Some places stay with you long after you leave.

The Amazon is one of those places. I first went there more than twenty years ago, long before fly rods, long before travel became work, long before I knew what any of this would turn into. Back then, it planted curiosity, respect, and a pull toward the unknown that never went away.

One moment in particular stuck. Standing at a river crossing, switching vehicles by boat, watching the massive water flow past, I asked a local in broken Spanish if there were fish in the river. He didn’t answer with words. With a big grin he just held his hands out as wide as he could.

Now, 20 years later, we’re going back.

This time with a new purpose. With preparation. And with the chance to finally fish waters that shaped curiosity long before a fly rod was in the picture.

What excites us most about this return isn’t just peacock bass, it’s the unknown. The scale of the river system. The variety of species. The question marks. Which patterns will work. Which flies will earn confidence. Which ones will get shredded in the first five minutes. The Amazon doesn’t reward assumptions. It rewards attention.

There’s something different about fishing a place where everything feels alive. Where predators hunt shallow and fast. Where topwater isn’t a novelty, it’s a legitimate tool. We have high hopes for poppers and surface flies, knowing how effective they can be for local bass.

Bags are packed, and the preparation has come to an end. Time at the vise. Thinking through fly boxes. Questioning what actually matters when you’re working with a 33-pound weight limit. Less gear, more intention. Every choice matters because once you’re there, you’re there.

This isn’t about nostalgia or checking a box. It’s about stepping into a place that demands attention and rewards effort. About being open to whatever shows itself, planned species and surprises alike. About doing the work, making mistakes, adjusting, and learning in real time.

We’ll be back at the end of the month with answers, failures, unexpected wins, and a full fishing report. Until then, the anticipation is doing what it always does: Slowing down time, sharpening focus, and making the days leading up to departure almost as meaningful as the trip itself.

The jungle has a way of deciding what you learn first.

We’re ready to find out.