Last month I spent a week in my village in the southern Kučaj Mountains. I had already enjoyed a couple of fantastic afternoons on the Crnica. Trout took nymphs surprisingly well throughout the day, but surface activity was subdued. It wasn't absent—just dampened by the fog that often forms over the stream on hot days, when warm air meets the icy water of the spring creek.
The following day I returned to the same stretch where I had fished so well the previous afternoon. It was quiet. I suddenly heard voices and realized two spin fishermen were working their way downstream toward me. I stepped out of the stream and followed a narrow path through the thicket until I reached the road. The muddy puddles glowed red, stained by the terra rossa—or crvenica, as we call it locally—that gives this region its distinctive color. I walked toward a shallow crossing, and the two fishermen emerged from the dense vegetation.
"How's the fishing?" I asked.
"Oh, not great. Only small ones everywhere. We didn't fish the water upstream—you can keep going."
I thanked them and continued upstream.
Several hundred meters farther on lay one of my favorite pools, a place that has produced beautifully during caddis hatches for many years. As I walked, I made short sidearm casts with the nymph already tied on—a simple cased caddis larva inspired by the Driftless Area's Pink Squirrel.
When I reached the pool, Hydropsyche caddis were hatching in abundance. A few large, dark Sericostoma personatum—the Welshman's Button—were also fluttering over the water.
Then I looked closely at the surface.
Several fine brown trout were intercepting emerging caddis pupae just beneath the film.
Back home in New England, I spend many autumn days chasing bonito and false albacore. These small tunas often herd bait just beneath the surface, leaving long wakes before striking with explosive speed. I had never seen trout behave quite like this.
Small brown trout were cutting through the surface film, making distinct wakes as they intercepted emerging caddis pupae—slashing through the pool like miniature bonitos.
It was an incredible sight.
I tied on a large caddis imitation and was astonished by the speed of the first take. A brown trout shot across the pool from several meters away like a miniature Spitfire and engulfed the fly without hesitation.
What followed was nearly thirty minutes of nonstop action.
Nature often rewards patience. Still, I'll take luck whenever it comes. As Hemingway once said, when luck arrives, it's good to be ready.
