From "Gallegos by Boat: Floating to an Uncertain End"

“Where are you headed to?” one of the clients asked.

“To Bellavista, I hope,” I replied.

The guide, when he got over his apparent astonishment at finding a gringo in a blowup boat floating through his beat, seemed only concerned that I didn’t stop and fish with them.

“I fishing here! I fishing here!” he called out. I nodded in passing and marked the spot on my GPS receiver, thinking, “Yes, you fishing here today. We’ll see about later . . . .” When my boat reached a respectable distance downstream, I beached it and got out my binoculars. Were they having any luck in that fine-looking spot? But as I moved my gaze along the banks looking for them, I ran across a strange image: the guide was crouched in the grass looking straight at me through his own binoculars.

The wind came up fiercely just shortly after that encounter and blew me far downstream. It was out of the West, as predicted, and when I pointed the boat and paddled with it I could make six MPH, respectable for an inflatable. Without any effort, broadside to the current and the wind, I could move along at three MPH. The wind finally laid down early in the evening near a long, deep run with walking-pace current and likely-looking nicks in the line of weeds. None of my days on the river had been fishless, but this spot was the one that made all my efforts worthwhile.