Chub Hunting

The plan was simple. Four spots along the river, not far from one another. A whole day to fish them.

I arrived at the first spot at nine. Before getting changed I walked the bank to read the water. The weather was good. Sun out, wind at my back — good for casting far. But the water was low. Mid-summer low, maybe lower.

I worked every inch of that stretch, from the bank and then wading out to reach the far water. Cranks, minnows, spinners. Nothing. The surface broke now and then but it was asp, not chub. An hour and a half and I had nothing to show. I left disappointed and drove to the second spot.

This one was different. A long, fast-moving shallow with overhanging trees. I tied on the Jackall Chubby 38F — my best chub lure — and started casting. Fifteen minutes of nothing. Then I dropped one straight below the rapid and felt the take. A small chub, twenty to twenty-five centimeters. Not what I wanted, but it was a start. A small pike came after that. Not my target.

Then I found the rhythm. I waded across and cast upstream to the far bank, retrieving diagonally. The rod bent hard. A serious fish. I could see it — a decent chub — and then the line went slack. Gone.

Further upstream I took a small chub and had a few more hits that came to nothing. The Chubby 38F was the only lure that produced. I'm starting to think it may be the only one I need for chub.

I walked back to the car and drove upriver to the third spot.

It was a good walk from the parking. But the patch was worth it — forty meters of rapid, running longer than usual because of the low water. The first fifteen minutes brought nothing.

On the far bank there were two rocks with a calmer pocket of water between them. I cast just above them, let the current carry the lure in, and started reeling. The take was solid. A heavy chub. I had to work it through the gap between the rocks, the fish dragging water weeds behind it. It came to the net clean. Forty-five centimeters. I took a few pictures and moved on.

The tactic was working. Long casts to the far bank, slow retrieve, let the current do the work. One more chub followed. Then a pike. I missed a few bites on the Chubby and switched to a Mepps Aglia Long spinner for a different depth. It brought a very decent perch. Twenty more minutes in the stretch and nothing else moved.

A very good return for fifty meters of river.

Lunch at the car. Then a drive and a long walk — private land blocked the direct route — to the fourth spot.

I started at the edge of the rapid. No bites. But I could see a good-sized chub holding just five or ten meters out. I watched it move slowly upstream. My lure passed it twice. It didn't care.

I worked downstream. Another long cast, the Chubby moving through the currents and pools, and a hit. A nice chub. I didn't know then it would be the last one of the day.

I was certain there were more ahead. The water looked right. But the rest of the stretch gave nothing.

Last summer I'd come through here by kayak. Just below this spot was a fifty-meter run that gave five or eight bites and a couple of chub. I decided to find it on foot. Two hours I walked up and down, reading the water. None of it looked the same. Maybe the hard winter changed it. Maybe I missed the patch altogether. I'll never know.

I decided that was enough. I started back toward the car.

Then the river opened up below me — a long view, a new rapid, big rocks breaking the surface. The potential of it was too much. I couldn't leave it unfished. I spent another hour casting, but I was working upstream and couldn't get the lure to take the lines I wanted. Downstream I might have taken one more fish. I didn't.

Could have. Should have.

I was exhausted by the time I got to the car. I stopped in the next village for an ice cream. I'd earned it.

The day left me with chub, pike, perch,  a sunburn — on my hands and neck. I looked like I was wearing pinkish, red gloves. Next time, better protection from the sun.

Winter was hard in Lithuania, the kind that settles in and stays longer than you expect. It had been a while since we saw steady -15 to -20°C days, with constant snow, icy roads, and heating bills that kept climbing.

Then it began to break. The cold eased, the snow started to melt, and the rivers rose fast, spilling over their banks. Floods came through, the kind not seen in the last five years, and it took a full month of spring before the water returned to normal levels.

That was my moment to head out and open the trout season.

The river was about an hour away, and it was not new to me. I had tried it last year, and while many anglers seem to pass it by due to older studies claiming trout are nearly absent, my own trips told a different story. Both times I fished there, I found fish, and the river showed clear promise, even for larger trout.

For the day, I brought the Saurus U-Effects 56 UL, new to my setup and seeing its first real use. I decided to hold off on forming a full opinion until I spend more time with it later in the season. I paired it with a Daiwa Lucia Arity 2000 and spooled it with 0.6 Pontoon21 line, I plan to drop down to 0.4 Varivas soon.

I started by moving upstream, tying on an SV Lures spoon as my first choice. After an hour of casting with no response, I switched to a God Hands spoon, since in cold water I find spoons often work better when trout are less active and holding deep.

Another hour passed before I finally got a bite, but it did not hook up.

