10 minute read
Italy: Exploring the Trentino Proxy
If I ask any of my non-fishing friends why they think people go fishing, I would get a seemingly obvious answer: We go fishing to catch fish. While there is certainly a piece of truth to that answer, is it really that simple?
By JONAS BORINSKI
For most of us fly fishers, it’s a little more complicated than that; in fact there are dozens of reasons that make our sport so compelling. It can be about nature and atmosphere, balance and silence, about simplicity or just about getting out. It can be about several things, which can vary from person to person, from time to time. For my brothers and me, the family aspect has always played a major role since, after all, what is better than spending time on the water with the people you have grown up with, whose every flaw and quality you know?
Nonetheless, when choosing new destinations to visit, it is often simply about seeing and experiencing new places, about taking the risk of choosing the unknown over the sure thing.
In Search of New Adventure
In the spring of 2015 this meant that, instead of going north - to familiar Scandinavia, we decided to head south. When hearing about the magnificent mountain rivers in the north of Italy with very low fishing pressure, holding various species such as the native marble trout, at first we were a little confused. Marble trout? We had only ever associated the famous Marmorata with Slovenia, but fly fishing for it in Italy? We had to find out for ourselves!
Some weeks later we found ourselves on a plane to Verona, Italy. After picking up our rental car we started driving north, deep into the Italian Alps. Just like the beauty of the scenery increased with every kilometer, so did our excitement. Gin-clear mountain streams attracted our eyes wherever we looked and it became clear that fishing would be quite different to what we were used to from Germany and Sweden.
The roads kept getting narrower and just as we thought we were lost, we reached our Lodge “Pra de la casa”, a beautifully renovated traditional old mountain house right by a mountain stream. After talking to the lovely owners, we went to bed, excited for the first fishing day. The next morning, our guide Paolo was already waiting for us when we got up at 6.
After a quick and nutritious Italian mountain breakfast, we grabbed our lunch packages and followed our guide’s car even further into the mountains. It was really difficult to keep up with him, as his style of driving was only short of being dangerous, but quite normal for local standards, as we would find out in the days to come.
He had told us that fishing would be difficult but the scenery would make up for it. We soon saw with our own eyes that he was more than right! We reached a beautiful valley, steep mountains on either side, divided by a crystal clear mountain creek waiting to be fished. The water was so clear, however, that we spooked the first couple of fish before even making a single cast. It became clear that we had to be way stealthier in addition to using very long leaders and thin tippets.
We were told that we were fishing a reserve - right above the bigger Sarca River - with a strict “no-kill” policy, holding various species like browns, rainbows, brook trout, char and last but not least native marble trout.
While secretly hoping for marmorata, nothing could ruin this morning for us, as the scenery and weather were guidebook material. Although the summer sun was doing its best to warm up everything the freezing cold mountain water physically stunned us when we entered the stream.
We were totally lost in the moment, thinking about nothing else than what we were doing. We managed to catch a few decent wild Browns and char, as beautifully colored as I had ever seen and it dawned on me that this was what it is all about. Sharing the experience of fishing an unfamiliar stretch of pristine river with one of my brothers.
We couldn’t have cared less about the size or weight of the fish. Still, we could not ignore that we had not caught a marmorata yet, so the goal for the following days was clear.
When we got up the next morning, we had no idea that the day would bring a lot of things ranging from frustration to true temporary happiness as well as a new nickname for one of us.
Italian Nymphing
Arriving at the river, we were welcomed by a cloud of huge stoneflies which were hatching and resting in the grass on the banks. These insects were rarely smaller than 5cm, their nymphs looking like creatures from another planet. We were eager to tie on dry flies but our local friends convinced us otherwise. The river was peppered with big rocks and pockets in between where the current wasn’t quite as fast. This was the first time we came across what we would later call “Italian Nymphing”: long rods, short line and really heavy nymphs, quite different to anything we had needed in other countries. Naturally we started to mock our Italian company, since this didn’t really seem to test ones casting skills at all. However, we soon had to admit that they were catching fish whereas we weren’t.
