Not since Neil Strauss in The Game or pretty much everyone in The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert has a man peacocked so hard. At least, that’s our opinion of Deon Meyer’s experience at Agua Boa in the Amazon, where he kept up with the pros, drank almost all the beers, and only slightly melted his brain. Cover story for The Mission Issue 49 (Jan/Feb 2025). Photos: C/o Deon Meyer and the three pros.

GLOSSARY 

Ou or oke: pronounced “oh” or “oak”, informal Afrikaans for man/boy or bloke/chap. 

Moer: informal Afrikaans for slam or hit. 

Klap/ping: As above.

Trips to exotic destinations are often written by people who appear to fly fish for a living, guys who know their Homer Rhode from their Homer Simpson – professionals. That’s not me. My story is one about a working-class ou, dad and fly fishing apprentice who went deep into the Amazon jungle. Although I may be a relative noob, I did go there with three Jedi-level fly fishing pros: Johann Rademeyer (Mavungana Flyfishing guide), Mike Dames (Mavungana Flyfishing and African Waters guide) and Tyron Knight (who guides from time to time when he’s not doing other stuff).  

My infatuation with the curse of fly fishing began only about five years ago when Johann took me under his wing. I’ve known him since we were groms in our competitive surfing years. We’ve remained connected and share a similar passion for anything to do with fishing. From my first wet-behind-the-ears grunter sessions on the Garden Route, to klapping tigers on surface flies at Pongola and numerous other missions in between, Johann is the reason I fly fish.  

Fast forward a few years, and many hours with Johann spent trying to improve my skills, and I found myself boarding a plane with him, Mike and Ty, heading to the Amazon in search of peacock bass. This was a trip 14 months in the planning. Having made the impulse decision to sign up when Mavungana Flyfishing head honcho Jono Boulton told me that a spot had become available on an Agua Boa trip, this felt like the longest wait in the world. We’re talking that extended version of pre-fishing trip psych. There is literally not a single “Fly fishing for peacock bass in the Amazon” video I have not seen.  

Melting in Manaus 

I will never, ever again complain about a hot day in my hometown of Cape Town. As we got off the plane in Manaus from São Paulo at 3am, we walked straight into a wall of heat that rivals that moment you open the oven door to see your pork belly blackened and burnt. We had three days to kill in Manaus and we had some pre-booked tourism activities sorted which included a visit to Amazon Theatre (aka the Manaus Opera House), swimming with freaky pink dolphins, experiencing an arapaima’s hit and realising how quickly one can dislocate a shoulder. Then there was the Manaus fish market. Top tip: don’t go there hungover. Ever. I don’t think I’ve seen a paler-looking Mike Dames in my life.   

After three beer-filled days, what we were about to experience only really set in on the morning of departure for Agua Boa Amazon Lodge. Seeing the eight-seater jungle-taxi single-prop plane (and the captain carefully calculating the load capacity) got us excited. Flying over the Amazon was incredibly special. You have never seen so much green in your life. The magnitude of the rain forest was evident even from 10 000ft. From this moment on I had Sir David Attenborough constantly narrating in my middle ear.  

Straight into it 

There was a lot of concerned chatter about the water levels, as the Amazon is currently facing one of its biggest droughts in over 50 years. But, with the Agua Boa system being so far north of the main Amazonian river systems, the impact of the drought was not as noticeable as it is further south. Whether or not Mavungana receives classified, long-term weather predictions from the pink dolphins I don’t know, but the week they secured was bang on. Water levels were perfect. Upon arrival, almost in a frenzy, we set up our gear to head out fishing. We were rigged and ready with a 7-weight intermediate, 8-weight intermediate, 8-weight floating, and 9-weight sinking, each setup with a purpose and big plans. On the 8-weights we fished with 50-60lb leaders, while on the 9-weight we had 80lb in case we had a shot at an arapaima.  

