Bringing Salmon back to the Rhine

Salmon used to be plentiful in the Rhine, until a combination of pollution and hydroelectric plants made it impossible for the Salmon to continue spawning leading to their virtual extinction in Switzerland. Recently, a fisherman in Basel accidentally caught a salmon, inspiring a movement to bring them back.

Here's a great video (in English) about efforts to make the Rhine attractive to Salmon once again, and the obstacles standing in the way.

And here is a link to the WWF petition that will be presented to the French government in October. It's in German, but trust me and sign it anyway!

The International Rodsmith?

I've always been fascinated with bamboo rods, but scared away by the steep price tag. A decade or so ago, John Geirach's "Fishing Bamboo" inspired an impulse purchase of a (relatively) cheap little 2 weight rod on ebay, sight unseen, but never got around to really trying it out until last year. It cast like a broomstick with a 2 weight line, eventually I'll get around to trying a 3 weight and maybe I'll see an improvement. Later that same season, I met a guy fishing on our beat who was invited by one of our members. He had three bamboo rods with him, and after speaking with him for a bit, he gave me a chance to cast all three. I think they were all 5 weights, and I loved the action, one in particular. It took a little getting used to, but when I was done I had a huge grin on my face and he had a leader full of wind knots. He handed me his card and told me he'd be happy to show me how to be build a rod from scratch. After over a year or so of back and forth and conflicting schedules. we made an appointment for a couple of days at his workshop in a small town near the entrance of the Gotthard Tunnel, picturesquely and fittingly situated a short cast away from the milky blue Reuss river.

The rod shop itself met my expectations. Culms of bamboo lay everywhere, and dozens of bamboo rods in various states of completion were leaning in every corner. The smell of heated bamboo permeated the room, a heady, warm, comforting smell that couldn't possibly rub anyone the wrong way. A window in front of one of the workbenches offered a direct view of the chalky freestone river. Walls of cork rings, drawers full of guides, reel seats, a veritable rainbow of hundreds of spools of wrapping thread, a lathe, drill press, saws, a tubular bamboo oven, and countless other things I overlooked or simply didn't recognize. This was a man obsessed. I want to be this man.


First things first. We spoke about bamboo for an hour or two, he showed me the culms and explained the desirable and less desirable aspects of each individual one, introducing me to concepts like power fibers and node spacing. He showed me some of his countless finished rods, many of which I held and inexpertly waggled while listening to him tell a story behind each and every one. Over the next few days I would see the beautiful matching pair of swelled butt rods he made for his wife and himself. His whippy one piece seven foot five weight and his hefty salmon rod. His quadrate and octagonal rods, and his bamboo ferrules. It was a substantial amount of information for an absolute beginner to digest. He wanted to know if I wanted to do everything from scratch and fully by hand, or did I want to use "shortcuts" like Tom Morgan's handmill, and send some of the straightened strips through a machine to do some of the rough planing. I'm pretty impatient, and while I have a very understanding wife when it comes to fly fishing, I also have a young daughter I hate being away from, another kid on the way, and a full time job from which I have to take days off of in order to drive two hours each way to come do this in the first place, so the choice was easy. Get this rod as finished as possible in the next few days, or end up spending another year juggling schedules to arrange a few extra days of planing. I want a fishable, functional rod, I don't need a work of art. There's plenty of time to build one of those when the pace of life slows a bit.

He handed me a culm, and I got to splitting. I made my strips, and then I straightened them as best as I could while gently warming them over a heat gun, bending them, and repeating the process. I also used to the heat gun to flatten the nodes in a vise. After a few hours of this, the straightened and flat strips were fed into a power beveler which gave them a roughly triangular shape, but still no taper. We wrapped the pieces in twine and put them in the oven while we had lunch. The afternoon was consumed with planing. Twelve strips, six for each rod section, had to planed down to an exact taper. Tom Morgan's beautiful hand mill beckoned, and once the proper measurements were set, I got to work.

Tom Morgan's hand mill, top down view.

After I finished the butt section, my hands had blisters, and we epoxied the strips together, wrapped them again, and put them in the oven one more time.

The 6 pieces of the butt section, ready for the epoxy.

When it came it out, it was a lumpy, gluey mess. I removed the twine, scraped the epoxy away, and realized for the first time that I was making something that was pretty nice. The sanded, cleaned butt section, straight and six sided, was more precise than anything I had made before.

