Let’s get one thing out of the way first. Most “bucket list” fishing articles are written by someone who has never stood up to their waist in a freezing river at five in the morning, wondering why on earth they paid good money to be this cold. This isn’t one of those. These are trips I’d genuinely tell a mate to save up for, skip the new car for, and probably lie to their other half about the total cost of.
I’ve ranked them loosely, but honestly, the “best” one is whichever one you can get to first. Life is short, rods are expensive, and the fish aren’t going to catch themselves.
1. Sea Trout on the Rio Grande, Tierra del Fuego (Argentina)
If you only ever do one of these trips, make it this one. I’m not even going to pretend I’m being balanced about it.
The Rio Grande sits right down at the bottom of the world, in a windswept, treeless bit of Tierra del Fuego that looks more like the surface of the moon than a fishing destination. And yet it’s home to the biggest sea-run brown trout on the planet. We’re talking fish that average well into double figures, with the genuinely silly ones going past 20lb. Several of the world records have come out of this one river system.
What makes it special isn’t just the size. It’s the whole ritual. You fish the long evenings in a wind that will try to rip the line out of your hands, swinging a fly across a run, and then the line just stops. It doesn’t feel like a fish. It feels like you’ve hooked a submerged car that’s suddenly decided to leave.
The season runs roughly January to April, which is the bit British anglers love: you’re escaping the grim end of winter to fish in an Argentine summer. Bring a proper wind-beating rod (a 7 or 8 weight double-hander or switch rod is standard), learn your Spey casting before you go, and pack for four seasons in one afternoon.
There are a handful of serious lodges on the river, and choosing the right beat makes a huge difference. If you’re weighing them up, the lodges on the Rio Grande are worth comparing side by side before you commit, because they really aren’t all the same.
2. Atlantic Salmon in Norway
There’s a reason the Victorian English aristocracy practically colonised Norwegian salmon rivers. They knew.
Norway is the home of big Atlantic salmon. Not the grilse you might be lucky enough to tempt back home, but proper heavyweight fish that come thundering in from the North Atlantic in early summer. Rivers like the Gaula, the Orkla and the Alta have reputations that go back well over a century, and they’ve earned them.
Here’s the thing nobody tells you though: Norwegian salmon fishing is more about the experience than the numbers. You might fish hard for days without a pull. Then one evening, in that strange half-light you get in a Scandinavian June when the sun just refuses to set, a fish of a lifetime takes your fly. That’s the deal. If you want guaranteed action, go to a stocked lake. If you want something that’ll stay with you forever, go to Norway.
The season is short, usually June through August, and the best beats book up years in advance. That’s not an exaggeration. Get your name down early, and be clear with whoever’s arranging it about what kind of water you want. Fly fishing in Norway varies enormously from river to river, and a beat that suits a confident double-hand caster may be miserable for someone still getting to grips with it.
And please, budget for the food. Norwegian prices will make your eyes water, but the fresh fish, the strong coffee and the general quiet of the place make it worth every krone.
3. Golden Dorado in Argentina
If trout are the poets of the fish world, golden dorado are the bouncers.
This is a fish with a jaw full of teeth, the colour of a freshly minted gold coin, and an attitude problem. They hit flies like they’ve got a personal grudge against them, then leap repeatedly, shaking their heads like a terrier with a sock. Plenty of experienced trout anglers have their first dorado take and simply forget to strike because they’re too busy swearing.
The classic places to chase them are the wetlands and river systems of northern Argentina, where you’ll often be fishing from a boat or wading the edges of clear channels with heavy rods, wire bite tippets and big, gaudy flies. It’s a completely different kind of fly fishing: hot, sweaty, loud and brilliant.
Personally, I think every trout and salmon angler should do a dorado trip at least once, just to remind themselves that fly fishing doesn’t have to be gentle. If you want to know more about the fish itself before you book, this guide to golden dorado covers the basics well.
Practical tip: strip-strike. Don’t lift the rod like you would for a trout. Those jaws are bony, and if you trout-strike you’ll lose fish all week and wonder why.
4. Patagonian Trout in Chile
Chile is the trip I recommend to people who say “I just want to catch lots of good trout somewhere stunning.” And it’s nearly always the one they come back raving about.
Chilean Patagonia is wild in a way that very few places on earth still are. Think glacial lakes the colour of mouthwash, spring creeks winding through empty valleys, and condors drifting overhead while you eat lunch on the bank. The brown and rainbow trout aren’t native (they were introduced over a century ago), but they’ve had a very long time to grow fat, wild and wary in some of the cleanest water you’ll ever see.
