My hands were a mess — cut, nicked and sore from fishing more than eight hours a day. I had fallen three times, once fording a river swollen with snow melt. My face was burned from sun and wind. My lips were cracked. And I’d stood waist-deep in knee-knocking cold water for hours, casting in winds gusting into the 50s.

It is a gift from the gods to fish yourself into such a happy, dazed state of exhaustion — spent, emptied and bone-tired — that you stumble around like you’re tipsy when the fishing ends at dusk. Our physical exertions spent in pursuing enormous rainbow trout left all of us feeling alive — with our hair tingling and our flagons spilling over the brim.

For seven days last October, I fished with eight others at Jurassic Lake, a large Patagonian desert sink lake in southern Argentina. Conditions were tough, but the big rainbows were more than willing.This was my second trip to Jurassic Lake Fishing Lodge and Lago Strobel. We fished a wind-scoured land so ancient as to evoke Earth before humankind ran roughshod over its woods and waters.

The jumble of basalt rocks and boulders suggest a lunar landscape, but that description misses much. It is sparce and rugged, yet beautiful in its austerity. The lake is turquoise, and when wind gusts approach 60 mph, small williwaws, or white squalls, race down the lake. The blasts awaken Lago Strobel, summon her trout and contribute to otherworldly afternoon skies with fantastic cloud shapes. 

Jurassic Lake is not easy to reach, and its conditions are demanding, but that’s part of the attraction. Power and poignancy often accompany trying journeys. After the long slog involved in getting to Jurassic, the fishing can sometimes feel like shooting trout in a barrel. On the right beat, at the right time, an angler can seemingly take one trout after another. Anglers certainly manage 50-plus-fish days. Some swear they caught 100. The flies are all barbless, and all fish are released.

The fishing ranges from easy to challenging, depending on wind strength, direction, beat and the usual intangibles. At times, you have to work hard to get a take. The wind is usually angled on your left arm, a boon to right-handed casters. When it gusts strongly right in your face, you need to maintain a sense of humor while you flail.

Distance translates into more takes in this windy section of the world, so the stronger your casting and double-haul, the more likely you are to bend a rod. I fished an 8-weight with a floating, weight-forward, 9-weight line, which was well-suited for the fish and conditions.

We rotated around four beats, which shift between morning and afternoon. Three lie along the lake, with one to the left side and one to the right of the mouth of the Barrancoso River, true north for the thousands of rainbows drawn to their natal spawning flow. Those two beats and a third — a large pool about midway up the lower section called the “Aquarium” — were steady producers. The Aquarium was on fire, as was the right side of the river.

One evening, I was the last one fishing the lake. I was cold but catching steadily, working my way down the shore toward the river mouth. I was stripping an olive-colored, balanced leach with a small orange scud trailing behind. Waves were 2 to 3 feet and building behind the powerful gusts. Waves broke in front of me, others on me, and the rest behind where I was standing. Their menacing looks notwithstanding, the short fetch made them powder-puffs compared with ocean waves, but they stir up scuds along the edge of the lake; and the trout feed more aggressively when the wind blows the cap off your head.

I fished with focus, intent on not missing a grab. Persistent casting and slow stripping kept me in the action. The hem of the lake for 20 to 30 feet is rocky and slippery. Beyond that lies a drop-off marked by blue water. Trout cruise that edge and even the knee-deep shallows at times. On one retrieve, I snagged what felt like a boulder. I immediately tried roll-casting to free my fly. Suddenly, the boulder started swimming. It was a 7- to 8-pound trout.

A member of our group, John Timura, turned 81 at Jurassic and caught the largest trout, a fatty that easily topped the 20-pound mark. It was the only fish all week to do so. My largest was 17 pounds. Most of us dropped larger fish.

I will long remember those moments when the white sun was an eye-watering, blinding spotlight, the lake a crinkled sheet of silver. I had a rainbow jump twice under those bedazzling conditions, and I thought for a moment that I had caught a glimpse of eternity.