John Stephens continues the second part of his excellent River Kupa Lodge Chronicles.
A River Kupa Grayling
It’s 5.00 am and the River Kupa Lodge is shrouded in mist. The sky seems to have fallen into the valley. All along the river a grey veil hangs over the water. We are up early to fish a stretch of the river that Zac our good guide and host has shown us.
“Here are big fish,” he assures us. “You see the long run with the stones. Is easy wading across just after the bend. Use the wading stick. Is slippery on the stones. Then 100-150 metres down, on the far side are deep channels. Here is where big graylings are. And remember, short casting, no the long English cast; this is no good. You will spook the fish and once the fish is spooked they don’t take your fly any more.”
Zac’s style of casting is short and low over the water with a long leader, landing the fly a metre or so above the target and mending the line to prevent drag. Presenting the fly in a natural way is key to catching grayling, whatever the method.
We leave the sleeping hamlet of Turke by the back door. Its houses are shuttered against the coming day. A thick blanket of dew has settled over the silent fields. We creep down the lane, past a yawning barn door where a slumbering tractor rests on rusted wheels. We cross the little stream chuckling over the stones beneath the bridge, and on down the incline to the still asleep valley below, onto the road that runs alongside it.
Stillness at cable bridge
At the cable bridge all is stillness. The silence seems to descend with the mist through the trees of the forest. They reach up on either side of the valley, as if in homage to the craggy limestone cliff that towers above the bridge, hanging motionless over the river. We pass on by.
The road takes us under a tunnel and climbs up through the trees. Below, the river threads its way along the valley, like the grey-scaled water snake that yesterday came sliding beneath my feet. It’s the second snake I have seen since we arrived four days ago. The wildness of this place is omnipresent. Its magic is all around you, and you are ever conscious that you are in its domain. We haven’t seen any brown bears yet, but according to Zac they are here.
The grey scaled water snake
It’s no more than a couple of kilometres to that broad bend in the river where Zac showed us the big grayling stretch. Here the road comes to an abrupt end. Work is under way to extend the road all the way to the Risnjek National Park, and the source of the River Kupa itself. At present the only access is a tortuous drive along 657, on the Slovenian side of the river - that is if you don’t have a guide like Zac. In his SUV it’s just under half an hour away! White knuckle though the drive is, the superlative fishing in the park makes it all worth it.
We park the car, grab the gear, and clamber down through the trees to the river. It’s a steep climb and not for the faint hearted. But by now, Dave and I have become quite adept at grappling with trees and fallen rocks, quite the Indiana Joneses of the River Kupa, you might say.
We reach the rocky access and are again struck by the supreme stillness that hovers in this place. The thick mist drifts silently through the trees and settles all around you; it hangs over the river like a silver veil. It’s quiet, eerily quiet here; just the sound of the water riffling below us.
With no fly life on the water, this morning we are nymphing with a bushy sedge on a dropper and a size 14 Grammarus on the point. The key to success here is to use something natural looking. We’ve tried killer bugs and orange tungsten bead nymphs, but the crystal clear water places a premium on presenting something that the grayling are looking for.
Something natural looking- the Grammus (14)
Fishing light is also a must, so Stroft 0,10 is the tippet of choice. This does mean that you have to play the fish very carefully, since, as we have found, it is all too easy to lose a fish by trying to muscle it out of fast water; best not let it get away downstream of you in the first place. That said, it happens more often than we would like it to, especially with bigger fish. They don’t grow that size without learning survival tactics in their struggle for freedom.
It’s 5.45 am and having braved the boulders and the surprisingly strong current in the middle of the river (the wading stick is a must) we reach a point downstream where deep channels in the limestone bed on the far side of the river turn the water the colour of green glass. In these channels the bigger grayling like to lie, out of the mainstream currents, with plenty of cover beneath the trees.
Where the big ladies lie
The trick is to choose the right fly: size, colour and weight are the key considerations. We need something that is close in colour and size to the food that the grayling expects to see. We also need to present it at a depth that will bring it into the taking zone. This means that the fly has to sink at the right rate as it drifts on the current toward the fish. If the fly is too light it will drift above the fish, which might or might not move out of its comfort zone to take. If the fly is too heavy then we could be into drag problems as it tumbles along the bottom beneath the fish.
Sometimes grayling can be very willing and will eagerly take a fly that enters their field of vision. There are many factors, which can influence this; the abundance of food and the competition for it are clearly important. However, there are times when grayling can be incredibly focused and will refuse everything except the one thing that they are looking for.
To illustrate this; I once spent over an hour going through two fly boxes with offerings that would tempt any trout in the river. As I watched it the grayling either completely ignored or closely inspected then rejected everything I carefully presented: right depth, right speed; wrong colour, wrong size, wrong profile - wrong something. It can be maddeningly frustrating. In this instance, almost as a last chance saloon, a size 14 deer hair nymph finally had the fish fooled. Size, colour, profile, bugginess? Whatever it was, that fish ate the fly without a moment’s hesitation.
Deer Hair Nymph (16)
If you’re a grayling fan, I am sure you’ve been there. Experiences such as these are what make grayling fishing what it is: a wonderfully absorbing, frustrating and fulfilling thing to spend time on.
Now back to our morning in the mist.
