Trout Fishing

After our trip to the Japanese garden we decided to take a drive through the mountains and visit some old ruins of ancient churches. As is pretty standard for us, that plan never came to fruition and we ended up trout fishing in a town I would never have known existed otherwise.

We were headed toward the ruins when we saw a dark sky indicating rain. Rain is not something you want to deal with when in an isolated place in a valley visiting ruins. We then saw a sign for trout fishing, changed the plans, and followed the sign. After driving for about a half hour up the mountain on a narrow dirt road, we finally arrived at a little town. This was the stereotype small mountain town. All the little shops were run out of individual homes, there were no bars, everyone was dressed in their Sunday best, and everyone was friendly. We stopped to ask a passerby for directions, he told us to follow the dirt road until it hit the next mountain. We did as directed and found a tiny driveway with a "trout fishing" sign and an arrow. We drove up, parked in the dirt parking lot and walk up the hill to the old man who seemed to be in charge. He warmly welcomed us, showed us to one of the three trout ponds and set us up to fish. He handed us each a piece of wood that was about 3 inches by 1/2 inch with a fishing line wrapped around it. He attached a hook and pierced a fish eyeball for bait. The ponds were man-made breeding grounds for trout and I caught my first one in 30 seconds. The fish skillfully sucked off the next two rounds of bait without hooking themselves, but within a few minutes I caught Trout #2.  I then retired. Soon thereafter, Rene caught his trout and we officially had our lunch.

The old man broke the necks of the trout to prevent further suffering and fished the hooks out of their mouths and throats. It was quite the gruesome scene for someone who's not accustomed to such uncensored dealings with nature. He threw them in a bucket and brought them to the cook. In about 30 minutes we had a meal of the freshest trout, patacones, salad, and coke. The trout arrived in pieces, bones and everything. It turns out you can eat trout bones, so we chowed down. The old man came and sat with us. His name was Don Chavelo and he was a very nice guy. He told us the story of his fish farm and his future plans. He and the cook offered us some coffee, which we gladly accepted. Costa Rican mountains get very cold, so I was thrilled to have some hot liquid to help me survive without proper clothing.

This was how I tried my first "chorreado" coffee. Chorreado coffee is coffee prepared in the traditional Costa Rican manner. Instead of using a coffee maker, they use a wooden device that holds up a white cloth sack. The ground coffee beans go in the cloth, the cup goes under the cloth, and the boiling water is poured over the beans. This method produces a much stronger, but also a much more flavorful coffee. After a small cup of this wonderful goodness (and about 2 table spoons of sugar), I was nice and toasty and extremely energetic. We sipped our coffee and chatted a bit more. I learned that Don Chavelo has problems with the seals trying to steal his fish, and with a stray cat who claims one trout per day. We took some pictures together, said our goodbyes, and headed home after a long and satisfying day of traveling.