My signposts

My signposts

Wojciech Węglarski

             For quite a few years now, fellow anglers have been coming to me with questions about how to get started in fly fishing—what gear to use and, above all, what flies to use. And interestingly, these are friends of all ages, whose main motivation turned out to be a desire to experience the thrills of fly fishing—which are more exciting than those of float fishing or spinning. They included both so-called „old-timers” and complete beginners. And that’s when memories started coming back—what was it actually like for me? I’ll try not to bore you too much with this topic, though the matter seems quite interesting, considering that my generation, so to speak, laid the groundwork for Polish fly fishing within the specific postwar reality of the Polish People’s Republic—to put it in grand terms. It was then, as early as the 1950s, that what we later called fly fishing began to emerge slowly and tentatively within the structure of the Polish Anglers„ Association—a structure imposed by political coercion— whose core at the time consisted of anglers—to put it cautiously and elegantly—who fished with floats, in the broadest sense of the word. And they were the ones setting the tone for our angling back then! It was they who were responsible for the image of the angler commonly portrayed at the time—a mass-produced graphic depiction of a gloomy, unshaven fellow in a beret and rubber-soled felt boots, with a cigarette smoldering in the corner of his mouth, (probably a ”Sport„—probably, because it was filterless—just a simple working-class and peasant-style cigarette), holding a simple fishing rod with a hook dangling at the end, baited with a wriggling minnow. Some ”illustrators,„ thinking they were being witty, further embellished their little drawings with images of half-liter bottles sticking out of these ”anglers„” pockets. And that was supposed to be funny—that was supposed to be the created image of a postwar Polish angler! In contrast to the snobby fly-fishers or whatever spin-fishers, catching fish with contraptions unimaginable to the uninitiated—made of feathers, thread, or pieces of metal hammered into the shape of a spoon—and to top it off, equipped with hooks or barbs that horribly maimed the fish! And such nonsense was used to try to indoctrinate the masses of anglers forcibly herded into the rough-hewn sack of the only „proper” (because “people’s”) fishing organization! And in this atmosphere, the few fly fishers with pre-war experience, as well as restless young people (like me, for example), had to build our postwar fly fishing scene on our own. There was neither specialized literature nor equipment or gear. All of this began to sprout timidly only toward the end of the 1950s. Anyone who wanted to fly-fish had to struggle with literally everything on their own, like the proverbial horse climbing a hill. Everything was “organized” on an ad-hoc basis—from black sewer-worker waders to rods and reels, and as for the flies—more on that in a moment.

Returning to the literature on fly fishing. Yes, there were a few titles, but they were practically unavailable. I’ll mention the two most valuable ones, as they were written by true experts on the subject. The first is Rozwadowski’s famous work —once an extremely rare book, now more widely available thanks to several reprints; and although much of the information it contains is now a bit outdated, with skillful and selective reading, it remains a treasure trove of reliable fly-fishing knowledge. The second is *Fishing in Polish Waters* by F. Choynowski, whose first edition appeared as early as 1939, and the second—somewhat censored (as was customary at the time)—in 1949. These two editions also require selective reading, as not all of the concepts presented there have stood the test of time. As for the (fortunately) small remainder of postwar fishing literature (with a particular focus on fly fishing), I won’t even bother writing about it, as it’s not worth the effort. So I won’t even list those publications. And as for the current „fishing” publications—which make up the vast majority of what’s on the market—they aren’t even worth mentioning, since in the vast majority of cases they are beautifully produced, richly illustrated in color, mostly translations, but substantively worthless ramblings by various Western „authors.” But then again, as Caesar Vespasian once said, „pecunia non olet.”.

But let’s get to the point. My primary—though not only—guide was F. Choynowski’s book, the second edition of which (from 1949) my parents miraculously managed to get their hands on and gave to me as a gift for one of my name days in the late 1950s. Eager to learn about fishing, I read it—from cover to cover—over and over again.