It is a truism to say that fly fishing is all about problem solving. First, we are faced with the problem of getting the fly into those fishy channels. This means wading out as far as it is safe. The wading stick is a great asset in getting you there, but finding some stability amongst those slippery boulders is crucial. Standing for any length of time with unsure footing zaps the strength out of your legs. Add a lively current and cold water into the mix and you can quickly be in trouble. Just holding position can take a surprising amount of energy. Start to move down steam to cover another lie and suddenly your legs turn to jelly.
So, first thing is to find a position in the river that you are confident with and that allows you to cover the fish; if you can’t reach them from there, move to another position, don’t risk going deeper or standing where it is not safe. And make sure you know your way back safely to the river-side.
The second problem we face is how to present the fly to the fish. This means casting the line out over the fast riffles into the slower, deeper channels where the fish lie. The object is to land the fly well above the fish so that it will drift down through the channel, sinking to the appropriate depth and into the taking zone.
Ideally the channels ought to be fished high sticking Czech Nymph style, but in our situation we can’t get close enough for this. So our only option is to cast upstream and fling a mend in the line. Rolling the rod tip upstream just as the line comes down on the water creates a belly of slack line, and this helps to prevent the fast water in front of us from imparting drag on the line and pulling the fly off course.
Putting an up stream mend in the line just before it hits the water.
It’s tricky at first to position the flies and get the right drift. It’s a matter of trial and error, casting, mending and watching the sedge indicator for any sign of deflection. Grayling takes can be very soft with only the slightest twitch to indicate that the fly has been intercepted.
We fish for an hour along the first few channels without any action. Time to move further downstream where the river slows and shallows up over a long glide. Here the wading is easier, but the channels on the far side are more shallow and broken up. They look a lot less fishy, but on the plus side, we are able to wade further out and thus get closer to the fish, which helps us to drift the flies more naturally.
We work our way along in the shallower water; wading, casting, drifting. Getting closer to the channels means that we have a better chance to observe the fish, and I can see a nice couple of fish lifting every now and then in a pool where one of the channels opens up.
Out go the flies. I watch them drift over the hole. Nothing on the first drift, but on the second the sedge disappears in a sudden stabbing take. In my haste I bungle the take and nothing comes of it. A hushed curse issues on a plume of breath.
Downstream Dave is having better luck. He’s already into his second fish. They’re smaller than we are hoping for, but lovely little grayling nonetheless, with that pink blush on their sides and the characteristic rainbow dorsal that marks out the lady of the stream in all her finery.
I cast again and again, but figure that I’ve spooked the fish in this particular run, so I move back upstream and give the deep pool another crack. Often, if you leave everything to settle down you can go back to a run and successfully fish through it again.
Tungsten Hairs Ear Nymph (16)
Ringing the changes is also important and so I decide to come down a size; on goes a little tungsten Hare’s Ear, which has a bit more weight to take it down in the water. I am also casting further ahead of the pool to allow the fly time to sink. I throw a nice upstream mend and have as near perfect, for me that is, drift through the pool. Nothing. I cast again.Nothing.
Come on, there’s got to be a fish in there!
Then the sedge stops momentarily in the drift. It’s a take! I lift and I am in. These grayling takes can be so subtle sometimes.
It is a nice fish. A strong River Kupa grayling that’s off and running through the pool, down the channel into the mist. It puts a hell of a bend in my four weight. At once I am struggling to keep it from running out of the channel and into fast water. I wish now I had my 5/6 rod; it has more backbone. I know if the fish gets downstream of me I will be in trouble.
Dave fishing a channel below me.
Dave peers back through the mist. He’s reaching for his net, but it’s no use at this moment because the fish is fighting hard and will bolt as soon as it catches sight of a net. That’s something I can’t let happen, because if it gets below me and turns across the current it will be gone. I’ve been there before on too many occasions. As I struggle to keep control the fish turns out of the channel.
No! No! No! I exclaim, breath pluming in the dew laden air.
I sidestep gingerly downstream, like a tightrope walker on marbles, trying to keep level with my lady. Before I’ve taken three steps I’m slip-slithering amongst the boulders. It’s a truly scary feeling; not knowing whether your next step will pitch you headlong into the river – it's not deep here, but it's very wet and it's very cold!
And then:
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
My lovely grayling slides off downstream and into the current. For a brief moment I hold her, giving line. Then with a shake of her head she bids au revoir. She is gone, and I am left staring at my fly line, lying limp in the water. The mist billows around me, as if to cover my shame.
As our early morning adventures slip away we tempt a couple more small fish from the riffles. This time the big ladies have eluded us. But hey, fly fishing isn’t just about catching big fish, it's about being caught in the spell of wild places like this and sharing in the magic with a good friend who feels about it just the way you do. It is something very special.
By 8.45 a void is growing around the mid riff. And the big breakfast that Zac has waiting for us back at the lodge is calling. So, as the sun casts its first few slivery rays across the river we leave the grayling to their day and head back along the valley.
Full English - River Kupa Lodge Style
Later, still in search of the big ladies we head off to Brod na Kupi to fish the Kupica and its tributary, the little Curak. But that’s for next time.
In the next installement we head off to Brod na Kupi to fish the Kupica and its tributary, the little Curak.
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