The glacial fed river, with its chalky turquoise luminescenes, sharply bit into my chins, as I stepped off the bank and into its chilly currents. The late May temps of this icey alpine serpent were just right for a day of dry fly fishing. As the cold water lapped up and over the top of my wadding socks, the incoming flood of icy water, gave my sleep deprived system a shock no amount of caffine could memic. It also posted a marvelous signal, one every fly fisherman knows all too well.
This particular signal, this ritualistic and annual signal was something special. This meant the offical start to summer season, and wet wadding. Casting aside thoughts of the not to distant cold and wader-worn winter trugdes, I returned to the moment in hand, with a smile, as I inspected this beautiful alpine kingdom. Overwhelmed by the sparkling crystal-clear water, and by the towering vertical Austrian Alps jutting straight up from the valley floor, its kraggly and rocky peaks reaching up into the clouds; I wadded out further with fly rod in hand.
The mid morning sun electrified the flowing waters around me. With the rounded stones and pebbles of all colors, glistening and glittering as I waded my way towards an upstream tailout. With each step, the shades of the slate granite-boulders steadily shifted as I hugged the bank, the hibernating rocky giants casting shadows across the depths. The current was swift but my footing was sure.
Stopping now at a critical junction, I had to start moving out towards the middle section of the river. Depending on the flows, doing so would either be easy, or be a trecerious journey. In order to arrive at this particular location: good vantage point and unseen by the unsuspecting gray ghosts – I needed to get the angle of approach just right. Otherwise, these submerged acrylic underwater sailing vessels would certainly spook. I slowly moved out into the faster current.
The gradient of this section was much steeper and fighting the current that was now thigh high, unnerving. I slugged my way towards the the slower slack water just up ahead. The glare on the water was now almost impossible to penetrate with my polarized sunglasses. Not being able to pinpoint my exact foot placement, meant I stood the risk of losing my balance and taking a spill. My adrenaline spiked as I inched forward.
After carefully making my way through the current and navigating a couple close calls, I made it to the end of the tailout and stood motionless, observing the flat water, searching for signs of these majestic aquatic smoke signals: sail-like dorsal fins undulating in the current.
Suddenly, after staring into the depths for several minutes, I spotted the first one. Like a porposing Dolphin, a giant male Grayling sped for the surface. No doubt chasing an emerging insect to the top of the water column, it momentarily breached the surface – his dorsal fin showing shades of red, pink, orange and an aqua-hue. The erect fin mimicked an old sailboat sail, fully hoisted, trimmed, and catching the current. I watched in childlike awe, as several more emerged from the depths to join in.
My immediate thought was to unhook the size 14 CDC Emerger from from its resting point on the rod, but instead, opted to just watch this feeding display. Soon there were at least a dozen of these wary-eyed, purple bodied fish taking invisible cues, as each one took a turn speeding to the top to gulp down the tiny invertebrates attempting escape. As each Grayling breached the surface, the next one would race to the top. Soon, the fully breaching pod of Grayling had changed tactics, and were now only sipping; their presence highlighted only by the iconic rise, with wavy rings disbursed violently in 360 degrees. Accompanying the rings were audible slurping sounds as they smacked home the targeted morsels. I just watched and listened to this epic sight of nature taking it all in. Thoughts of amazement fadded quickly, as my hunter instinct kicked in – I needed to cast.
Just as soon as it had started, the feeding frenzy pettered out. With now, only 1 or 2 rising every couple of minutes. The dark outlines within the pod of sailing Grayling, still clearly visible, edged further and further into the depths. Suddenly they had vanished below.
As I stood there, now slightly shivering from the cold water exposure, realizing I had missed the feeding window of this school of Grayling, I wasn’t too bummed. For witnessing a totally undisturbed and natural process was well worth it. I took in the views once more, readjusted my buff and cap, and looked upstream. At the head of this section, the same thing was repeating itself with a totally different and larger group of Grayling.
Splashing and rising about, with not a care in the world, these Grayling were feasting.
I steadied my balance and began moving upstream.
