The Trout Also Rises: Fly Fishing in the Spanish Pyrenees
The author celebrates the fish of the trip, with guide Aleix. All photos by Sandy Hays
Fly fishers love secrets–secret flies, secret tactics, and especially secret fishing spots or destinations. So when folks learn that I’ve been traveling as a fly-fishing writer since the mid 1990s, one of the first questions they usually ask is, “What’s a great place you’ve been to that most people don’t know about?” My answer is always the same, and it’s one that never fails to elicit both surprise and skepticism.
“Really?” they’ll say. “I’ve never even heard of people fly-fishing there.” To which I respond, “Exactly.”
Americans are quite aware of the long fly-fishing history and the wonderful chalkstreams in the British Isles, but the opportunities on the Continent barely register on the radar of U.S. fly fishers. Sure, a pilgrimage to Scandinavia is a bucket-list trip for many Atlantic-salmon anglers, but the rest of Western Europe seems to hold little allure. We know there is fishing over there–we’ve seen the YouTube videos–but it’s not worth traveling for, right?
Wrong. And Spain is the best example to make this point. I’ve now made two trips to the autonomous community of Aragón in the foothills of the Pyrenees—just a few hours’ drive from Barcelona—and both times I’ve been blown away by the quality of the fishing, the incredible scenery, and the remarkable cultural history that makes you feel like the Middle Ages are within touching distance. Add to that the region’s remarkable food and wine, and you’ve got the makings of a rich angling-travel experience unlike any other.
The quaint town of Aren serves as the western base for Salvelinus.
The first time I’d visited the region with Sandy Hays, my high-school buddy and sometime photographer, we’d had no idea what to expect, and we were quite skeptical about the claims made by our host Ivan Tarin, owner of Salvelinus Fly Fishing. But the experience had exceeded all expectations—especially the top-notch guiding of Salvelinus team, with its unique methodology for running fly-fishing adventures—so it was with great anticipation that Sandy and I headed back to Aragon last October to see what new waters Ivan and his guides had discovered in the intervening years.
Barbs and Browns
After spending the previous day sightseeing in Barcelona, we arrived at the small community of Arén—on the eastern edge of Aragón, along the border with Catalonia—which is one of two home bases for Salvelinus. (The other is in Santa Cilia, a few hours to the west.) It’s a quaint Medieval town, featuring cobblestone streets, narrow alleyways, and a central plaza in front of the lovely Iglesia de San Martín de Arén. It’s also within striking distance of an astonishing array of waters, from freestone rivers in the high Pyrenees to meadow streams in lowland farm country. Ivan and his guides have spent years scouring maps and scouting remote waters to find some truly remarkable—and often hidden—places to catch wild trout. All told, they have identified more than 1,500 miles of streams and 2,000 alpine lakes where their clients can enjoy remarkable fishing without seeing another angler.
On our first day out, we traveled to fish a gorgeous stream that’s home to both Mediterranean brown trout and Iberian barbel, a species I’d never targeted before. Because barbel love rocky-bottomed rivers with high dissolved-oxygen content, they often coexist with trout, and I was thrilled that we would be able to target both fish on the same day. The river flows through a fairly steep canyon, so we parked at the upstream end and hiked downstream, following our guide, Pierre, who led us through several river crossings. We got to a point where we could go no farther, so we dropped our gear and rigged up. Pierre told us that there was a chance we’d see some dry-fly action, but we’d start out casting nymphs until we saw some rises.
The Iberian barbel (genus Barbus) is a fascinating and powerful game fish that looks and behaves like a cross between a trout and a carp.
Before I made my first cast, I took a few moments to admire the remains of a stone bridge built by the Romans a thousand years ago. It was the first of many experiences over the course of the week where the long, tangled history of the region—involving the Romans, the Moors, and the Spanish Empire—was on display.
Almost immediately, Pierre spotted a barbel upstream, holding tight to the gravel bank. The water was crystal clear, making the fish quite spooky, so we crept forward carefully, keeping our silhouettes low. On my second cast, the indicator went under, and when I set the hook, I was unprepared for the power of the fish, as it rocketed across the river. I held on for dear life during the first thirty seconds of the fight, until the barbel finally stopped its frantic run. After a back-and-forth tussle in which I was able to bring the fish close a couple times before it tore off more line, Pierre was able to get the net under it.
When I finally got a good look at the fish, I was surprised by its strange beauty. Although the barbel is certainly carp-like—with large scales, big lips, and whiskers—it’s sleeker, with a long, sloping forehead and a body more like a salmonid. When I picked it up for the photo, it didn’t feel slimy like a carp, and we noticed a wound in its side, perhaps made by a predatory bird. These are tough, hardy fish and an excellent target for fly fishers.
We ran into more barbel throughout the day, but the low, clear water made them quite spooky and unwilling to take a dry or a nymph. These are challenging fish, whose lateral lines detect even the slightest vibrations, so extreme stealth is required. The brown trout were more accommodating, although not easy. As we worked our way upstream, I took two or three smallish browns on nymphs, and the anticipated insect hatch never materialized. But at the end of the day, we found a pool in which trout were rising to something quite tiny. After several failed attempts to elicit a strike on a dry fly, Pierre suggested that the trout were on emergers, so we switched to an unweighted nymph, and I immediately caught a slightly larger brown.
