The Lost Fly Box

I was searching for some articles in Fly Fishing & Fly Tying when I came across Neil Patterson’s article about Surfacing Sedge. I recognized the fly immediately, and when I saw the name Andrija Urban, I smiled.

Some memories do not disappear. They simply wait for the right moment to return.

Way back in 1989–1990, I was playing in a jazz trio called STAPS, based in Skopje, Macedonia. I never minded the long train rides from Belgrade to Skopje, with my Kawai keyboard safely packed beside me. My friends and bandmates Pavel Rendzov and Martin Gjakonovski would be waiting for me when I arrived.

We would spend several days together—practicing, performing, recording, and simply enjoying the incredible friendship, love, and dedication that surrounded our music at that time.

But during those years, I was also deeply bitten by another passion: fly fishing.

My father had brought me fishing books from the United States, and I also relied heavily on magazine articles. In former Yugoslavia, two magazines were essential reading for fly anglers: Riborevija and Zov. Andrija Urban wrote regularly for both and was one of the most respected and innovative fly tiers in the country.

Andrija was a military pilot and lived in Skopje. I found his address in one of the magazine advertisements, and during one of my visits to Skopje, I decided to simply knock on his door.

Martin came with me. He knew the area of the city where Andrija lived—Bulevar Jane Sandanski. We arrived among the newly built socialist-era apartment blocks, found the building, and rang the bell.

A kind man with a dark complexion and gentle, sad eyes opened the door.

“Hello, we are looking for Andrija Urban.”

“That’s me. How can I help you?”

We explained that I was a young fly angler and that I wanted to meet him, ask questions, and learn about flies and fly fishing.

He told us that he did not usually meet clients at his home, but then smiled:

“Since you already made the effort to find me, please come in. I will show you.”

We entered a beautiful, spacious apartment. I remember that it had multiple rooms and almost felt like a small fly-tying workshop or manufacture. Every space seemed connected to his craft.

Andrija brought out his fly catalogs.

They were not simply collections of photographs. They were true fly books—carefully organized collections of actual patterns, each one beautifully tied and presented. Between the pages was very fine parchment paper.

I opened the first page and was completely stunned.

Rows of beautifully tied flies filled the pages. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. Andrija used a lot of CDC, a material that was almost unknown among American fly tiers at that time. He also loved shiny Orlon dubbing, which he obtained from the carpet industry. His use of natural materials was exceptional, and his colors were carefully blended.

Every fly showed thought, experience, and artistic vision.

Until that afternoon, most of my fly fishing knowledge had come from books. My Montenegrin grandfather had fly fished using leskovak—an old Balkan traditional hazel branch rod without a reel. In many ways, it was comparable to Japanese tenkara. It was not modern fly fishing with a fly line and graphite rod, but it represented an older tradition of presenting a fly naturally to wily trout.

Suddenly, the person behind the pages I had been reading was sitting in front of me, opening his fly books and sharing decades of experience.

Andrija taught me so much in a few hours.

He talked about observing fish, understanding feeding behavior, choosing the right flies, and selecting appropriate tackle for the smaller karst streams of eastern Serbia where I loved to fish.

He also told me about his rod building. He preferred short rods for brushy streams and explained how he would cut American Berkley graphite blanks to his favorite length—around 180 cm, or roughly six feet.

His advice stayed with me. In 1992, I bought a small Diamondback Carbonite, a 6’6”, 3/4 weight rod, in the United States. I brought it back to Serbia and immediately took it to the Resava River. That little rod became a companion through an important chapter of my fishing life. I still have it today.

Andrija showed me beautiful fly vests that his wife had made. His wife brought us coffee and sweets while we talked.

I was speechless.

Here was a legendary fly tier, someone whose articles I had read and admired, welcoming me into his home and sharing his knowledge with a young angler who was eager to learn.

Several hours passed before it was time to leave.

