure hotels,” or consult a Puerto Natales tour provider about the fly fishing opportunities in the area, you’re likely to turn up some version of the same answer: outside of one lake and a few miles of the sprawling Serrano River (which offers decent fishing for resident trout and seasonal shots at massive Chinook salmon), Torres del Paine National Park is closed to anglers. Beyond that, there’s very little fishing to speak of—very little fishing to find.

That is, except for the world-class fishing on the estancia, sitting directly in the gaze of The Blue Towers, hiding behind a few inconspicuous gates, fences, and cattle grates.

Photo: Earl Harper.

Classic music and classic fishing

Back in Mauricio’s ride, as Freddie Mercury belted out Queen’s iconic medley from its Wembley Stadium Live Aid concert in 1985, I took stock of my surroundings and reflected on Vikki’s assessment of my musical tastes. Not only was I at peace with my place among the musical classics of my era, I was thrilled to be soaking in the nostalgia with a kid less than half my age. I realized, too, that our day of fishing had been every bit as classic as the music. The fly fishing on this vast Patagonia estancia is about as classic as it comes. Upstream casts. Dry flies. Rising fish.

All of that said, it is Patagonia, and the estancia is but a five hour drive and a two hour boat ride from Tierra del Fuego. The wind will blow, sometimes mightily, but, as Mauricio and I sang our way through “Radio Gaga,” he made a solid point.

“My favorite days out here are sunny days with wind,” he said. “A little wind. A lot of wind. It doesn’t matter. The wind puts bugs on the water, and it breaks up the surface so the big fish don’t see you coming. That’s the fishing I love out here.”

Later that afternoon, as Mauricio replaced the tattered-and-worn Stimulator that a handful more of the creek’s fat brown trout had done a number on, he swung his arms wide, gesturing all around, and asked, “So, what do you think?”

Standing at the foot of yet another picture-perfect spring-creek tailout with the unlikeliest of musical soulmates, I shrugged my shoulders, wondering if there was another answer lurking out there that I was struggling to find. There wasn’t.

“I think we’re gonna build a fishing lodge,” I said.

Photo: Chad Shmukler.

IF YOU GO

Getting there
As one of the most popular destinations in Chile for adventure seekers, the Torres del Paine region is easily reached and is well served by numerous airlines which offer multiple daily departures from the nation’s capital city, Santiago. Most travelers to the region arrive to Puerto Natales (PNT), which is the closest airport to the national park. Some visitors also arrive to the region’s largest city, Punta Arenas (PUQ), which provides additional flight options. Travelers visiting nearby Argentine destinations such as Calafate and El Chalten can also arrange a cross-border ground transfer to visit the Torres del Paine region.

When to go
The dependable fly fishing season in southern Patagonia runs from about mid-November through mid-April, with cooler weather prevailing early and late in the season. Peak dry-fly season is from about mid-December through early March. Anglers looking to tangle with the region’s lake-run browns should plan a trip in March or April.

Where to stay
Anglers visiting the Torres del Paine region have multiple options for fly fishing. Numerous outfitters offer day trip excursions on the roughly 2.5 mile stretch of the Serrano River where walk-and-wade angler access is permitted. Most destination hotels or tour operators in Puerto Natales can arrange these excursions. Anglers looking for a traditional lodge experience and options that extend beyond single day excursions should look to the region’s only full-fledged fly fishing lodge, El Ultimo Puesto.