At Agua Boa you and your fishing partner fish together for the week but you get a different guide each day. This way you get to visit all seven sections of the river, because each guide is assigned a beat. Some of these guides have been guiding their same sections since the lodge’s inception almost 25 years ago. Each beat has multiple oxbows and different offerings in terms of structure, so you get to see and experience a large part of the massive Agua Boa system. The guides drive the boat, man the pole, point fingers and say in broken English, “Big peacock. Cast there.” You break for lunch under the trees (probably one of the few times you actually stop sweating) and once the day is done the guides go full taps back to the lodge. You leave at 7am and are back at the lodge at 5pm.  

“The best way to prepare for this place is to sit in a sauna and tie leaders onto fly lines.”

Did I mention it’s hot and humid? The best way to prepare for this place is to sit in a sauna and tie leaders onto fly lines and rapala knots onto your fly while leaking like sieve. You’ll be set.  

Cruising on the boat towards the unknown is incredible. Your senses are completely overloaded and your head is on a swivel. It’s a bit overwhelming at first as there is so much happening around you. There is no pollution, no plastic, no human interference. I can safely say this is the most natural environment I have ever seen. Johann and I looked at each other and just shook our heads.  

“We’re in the Amazon, bru!”  

Our theory was that on the first day the guides suss out your skill level to determine what type of fishing you can handle. After about 20 minutes of winding down the river we came to a stop at this little bay and the guide said, “OK, we fish.” Giddy with excitement and dripping with sweat, I was in the front of the boat and Johann, aka Snor (moustache) was in the middle. He’s a pro. My odds of getting moered by a fly sailing through the middle of the boat were a lot lower than his. This is guaranteed.  

While I was still sorting my life out in the front, Snor already had two casts and two beautiful little butterfly peacocks to his name. I soon followed suit.  

When you hook into a peacock bass, you realise these buggers are thugs, super-strong and very aggressive on the eat. You regularly encounter a fish willing to make that 50lb leader look like dental floss. In that spot alone, in an hour and a bit, we probably got about 30 fish. It was the perfect place to get the muscles firing and to get a feel for what the next seven days of fishing would be like.  

Having proven something to our guide, Preto, he muttered “OK, we go.” Loaded with confidence in his two anglers, rods safely stored, on we went to a zone that absolutely blew our minds. At this stage, we were drinking as much as possible and trying to give our bodies a chance to acclimatise to the heat while sitting back awestruck, allowing our senses to absorb everything. Heading into this narrow little stream off the main river we bundu-bashed over and into logs and around fallen trees. You could clearly see how high the water rises in the wet season. After a few minutes of slog, we came to this hidden oxbow lake. The water itself was clear, but the black peaty bottom made it look dirty. 

Preto smiled, “Big fish here. Big fly and sinking line.”  

What we soon learned is that at least 80% of your casting is aimed at the trees and structure. The balance is when you’re taking shots over peacock nests or sight-fishing over the sand banks.  

In these oxbows, there’s barely any wind so the temperature goes up even more. The water was about five metres deep. Snor was moering fish as he was fishing the sinking line while I was focussed on the intermediate line and allowing the fly to sink. We had so many double-ups. As soon as Snor got on, I would cast in his fish’s direction because peacocks like commotion and the chances are good that you’ll get smashed as well.  

After about 40 minutes we came to the turnaround section of the oxbow. It was about 4pm and while it was arguably the hottest time of day, the guide suddenly lit up from his poling platform and uttered the most consecutive words he had spoken all day. “Massive peacock! Eleven o’ clock! Grande, grande!!” That was my cue. At first, I couldn’t see it, but then old eagle eyes Snor pointed me in the right direction. Loading that pressure cast, the fly landed a few feet in front of the fish and Preto up on the platform went nuts. “Strip, strip, fast, fast, go, go!!” I listened. 

Holy shit, that peacock was angry. He turned on the fly, hooked himself into fifth gear and, with as much violence as a fish can muster, he moered it. I strip set and it was party time. Hell yeah!  