I bought some flies and leaders from Andrija that day and ordered more from him afterward. We stayed in touch, although not frequently.

Years later, when I was living in Boston, married, and fishing saltwater as much as possible around the year 2000, we reconnected through my good friend Goran Grubić, another excellent Serbian fly fishing writer and angler.

I had actually spoken with Darrel Martin about Andrija years earlier. I met Darrel at the Fly Fishing Show in Boston in 1993, and it was another reminder that the work of this Yugoslav fly tier had reached far beyond the borders of his own country.

Andrija and I continued exchanging occasional messages until the end of his life.

Decades later, while reading Neil Patterson’s article about Surfacing Sedge, I saw Andrija Urban’s name again.

And I smiled.

A fly tier from Skopje, whom I had visited as a young musician and beginning angler, had left an impression far beyond the borders of former Yugoslavia.

Somewhere in Serbia, stored away after my parents’ home was sold, is my old fly box. Inside are some of Andrija’s original flies: mostly his Rađajuća Pupa—his beautiful emerging CDC pupa patterns—along with some emergers and his simple wingless spinners, perfectly matched to various mayfly colorations.

One day, I hope to find that box again.

Woodchuck Wing Spinner

Another small variation on a mayfly spinner.

Shown here are two body color variations: a rusty-bodied general Ecdyonurus spinner and a wine-bodied female—the typical “padavac,” as it is known in the Balkans.

Simple, delicate, and made to float.

Reflection: Neil Patterson

A forgotten curve of Crnica. The river changed its course several years ago, and this stretch exists now only in photographs and memories.

Q: How did you first discover Neil Patterson and his book Chalkstream Chronicle? What was your life as an angler and writer at that time?

I discovered the book shortly after it became available in the United States. I believe I first saw it at the Borders Cafe bookstore. I was absolutely stunned by it.

It was extremely personal and observant, and I felt like I had seen parts of it already, almost as if from a previous life. Of course, Balkan streams are not identical to English chalkstreams, but there are striking similarities: the limestone, the clear water, and the relationship between the landscape and the river.

And then there was the artistic element—a thread connecting everything together. The book was not only about fishing. It was about seeing.

Q: What was it about Neil’s writing that stayed with you? Was it the fishing knowledge, the descriptions of the river, the way he connected nature and human experience, or something else?

It was a combination of many things.

The drawings were unique. The hatch chart at the end of the book was beautiful. The fly patterns he shared were honest, practical, and elegant. They were not created to impress; they were created because they worked and because they belonged to that particular river.

Neil also had a love for soft feathers and traditional materials. Balkan fly anglers have that same connection. When you compare older English fly patterns with traditional patterns from Bosnia, Montenegro, and other parts of the Balkans, there are fascinating similarities.

The Balkan Peninsula is also full of limestone trout streams. Different landscapes and different histories, but a shared relationship between geology, insects, and trout.

Q: Looking back, do you think Neil influenced the way you started writing your own blog—especially the idea of writing not only about fish, but also about places, seasons, memories, and life around the water?

Absolutely. Neil has probably been the greatest influence on my writing about fishing and rivers.

I have had other important influences as well: Ernie Schwiebert, Ernest Hemingway, Arnold Gingrich, Nick Lyons, Roderick Haig-Brown, among others. We are fortunate that these wonderful people left so much behind for future generations of anglers.

Neil’s writing about one specific river was especially meaningful to me. I recognized that idea immediately. I also have my own river—a small stream connected to my family story and my own memories.

I also have to connect this idea to music. I remember Pat Metheny saying in an interview that, in a sense, all of us write only one song. Of course, not literally, but perhaps every artist spends a lifetime creating variations of the same deeper story.

Kenny Wheeler expressed something similar in his beautiful composition Everybody’s Song But My Own. We all have one story, with millions of variations.

