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Magdalena River Fishing Memoir

Updated on May 8, 2018

One of my favorite memories as a child was fishing on a tributary of the Magdalena River in Colombia, South America. The Magdalena is the primary river that flows from the south of Colombia and the Amazon to the coast near Barranquilla. The stream where my father, my two brothers and I would go fishing is called the Anacue which flowed into a tributary of the Magdalena called the Yanacue. The Anacue was a clear water stream that had its source in the Andean mountains, whereas the Magdalena was a muddy river. Where the Anacue flowed into the Yanacue, one could see the muddy and the clear waters mixing. There was excellent fishing at the mouth of the Anacue. Among the wide variety of fish that one might catch were bagre, a kind of catfish and picua, otherwise known as red tail. It seemed as if we could catch a fish on every third cast.

It was an exciting expedition for an eight year old boy. But to get to the fishing required a four hour boat ride downriver. We would get up before dawn, go down to the Magdalena and stow our fishing rods, camping gear and food in an aluminum boat. Then just as the sun was rising we would set out on the river. My father often invited Arturo, one of his co-workers, to guide and accompany us on our trips. It was clear to me that Dad had a great deal of respect for Arturo's boating and fishing skills.

The Magdalena varies considerably in width but always carries a significant volume of water. Because we fished in the jungle at the equator, the primary danger to boaters was a floating log or submerged snags that could puncture the boat or break the motor's propeller or shearing pin, leaving us to float perilously in swift current. Dad always positioned me in the bow of the boat and instructed me to watch for snags. I knew the consequences of hitting one, so I watched intently for the slightest swirl of the water that might indicate danger.

In those days, the Magdalena was rich with crocodiles and it was an uneasy experience watching them on the bank and knowing that one treacherous underwater snag could potentially put us at risk of being eaten. I observed the caimans watching us from the bank awaiting their opportunity. I've been told that since the 1950s most of the crocs have been hunted virtually to extinction. Tourist shops all over Colombia were filled with stuffed caimans, and purses, wallets, belts and every imaginable curio made from their hides. Once I found a baby caiman in a swampy bog near our house, brought it home and put it in a big, galvanized tin tub of water in order to watch it swim around. It emitted a strange chirping that sounded almost like a bird. It swam around and around the edge of tub, but despite some minor effort to keep it alive, it died for lack of a mother at the hands of thoughtless curiosity.


Also along the banks were troops of monkeys in the trees. They howled and made a considerable racket but spotting them was difficult. We saw them only as shadows flitting about in distant treetops. Brilliant macaws were easy to spot as winged flames of red or blue against the universal green of the jungle. Occasionally we would motor by a village of thatched roofed open houses. Children would run out to the bank to watch us go by, but adults seemed to scrutinize us with suspicion.

Finally, we would arrive and anchor upstream on the Anacue where it emptied into the Magdalena. It was an exciting moment because of the fishing that was to immediately follow. We would race to see who rigged his pole first in order to make the first cast. We had to take care not to tangle our lines in the excitement. We competed over catching the first fish, the largest and the most. It was not long before we were pulling in one fish after another. Later, we would haul anchor and move slowly a few miles upstream, casting to both sides of the river as we worked our way up to the first rapids where we camped and cooked. Then there was the rush to be the first to fish in the pools above the rapids.

I loved fishing. It was one of the few activities when an eight year old could hope to compete with my two older brothers or adults. Every cast was an opportunity to be rewarded with the thrill of the strike and the catch. On one particular occasion we were drifting back down the Anacue heading for home but casting toward both banks as we went. Suddenly I hooked what seemed to be a monster fish because line just screamed off my reel. I was sure that I had caught the prize for the largest fish. Dad shouted "Keep your rod tip up!" The fish headed for a big brush pile and I reeled the line in furiously while the fish zigged and zagged through the water. All attention was on me and on what must be a big picua. Finally I brought the fish alongside the boat and dad netted it. It certainly wasn't a picua; it was shaped more like a flat round plate and my disappointment was palpable. "What is that?" I asked Dad, or Providence. I had never seen such a fish. How could it have fought so well and yet be so small? I was almost crying. And yet it had a nice golden belly and beautiful blue gills. Dad said with an unexpected tone of respect, "That is a Bluegill, Tommy." Still disconsolate, I shrugged. And Dad said, "It is the biggest one I have ever seen." "I used to catch those back in Nebraska when I was a boy." I began to feel better and examine the fish with more interest and with a surge of pride. Then I took my place at the bow and watched for snags as we motored our way back home.