I reached a straight stretch with a stronger current and cast again, this time keeping the lure tighter to the bank while letting it run through the main flow. That change paid off, and I landed  trout of around 30 cm, marking the true start of my 2026 season.

I kept moving upstream and decided to switch from spoons to minnows, choosing a Bassday Bottom Twitcher. I wanted to test whether the fish were active enough to chase, and also to see how the rod handled light twitching.

About an hour later, in a deeper run, a trout came up and struck but missed the lure. I cast back into the same spot three more times without any result, and for a moment I thought the fish had felt the hooks and went in hiding.

Instead, I adjusted my position and let the lure travel slightly farther downstream through the same current. That small change worked, and I hooked what seemed to be the same trout, a bit larger and much more energetic than the first. It fought hard before I brought it in, and after unhooking it, I let it slip back into the water.

I continued upstream for another hour and a half, covering more water but finding no further bites. After about a total of five hours of steady casting, I decided it was time to head back.

Near the car, there was an open spot by the river, quiet and clear. I set up a small grill and cooked some “saslyk” for lunch, taking the time to sit and watch the water before packing up.

That closed out my first fishing trip of 2026, and it was a good one to start the season.

&nbsp

Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ Tech. specification:

Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ
Length (cm): 152
Pcs.:2
Closed length (cm): 79.3
Lure wt (g): 1-7
Line (lb): 2-6
Rear grip length (cm): 21cm
Rod wt (g): 89

The River

I’d fished this river before with little success. Some spots gave nothing, others only small trout—never more than thirty centimeters. Still, I’d heard from two good sources that big trout lived here. On a trip two months earlier, I’d had some luck and even a couple of heavy bites that felt like larger fish.

On the first day, I started in the wrong place. The weeds were thick and casting was hard. Wading felt like pushing through knee-deep quicksand. The spot ended near a village known for trout, which meant plenty of pressure from other anglers. I moved downstream.

The next stretch wasn’t much better—still weeds everywhere. But it felt wilder, more hidden, and that gave me confidence. I fished with a Megabass Shorluck rod paired with a Daiwa Luvias Airity reel. The longer rod helped me steer the lure through the weeds. I got into a rhythm, switching mostly between two lures: the Jackson Artist FR55 and the Jackall Tricorrol 55S.

Two long hours passed without a bite. The wading was brutal, the weeds endless. Finally, from a higher bank under a tree, I cast out fifteen or twenty meters. From above I could see the lure and anything near it. A trout struck twice but didn’t hold. Hope returned, but another hour went by with nothing.

Then, in a pool where the river dropped and the current raced, I cast upstream and let the lure sweep down. At the edge of the pool, a strike. The reel screamed. I tightened the drag. The trout tore in circles, then shot downstream. I cut it off and worked it toward the net. Landed. A heavy trout. My new personal best—forty-seven centimeters, four better than my old record. I took a quick photo and let it go.

I sat on the bank, ate a snack, and replaced the bent hooks on the Artist. I was happy, whatever else the day brought. Forty minutes later, another trout—smaller, about thirty-five centimeters. I released it and fished on for two more hours, but no more bites came. Tired, I called it a day and planned to return in the morning.

Day Two

A chilly morning, dew on the grass. I began casting into a bend where the river had carved a deep pool. It looked perfect. On the third cast, a hit. I reeled fast, expecting trout. Instead, a pike. Not what I wanted, but a good fight.

I moved on through a beautiful stretch of river, taking my time. The water ran deep and clear of weeds. It felt right, but no fish came. For the next four hours, nothing. The river grew overgrown, the good spots harder to reach.

I stopped at midday. Climbed a hill above the water, ate lunch, and looked down on the river. It felt enough.

The first river is short—just 12 kilometers. But it has water. Enough to try. It’s a tributary of a bigger river, one known for trout. The road there is rough. Narrow, with holes and bumps. Still, an hour’s drive and I’m there. I change into my gear and head out.

On the way, I see four deer. They spot me and dash into the trees. Not long after, a boar family crosses the path. They’re gone before I can take a closer look. I fish for about an hour and a half. The river has some great spots. Deep holes. Fast runs. It feels right. But I get nothing. Maybe the trout don’t come up this far. Maybe there’s just none here. I won’t write this river off yet. But no trout this time.

I already had a Plan B. The second river is farther. A longer drive on back roads. I stop at two spots along the way. Both have anglers already. I don’t want to crowd. So I keep going. The third spot is empty. I start casting. Fifteen minutes in, I get my first bite. The river is wider than the first. Deeper too. Feels promising.

I land a small trout. Not big, but a good sign. I keep casting. Working my way upstream. I get another trout and then a grayling hits my lure. I switch between two lures: Jackall Timon Tricoroll 55S, Bassday Sugar Minnow 50S. Both bring hits. Until the Jackall gets snagged. Gone for good. Then come the big ones.

