Fishing Ecuador (again)

March 2018 led me to Ecuador again, on a similar botanical research expedition to the Cordillera del Condor region near the Peruvian border.

I was beyond excited to have the opportunity to fish South America once more; this time I was determined to encounter a greater diversity of species.

Like last time, fishing was a side project of mine, so I was always trying to use every possible bit of free time by the water. This year, due to either pure luck or increased knowledge and skill, the results were far better. 

The very first drift with a bit of worm under a float in a current seam resulted in a fish and a new species, Astyanax sp. cf. bimaculatus.

This is where the taxonomy starts getting confusing, as was the case for many of the species I caught on this trip. This particular Astyanax is a member of the massive A. bimaculatus group, most likely an undescribed species. However, as I have not caught A. bimaculatus before, this is species #118.

The Astyanax was it for the day, but I returned after sundown for a quick session and connected with a catfish species, Cetopsis plumbea, species #119. Interestingly enough, I only caught these fish in the pitch black of night—their vestigial eyes are also under their skin, as they have no use for them.

The next morning I was greeted by a Bryconamericus sp. I am fairly sure that this is the same species as I caught the previous year, so as of now, it is not a new species. However, since it remains unidentified, this status is open to revisions.

The current around the bend prevented me for fishing in the main channel, but using some of the smaller characins as cut bait in the slightly deeper water to the side, I received a solid whack on my rod and was ecstatic when I saw a pike cichlid on the end of my line! These voracious predators are high on my bucket list of fish to catch, and their diversity is incredible.

I believe this species is Crenicichla anthurus, species #120.

Just a couple minutes later, I was fishing the same setup and connected to a noticeably stronger fish—I had hoped for a new species, but as the fish came up in the muddy water, I realized it was another C. anthurus, albeit larger. Not what I had hoped, but welcome nonetheless.

In the meantime, I captured another Bryconamericus species fishing worms under a float, this time what I am fairly certain is B. brevirostris, making it #121. 

On a different location on the river, I caught some tiny brycons that I am positive will be impossible to identify.

The group also encountered ammonite fossils along the exposed limestone slabs on the banks of the river.

In the tannin-stained creeks from formed from waterfalls, I encountered another fish I have previously caught: Piabucina elongata. Plentiful and aggressive, I kept some for bait.

The last night before the team's departure to high camp, far away from the water, I spent some time soaking larger chunks of cutbait in the night in hopes of something larger.

In the light of my headlamp, I saw the rod tip twitch, then stay still. I carefully lifted the rod, and placed my fingers on the line. I felt some movement, so I set the hook and a battle ensued on my light gear. The fish was strong and used the current to its advantage, but I wasted no time in getting it to shore.

It was a brycon of some sort, but which species? A little research online revealed it to be Brycon coxeyi, species #122.

A heavy set of dental gear

I waited it out for a bit longer, but besides the ever-present Cetopsis plumbea, nothing else decided to show up.

It was off to high camp for field work. Suffice it to say, no fishing was done here. Below you can find an image of our only drinking water source for several days. 

After not showering for 4 days at high camp, I was glad to get back to the lodge to clean up but also to get some fishing in. 

Soaking worms on the bottom resulted in a Leporinus friderici, species #123. Of this identification I am rather uncertain. 

After that fish, I returned to the lodge to clean myself up.

Necessary hygienic activities aside, I returned to the river while everybody was catching up on some much-needed rest. I spotted some fish in a ditch by the path, and broke out the tanago hooks. I found Nile tilapia, an unwanted invasive that probably was the result of fish farm escapees. Nonetheless, a new species, this one #124.

Returning to my spot on the river, I caught another L. friderici, this one smaller but with clearer markings. I sent this guy out on a big circle hook, and received a screaming run. When I set the hook, I felt nothing but reeled in the tattered remains of this fishes head.

The next fish's hit almost sent my rod into the water, but I grabbed it just in time. After a hard fight, I brought in another anostomid. This one's identity remains a mystery to this day. The possibility remains that this is a large L. friderici, as the larger of the previous two specimens has slightly faded spots. If you look really carefully, you can see the markings where those spots would be. What is confusing is that exactly where the last black spot should be on the caudal peduncle is instead a definitively light marking. Still, because this fish remains unidentified, I will not count it as a new species until a verdict is come to.

The last night I was able to fish, although matters were complicated by a torrential rainstorm. The river rose about four feet, right into the underbrush.

Nonetheless, I was determined to stick it out in hopes of something new. I sent out worms in the dark, and was met with eager strikes, as expected, from catfish, which has hunting mechanisms not deterred by muddy, high water.

Only this time, the catfish looked different, much more like the bullheads back home. The species-specific identification of this fish is unknown, but I am confident it is of the Rhamdia genus. That makes it species #125.

The next catfish also wasn't a whale catfish, and it was different than the previous. I am calling this Rhamdia sp. and species #126. The differences between the previous catfish and the one below are as follows:
- Head shape; the first is more convex and the second is longer and flatter
- Body proportions; the first is far more elongate and its head is proportionally smaller
- Whisker proportions; the first's maxillary barbels reach past the base of its pectoral fin, while the second's maxillary barbels reach past the base of its dorsal fin
- The first exhibits a dark band across the posterior edge of its caudal fin, the second exhibits no such marking
- The second exhibits spotting, while the first is uniform in color

Based on these differences, I am confident in calling this a separate species, especially considering the taxonomy on south american siluriformes, especially this region, remains spotty at best.