The rivers of Aragón hold wild brown trout, as well as the native Mediterranean variant, which feature faint vertical stripes on their sides.
We then spotted what looked to be a larger fish in an eddy against a rock face, and on the first cast, my dry fly plunged and I was fast to the nicest trout of the day, about 14 inches. When the fish finally came to hand, we noticed the faint vertical stripes found on the Mediterranean variant of Salmo trutta, among the most ancient phenotypes of the species. These native browns seem to favor higher, faster streams than the non-striped browns that are descendants of long-ago stockings. It was a great way to end a day that had featured a new addition to my fly-fishing life list, as well as a true Spanish trout.
Trophies and Wines
The next day, Salvelinus’s Head Guide, Aleix, had something special planned: half a day of fishing followed by tours of two wineries in another region. In the morning, we drove to a spring-creek-like stretch of water, where Aleix walked us through some presentations that required accurate casting and precise mending. The trick was to dead-drift a nymph through the gaps between the many weed patches, which was both frustrating and compelling. After about an hour without a take, we moved upstream to a large, deep corner pool, and it wasn’t long before I was battling what turned out to be the fish of the trip.
As soon as I set the hook, I could feel that I was connected to a big trout, whose first instinct was to dive to the bottom of the pool, trying to get to the safety of a tangle of sunken tree limbs. Aleix yelled, “Keep it out of there,” so I lowered my rod tip and applied stern side pressure to get the fish to change course. Its next tactic was to escape the pool altogether, and as it shot between Aleix and me and headed downstream at full speed, we got our first good look at the hefty rainbow. The guide’s eyes lit up, and we chased the fish downstream to keep it from getting the line tangled in all the weeds. After a few rounds of give-and-take, the rainbow began to tire, and Aleix made a heroic effort to end the battle. As he lifted the net from the water, he held a fist high in the air in celebration, so we knew it was a special trout.
Our guide, Aleix, celebrates netting a gorgeous wild rainbow, which fell for a nymph in a deep corner pool and then bolted downstream.
Lifting the fish for a few photos, I couldn’t help but admire its beauty and size. The biggest rainbow I’d caught in many years, it sported a deep body, as well as the perfect fins and silhouette of a wild trout. You may expect to catch rainbows like that in Alaska or New Zealand, I thought, but in Spain?
After another hour or so on the water, we doffed our waders, hopped in the car, and drove about an hour to meet up with Maria José, Salvelinus’s brilliant travel coordinator, for a tour of two local wineries in the town of Barbastro, at the eastern edge of the Somontano wine region. The name means “under the mountains,” and the climate and altitude complement each other to create exceptionally “balanced” wines. The first bodega was a stunning restored Italian villa that serves as a winery, and our tour guide, Diego, led us through the various stages of the process and pointed out the features of the remarkable building, including an aging room full of oak barrels. One entire side of the room is a natural wall of rock into which, centuries ago, caves had been carved. Medieval monks later inhabited these ancient dwellings. After the tour, Salvelinus arranged a mind-altering tasting menu, paired with some of the best wines of the region, hosted by a Michelin-starred chef.
Next, we headed just down the road to Bodegas Lalanne, a winery run by three sisters using only traditional methods. One of the coolest features is the room full of old vintages, dating back to 1936–the history of the family business on display. We finished with a tasting that showcased some of the sisters’ signature wines, and then, a bit lightheaded, headed back to Arén.
The wineries of the Somontano region are steeped in history.
Getting Lost in Guara Reserve
Day three provided yet another different kind of water, as our guide, Alberto, took us to a place they call “Little River,” a beautiful stream that flows beneath a canopy of trees that made it feel quite hidden and remote. The water was quite low and clear, which meant that the fish were quite spooky and not inhabiting their usual spots, as Alberto quickly realized. We caught just a couple little browns until we came to a deep cutbank with lots of overhanging bushes, with a blowdown at the downstream end.
Employing the “near to far” strategy, I began casting my dry-dropper rig to the inside seam and worked progressively across the current, closer to the undercut bank, figuring I’d eventually tempt a fish lying in wait in the darkness below the opposite bank. Sure enough, on a cast so tight to the bank that I feared I’d snag the roots hanging down in the water, the dry fly disappeared, and I set the hook on a burly brown trout, which quickly tried to return to its lair. What ensued was a close-quarters, hand-to-fin battle, as the fish was never more than 20 feet away, pulling hard toward the tangle of roots and then the woody mess downstream. A tad over 20 inches, the silvery, wild brown sported big red spots along its sides and a bullet-shaped head.
After that success, we drove to another part of the river, where I hooked an even bigger brown on my first cast, but after two spectacular jumps, the hook pulled loose, much to everyone’s dismay. We spent the rest of the day working upstream, catching wild brown from 10 to 12 inches on nymphs. We did see a few risers but could only catch little guys on dry flies. As we drove back at the end of the day, I was simultaneously excited by the big brown I had landed and frustrated by the one that got away.