All in all—when, in 1957, fate led me to spend my summer vacation on the Dunajec River in Kąty (Sromowce Wyżne)—I began to think about fly fishing, because it’s an elegant and clean method, and one that doesn’t require constantly lugging around a bunch of lures. Incidentally, there was also a time when I felt like hiking on foot along the highlander trails in the summer, „all the way through” through the Pieniny Mountains to the Monday market in Krościenko to buy cherries or sour cherries there, and later mirabelle plums, since those were my pre-fly-fishing lures for chub back then. Eventually, I lost interest in that too, and slowly began my adventure with fly fishing. I won’t dwell on it too long—the topic could even fill a book—but who would have the patience to read it? All right, but where could I get a fly back then in the backwater town of Kąty? Well, somehow I managed to find a hook with an eye—and that’s when the magic began. What should this fly look like? It had to be particularly elaborate for the magic to work. On the other hand—how do you neatly make something out of nothing? In short, here’s what happened: Among my vacation „treasures,” I found a few blue, dark-striped jay feathers (the remains of a hawk’s feast found in the woods)—for those in the know—the basic material for the hackles of many wet flies, with the famous Invicta at the forefront! In addition, among the local craft supplies at my house in Kąty, I found a piece of ribbon with gold lamé (the kind used for bouquets), so I had the materials—and they were somewhat magical. A Hardtmuth mechanical pencil served as a makeshift vise—I’ve mentioned this before). All in all—under makeshift conditions—I created a magical (in my opinion) bow tie, a picture of which I’m showing below. And it was my very first bow tie, made entirely by myself! It served me very well for a long time, and one evening at dusk, during a massive mayfly hatch, I landed a beautiful stonefly—about 50 cm long—with it at the spot where the rafting dock in Kąty now stands. My example quickly caught on, because soon my local friend Gienek Zwoliński made himself a very simple (and effective) fly with wings made from the black fur of his dog, whom he called Laika, since those were the days of the first space races.

The second milestone, which was very important to me, was my meeting with Janusz Zaremba, M.Sc. (Eng.), and that was—I think—in 1957 or 1958.

(Janusz Zaremba, M.Sc. (Eng.), served as director of the Pieniny National Park from 1954 to 1962 and subsequently as director of the Babia Góra National Park from 1962 to 1971. He died on June 21, 1985, and was buried in Nowy Sącz.)

Well, one beautiful day in July, a rafting boat carrying Director Zaremba and several PPN employees pulled up to the banks of the Dunajec River in Kąty near Macelowa Góra. The trip was part of an inspection of the PPN border along the Pieniny rafting route. A very kind, affable, and elderly gentleman, upon seeing me trying to catch a chub with a cherry bait, struck up a pleasant conversation with me about fishing. With my mouth agape, I listened to his stories about his pre-war fly-fishing and spinning trips on our rivers that once lay to the east (the Prut and the Cheremosh). He also told me about wading in the Dunajec River in the summer, wearing shorts and sneakers, with a fly on the line! He told me so much back then, and at the end, he gave me an artificial fly—a genuine March Brown Male—already a bit overfished, which made it all the more effective. How many fish I caught with it! And as is usually the case—first the trout tore off the wings with their teeth, then gradually stripped away the body, but even so, I still landed quite a few fish on that heavily worn body. I don’t know who tied this fly, but it was clear that it was the work of a professional. I’m also including a picture of an almost exact replica here.

And later, there were more signposts along the way. Sometimes it was meetings and conversations with experienced fly fishermen; other times, it was just quietly observing those who weren’t eager to talk to some random kid—but there were also those —mostly moped riders—who’d return home in the evenings with baskets stuffed full of small chub and dace. I secretly called them „splashers,” and their silhouettes were quite distinctive: a long stick (a support) in their left hand, a fly rod held high in their right (so the fly would work better), casting with the current, then taking a step forward—in the shallow rapids teeming with small fish. Seen from a distance—just a funny little cross in the middle of the Dunajec. But what an easy catch it was!

And sometimes these were various gifts in the form of flies from family or friends; I even once got my hands on some original British flies from the Teal family.  Teal and Yellow or Teal and Claret—what „killers” they were for cautious, larger chub! Because trout were rather scarce in July. I also happened to come across a small cardboard box with a dozen or so wet-fly patterns neatly sewn onto it. All I know is that the maker of these neatly crafted flies was Mr. Kowalewski—who was working at the Academy of Fine Arts in Kraków at the time—probably a professor there. All I know is that his flies enjoyed a well-deserved reputation, especially among the older Kraków fly fishermen—those who remembered the pre-war days. I remember that with the Stone Fly #6 trout fly—a Limerick hook with an orange Egg Sack—I caught, among other things, two bullheads (not very large, just over fifty centimeters each, and back then the minimum size limit was still 30 cm—just to be clear). I lost that fly for good along with a double catch of brown trout (each—at a glance over 35 cm) on some stretch of the Romaniszyn River, in a beautiful current in Maniowy just below the mouth of the Falsztyński Stream, when—during a strong run—it snapped completely— (as it later turned out), a pre-war English fly line, which—unaware of its poor quality (a worn-out silk braided line)—the late, dearly missed Mr. Tadeusz Godzicki had lent me for that competition. To put it bluntly, this unfortunate incident meant that the Dunajec Cup slipped through my fingers (for the second time!), because with two nice brook trout and a beautiful 37-cm grayling already in my basket, those two fish, which had been torn off the leader, would certainly have secured me first place in this competition, even if the other two members of my team hadn’t caught a single fish (and they hadn’t—as it turned out in the end!). As for that second instance, ever since that time when, due to my own negligence, I didn’t have a spare of that tiny wet fly in my box—a fly that turned out to be the perfect grayling lure right there and then— (to be precise—the Dunajec River at the mouth of the Białka Tatrzańska—but that spot is long gone, because today we have a muddy cove there as a remnant of that awful legacy of real socialism). So, in the tenth minute (!!!) of the Romaniszyn Cup competition, with three legal grayling already in my basket, after two more grayling had gotten away, something prompted me to check the hook on my fly. Of course, I’d bent the hook point by snagging it with the fly during subsequent casts, since I had a high, rocky bank right behind me! And just like that, the Romaniszyn Cup slipped away into the blue yonder, because I don’t even want to think about the scoring back then for ending the competition early after catching a set of 5 fish. If I remember correctly, back then it was 300 points for a grayling, plus I think 10 points for every centimeter over the minimum size limit, plus (I think) 1 or more points for every minute the competition ended early. And the competition round lasted 3 hours back then—if I recall correctly. Ever since then, I’ve told (or written to) every friend starting out on their fly-fishing adventure: Always keep at least one spare set of flies in your box so you don’t have to pay such a steep initiation fee, as I once did. And then follows a short story about that „adventure” in Białka from back in the day”

