In this month's instalment of the River Kupa chronicles John Stephens takes roadworks, bears and grayling in his stride.
Dinner with new friends.
One of the great things about the River Kupa Lodge is that it attracts a truly international community of fly fishers. During our stay we share breakfast and dinner (and fly fishing tactics) with anglers from all over Europe, as well as Canada and the US. It’s a wonderful mix, and the warmth and generosity of our host makes the whole experience so enjoyable.
At the end of a good or a bad day what could be better than to push back your chair, share a glass of wine (or two), some elegant cheeses, and chatter on about the triumphs and tribulations of fishing for grayling. For me it’s the after dinner conversations that really make our days on the Kupa so special. I just love the camaraderie, the stories and the banter.
“You English, you are so very formal in your fly fishing – ah, the upstream cast.”
“Well, that’s because we practice what Sir Issac called: "The Contemplative Man's Recreation". We’ve been taught to fly fish properly, like gentlemen, not like you heathen, with your nymph dipping.”
“Ah, but the czech nymph, it catches the fish, eh?”
“Yes, but it’s so boring…”
And so it goes on well into the night. By the time we get down to sampling the schnapps the conversation turns to fishing the source of the Kupa, in the wild and beautiful Risnjak National Park.
The Park is located some 25 kms west of the Lodge, along the 657, on the Slovenian side of the river. It’s a tortuous drive that takes the best part of an hour. However, a new road west from the Lodge is currently under construction. And Zac knows the site manager. He assures us that he can get us to the Park in half an hour.
“Is a little bit rough in places. Bit up and down, but you strap yourselves in; I get you there quicker along the new road.”
“You’ve got insurance?” asks Dave.
“Course I got insurance. Don’t you worry, you are my guest; I take good care of you – besides, you don’t pay me yet,” he grins.
Dave doesn’t look convinced.
“Don’t worry, Dave. Have a little bit faith in your guide. I get you to the Park in good shape.”
Zac’s 4x4 is a Honda CR-V. It’s a fishing vehicle - I will say no more. Early the next morning we are up and breakfasted by 7.00 am. Zac is keen to get us to the Park before others have moved into the prime sections. Fabrice and Alex, two guys from the Pyranees are also along – I think we must have tempted them with our after dinner look forward session.
The Park is popular. It’s not that there are fly fishers lining the banks, but getting there ahead of the others means that we will have the choice of places to fish.
“Is important you catch nice graylings today,” Zac grins.
We swing out of the lane and onto the road that takes us along the river. The construction site has carved a massive slice out of the valley side.
Huge earth moving vehicles litter the place. Piles of boulders line the route, some easily twice the size of the car. Below lies a tangle of felled trees, torn up and cast aside, like a tornado just passed through. Beneath, the Kupa glitters like a sapphire necklace in the morning sun. It looks so inviting, but, thanks to the road works, crampons may be needed to get there.
When Zac said that the ride would be a ‘bit up and down’, he was under-playing it somewhat. He guns the Honda to take a steep, muddy incline. Our arse end does a kind of shimmy and we hang on, trying not to look at the ravine with its tangle of trees. It’s a long, long way down!
Road Works
We crest the incline and then coast down into what looks like a flood. Deep ruts in the mud left by the earthmovers have filled with water and created a kind of obstacle course.
“Jesus, Zac, how deep is that?” asks Dave.
“I don’t know,” Zac admits.
I glance at Dave. He looks back. Piece of cake, really. Yeh, no problem. But the white knuckles gripping the hand-hold say it all.
“I think we take a run at it,” says Zac .
We accelerate down the hill and into a slalom of ruts and pools.
For a moment it really is touch-and-go as to whether we will make it through. But Zac has the Honda in four-wheel drive and with mud and water flying every which way, the CRV ploughs through it with all the poise and elegance of a Come Dancing finalist.
Even so, as we leave the construction site and join the logging road out you can feel a big sigh of relief pass through the car. And it’s not until now that I notice the tiny beads of sweat glistening on Zac’s forehead.