Q: You have fished many different waters: Serbian limestone streams, New England saltwater, and Driftless streams in Iowa, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. What connection do you see between Neil’s River Kennet and the rivers that have shaped your own life?

Those rivers represent some of the most unique environments where trout can live.

They are wild yet gentle, mysterious yet approachable, complex and sometimes incredibly easy. In many ways, they are like human life.

They can be silent for a long time, then suddenly become full of energy and surprises. They test your patience, but they reward you as well.

There is a special biological power in calcium carbonate landscapes—whether it is an English chalkstream, a Driftless limestone creek, or a Balkan karst stream.

Q: Why did you feel that this particular interview with Neil was worth sharing now? What did seeing him on the Kennet bring back for you?

It brought back calmness, poetry in fishing, and honesty.

There was no loud action music, no attempt to make fishing look like a competition or an extreme sport. Some modern fly fishing videos present fishing almost like a Formula 1 race. That has its place, but it is not what I personally look for.

Neil represents something different: observation, patience, connection, and love for a particular place.

Q: After all these years of fishing and writing, what do you think makes a river become more than just a place where fish live?

First and foremost, it is your love for it.

Rivers are like people. Their beauty is sometimes hidden beneath many layers. The more time you spend with them, the more those layers are revealed.

There is also always some kind of personal connection. Sometimes a river is simply given to you. My small stream was “given” to me because it was connected to my family history.

Other rivers you discover and slowly fall deeply in love with. The way the landscape and geology fit together, the history attached to a place—these things create something much deeper.

Think of rivers like the Test, Itchen, Silver Creek, or the Henry’s Fork. They carry remarkable histories.

But it can also be a much smaller and lesser-known river. Sometimes those unknown streams hide deeper mysteries than anyone could possibly imagine. Even after decades, I still uncover and learn new things, year after year.

Neil Patterson — River Kennet interview excerpt:

CDC & Link / UV Resin Para Ant

The CDC & Link is an amalgamation of two of my favorite flies: the Missing Link and the CDC & Elk. It is essentially a CDC & Elk caddis pattern with an added spent polypropylene wing.

I’ve fished it this season and last, and it has worked extremely well. It requires only one additional step compared to the standard CDC & Elk tie, yet it produces a more buoyant and suggestive profile on the water.

The UV Resin Para Ant is a fly I have not yet fished. It seems like it will perform well on flat water. UV resin adds weight, so its application as a dry fly is somewhat limited, but it is a quick tie and has a very clean, attractive profile.

Both flies feel like useful additions to the box—one already proven, the other still to be tested.

Green Pools of Resava Canyon

Back during my years of studying jazz composition at Berklee in Boston, I would arrive home for the summer. It was a difficult time, with wars going on in the former Yugoslavia and a period that was extremely depressing for everyone from my home country. Even though the danger of being drafted was real and lingered through the summer, I could not wait to be back on the karst streams of eastern Serbia.

I would bring my American-bought fly rod and reel, along with some flies I had started tying back then, to try them on the Resava—the stream I fished so much in those years. I fished the Crnica and Mlava too, but I really got hooked on the Resava. I guess it was because I felt I did so much better in its canyon section, upstream from the ramp.

Back then, the road from Strmosten was still gravel. The Yugoslav Army had completed the road through the canyon sometime in the early 1960s. However, the asphalt road to the ramp at the canyon’s entrance was not built until the early 1990s. Right by the ramp, there was a big pool and a small dam. The area was mostly pristine, with only a handful of vacation houses—nothing like the flocks of buildings that exist today for tourists and visitors. The only place that stood out was a socialist-era mountain club house for hikers.

The dam created a big pool, and it held nice-sized browns—not big fish, but big for eastern Serbia karst-stream standards—over 40 cm. I loved fishing Ephemera danica because of the slight silt accumulation by the dam. Those big cream-colored mayflies loved to deposit eggs there, so their spinner dance and fall were abundant. The fish would really key on them.

