The first news I had of the Mesa River came to me from José María, a forest ranger with whom I spoke every week to find out how the rivers in the Molina de Aragón area were doing, and in this way inform fishermen in a digital magazine. I go back to the early days of the Internet when we still believed that the network would make relationships between men more friendly and the altruistic spirit was contagious, how naive we were!
- “Ernesto, you have to come, these days there are hatches of ‘mayflies’ in the river that the trout can’t stop eating, it’s a spectacle!”
For an avid fisherman looking to discover new fishing areas, there may not be a more magical phrase. That same week, not without first stocking up on a few imitations of Ephemera danica, I made the first of many incursions into a peculiar river, tamed and wild at the same time, in a hard land that surprises with the contrast of its landscapes, which conveys peace and serenity in the soul, a valley that softens the landscape and breaks it with a scar on the largest juniper forest in the Peninsula. Through which, in the depths of its gorges or among its orderly orchards, a river that surely appeared in my best dreams flows.
It was about to end the 20th century, and fishing in an unknown river in a fairly poorly connected valley where being alone became a habit, revealed sensations that I have not stopped looking for in every day on the banks of any water current. The quiet observation of what was shown inside and outside the water made me change the conception of what fishing was for me until that time, there was time, the rush to catch a fish and prove to myself that I was capable of doing it was relegated, it was almost a secondary task. I reveled in every throw, mostly complicated because the conditions of its course are not the best. Gradually the river offered me the opportunity to learn to fish its trout, to correct my clumsiness and discover its secrets.
Then I met Santi, who is the person who has taught me the most about rivers, because he knows them all and knows them thoroughly. By the fortunes of fate, the Mesa River is also the river of his life, the one he fished with his grandfather, the one that saw him born as a fisherman.
I was no longer alone, but I couldn’t have been better accompanied, we have made many getaways, many planned almost at the moment.
One day in early June we left the river when noon approached with as much thirst as hunger, among the countless well-kept orchards that accompany the river we found a row of old, large and green cherry trees, with branches bent by the weight of fat, red and juicy cherries that challenged us, we could not resist temptation and made good use of some kilos of this ambrosia for those thirsty mouths. Later we went to eat at the only bar in the nearest town, Calmarza. As we entered an uncomfortable silence ensued, some hostile looks from the regulars were directed at the two strangers still dressed in fishing clothes.
“Do you have anything to eat?” Sandwiches. Ham, cheese, chorizo… Under those circumstances it was not a bad option, but we tried not to settle and took a risk, I will never know why a sentence can provide so many unexpected situations.
- “Don’t you pick cherries in this town?”
- Of course we do.
- “Well, they’re ripe now, and they’re delicious!”
- I already know, the ones you’ve eaten are from my cherry trees, we’re going to pick them tomorrow.
No one likes having their possessions taken away, but even less so being taken for fools. It was honesty that prevailed over malice, and this translated into the best grilled snails with ham that I’ve ever had, and a friendship that lasted many years with the owner of that bar.
Fragments of fishing days in which the words that I could continue to write would not be able to express so many emotions. But also wonderful days on its banks with its people and mine, with friends from the towns of the valley, with fishermen, with comrades. Pieces of shared life, that time and friendship make etched in those areas of your consciousness where no one or nothing can erase them, deep feelings of fulfillment and gratitude for living, in a river and in its valley that have been the best of stages.
Ernesto Cardoso
| Season 3. Chapter 11 | Valle del alto Mesa |
| Recording date | March 2021 |
| Duration | 3:20 minutes |
| Date of issue | May 28, 2021 |
| Location | Valle del río Mesa, Guadalajara. España |
| Image and sound | Daniel Agut |
| Edition | Daniel Agut |
| Opusculum | Ernesto Cardoso |
| Music | Daniel Agut |
| Song | Springtable |
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