However, the Park access is only a kilometre away now and almost before you can say ‘catch and release in Brod na Kupi’ we’re there.
We clamber out on the road, legs a shade on the wobbly side. Toting rods and bags we set off behind Zac down through the forest; like most of the forests here it's mainly beech. It’s a steep climb down, along a narrow path. Far beneath we catch glimpses of the river glittering blue and green. We pause for a moment to catch breath. We stand and listen to the silence of the forest. It is brought sharply into focus by the sound of a lone buzzard mewing high above us, obscured by the dappled green of the forest canopy.
“We should sing,” says Zac. “There are bears here and we don’t want to surprise them. They don’t like surprises.”
And with that we break into a rousing rendition of The Happy Wanderer, with Zac leading us along the path and in song - so much for the silence of the forest.
Bear Country, Ennis, Montana
For me, being in bear country is nothing new; it brings back fond memories of my time in Montana and those Bear Aware classes. Happily, I never saw a bear, but then just like today, I didn’t really want to. Here in the Gorski Kotar the bears are brown. They weigh between 100-150 kg. and can stand over six foot tall; quite big bears, really. It’s estimated that there are over 1200 bears in Croatia. The population has been steadily growing since 1997, when the bear management plan was first introduced. The plan protects brown bears within a licensed hunting system, which permits 10-15% of the population to be shot each year. The system provides protection and control, generating local employment and income to compensate farmers for damage to crops and predation of livestock. Unlike North America, bear attacks in Europe are rare, with less than a handful recorded in the past twenty-five years. That said, Zac is in charge and so we keep singing until we are in sight of the river; from here on it gets a bit embarrassing and the singing dies away.
At the bottom of the path we come to a bridge that takes us across the river to the lodge where Park fishing permits are purchased. There you can also get a sandwich, a coffee or a beer. The Park entrance fee is 5 euro, and the fishing permit 35 euro. There’s 4 kms of fishing; all strictly catch and release. At the bridge we are about a km from the source of the river. Zac’s keen for us to see it.
“Is the source of the Kupa. The water is very pure, always stable temperature. Good for fish. I take you there later and you will see. Is beautiful.”
He beams, and it’s clear that today he is sharing something very special with us, for the river Kupa here in Risnjak National Park is a special place.
We cross back over the bridge and clamber down to the river. Its crystal waters tumble over a free-stone bed. Above and below the bridge there are deep channels and holes and this is where the grayling gather.
“Is a good spot here,” Zac confirms. “Wade out and short cast into the channel. Let the nymphs drift down and watch for the takes. Here are good graylings. I catch many here on blood worm.”
He flicks out the line. Halfway through the drift the rod arcs over and he is straight in. Not a specimen fish, but very encouraging.
Dave follows Zac’s example and is into a fish on his second drift.
I move further down stream to where the river takes on an altogether different character. Here the flow slows to a smooth glide. The water deepens over those weird limestone channels. In these channels you can spot grayling lined up one behind the other. It’s quite difficult to make them out at first, but occasionally there’s a flat window and in it you can see the fish finning in the current. As always there is that wonderful stillness about them. They look upsteam, intent, focused on the flow; now and then they rise in the water column to take a passing nymph. I spend a few moments just watching them. It’s a sight that holds me spellbound in its simple beauty.
On the river above me it’s all happening. Rods arching, fish splashing. Dave and Zac have hit a hot spot. Those hollows in the stony riverbed definitely hold fish. They cast three quarters across and up, then drift the nymphs down in the current. The takes come toward the end of the drift as the nymphs rise in the water.
Fishing those riffles provides plenty of cover, but here in the slacker water, presentation is all-important. A misplaced or badly executed cast will easily spook the fish. And the water clarity is such that it seems to magnify and sharpen everything. I lengthen my leader to avoid lining the fish.