I took some nice fish using a “sudden inch” technique. Many times, fish would be extremely selective, no matter how good your presentation was. I would dead-drift the big white spinner fly dressed with spent mallard wings, and gently twitch it just before it came into the fish’s window. The fish would take it decisively, with no hesitation. I loved this way of fishing.

Back then, I fished an old two-piece Fenwick HMG graphite—a soft, long rod I bought at Stoddard’s, a legendary Boston fly shop on Temple Place, near Park Street. Those were tense but memorable summers.

We would get lost in thought, the sound of bird calls, and the dull, steady hum of the waterfall. My dad would sit and watch me casting, or walk nearby oak forests to pick a few boletes. Sometimes I would ask him, while fishing and observing the fish’s behavior:

“Hey, what do you think I should put on?”

“Throw them an Adams,” he would say.

Fishing would not make us think about the war. Often we would stay into the darkness, just after the predictable Sericostoma personatum hatch would finish at the same spot. I loved fishing Tom Rosenbauer’s Rabbit Foot Emergers; they were a great imitation of emerging Sericostoma caddis. I remember the bottom of the deep green pool being laden with their larval cases—such a recognizable shape, with bright green larvae hidden inside.

Once the river stopped talking to us, we would pack and leave, driving home late in the darkness, tired and happy.

Riffles of a Karst Stream: March Brown Mayflies and Their Surface Forms

In the riffles of my favorite karst stream, the clinger mayfly community is not evenly distributed but arranged in a clear pattern that follows shifting hydraulics. Rather than a single dominant hatch, the system is structured by a small group of taxa responding to different expressions of flow over stone.

The most consistently abundant group is the Ecdyonurus venosus complex, which forms the dominant biomass across mixed cobble and run habitat. It occupies zones of broken and rejoined current, where irregular substrate continually reshapes the flow, creating the ecological backbone of the riffle.

Ecdyonurus torrentis occurs regularly and can also be locally abundant. It is typically associated with fast, oxygen-rich runs and riffles over stable gravel and stone substrate, making it a likely candidate for the classic Balkan “padavac” seen on streams like Crnica.

Rhithrogena semicolorata is more fragmented, occupying stable, well-oxygenated microhabitats where fixed stones support a continuous film of fast water. Local populations may be strong, but they remain discontinuous across the stream.

At the most selective end of the assemblage, Heptagenia sulphurea appears only occasionally, confined to small pockets of ideal shear flow where shallow surface films briefly stabilize over clean substrate.

Taken together, these taxa form a structured mosaic rather than a uniform community. Ecdyonurus defines the hydraulic middle ground, Rhithrogena occupies the most stable microzones, and Heptagenia sulphurea appears only where highly specific flow conditions briefly align. The result is a riffle ecology shaped less by species turnover than by fine-scale variation in current, depth, and substrate stability.

In late summer, a smaller Ecdyonurus form appears over the riffles. These spinners resemble reduced March Brown–type insects and are difficult to identify with certainty in the field. Whether they represent Ecdyonurus dispar or seasonal variation within the venosus complex remains uncertain. From the angler's perspective, however, they simply extend the Ecdyonurus signal into the softer light of late summer.

Surface interpretations: a two-state system

For the angler, this ecology is best understood not as a sequence of hatches but as a two-state surface system: emergence and spent drift. The river rarely presents discrete stages. Instead, it expresses continuous transitions governed by current, light, and surface tension.

Soft-hackle patterns represent the emergence and early drift phase of Ecdyonurus venosus. Fished in or just beneath the film, they imitate insects entering the boundary layer and becoming vulnerable in broken riffle water. In practice, this stage often outweighs the fully winged dun, whose appearance is brief and spatially scattered.

The spent phase is represented by spinner patterns suggesting exhausted female Ecdyonurus trapped in the surface film. In the low-angle light of evening, these insects become high-contrast events defined more by silhouette and drift than by taxonomic precision.