The variety is the real selling point. In one week you might fish dry flies to rising browns on a spring creek, throw big streamers on a lake from a boat, and float a big freestone river. If you love dry fly fishing in particular, the summer hatches here can be ridiculous, with big trout eating big foam flies in a way that will ruin your local river for you for at least a season.
The season runs from roughly November to April. If you can’t stand the British winter, this is your escape hatch. Fly out in January, come home tanned and smug.
5. Atlantic Salmon in Canada
I know what you’re thinking: we’ve already had salmon. But Canadian salmon fishing is a different animal, and I’d argue it’s the friendliest introduction to Atlantic salmon there is.
The rivers of eastern Canada, in places like Quebec, New Brunswick and Newfoundland, have a culture all their own. There’s a strong tradition of floating line fishing, small flies, and even dry fly fishing for salmon, which, if you’ve never seen a salmon come up and eat a dry fly, is about as exciting as fly fishing gets. It’s a bit like watching a submarine surface to inspect your sandwich.
The lodges tend to be well set up, relaxed and welcoming, with experienced guides who genuinely want you to catch. The scenery is that classic North American wilderness: forest, rock and river, with a decent chance of seeing a moose wander past while you’re tying on a new fly.
Canada also works well logistically for UK anglers. It’s a relatively short hop across the Atlantic, the season sits mostly in summer, and you don’t need to fight jet lag that leaves you casting in your sleep. If Norway feels too daunting or too expensive for a first salmon trip, Canada is a very smart place to start.
6. Bonefish in the Bahamas
Right, a change of scenery. Put the waders away, get the flip-flops out.
The Bahamas is the classic saltwater fly fishing trip, and for good reason. Bonefish are nicknamed the “grey ghost” because they’re almost invisible on the flats until they’re right in front of you. You spend your days wading or poling across shin-deep, gin-clear water, scanning for a shadow or a flicker of tail, then making one quick, accurate cast before they vanish.
Then the fish takes, and it runs. Not a little bit. It takes off across the flat like it’s late for a train, and you’ll see your backing for possibly the first time in your fishing life.
It’s not a trip for people who struggle with a bit of wind and a bit of accuracy. You’ll need to cast quickly and reasonably well. But as a contrast to cold-water trout and salmon fishing, it’s hard to beat, and it’s a cracking trip to take a non-fishing partner on, because “tropical island” is a much easier sell than “windy bit of Tierra del Fuego.”
7. Backcountry Brown Trout in New Zealand
This is the one for the purists, the hunters, and the people who genuinely enjoy being humbled.
The New Zealand backcountry is famous for big, solitary brown trout in crystal-clear rivers. You don’t fish the water blind here. You walk the bank, sometimes for miles, looking for a single fish holding in the current. When you spot one, you’ve usually got one shot. A bad cast, a heavy footstep or a shadow over the water and it’s gone, and you start walking again.
It can be brutal. Some days you’ll see a handful of fish and catch none. But when it works, when you’ve stalked a 7lb brown, put the fly right where it needs to be and watched it rise slowly to eat, it’s about as close to perfect as this sport gets.
Go with a good guide for at least part of the trip. They’ll spot fish you’d walk straight past, and they’ll know which rivers are fishing that week.
A Quick Word on How You Book These Trips
This bit isn’t glamorous, but it matters more than most anglers realise.
Trips like these cost serious money, and a lot of them are sold through so-called “hosted trips” fronted by a well-known name, with deposits handed over and very little protection if the lodge, airline or organiser goes bust. In the UK and across Europe, a proper package holiday that includes accommodation and fishing should be covered by a travel guarantee scheme, such as ABTOT in the UK or the travel guarantee fund in Norway. If whoever you’re booking with isn’t part of one, ask why.
The best route is usually to book through people who have actually fished these places themselves and who are properly protected. Fishing holiday specialists like KD Flyfishing Tours, a father-and-son outfit with four decades on these rivers, can tell you which lodge suits your style, sort the transfers, and warn you about the little things (who to tip, which flies actually work, when that check-in app is lying to you), often at no extra cost compared to booking direct.
So, Where Should You Start?
If you want the biggest fish of your life, go to the Rio Grande. If you want the romance and history of salmon fishing, go to Norway, or start with Canada if you’d rather ease in. If you want sheer fun and violence, it’s dorado. For variety and scenery, it’s Chile. For a sunny change of pace, it’s the Bahamas. And if you want to be tested to your absolute limits, it’s New Zealand.
But honestly? Just pick one and go. Nobody ever looks back and regrets the fishing trip they took. It’s always the one they kept putting off.