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.