The River Kupa in Risnjak National Park
The great thing about sight fishing is that you have to take time to observe your fish; to assess their feeding behaviour. I can see three nice grayling lined up in the channel opposite me. The middle one appears to be the most active. Every couple of minutes it moves to take, rising in the flow to snatch the coming grub or nymph.
I’m fishing two gold head bugs; a size 14 Caddis Grub to get the flies down and a 16 Red Tag. The red tag is one of my most successful grayling flies, tied either as a Griffith's Gnat or a gold head. It doesn’t always work, but 60% of the time it does.
I false cast upstream, keeping the rod low, getting the length right. The flies land six or seven metres above the channel. I throw a mend in the line as they land. I want the grubs to swim down to the fish as naturally as possible. If I’m going to fool them the drift has to be right.
The water here is so, so clear; everything sparkles! I can see the fish and I can see the bugs, swimming down through the water column. There’s a metre to go. They enter the taking window. I watch them approach. I watch the fish.
Nothing.
My two little bugs go sailing past, completely unnoticed. Not a good sign, but hey, the prize often comes to those who wait. And the fish are still there.
Another carefully executed cast. Then another, and another, and another. Each time I watch the flies drift toward the fish and each time they are ignored.
Above me Dave is into another fish. It must be his sixth or seventh grayling this morning. He gives me the thumbs up. All right for some!
After a few more casts a niggling doubt starts to gnaw at the back of my mind. Losing confidence in your flies is not good. It’s a negative way of seeing the situation. Grayling are often very focused feeders, and if the offering doesn’t look right, its time to ring the changes.
Action is always positive; it banishes those shadows of doubt and ushers in the sunlight of new possibilities.
Just look at that fly box! Irresistible!
The problem then is… what to tie on? So much to choose from. But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? So many possibilities, so much potential.
The Tungsten Bead Utah Killer Bug
Off comes the red tag and on goes a Utah Killer Bug, size 14. It is tied with a tungsten underbody. To provide extra weight I add a tungsten bead - pink blends nicely with the Jamieson’s Shetland Spindrift Oyster wool body wrap.
Out goes the line. This set up sinks more quickly, so my cast needs to be shortened.
The fish still hold in the channel, finning gracefully in the current. The flies drift. The middle fish moves to take but has second thoughts. Damn it!
I recast. The flies drift. As they reach the taking zone I raise my rod. The flies lift in front of the first fish. It moves up, rising effortlessly. And I watch as it turns its head. The pink bug is there one second and then it’s gone. It’s like watching something in slow motion; the graceful upward drift of the fish, the mouth opening, the bug taken.
Slowly the fish begins to sink back to its holding position. I lift my rod, there is a flash and it is on. In an instant it shoots off up the channel away from me. The rod arches over and I feel the grayling boring away at the end of my line. The first run is wild and unstoppable. I give line as it clears the water. It’s a beauty. Got to be all of 35 cms. With a cascade of silver droplets it plunges back into the flow. Then it turns on its tail and heads straight at me. I strip line as fast as can and manage somehow to stay in touch. This is a spirited fish. Zac was right, here in Risnjak National Park the grayling really do go some, fighting all the way, well above their weight.
My Prize – A Risnjak National Park Grayling
At last my prize begins to tire, and my first Risnjak National Park grayling comes to the net. I stand for a moment, still caught in that adrenaline rush, which pulses through you whenever you hook and hold onto a decent fish. For a moment I look down at it lying in the net; its lovely rainbow dorsal fin gleaming in the pale morning sunlight, its scales glittering, the characteristic black spots and pink blush on flank, the deep black of its eye, ringed with gold. It is just the most exquisite creature, every bit a lady from the park.
There’s a call from Zac upstream.
“Nice fish, John!”
I pause to take a shot and give Zac the thumbs-up. It’s all about quality rather than quantity, don’t you think?
…In the next instalment a sudden shower has the fish rising everywhere; a polite request to cross the river is not well received and we finally get to meet a brown bear.