First, in a deep bend. The trout follows the lure near the surface. I see the wave behind it. No bite. Second hit comes from the same spot, mid-river. A hard jerk on the lure—but no hook-up. I try more lures. Nothing. That fish is smart. Probably felt the hooks and swam off. I keep moving.

Then, a reminder. Not all is calm in the world. I hear them before I see them—three helicopters fly low, right overhead. Loud and fast. I stop. Have a snack. A cup of tea. Then fish for another hour. One more bite. That’s it. No big catches. But a fine day out.

The kind of day that keeps you coming back.

A Day by the River with the Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ

The mornings are starting to get chilly. The bite of autumn is in the air, though the days still hold onto the warmth of late summer. The leaves are just beginning to change, tinges of orange and yellow along the treeline. I packed light for today's trip, carrying only the essentials. My rod of choice today, as it has been for the past season, is the Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ. This ultra-light rod has become my trusty companion in these waters, and today will add to my growing impressions of it.

The river here carves through the banks, creating  deeper current in places — the perfect spot for trout. I've been fishing these waters for a while, and I know that this area holds some of the larger ones if you're patient enough.

The first strikes came early, small trout tugging at the line, testing me. The Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ is delicate, its sensitivity excellent. Every twitch of the lure transmits through the rod like a signal. But these small trout, tricky as they are, often shake free before I can bring them to the net. Today, I’m experimenting with barbless treble hooks, which add a layer of challenge. To succeed with these, your reel drag must be finely tuned — too tight, and you risk bending the hook; too loose, and the fish will shake off. Naturally, I didn’t adjust mine just right, and when the first serious bite came, a good-sized trout battled for only five seconds before spitting the lure and disappearing into the deeper water. A mistake.

I pushed on. This stretch of river, with its deep pockets and swirling currents, promised something bigger if I kept at it. And so I did. The bites kept coming, though the fish remained small. I kept changing lures, tweaking my retrieve. Fast, small twitches weren't getting much attention, so I slowed it down. Gentle, slow twitches seemed to tempt more bites. It was as if the trout needed more time to decide.

Around midday, I stopped for a quick lunch. My bag sat heavier with frustration than fish, but it was hard to feel anything negative in a setting like this.

I pressed on, keeping my expectations tempered but my optimism high. Persistence in fishing is often rewarded, and today was no exception. After hours of casting, changing lures, and experimenting with technique, the Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ finally connected with something more substantial. The first larger trout, just over 30 centimeters, put up a solid fight, tugging against the current and the light rod. It was a welcome change from the smaller ones I'd been pulling in all day. Shortly after, another trout, around the same size, hit the lure and a small grayling followed, which was a nice suprise.

Neither fish was enormous, but they were enough to satisfy. The Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ handled both with grace, its flexibility shining in the delicate balance of control and sensitivity. The rod’s performance today, as in previous trips, proved it was made for these conditions — precise, light, and adaptable.

After about seven hours on the river, it was time to pack up. My legs were tired, and the walk back to the car felt long under the still-warm sun. Today hadn't been about record catches or perfect execution. It had been about time on the water, testing myself and my gear, learning from the river.

The Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ has, once again, impressed me with its versatility and finesse. While I didn't land anything massive, the rod performed beautifully. It’s light enough to feel every nibble, but strong enough to handle larger fish when the moment arrives.

I’ll be back here soon, before the autumn chill sets in for good. Until then, the Souls TF-E50ULS-2P-TZ will remain in my kit, ready for the next round.

Early Morning Fishing: Trout and Pike in a small forest River

Friday Morning: Before Work Fishing

Friday morning, I seized the opportunity to fish before work. At 5:15, I left for the river, ready for an early start. By 6 am, I was in my waders, heading to the river hidden behind a steep ledge and dense foliage. First impressions were promising—the river was pristine, nestled in a forest valley.

I started casting and got my first bite about ten minutes in. A small trout chased the lure, jabbed, and fled. A good sign. Now, I just needed to find the right spot and deliver the lure perfectly. As I continued, I came across a breached beaver dam. The river had carved its way around the dam, creating fast-flowing water and, beyond that, a calmer pool. I cast there. On the third cast, I landed a nice trout. The lucky lure was a Tiemco Imeru.

I pressed onward. The river was picturesque, with early morning songbirds creating a peaceful atmosphere. The only problem was the mosquitoes. They were relentless, biting my hands, neck, shoulders, and face. Unfortunately, I had no repellent.