This big brown slid out from beneath a cutbank is a small stream.
Mountains & the Medieval, along the Posets Maladeta Reserve
For our final day, Salvelinus had again planned half fishing and half cultural exploration. We headed into the mountains with guide José Manuel, whose mastery of the narrow, winding mountain roads was an experience in itself. We climbed through countless switchbacks and drove through several ski towns, until we were just a few kilometers from the French border.
As soon as I saw the water, I felt right at home, as it was a mountain freestone stream just like the ones I fish in Vermont. The big difference was the surroundings: towering, steep peaks of the high Pyrenees. As soon as we started to gear up, the skies opened, and it rained on us all morning. We still had a blast, working our way upstream, casting a dry-dropper rig in pocket water for wild, little browns. Although the rain made it tough to spot fish, we did move a few larger trout, but we weren’t able to tempt any of them into eating our flies. We ended at a deep pool below a dramatic waterfall, before José Manuel literally yanked me off the water so we wouldn’t miss our lunch appointment.
The ride down the mountains was even more thrilling than the ride up, and we ended at the parking lot below the stunning mountain village of Roda de Isábena, where we again met Maria José for a private tour of the Romanesque jewel of the region. We hiked up the ancient stone steps until we reached the beautiful Cathedral San Vicente, an 11th century church that’s also home to Hospederia de la Catedral, a restaurant in the old refectory that features remains of Gothic frescoes and furniture from the 18th century. In this rich atmosphere, we ate Aragónese sausages while Maria José regaled us with the history of the region and of Saint Ramón de Roda, a contentious figure in the Spanish Catholic hierarchy of the early 12th century. After lunch, we toured the cathedral, which is set up like a museum, featuring sculptured fonts and altars, tapestries, and remarkable artifacts of a time when the Church was at the center of everything.
The region’s history is on display almost everywhere you look, and Salvelinus offers fascinating cultural tours.
We ended our trip with a sunset visit to a preserved medieval village that seems frozen in time. Set atop a hill between two converging rivers, the town is made almost entirely of stone, with an austere church at the summit. To walk the streets and enter the tiny homes is to get a real feeling for how hard life was a millennium ago. For us Americans, whose history doesn’t even begin until the 1500s, our afternoon adventures with Maria José offered fascinating stories and evidence of the series of conquests and multiple religions that formed the local culture over the past 2,000 years.
As we drove back to Barcelona to fly home, Sandy and I marveled at how–while we had both found the off-the-water experiences fascinating and enriching–what made us want to come back again was the excellent fly fishing, featuring remarkable waters and top-notch guides. Ivan explained that we had barely scratched the surface of what the region has to offer, especially in the high country, which means we will definitely have to go back.
If You Go
Travel & Lodging—Fly into Barcelona, which is a stunning city that’s worth a couple days of exploring. Salvelinus provides a limousine for the 3-hour drive to the lodge. There, you will stay in the Salvelinus Lodge, which is right in town, and take meals at a restaurant that has been operated by the same family since 1768. Dinner is in a private dining room that was once a horse stable. The host, Juan Antonio, is a master of the local cuisine, featuring fresh ingredients and regional recipes.
For travel companions and those who want to do more than fish, Salvelinus offers a multi-activity program, including private visits and gastro-experiences at several wineries in the region. There’s also an on-site spa, including an in-house masseuse.
One night at dinner, we were treated to a beautiful performance of traditional music by an accomplished trio.
Equipment—A 4-weight for dry flies and a 5- or 6-weight for nymphs and streamers should be all you need for rods. We did go as small as 6X tippets, but more commonly 5X got the job done. The fish don’t seem to be leader shy when it comes to streamers, so 2X is fine. A fairly standard selection of trout flies is all you need, including some terrestrials and attractor patterns. Depending on the timing of your trip, Ivan can offer specific suggestions. Guides carry flies, and there is a fly shop at the lodge, but guests are encouraged to bring their favourite trout patterns.
Gear—Plan for weather extremes. In a single day, you can go from fishing in your shirtsleeves to layering against cold and wind. Even when it’s 80 degrees at the lodge, the high-mountain areas might be closer to freezing. Felt soles are prohibited, and studded rubber soles are recommended.
Seasons—Salvelinus operates from March 1 through November 30. The best time for dry-fly fishing is from March to late June, and prime time for high-mountain waters is June and July. Fall offers great opportunities, mostly on nymphs, especially from mid-September to late-November.
Mum’s the Word—Ivan Tarin is a man torn by contrary desires: on one hand, he wants the world to know about the wonderful fishery that he and his guides have discovered through more than a quarter century of research and trial-and-error; on the other hand, he doesn’t want to generate negative impacts on the resource due to the overfishing and overcrowding. Salvelinus donates 10% of profits to protect nature in the region.
Contact—Visit Salvelinus Fishing Adventures. Most of the staff at Salvelinus speaks English, which is a big help for making travel plans and dealing with day-to-day questions.
This story first appeared in Gray’s Sporting Journal.
