Exploration

A brown jewel from “Serendipity” spring creek

Plop! The big brown immediately turns itself and heads toward my little nymph; although not in a hurry, it shows some evident bad intent. A whitish blink from its mouth marks the instant in which the fish stops where —I suspect— my imitation is. When softly tightening the line I activate a mechanism that, at once, gets the fish performing some acrobatics a couple of meters above the water. After the big splash I feel that there is nothing pulling on the end of the line anymore. I smile, though; doubts about our election of this tiny spring creek —nothing but a very short and thin line on a map in a phone— dissipate themselves immediately.

South Island. New Zealand. 2019

Grayling and The Laws of Optics

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Pliva’s golden grayling. Photo by Zeljko Prpic.

The date is approaching. Another trip to river Pliva is at sight.

Frustrating and absorbing in equal parts, Pliva offers some of the most challenging sight nymphing you can find anywhere. Even blind fishing with tungsten beaded nymphs is pretty special.

There is a particular stretch with big grayling up to 55/56 centimeters long —maybe more; I don’t know for sure, as seeing them and catching them are very different things, and I haven’t managed to catch one of the really big guys yet—,  that you often see actively feeding suspended like floating in thin air at depths up to three meters.

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Normal Nymphing

Pliva Autumn

Watching a nymph fisherman practicing his art awakes old echoes in my mind. I can see my grandfather dredging the river depths: just mastery, monofilament, weight… and a hook at the end. The only real difference is artificial nymph instead of earthworm… and rod length.
I wonder why nymphers don’t use some 5m long rod, similar to that telescopic fiberglass one of my grandpa. Continue reading