The trip never starts as the plane leaves the runway.

By the time wheels are up, the trip has only become the current reality.

It starts weeks, sometimes months earlier, in quieter ways. In daydreams. In questions. In the space between what you know and what you don’t yet understand.

For a lot of us, anticipation is rooted in the unknown. A new place. A new fish. A new challenge. The possibility of adventure. The hunt for something you’ve never seen in person, let alone cast to. Learning an entirely new fishery, a new rhythm, a new set of rules. That’s where the excitement lives. Not in certainty, but in curiosity.

That’s especially true with truly new experiences. An upcoming trip like Brazil isn’t just about peacock bass or arapaima. It’s the Amazon itself. The ecosystem. The scale. The idea of stepping into something so different from anything we’ve known before. The anticipation comes from knowing you’ll be a beginner again, whether you want to be or not. And there’s something powerful about that.

Anticipation also shows up in the work you do without realizing it’s work.
It’s heading to the park on a windy afternoon instead of waiting for a calm one, practicing your double haul with intention because you know the conditions won’t always be perfect. It’s feeling the timing click just a little better each session. It’s preparation disguised as daydreaming.

It’s also the unknowns that keep the fire lit. Wondering which patterns will actually work. Which flies will earn confidence and which ones will just take up space in the box. Thinking through scenarios before they happen, knowing full well that some of the best lessons won’t reveal themselves until the fish tells you.

With a trip like the Amazon, the anticipation takes on another layer entirely. Part of the fun is solving the puzzle before you ever arrive. What do you actually need? What do you leave behind? How do you make smart choices when you’re working with a 33-pound weight limit? Suddenly you’re researching new duffels, cutting redundancies, questioning every piece of gear. Less isn’t a sacrifice - it’s part of the experience. Every decision has intention.

And then there’s the anticipation that comes from doing something we don’t get to do very often. Fishing topwater for predators. There’s something primal about it. We know how effective poppers can be at home,  how they can produce the biggest smallmouth of the season, how that surface eat can stop time for a second. We have high hopes for topwater in the Amazon as well. Watching peacock bass hunt up, commit, and explode on a fly is the kind of moment that will stay with you. And beyond that, there’s the excitement of the unknown,  the species you plan for, the ones you didn’t expect, the ones the Amazon keeps hidden until you earn them, the ones you didn’t even know existed. That mix of hope, curiosity, and possibility is what makes the anticipation so real.

Return trips carry a different kind of anticipation. Less mystery, more intention. Sometimes it’s about unfinished business. A permit that refused you last time. A fish that taught you a lesson you didn’t fully understand yet. The quiet determination of wanting another chance, maybe to feed one a floating crab this time, maybe just to do it better than before.

But often, the anticipation isn’t about the fish at all.

It’s about the people.

The guides. The staff. The relationships that have been built over years, meals, long days, and late nights. It’s knowing who will be on the skiff with you. Who will be waiting at the lodge. Who you’ll laugh with over dinner. For return trips, the anticipation feels less like planning and more like looking forward to a reunion.
That’s the part people don’t always talk about. How anticipation quietly makes life better before the trip ever happens. It gives you something to look forward to when the days feel repetitive. It sharpens your focus. It slows time down just enough to notice things again.

1. You start tying flies with a little more intention.
2. You practice casts with a little more patience.
3. You think differently about where you’re headed and why.

By the time the flight finally arrives, you’ve already traveled a long way.
That’s why the trip always starts long before the flight.

Whether it’s a brand-new destination filled with unknowns, or a return trip driven by unfinished business and familiar faces, we’re here to help you build the kind of journey that begins the moment you start thinking about it. If you’re ready for something new, or ready to go back with a little more intention,  we’d love to help you take the first step.

The anticipation can start now.