Nymphal imitations play only a supporting role, as drifting and emerging insects dominate feeding opportunities. Beadhead soft-hackle nymphs fit naturally within this framework, functioning less as strict clinger imitations than as drowned spinners or struggling emergers suspended in the film.

Feeding is governed by what enters, hesitates, and expires in the surface layer—not by what remains hidden among the stones. The river is best understood as a two-layer ecology: a continuous emergence signal expressed through soft hackles, and a spent signal expressed through spinner patterns. Everything else is secondary to flow.

Tactical expression: March Brown soft hackle and spinner system

This ecological structure translates directly into a small group of practical fly patterns that reflect the same surface states.

A coarse red squirrel-dubbed March Brown soft hackle represents the emergence phase of Ecdyonurus venosus. The rough body suggests segmentation and trapped air, while grey Coq de León hen fibres provide subtle movement within the film. Small jungle cock nail buds serve as understated focal points rather than ornament, hinting at wing buds or reflective triggers. Although slightly lighter in tone than a pheasant-tail imitation, the squirrel body produces a livelier expression at the surface. Fished across riffle seams, the pattern suggests insects suspended between current and surface tension.

Hairwing spinner patterns complete the system by translating darker female Ecdyonurus into simple, convincing silhouettes. I especially enjoy tying larger spinners with woodchuck hair, whose natural texture suits these flies remarkably well.

On this small karst stream, the most dependable hatch is not a single species but a continuous process. Insects emerge, hesitate, drift, and finally surrender to the surface film. The trout respond to that continuum far more consistently than to any single moment of the hatch.

The Giants of Autumn: Understanding Large Limnephilids on Eastern Serbian Karst Stream

For anglers exploring the cold limestone headwaters of the Balkans, few aquatic insects play a larger role in the late-season ecology of karst streams than the large caddisflies of the family Limnephilidae. Robust, highly visible, and often active when many other insects have disappeared, these species help define the final chapters of the trout season. By combining biological observations with years spent fishing these waters, we can better understand the distinct roles these aquatic giants play in both the stream ecosystem and the fly box.

1. The Genus Potamophylax: From Spring Beginnings to Autumn Glory

While many anglers associate large limnephilid caddisflies exclusively with autumn, the life cycle of the genus Potamophylax spans much of the fishing season.

The Spring Window

In late spring, species such as Potamophylax pallidus begin to emerge along cold mountain streams. Solitary adults can often be found resting on streamside rocks during cool evenings. Their pale amber wings, illuminated by a flashlight or camera flash, create a surprisingly striking appearance against the darkness. For trout recovering from winter, these early-season insects provide an important source of nutrition.

The Autumn Shift

As summer fades into September, the larger Potamophylax cingulatus becomes increasingly important. While its close relative P. latipennis is more commonly associated with broader, slower-flowing river systems, densely forested karst headwaters remain the stronghold of P. cingulatus.

The larvae construct heavy stone cases that allow them to withstand the powerful currents characteristic of limestone streams. The appearance of the adults often coincides with some of the most aggressive surface feeding of the season by resident brown trout.

2. The Genus Stenophylax: The Mystery of Summer Diapause

One of the most fascinating biological adaptations among Balkan limnephilids is the summer diapause exhibited by Stenophylax permistus.

Adults emerge during late spring but postpone reproduction until conditions become favorable. Rather than remaining active during the hottest months, they seek refuge in shaded forests, caves, and limestone crevices surrounding karst springs and headwaters.

Although they are rarely observed hatching in large numbers during midsummer, these insects remain an important food source. Wind, rain, or simple accidents occasionally send adults tumbling from overhanging vegetation onto the water's surface. Such large, protein-rich insects represent a substantial meal that larger trout seldom ignore.