And finally, buying bow ties at that famous store on Sienna Street in Kraków—but that’s a whole other story…

Let’s start with the fact that, according to Choynowski (Fishing in Polish Waters, 2nd ed.—slightly censored—1949), some of these flies were included in the famous Factory Standard ZN-67/CZSP/E6/184, were manufactured and sold by the Fishing Tackle Workers’ Cooperative in Kraków. Before I proceed to the details, here’s some additional information:

The ZN/67 standard included 115 patterns for „trout and grayling wing and black-body flies,” 4 „salmon flies,” 3 mayflies, and 3 „artificial insects.” All of the patterns were for wet flies.

I have included below a photograph of the color chart of Choynowski’s wet flies, as published in the 1939 edition.

In the 1949 edition, this table—though described there as “colorful”—was in fact a uniform dark navy blue, which completely undermined the most basic purpose of the fly illustrations, namely their coloration, but then again, the postwar years were austere, even in the publishing industry.

So what kinds of flies were available at the famous store on Sienna Street in Kraków? I’m listing them in the order they appeared in the first edition of this book, published in 1939:

Only: Yellow Dun; March Brown; Stony Fly; Cowdung Fly; Red Spinner; Soldier Palmer; Wickham’s Fancy; Coachman; Blue Bottle; Iron Blue Dun; Black Gnat; Hofland’s Fancy; Black Palmer; Red Palmer and Grey Palmer; March Brown (female); Alexandra; Grasshopper; three types of mayflies; Forkfly (with gauze wings).

Below, I present three examples of what are now considered antique „artificial insects”: grasshoppers and a fork-tailed beetle with gauze wings, as well as a very well-made (and effective) cork beetle, produced somewhat later and skillfully painted.

It practically begs for the inclusion of two more „antiques” here, namely Hofland’s Fancy (claret version) and a bow tie bought on Sienna Street under the name Cowdung Fly, although to me it seems more suited to „17 Wieland #33” according to Choynowski’s table. Here they are:

And that was probably my last—but extremely important—fly-fishing guide, because those were the only fly names from Choynowski that I was looking for on Sienna Street; I found and bought the vast majority of the selection, and later tested not only on the Dunajec, but also on nearly all mountain waters, both in southern and northern Poland (though less so in Pomerania). And Mr. Chojnowski was right! The patterns he recommended—and which I tested—proved to be extremely effective, under the right conditions, of course. Years of fly-fishing practice—counted in thousands of hours with a rod in hand—have led me to the point where, with a clear conscience, I am leaving my two books to the younger generation of fly fishers, because I know I didn’t just pull them out of thin air, but based on many years of experience, combined with a deep respect for the rich tradition of this beautiful branch of angling—which fly fishing was, is, and always will be.

Finally, to preserve these memories for future generations—here are a few images, now considered historical, of a certain stretch of the Dunajec River from those good old days.

Zawrocie – in the center of the photo is the site of the future rafters’ landing stage

The road below Macelowa Góra—toward Sromowce Niżne.

Landslide following heavy rainfall, entrance to the floodplain. Flood conditions on the Dunajec River; road below Macelowa Góra—toward Sromowce Niżne. Landslide following heavy rainfall, end of the floodplain.

Entrance near Macelowa Góra

The entrance below Macelowa Góra – a view upstream along the Dunajec River. Kąty can be seen in the distance.

A local sensation—a car on the road! The traveling movie theater is heading to Sromowce Niżne. It barely fits on the narrow road between the slope of Macelowa Góra and the cliff along the banks of the Dunajec River.

The worst is behind us!