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.