Rookie error incoming… 

“My left hand, the hand I use to strip the line in, cramped up and my fingers all went stiff. Stripper’s claw!” 

With the hook now properly set, all of a sudden, my left hand, the hand I use to strip the line in, completely cramped up and my fingers all went stiff making it impossible to keep the line tight and get the fish to the boat. Stripper’s claw! I went into snoek mode – wrapping line around my hand to keep tension and to keep myself in the game. After what felt like ages, things came right again and we were back in business. After a few aerial displays from that beautiful fish, I finally got it to the boat and Johann lipped it. Relief!  

The guide was absolutely frothing at the back of the boat, probably out of relief, because the gringo hadn’t completely stuffed it up. I was exhausted but, at the same time, I was like a dog with two tails. What a place, what a vibe, what a fish!  

Back at the lodge jetty, I’ve never seen so many stoked anglers. As we docked, the barman brought us an ice cold caipirinha, which went down like a homesick mole. I got off the boat and walked, clothing and all, straight into the pool and even though the water was 32-plus degrees Celsius, it felt good as I simultaneously poured any liquid I could find down my throat. Rehydrate. Beer. Water. Probably some pool water too. The thing is, you get so consumed by the fishing you tend to neglect your liquid intake and that is not a good idea if you want to avoid getting sunstroke and missing out on precious fishing time.  

With everyone now in the pool, the vibe was peaking. I sat back and listened to the day’s war stories as guys exchanged what flies worked best, the wildlife they’d seen and how bloody strong the peacocks are. This became a brilliant daily ritual followed by dinner. On that note, the food was incredible and it’s hard to believe that this type of offering is even possible in the middle of nowhere.  

Nat Geo on speed 

Sunrises in the Amazon are something to behold, when the sights and sounds of the jungle wake up. From fish smashing other fish on the surface, to howler monkeys in the jungle singing their tunes, and the birds swearing at each other, it’s one of the few moments you really don’t want to speak to anyone. You just want to sit and listen.  

The thing about the Amazon that sets it apart from other wild places I have been to is the variety. Every day you see something new – whether it’s new terrain, a new bird, snake, reptile or mammal. Amid sightings of turtles, anacondas, tapirs, stingrays and toucans, we also had encounters with caymans. A few would swim over when the guides called and the bloody croc would give off a roar rivalling that of a lion as the water vibrated furiously over its back.  

Of course, our attention was mainly on what else was swimming in the water and we were lucky to catch a few special species during our week, like oscars (the famed aquarium fish), dogfish, arowana, bicuda, pike, two kinds of catfish and the James Bond favourite, piranha.  

By day three, everyone had already caught at least 120 fish. So the focus shifted to size, mixing it up with species and fishing in different ways. If I am not mistaken, Mike and Jono had collectively broken four rods by day three, but boy did they get some absolute units. Mike’s motto by then was, “Big flies. Big problems.” That theory paid off with a remarkable-sized acrobatic arowana caught by Jono.  

Ty and his boat partner Chris Freund struck gold on the sight-fishing flat, with Ty landing his PB peacock and Chris sight-casting and successfully landing both a redtail catfish and tiger shovelnose catfish.

No one was lucky enough to land an arapaima, but we felt their lurking presence all around us and would often see and hear these massive two-metre fish come up to breathe and smash the water. Fishing for them takes a lot of patience. The guide moves you around as well as he can without disturbing the water or making a noise, as the fish have a very keen sense of hearing. As soon as the fish surfaces within casting range, you need to hustle, get that 300-grain sinking line and a big fly out as quickly as possible. You let it sink for a bit and then begin the slowest retrieve you can manage. From as fast as possible to as slow as possible, it’s the complete opposite of fishing for peacocks.  