The next day, the process was repeated for the delicate rod tip. I was particularly careful while planing when it came to these ridiculously thin strips of bamboo.

The 6 pieces of the tip.

The next day, we finished up the tip section, added and shaped the cork handle, turned the reel seat on a lathe, mounted the ferrules, and prepared the guides for wrapping. It was coming together and I could hardly wait to fish with it.

The partially completed rod with the Reuss river in the background

I started wrapping and made some hideous wraps, finally getting the hang of it after an hour or so, at which time we called it a day. The rodmaker kindly finished up the rod for me and I picked up it a few weeks later when the varnish was dry. He offered me the use of his shop whenever I wanted to make another one, and I know I'll do it again sooner rather than later. I can split the culm and straighten some bamboo strips in my workshop at home, and bring them down to his workshop to fire them up in the oven, and then finish up the blank at home, where I'm planning on making a homemade wrapping jig and cork lathe from a drill. The whole experience was great, and for someone who has to spend the majority of his time in front of a screen, working with my hands and really creating something precise is cathartic, so much so that I'm planning on wrapping some rods over the winter, along with fly tying and making furled leaders. Anything to stay busy in the off season!

The stripping guide, with honey wraps.

The completed rod along with a nice handcrafted lanyard that I won recently.
It matches pretty well, and I find myself reaching for it along with the bamboo
when I head out the door to fish my home river.

I've had the rod for about a month now, and am learning how to cast it. It'll never win any beauty contests. It's not particularly straight, the finishing is utilitarian, there's no second rod tip, the rod tube is a scratched, grey PVC tube, and the rod sock, as soon as I either get around to sewing it or successfully pester my wife to do so, will be a green and white scrap of Ikea fabric. But it's fishable, eminently fishable.

Fishing in Austria, St. Michel im Lungau style, the Reckoning.

This year Mark and I decided to try our luck on the Mur again, despite being rained out last year. We saw so much promise, and liked the area so much, that not giving it another shot was unthinkable. Needless to say, we got lucky. The weather was perfect, the bite was on, the food was plentiful and good, and we just generally had a damn good time. For me, this trip was even better than the last few, as Mark moved to Asia earlier in the year and a good fishing buddy isn't an easy thing to replace. We were off in style early Wednesday in a Merc station wagon that we put to good use on the stretch of Autobahn between Switzerland and Austria. After quick stop for lunch in gorgeous Innsbruck, we made it to St. Michel in record time and were able to fish the evening rise close to our B&B before stuffing ourselves with a massive Austrian dinner.

The next day we got up, had breakfast, and spent the entire day fishing the varied stretches of the Mur. From headwaters full of pocket water to deep pools in oxbows, there was a huge amount of variety in this beat and we took advantage. We caught mostly browns in two different color schemes, along with the occasional rainbow and grayling, with the largest trout caught at 15 inches or so.

Mark with a gorgeous Brown that fell for a streamer. Look at those spots!



And a fat rainbow that I pulled from the same deep channel.



Fish on!



Typical Austrian meadows...



and healthy, lively fish





in varied terrain..



make for hungry fishermen.




The next day we decided to go up and visit the same alpine lake we went to last year, but this time we got a key for the gate and were able to drive up the steep, rocky road, but not after being warned about falling rocks, warnings which we pretty much ignored because, hey, rental car.

I brought my float tube in case the lake was as high as it was last year, but it ended up being about 70 feet lower, so ended up walking way down into the lake bed to cast to the cruising grayling. Mark caught a few, I caught a few, and then we got bored and decided to head back down to the river, where we fished for a few more hours despite the heavier afternoon flows from the snowmelt. After another big dinner and many Austrian beers, we retired, and drove back early the next morning. All in all, a great trip, and amazingly, the first trip in 4 years where we didn't have to deal with midsummer snow. We're already hard at work on 2014 planning.

Fly fishing, St. Michel-im-Lungau style.

Our annual fly fishing trip was rapidly approaching, and the absolutely horrific weather outlook wasn't improving. Friday, the first day of our three day fishing trip, looked grim. The forecast was for a torrential downpour, and in an alpine stream, that means no possibility of fishing. Nonethless, we hopped into Mark's champagne colored convertible land boat and began the 6 hour drive deep into the heart of Austria, ready to fish and full of optimism.