After borrowing a couple of heavy nymphs and “mastering” the skill of placing them in the holes between the boulders, my brother started to hook into some fish. At first all seemed well as the fish seemed to like our imitations. Our guide Andrea, who had a tendency of communicating mainly with his hands rather than with words, was able to sight fish in spots we wouldn’t have even looked at.
But as we all know, fishing isn’t catching, and sometimes one has to find out the hard way.
After losing a couple of fish everything still seemed perfectly normal for Lukas. But as the day went on, we couldn’t help but notice that he became more and more quiet as he kept loosing fish just before netting them. Unsurprisingly, the guides’ constant reminders that even in a “no kill zone” you were in fact allowed to land the fish, didn’t really help to improve his mood.
Dry Fly Action in the Last Light of Day
As the day went on and the sun began to move towards the horizon, our guides told us about a pool where fish would almost certainly rise to a dry fly just before sunset. Of course we didn’t argue, as we still hadn’t come in contact with a marble trout, or for that matter, caught a single fish on a dry so far.
Arriving at the scene we saw the kind of structure so typical for these mountain rivers: Big boulders and between them various currents and pockets.
Above this stretch, however, we were able to make out a big calm pool with an even flow and were very tempted to skip the more difficult parts nearer to us. The guides were barely able to stop us, but they convinced us that the evening hatch would not start for another hour so we had to settle for the pockets for the time being. Of course, everybody seemed to catch fish except for us Germans, who weren’t used to “high-sticking” long rods with heavy nymphs.
Still, our excitement increased with every step as we fished our way upstream towards the huge pool as we were eager to put our dry flies to good use. As the ‘golden hour’ approached – and because I was stuck behind the camera, Lukas was given the privilege to be the first one casting a dry fly to rising trout. He began to fish the pool from the tail end so as to not spook any fish, but his nervousness was difficult to ignore, as he hadn’t managed to land a single fish so far. As everybody was keeping their fingers crossed, the dry was taken on the first cast but the fly ended up shooting out of the water towards its caster.
The second cast, however, produced another take. With everyone holding their breaths, Lukas managed to hook the fish. However, with all the accumulated frustration he forgot that he was carrying a net, so while trying to land the fish by hand he ended up loosing another fish. The rest of us standing on the bank could almost feel his frustration and as his older brother – being familiar with the experience of sharing my sibling’s emotions as if they were my own - I was in pain. This phenomenon most likely only occurs between close family members and referring to Norman Maclean in his famous book, I was probably one of “those referred to as ‘our brother’s keepers,’ possessed of one of the oldest and possible one of the most futile and certainly one of the most haunting instincts.”
Happy Endings
As spectators we didn’t have to share a single word in order to agree that we wouldn’t touch our rods until Lukas had caught his first fish. We kept watching him as he began to walk upstream where he had seen some rises in the middle of the current. The sun had already set when he began false casting and we knew that he would only have a few more opportunities to insure a good night sleep.
To this day, it feels like we wanted him to catch that fish just as bad as he wanted it himself. The fly landed perfectly in the center of the main current and began its way downstream in a perfect dead drift. It seemed as all natural sounds had suddenly gone quiet as we were holding our breaths, concentrating on the dry fly. The take was gentle but clearly visible and the strike perfectly timed. Finally, he was back in the zone, routinely doing what he had done hundreds of times before. Although not the biggest fish we had ever seen, the content of the net did provide a pleasant surprise: The pattern on the fish’s skin was different to anything I had seen before, clearly qualifying the trout as one of the famous Marmorata.
Just as I had shared his frustration only minutes before, the smile on his face made me put a smile on mine. It always astonishes me how a caught fish can change one’s mood so drastically, turning you from a miserable, frustrated human being into the happiest man alive within seconds.
In this case, this short moment of happiness alone made the trip worth it for Lukas and me.
As we all know, this happiness is only temporary and we never stop seeking these short moments that make our lives worth living, constantly accumulating memories, making sure that you are living life to the fullest.
For my brothers and me, this often means travelling to and fishing as many different places on earth as we can, making different experiences that will later turn into specific, distinguishable memories that we are happy to look back on!