3. The Genus Halesus: Closing the Season with Halesus digitatus

As October arrives and mountain mornings grow colder, the emergence of the true autumn giants begins. This is the time of Caperer! While Halesus radiatus is widespread throughout many southern and southeastern river systems of Serbia, Halesus digitatus stands out as the definitive jesenji gorostas—the autumn giant—of the eastern limestone mountains.

With wingspans exceeding 40 mm and distinctive mottled wing patterns, these impressive insects often appear during cool, overcast afternoons. Their emergence marks one of the final major insect events before winter and the onset of trout spawning closures.

For fly tiers, few hatches are more rewarding to imitate. Large deer-hair adults tied on hooks #6–#8 and robust olive-cream pupal patterns closely match the natural insects and provide a fitting way to conclude the trout season.

How to Fish the Large Limnephilids

Large limnephilid caddisflies differ from the smaller species that dominate summer trout fishing. Their size, clumsy flight, and seasonal timing create unique opportunities for observant anglers.

When fishing adult patterns, concentrate on low-light periods, overcast afternoons, and the final hours before dusk. Many species are relatively poor fliers and frequently end up trapped in the surface film. Trout often feed more confidently on these large insects than on smaller mayflies or midges.

Do not overlook the pupal stage. In many cases, trout begin feeding on ascending pupae before any obvious adult activity becomes visible. A lightly weighted caddis pupa swung across current seams can be remarkably effective during periods of emergence.

Adult imitations should generally be presented dead-drift first. If trout refuse the fly, occasional twitches or gentle skating can imitate the struggles of a natural insect attempting to escape the water.

Most importantly, remember that these insects represent a substantial meal. Trout feeding on large limnephilids often abandon their usual caution. The rises may be fewer in number than during a mayfly hatch, but they are frequently more deliberate and more memorable.

For anglers fortunate enough to fish the limestone headwaters of the Balkans, the appearance of these great autumn caddisflies signals the approaching end of another season—and some of the finest dry-fly fishing of the year.

A selection of author's patterns inspired by observations of Potamophylax, Stenophylax, and other large limnephilid caddisflies found on eastern Serbian limestone streams.

From Berula to Trout: A Karst Stream Connection

Along the margins and shallow runs of my favorite spring-fed karst river grows the aquatic plant Berula erecta. Its submerged stems and finely divided leaves form low underwater thickets that slow the current and create structure in otherwise uniform flow.

Within these beds lives a dense invertebrate community. Most visible are blackfly larvae (Simulium spp.), attached to stems where they filter fine organic matter from the current. Alongside them are grazing mayfly nymphs, caddis larvae, amphipods (Gammarus), and other aquatic insects, all using the vegetation for food, refuge, or both.

For trout, these Berula beds function as feeding stations rather than simple cover. The plant concentrates the insects and crustaceans that drive much of the river’s productivity through the seasons. Where Berula is present and well developed, aquatic life is often noticeably concentrated.

The idea for the Sisevac Caddis arose directly from observing this microhabitat. Although the pattern is tied to local caddisflies in design, it really represents something broader—the biological richness generated by spring-fed, vegetated water.

Seen this way, the river is not defined only by its fish, but by what supports them: plants shaping current, insects inhabiting that structure, and trout moving through it in response.

The Sisevac Caddis

Back in the winter of 2011, I obtained some natural emu feathers. Initially, I had in mind tying a few sandworm gurgler-inspired patterns with them. The feathers were beautiful and made wonderfully enticing tails on sandworm imitations. I fished those successfully for stripers on various beaches along Boston’s North Shore.

Then, in January of 2012, while sitting at the vise dreaming of summer trout fishing, an idea suddenly appeared: why not attempt a dry fly with these feathers?

Some of the emu barbules were slightly stiffer, while others were extremely soft. At the same time, I had long been fond of clipped-hackle flies. The Klinkhåmer was one of my favorite prospecting flies back then, both on Driftless streams and on the small karst rivers of eastern Serbia.