Six or seven hours later, after some horrific bouts of traffic, we arrived at our unbelievably cheap and well outfitted B&B, ran an extremely wet 10k along the absolutely unfishable Mur river, went out for some good food and beer, and hurried back to read our kindles. (Seriously.)

The next morning we met our contact, the man with the priceless fishing permits. Surprised that we even showed up, he took pity on us and gave us a hefty discount on the pricey day cards (50 euros a day, by far the most expensive part of the trip), spent 45 minutes explaining every miniscule section of river in great detail, and then showed us the old, defunct hotel he lived in all alone. It was an impressive place, full of history and dark wood.

We shook hands, took our permits, and made our way up to the Rotgüldensee, an alpine lake that was part of the section we were permitted to fish, and one that would present our only possibility to catch anything.



We hiked for about an hour, climbing 400 meters into the mountains, and saw a beautiful lake, albeit one that had a very high water level and extremely steep sides. It wouldn't be easy to fish.



We walked around for a bit and found a a small river flowing into the lake. Char were visibly feeding a mere yard away, and while there was maybe a doormat sized space for each of us on either side of the outlet and any sort of conventional cast would be impossible, this was clearly the only place we could fish in the current conditions.



Fortunately there were fish rising within rollcast distance. A few hours later, we'd caught 20+ fish, mostly small, but very feisty. At our feet were char feeding subsurface, 10 feet further out were trout, and at the limit of our messy rollcasts were grayling, eagerly pouncing on surface insects. I'd never caught one before, and on this day I ended up catching three, the biggest was 14 inches with linebacker shoulders.



We were getting cold (there was visible snow, not a first for our august fishing trips), called it a day, and headed back down the mountain to enjoy some more good, cheap food, and hope that the river calmed a down a bit by the next morning. At least the skunk was off, and we both agreed that even if we didn't catch a fish at all the next day, the trip would nonetheless be a success.

Back at the lodge, we met a pair of older French guys, who'd been coming to fish the Mur for decades. Naturally they told us of the good old 60+ fish per day days, and how good the weather was the previous week, but they also gave us some location tips, and even a few hand tied flies.



The river had certainly gone down, and cleared up quite a bit, but it was still high, and fast. The wading was slow and dangerous, so we moved our way upstream to where the water thinned out a bit, and managed to get some more trout on dries.



I spent most of the day at a deep pool, trying my luck for something bigger with a weighted streamer. The force of the waterfall was ridiculous, and standing in the wrong location made casting an excercise in futility. I didn't catch the big one I was hoping for, but I did catch my first, and only, traditional rainbow of the trip, as well as a smaller trout with an oddly deformed dorsal fin.



We slowly made our back to the lodge, stopping at plenty of places to fish along the way. It was an great trip, and we both agreed that had the weather cooperated, it would have been a phenomenal trip. We'll be there next year, this time with a float tube, assuming they're allowed.



 

Translation of Swiss fish names

Zander? Namaycush? Fario? What? Here’s a quick rundown of Swiss fish names and their American English equivalents.

Regenbogenforelle (Oncorhynchus mykiss) - Rainbow Trout

Bachforelle or Fario (Salmo trutta fario) – Brown Trout

Bachsaibling (Salvelinus fontinalis)  – Brook Trout

Namaycush (Salvelinus namaycush) - Lake Trout

Seesaibling (Salvelinus alpinus) – Arctic Char

Egli (Perca fluviatilis) – European Perch, very similar to Yellow Perch

Hecht or Esox (Esox lucius) - Northern Pike

Schwarzbarsch or Forellenbarsch (Micropterus salmoides) - Largemouth Bass

Sonnenbarsch (Lepomis macrochirus) - Sunfish, Bluegill

Zander (Sander lucioperca) – Practically indistinguishable from a Walleye

Felchen (Coregoninae Coregonus) - a type of Whitefish

Trüsche (Lota lota) – Burbot

Aal (Anguilla anguilla) - European Eel

Karpfe (Cyprinus carpio) - Carp

Äsche (Thymallus thymallus) - European Grayling

 

There’s more fish that don’t really have an American equivalent, such as the Wels, a giant european catfish reaching hundreds of pounds (and yes, it is possible to catch them in Switzerland!) or the Alet, which is most likely some sort of chub, and you’ll see them in most rivers and catch them occasionally while fishing for trout. In some cases (like Carp) I’ve not listed all the relevant subspecies because I don’t fish for carp and don’t really know what the sportfisher relevant subspecies are.