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    • profile image

      barrancambrodi 

      6 years ago

      Yep,I have an El Tigre story also and when El Rosario housing was first built there was no back fence on jungle side. Someone, don't remember who, had an ocolot pened in their carport, the males have been spotted walking streets at night. Don't rember a bus incident. Looking forward to Dana's comments.

    • barranca profile imageAUTHOR

      barranca 

      6 years ago

      Dana has a great jaguar story from the Anacue. I talked with both Ralph and Dana today and spoke to them about the Barranca memories. Ralph recalled that the schoolbus ran over and killed a little boy. And Dana remembered the name of the driver and how he let you guys drive the bus. I'm sure he will be in touch via your email address that I forwarded to him.

    • profile image

      barrancambrodi 

      6 years ago

      Think your in one pictures when Danny, Arturo & I were cleaning fish out by the maids quarters at your house. In time I'll get in dads Colombian stuff. Again thanx for responding to my comments, the Anacue was a special place in my boyhood. I was on the internet looking for riverboat pictures and there it was, your memoir describing my life experiences. Small world, 50+ years later.

    • barranca profile imageAUTHOR

      barranca 

      6 years ago

      I was just enough younger than "you guys" to be not much more than a pest.

    • profile image

      barrancambrodi 

      6 years ago

      You got me, we called Gordon "Gordo"(fat). His family had a 1930 Model A Ford to drive & I had to; several of us learned to drive the school bus when adults were not around. In later years I found out that Dad knew our secret all along. Spent a bunch of time with friends just riding around on the bus or that Model A.

    • barranca profile imageAUTHOR

      barranca 

      6 years ago

      Mike, I vaguely remember you as a friend of Dana's( He now goes by his actual name). In fact I seem to remember you were best friends along with Gordon Bocox(sp?) I forwarded your email to me to both Ralph and "Danny."

    • profile image

      barrancambrodi 

      6 years ago

      I'm Michael Broding(Mike), dad worked at IPC. Age 70, good health and retired 10 years. Last in Barranca summer of 1958. On my office wall are pictures of Arturo Palamino, Danny Deeds and I fishing the Anacue. "It is a small world"! Oh, the stories I can tell.....! I remember fishing with Danny, Ralph jr, friend Jack Archer and myself(maybe 1 more) when we destroyed our dugout canoe on the rocks at the high falls. We had to climb jungle banks and -float-swim all the way back to camp to very un-happy fathers.

    • barranca profile imageAUTHOR

      barranca 

      6 years ago

      barrancambrodi, Small world. Are you my age (60s)? My name is Tom Deeds.

    • profile image

      barrancambrodi 

      6 years ago

      I know the Anacue myself, lived in Baranca 1952-58. Knew Arturo & Deeds family

    • barranca profile imageAUTHOR

      barranca 

      6 years ago

      Thanks Bob. The location is the site of some of my favorite childhood memories.

    • profile image

      Bob Burroughs 

      6 years ago

      What a great descriptive piece. I really felt like I was there!

    • Ralph Deeds profile image

      Ralph Deeds 

      7 years ago from Birmingham, Michigan

      I never heard of anybody being eaten by a caiman.

    • nick071438 profile image

      nick071438 

      9 years ago from City of Catbalogan, W, Samar, Philippines

      You've painted in concrete and descriptive words the exciting and wonderful fishing experience you had with your kins in the Magdalena River. Your sightings of crocs is akin to what I've experienced seeing crocodiles swimming alongside our banca while navigating home the Balago-San Sebastian River during the 40's.

    • Ralph Deeds profile image

      Ralph Deeds 

      9 years ago from Birmingham, Michigan

      Great story. That was exciting fishing. Arturo Palomino was not hired. He was a friend who worked in the accounting department at IPC.

    • spacebull profile image

      spacebull 

      11 years ago from Space

      Looks beautiful and peaceful, lovely!

    • profile image

      Don MacIver 

      11 years ago

      I really enjoyed this...like a piece in National Geographic. Well done! Thanks for this exciting adventure. Your writing paints a lovely picture and is compelling reading.

      Cheers, Don

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