I was here as a young fly angler, just before the Balkan war. It was my first chalk stream. The Gacka at the time was the destination of fly fishermen from all over the world. It was full of trout
and in the evening the hatches were above imagination. The clear water and the abundance of insect were a real challenge even for
the most skilled angler. And here am I again, after all these years. I arrive
in the evening. It is late and here is no time for fishing. The first look from the bridge beams me back to those days of innocence, when the only fish taunting my dreams were trout and grayling.