Further along, I had two bites in succession. This time, it wasn’t trout but small pike. At least they didn’t snap my line. The river's flow changed and calmed, and the river widened. I hoped for a bigger trout in this area, but after 20 minutes, I had nothing.

An interesting find was a whole deer skeleton. The sight was quite gruesome, a stark reminder of nature's harsh realities amidst the serene surroundings.

The next bite came just as the lure landed near a log where the flow created a perfect hiding spot for trout. A fierce 30 cm trout was soon in my landing net. I continued for another 30 minutes without any more bites and decided to wrap up the trip.

In total, I fished for just three hours but had great results. I might return to this river but will try another patch next time.

An Evening Adventure and a Morning Triumph: Fishing for Chub

Day 1: Evening Scouting

The evening was cloudy, with rain threatening on the horizon. After a short 25-minute drive, I arrived at the fishing spot. It was perfect—shallow, fast-running water, ideal for chub. The surface was alive with activity, chubs feeding on insects.

I started casting upriver, letting the flow catch my lure and reeling it in slowly as it neared the bank. Ten casts in, I felt the first bite, but no hookup. Undeterred, I moved downstream, repeating the process. Two more bites, but again, no fish. The chubs were cautious, nibbling but not committing.

All bites were on the Jackall Chubby 38F SSR. As the clouds darkened and rain began to fall, I took shelter in the brush. Thirty minutes later, the rain stopped, and I was back at it, trying a new lure—the Smith Canemusi. Another bite, another miss. Frustrated but determined, I called it a night, resolving to return early the next morning.

Day 2: Morning Magic

By 8 am, I was back at the river, casting once again. The fish were active on the surface, breaking the morning calm. Using the same method, I soon hooked my first chub. Not the biggest, but it put up a good fight. Light gear, strong current—it was exhilarating. I snapped some pictures and released it.

Moving downstream, I aimed to cast between two rocks in the middle of the river. I missed, but as soon as the lure hit the water, fish on! This one was bigger, diving into the weeds, but I wrestled it into my landing net. Another beauty, another photo, and another release.

The sun climbed higher, and the temperature rose. I snagged one more perch before deciding to try another spot, about 10 minutes away. Wading through the brush, I startled a deer on the opposite bank—a cool sighting.

Ten minutes in, I got a bite right as the lure hit the water. The fish jumped, throwing the lure back at me. Frustrated, I moved on to another patch. By now, the sun was high, and the heat was blistering. Wading in those conditions was tough.

I spotted another angler in the distance, already fishing the patch I was heading for. Disappointed, I returned to the car and drove to another spot. This one yielded two more perch but no chub. The heat had driven them deep.

I ended the day, hoping for more chub but satisfied with the adventure. Fishing isn’t just about the catch; it’s about the experience, the challenge, and the moments in between.

The one that got away

In the scorching heat, a 15-minute trudge through towering grass leads me to the river's edge. The journey is a struggle against the sun's unrelenting blaze. At last, I arrive at the water, eager to cast my line. But a bitter surprise awaits – the river is a battleground of overgrown weeds.

With determination unyielding, I step into the water, hoping to find a pocket of flowing water amid the tangled green. The river's width, two to three meters. Fallen branches lay strewn like nature's traps.

Seeking elusive prey, the larger trout, I venture forth, each step sending ripples through the water. They scatter, wary of my intrusion. I cannot cast more than a mere meter ahead. The frustration is palpable.

Time stretches on, a good 40 minutes of perseverance pass before a clearing – a spot to finally cast my line. A mere five minutes later, a triumphant tug on my Komachi 45F lure rewards my determination. A trout, splendid and iridescent, breaks the surface. The battle is swift.

The current carries me downstream, casting near a fallen branch. A trout emerges from the shadows nudges my lure, but no hook up. Changing tactics, the Bassday sugar minnow SG 60F becomes my weapon of choice. A cast to the same spot – a trout's domain – yields immediate results. A magnificent 40cm brown trout.

Further downstream, a familiar patch of water comes into view. I cast. A colossal figure emerges, a professorial trout of near 50cm, stalking my lure. A strike, a fight, a symphony of splashes – victory seemed imminent. But... A silent hush descends, leaving me with the echo of profanities.

The landscape transforms, a shift from open fields to enigmatic forest, mirrored in the river's widening and shallowing. Two modest pikes offer themselves as tokens, a meager consolation for the earlier battles fought. Lunch becomes a solitary interlude, a contemplative pause amidst the day's struggles.

The journey homeward is shadowed by thoughts of the one that got away. The trout, a phantom of the mind, dances in my thoughts, a reminder of nature's capriciousness. The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across my path, but it's the shadow of that uncaught trout that lingers most, a testament to the ever-present allure of the river's mysteries.