Here is also a great downloadable image of Swiss fish species provided by the WWF.

My shameful secret

I like eel. Not so much eel fishing, but I really like to eat eel so when the weather warms up, I'll occasionally head down to the river in the evening with some beer, worms, a spinning reel, a little bell to affix to the rod and a dozen or so rags that I absolutely never, ever will want to use again. More on the rags later.  As much as I'd like to catch eel on the fly and  have heard of people doing it, I'm strictly a meat fisherman on these humid summer evenings and there's no way I'm getting the fine cork handles on my relatively expensive fly rods covered in eel jizz. And I always mostly do this alone. Not so much because I want to hide my shame from others, although that's probably a subconscious part of it, but because the minute I tell people what eel fishing entails, they stammer and come with a hundred different excuses that never seem to come up when  I suggest trout fishing.

They’re really, really good to eat. Very rich, with excellent flavor. The small ones are best, otherwise, as my best friend remarked, it’s like eating a penis. (A big part of the reason he’s my best friend is because he allows himself  to be pressured into participating in  disgusting pasttimes like this.) If you do find yourself with one of approximate penile thickness, avoid cutting it into approximate penile length, it’s pretty disturbing.

They’re hard to handle and difficult to kill, so you’re going to have to resign yourself to lots of mess and blood and guilt and tears. Think of it like a lobster, too stupid to feel pain. True? I have no idea, but it makes me feel better.

Grab the eel with a rag, which is easier said than done because the moment you grab it, it twists around the rag, your arm, and the nearest drawer handle with surprising strength. It will be trying to bite you while secreting more eel goo, which is another reason to go for the smaller ones. The big ones bite harder.

Now, kill the eel. I won't go in to exactly how, because opinions vary, and nothing really seems to work properly.

Now, once you're sure the eel is dead, using another knife, cut through the skin below the head, all the way around. Now take needle nose pliers, and gripping tightly (I can’t stress this part enough), peel off the eels skin like a sock. Now, turn it over, gut it, clean the body cavity, and cook. I find a perverse sort of fun in the eel fishing itself, and even the cleaning and messy stuff is all worth it the end, as it’s pretty much the only way to enjoy a geniune Unagi bowl in Switzerland. They're also damn good grilled on skewers with bacon and sage.



 

Swiss fishing clubs, the breakdown.

When it comes to pretty much any hobby, the Swiss are very fond of clubs. Fishing is no exception. Fischervereine, as they are known here, are everywhere. They vary greatly in size, benefits, and fees, so it pays to do some research, but I would highly recommend that every interested Fisherman or woman look into joining one. Fisheries laws vary greatly by Canton. Some, such as Glarus and Graubunden, offer a Canton-wide fishing license, while others, such as Zürich, lease out the rights to individual bodies of water and stretches of river. Both systems have the obvious drawbacks and benefits, fishing pressure is greatly reduced in places where only a handful of people have fishing rights, while getting those fishing rights can be difficult or downright impossible for some of the more desirable beats. These fishing clubs are generally in charge of one or more bodies of water, with entrance to the club facilitating access to the beat. It might be a section of river or a small pond or reservoir stocked with pike or walleye. The clubs generally hold events like fly tying sessions, hatchery visits, weekend and day trips in Switzerland and abroad, casual monthly meetings at a bar or restaurant, or a year end dinner meeting, but you’ll also likely be expected to help out once or twice a year when it comes to cleaning your clubs’ waters, but since these oftentimes mandatory meetings are mostly followed by fishing, grilled bratwurst, and lots of beer, they’re not nearly as bad as they sound. Most importantly, you’ll meet other like-minded folks. Don’t let the language barrier stop you, many of the people I’ve met in these clubs speak English, and will love to talk with you about where you’ve been fishing. Costs vary, depending on things like the quality or amount of water the club is responsible for, or if you live in the same Canton as the fishing club. Generally speaking, the fees are affordable and definitely worth the benefits.

Here is a link to Petri Heil’s list of Fischervereine. It’s in German, but that shouldn't stop a determined fisherman. Just click on a canton, and scroll down for a list of clubs and the relevant contact info.