I had set out a fish trap with bread, and captured a different Bryconamericus species. But since I didn't capture this with hook and line, it doesn't count on my list.

After the first two catfish, all the rest were Cetopsis. The one directly below looked slightly different, but since pigmentation is highly variable I am assuming for now all the whale catfish were Cetopsis plumbea.

That would conclude my fishing in Ecuador. 9 new species were caught, possibly more although at the moment I'm not sure. Aside from fish, a host of other flora and fauna were encountered, but that will be a separate post as the biodiversity of this region is unparalleled.

Europe: Denmark and Sweden

I was off to mainland Europe after Iceland; this would offer a fresh opportunity to catch new species in new countries.

The first stop was Copenhagen, Denmark. While the city was beautiful, I had a tough time during our visit finding somewhere to fish—the canals, though plentiful, seemed mostly devoid of life. The river in front of the Royal Museum had some nice-sized carp, but the AK-47 carried on the guard shoulders radiated out an unmistakable "no fishing" sign.

The one place of note was the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, situated by the shore north of the city. After the museum visit, while the rest of my family grabbed dinner, I raced to the rocky bank to see if I couldn't catch a new species or two.

The shore was rocky and full of seaweed, but there was much life in the calm and clear water. I saw pipefish and assorted small reef fish that didn't care for my bait. Standing on rocks protruding over deeper water, however, I saw tiny gobies on the sandy parts of the bottom and they were more than happy to oblige. 

A quick look online revealed these to be sand gobies, species #111 and the fish that added Denmark to my list of countries I have caught a fish in. That species would conclude my short but sweet fishing in Denmark. It was off to Stockholm, Sweden, where I hoped I would have a more fruitful time chasing freshwater fishes.

The very first area we visited upon arrival in Stockholm was the Vasa Museum—a fascinating exhibit dedicated to a 17th-century warship salvaged after spending three centuries in the ocean. The boat was extremely well preserved. I managed to get some pretty cool close up shots of it.

Equally fascinating were the numerous, though small, European perch I observed swimming in the side basin next to the museum. Dropping a little feather jig was enticing enough, and species #112 was mine, Perca fluviatilis. With the yellow perch of the North America, P. flavenscens, I have caught 2/3 of the Perca genus; to complete it requires a trip to Kazakhstan.

After leaving the museum, I decided to fish around the little island a bit and caught some more European perch.



There were some cool boats around the dock; as interesting as they were, I was keen on finding fish in those waters.

The first day yielded just the perch, but there was plenty more to come.

I needed to find a spot I could walk to from where we were staying. With Google Maps, I found a set of fishy-looking docks next to some reeds by a canal a short 20 minute walk from the our place.

The second morning I woke up bright and early to get to the spot and get some fishing in before the events of the day. I was immediately excited when I spooked schools of fish hanging in the shallows. I found a good spot and waited for the fish to settle. It took a little convincing, but the first fish fell for a chunk of white bread freelined to the school.

The ide, species #113. A strong fighter and an aggressive fish, by European cyprinid standards, anyway.

The same tactic yielded a roach next, species #114, probably the most abundant fish in the canal.

There were the deeper-bodied common bream as well, the largest fish of the schools swimming by the dock, but for some reason I found them incredibly wary, contrary to what I had read online about their abundance to the point of pestilence.

With several ide and roach, I turned my attention to the smaller cyprinids hanging under the dock, which fell easily to a small piece of bread on a tiny hook. Most, it turned out, were juvenile roach, but between roach I pulled out a small, silvery bream. A lateral line scale count revealed it to be a white bream, the only white bream I would catch. Species #115.

Going to the same spot every morning, I was consistently greeted by more roach and ide.

On one of the mornings, however, I noticed schools of smaller, slender fish swimming near the surface towards the middle of the canal. They were too far to reach with my micro setup, although they seemed fairly aggressive, chasing but not committing to micro hooks placed nearer to the dock. Improvising, I tied a tanago hook to my regular rod and attached a small float above it so I could cast the setup out. For bait, I put a little piece of bacon fat on, leftovers from Iceland. Casting it out and reeling it back in so the bait moved just under the surface worked wonders, as the fish attacked the bait with vigor. It didn't take long for one to get pinned, and I had species #116, the bleak.

What remained were the common bream. I had a very close call with a very large bream, but missed the hookset, and for some reason the other bream weren't responding at all to my corn and anything else I threw at them. Perplexing indeed, but in attempting to catch bream I caught plenty more of the same species.

Every now and then, I would see perch swim  by the docks, and so I decided to pitch some larger lures under the docks to see if any willing predators were around. It payed off, and I was rewarded with plenty of more respectable perch.

Live bleak and juvenile roach proved to be tempting for the perch as well.

Eventually, it came to my last morning at the docks, and by this point I was getting quite frustrated by the lack of cooperation from the bream. I decided to put all my effort towards catching them, but was still greeted with indifference.

Resorting to whatever I had in my tackle bag, I tied on a small hook with a single kernel of corn and a hot pink Gulp! maggot, and almost had a heart attack when one of them nibbled. This got me thinking. I found a school situated under the dock, and tried my best not to spook them. Directly overhead of them, I dropped a single, freelined pink maggot down, and watched carefully as one of them came up to it before turned away, and then another came and sucked it in without hesitation.

For all the trouble it gave me, it didn't really fight much and I grabbed it without difficulty. No matter, though, because I had finally caught a common bream, species #117. A success, and I could head back to the States with one less overseas grudge. A fine fishy ending to a fine summer.

All the fine natural baits I tried, and they opted to bite this pink smelly bit of rubber.