The boat gets weirdly quiet as the three of you wait in anticipation, the soundtrack of the Amazon playing all around you, while bees and bugs buzz like crazy wanting a sip of your salty sweat. When the fish eats it creates this vacuum as it swallows your fly and within that split second that it swallows it, it also spits it out. It’s incredible. Johann went tight on one. His face lit up with every emotion possible. Keeping that rod straight and setting that hook as hard as possible can only be described as hooking onto a moving car. It was short-lived unfortunately, but it’s a memory that will last forever, as well as unfinished business until the next time.  

Sound and the fury 

Perhaps the most striking thing about Agua Boa, its peacocks and other species, is both the quality of the sight-fishing and the top-water fishing.  

“If you are slow, you go” seems to be the creed by which everything exists because, in the Amazon, whether it is from land, air or in the water, every second something dies. There is this constant barrage of peacocks chasing smaller bait fish onto the banks, which causes an immediate feeding frenzy. Once the peacocks kick it off, certain birds fly in to try to grab a meal and even the lizards rush in to pick stranded bait fish off the banks.  

Similarly, if you create a top-water commotion it attracts a lot of attention, not only from the peacocks but the millions of lurking piranhas. They reduce your five-inch fly to a two-inch military precision haircut in one bite. We witnessed a piranha feeding frenzy and it ain’t pretty. In a few seconds, the fish victim was vaporised.  

“The guide was absolutely frothing at the back of the boat, probably out of relief, because the gringo hadn’t completely stuffed it up.”

Fishing top-water flies is such a high-energy way to fish for peacock bass and even as a spectator it’s so rad to see these fish smash the popper out of the water. The eats constantly have you hooting and high-fiving. They even got the guide going when, drifting along the river casting towards a section with fallen trees and structure, Johann was dialled into pro mode. Putting his popper in places where even the devil would fear to tread, we heard this soft comment from Lucas the guide at the back of the boat. “Nice cast, professional boy.” We were both dumbstruck as Lucas had not said, up to that point, anything else in English other than, “Cast there”, “Change fly”, or “Piranhas”.  

Equally as memorable was the visual thrill of sight-fishing on a specific section of the river where gin-clear water flowed over white sandy beaches. Every team of anglers got a chance to fish it and each day the boat came back with smiles from ear to ear. The fish at this spot constantly move up and down the banks looking and lurking and you get to see some amazing things. Stingrays for days, redtail catfish, shovelnose catfish, arowana and the ever-patrolling pairs of peacocks. You seldom see solo cruisers and when you do, you know it’s a big one. Throw in a few dolphins passing by and you have all the ingredients for an unforgettable day’s fishing.  

Last day blues 

Waking up on the last day’s fishing is always bittersweet. At this stage, the body’s batteries are running low and everyone has aches and pains.  

Heading out on that last day I wished time could stand still. During our final hour’s fishing we came across a feeding frenzy and couldn’t cast and release fish quickly enough, probably clocking 20 to 30 fish between us. At this stage you don’t count anymore, you just cast and strip set. All the boats fished until the absolute last second. With our bodies tired and our hearts full we made our way back to the lodge, processing some mixed emotions at this being the last boat ride in this wonderful part of the world. A few moments later, we were greeted at the dock by lodge manager Carlos and his team and, beers in hand, we made our way to the pool for one last dip, as content as can be as we processed what was, quite literally, the trip of a lifetime. 

ISSUE 49 COVER PRINT

For Issue 49’s cover we roped in illustrator Simon Berndt of One Horse Town (who designed issue 37’s cover and who also works on a ton of psychedelic rock posters). The result featuring peacock bass, sunken temples, frogs, birds and anacondas is this stunning re-imagining of Deon Meyer’s experience at Aqua Boa in Brazil’s Amazon jungle as told in issue 49.

Dig it? You can have it on your wall in a limited run of A3 prints on Hahnemuhle acid free cotton paper using archival inks and signed by Simon Berndt.
Delivery included in South Africa. Unframed.

 

Shop now

Watch the peacock bass jungle experience below:

Read the rest of this story in The Mission Issue 49 below. It’s free, always will be.