I also always loved soft-hackled flies and was deeply inspired by old Balkan fly patterns that used local wild bird feathers such as owl, jay, duck and crow. Emu reminded me somewhat of owl feather in texture and movement, although structurally the feather is, of course, quite different.

So I combined these ideas and came up with this impressionistic caddis imitation. The pattern is essentially what happens when a saltwater material, Balkan soft-feather sensibility, and limestone-stream trout fishing converge into one fly.

I decided to call it the Sisevac Caddis, after the small Serbian village of Sisevac, my fishing home base on the Crnica River.

Sisevac itself carries layers of memory that go beyond fishing. Long before the mining period, the area was already shaped by the presence of the 14th-century St. Sisoje of Sinai monastery, from which the village of Sisevac takes its name, embedded in the older cultural landscape of the Crnica valley. The river was later described in the 19th century by Hungarian naturalist Félix Philipp Kanitz, who recorded the region’s karst formations and the clarity of its waters in his travel and scientific observations. In the early 20th century, it was still shaped by its mining-era character, and daily life moving closely with the rhythm of extraction and water. A family photograph from the 1930s — taken during a wedding in Sisevac — preserves a moment of stillness within that motion: figures gathered in formal dress, light falling across a landscape that is neither rural nor industrial, but suspended between states. It belongs to a time when the river and its valley were not yet “observed,” but simply lived within, as part of an ongoing flow of hard work, travel, and gathering.

Recipe

Hook: Size 12–14 curved wide-gape hook (such as Daiichi 1130)

Body: Palmered natural emu hackle, clipped on the inner side of the curve

Thorax: Golden brown or Peacock Ice Dub, or similar material

Parapost: Polypropylene

Parachute hackle: Ginger, brown, or sandy dun rooster hackle, depending on local caddis coloration

I first tested the fly in Iowa’s Driftless region and it worked beautifully. Later, I brought it to Serbia, where it performed wonderfully on my old home streams. My old friend Dave Skok liked the pattern as well, and we fished it successfully near his home waters on the Deerfield River in western Massachusetts.

The Sisevac Caddis is something of a semi-damp dry fly. It can imitate a crippled or emerging caddis, but it may also pass for a spent insect—or simply whatever the trout wants it to be at that particular moment. I believe much of the fly’s effectiveness comes from the way light refracts through the emu barbules. The fibers move almost like CDC, although they do benefit from a good treatment with quality desiccant powder before fishing. A powder such as Tiemco Shimazaki Fly Shake gives the fly what I like to call a subtle “moth factor.”

It is an excellent flatwater fly, best fished dead drift or with tiny twitches. At the same time, it floats well enough for moderate riffled water and lands on the surface like a whisper—something I have always loved about this pattern.

Image references

• Figure 1: Sisevac wedding photograph (1930s), family archive.

A historical image from the mining-era settlement period in Sisevac, capturing community life in the Crnica valley.

• Figure 2: Crnica River spring system, Sisevac.

The emergence of the river from its underground course through limestone and rock formations.

• Figure 3: Small wild brown trout, Crnica River.

Native trout from the system that the Sisevac Caddis is intended to suggest.

• Figure 4: The Sisevac Caddis fly pattern.

A clipped-hackle, emu-based caddis imitation developed from mixed saltwater and Balkan soft-feather influences.

Sight Casting Season is On!

Few fish on the nearby flat this afternoon, all good size, spooky, but hard fighting. All singles and full of lice. Light Daiichi hook has slightly opened on this one... The most exciting moment was watching a large fish slurp a shrimp at the surface, like a large brown would suck in a PMD. I switched to a Shrimp Gurgler, but no cigar. 😎

Cased Caddis Larva

Excellent mid-day fly for nymph fishing karst streams...

Deer Hair Ants

Hendrickson Emerger/Cripple

Woodcock and Doormouse Wet

Inspired by classic Invicta... European doormouse fur for the body, woodcock wings and hackle.