All The Marbles

“Allen, you see fish by rock with moss?”

“No”

“Ok, see white rock, then next rock, then rock with moss, right ten centimeters.”

“I don't see it.”

“Allen, this is 50-centimeter fish. How you can't see? Cast up from moss rock, ten centimeters to right.”

I'm in western Slovenia, knee-deep in sub-60 degree, Bombay Sapphire-esque water with my local guide, Bojan, attempting to catch my first marble trout. Marbles, or Soca trout as they are called locally, are rare native fish characterized by their distinctive marbled color pattern. They are found exclusively in drainages flowing into the Adriatic Sea across portions of Italy, Croatia, Bosnia, and Montenegro, but most iconic to the Soca River system, where we're currently standing. Marbles average 30-60 centimeters (12-24 inches) with some specimens growing over 100 (40+ inches). But on this small river a 50-centimeter salmonid is a true trophy.

The low-water, late-August conditions are less than ideal, especially given my rough-around-the edges casting abilities. Truthfully I'm a more confident streamer angler and typically luck into most of my fish through an inherited stubborn stick-to-it-iveness rather than any real casting prowess. But on this unforgiving, aquarium-like water the opportunities for undisturbed marbles can be slim, and you only get one shot, so it needs to count. The pressure is palpable.

I make a few false casts, measure out line, hold my breath and release. By some miracle my small ant imitation hits the mark but lands a little "loud" and the trout spooks off in a blur.

“Damn it, Allen you fish like you from Florida; aggressive. Finesse? What means finesse?” Bojan shakes his head in feigned disgust. He's giving me a hard time and I deserve it.

This is going to be tougher than I thought. My success earlier this morning on the "practice fish" – AKA

rainbow trout – had lulled me into a dangerous state of unwarranted overconfidence. But catching the feisty, hard-charging bows on streamers was a much different proposition than hooking these wary native marbles on a dry fly.

I'm learning the hard way, in real time, despite my guide's patient efforts.

• 

• 

• 

I was first introduced to the Soca River and marble trout six or seven years ago at a book-signing event for my friend Mark, where I ran into a guy from Ohio wearing a matching Backcountry Hunters and Anglers shirt and we struck up a conversation.

It quickly became apparent that fly fishing was a common passion, so the conversation naturally drifted in that direction. Near the end of the night Nate asked if I'd ever fished Slovenia. To be honest, I doubt I'd even heard of Slovenia until that moment, and if I had I sure as hell couldn't point to it on a map.

He told me his sister lived there and he hoped to visit soon to do some fishing, then showed me a few pictures on his phone. I was dumbstruck, never witnessing anything like the impossibly clear, blue-green water or the wild, intricately vermiculated trout in any of my travels. The hook, so to speak, was set.

From then on, fishing these Caribbean-clear waters for marble trout became a bucket-list goal, an obsession really, and somehow I'd managed to wedge this short, half-day outing into a nine-day trip with my wife exploring across Germany, Austria, and Slovenia.

I needed to make the most of it.

The Soca flows 85 miles from the Triglav National Park in northwest Slovenia down to the Adriatic Sea in Italy, where minerals from the surrounding limestone and glacial meltwater reflect sunlight to create its famous hue. Even in these low, late-summer conditions the turquoise-blue beauty is unmistakable.

Standing in this fairytale setting it's difficult to imagine the tumultuous, not-so-distant past. As Bojan shares, this quiet, verdant valley was the site of the Isonzo Front, one of the bloodiest and most brutal high-altitude mountain battlegrounds of World War I. Here, between 1915 and 1917, the Italian and Austro-Hungarian armies fought 12 major battles on the surrounding mountain peaks, leading to hundreds of thousands of deaths, including nearly half of Italy's total wartime casualties.

In fact, the stunning Vršič Pass (the highest road pass in Slovenia) we traversed to get here from Austria exists entirely because of World War I. In 1915, the Austro-Hungarian military needed a reliable supply line to transport weapons and food to their troops fighting on the front. To build it, they forced over 10,000 Russian prisoners of war to labor in dangerous, freezing, high-altitude conditions. In March of 1916, a massive avalanche buried a POW camp on the pass, killing hundreds of Russian prisoners and their Austrian guards. Because of this tragic history, the route is also known as the "Russian Road," and the northern side of the pass is still lined with their original WWI-era cobblestones.

We'd begun this piscatorial pursuit early, rigged and on the water before 7, just as the sun was poking over the surrounding peaks and a light fog was lifting from the water. But the morning passes quickly; the air warms, the fog burns off, and the sun climbs high into the sky. Time is running short and the conditions are becoming even more challenging.

Given the situation and our quickly eroding timeline, Bojan decides we need to move upriver, to even skinnier water, leaving the rainbows behind for exclusive marble territory. It's an all-in proposition, and I understand the ramification: this will be my last shot.

We make the drive, unload from the van, and begin to warily stalk the bank searching for targets. Cautiously creeping along, 100 yards, then 200 hundred, then 300. Bojan in the lead, eyes expertly scanning the water.

Suddenly he freezes, cups his hands along the side of his glasses, and stares intently.

"Allen, here. Two marbles," he points.

I creep forward and spot them too, the smaller resting in the soft seem midriver and the larger a few feet ahead tucked closer to the bank. The water looks impossibly low and clear. My hands are clammy.

We ease back downriver, careful to keep our shadows off the water. We'll target the smaller, closer fish first.

I start a few shaky false casts, measure out line, release the tiny ant, and hold my breath. This time, to my surprise, it lands softly, bumping down along the seem toward the hold.

"That's it, be ready," Bojan whispers. "Take will be slow, don't set too quick."

The trout tracks the fly, turns, and hits. It all happens in slow motion in this crystalline cathedral. I wait a tick, set, and he is on. My heart is pounding in my ears.

"Keep tight, keep tight," Bojan implores.

In the ensuing chaos I strip as quickly as I can, keeping side pressure on the wiggly, darting fish. Bojan draws the net as I work him close. A few more strips, almost there, and then...nothing.

He's gone.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" I'm seriously distraught.

My shoulders crumple, head bows, and I exhale. I've blown my chance.

"Is okay, is okay," Bojan consoles, "bigger fish still there."

I look up, and sure enough, he is. I can't believe my dumb luck; I've been given one final shot.

Taking a minute to settle my jangled nerves and rest the water, I repeat the process. False cast. Measure the line. False Cast. A little more. False Cast. A few inches more. Send it. Slight arial mend. Again it lands softly and on the right line.

“Allen, yes! Be ready, be ready, be ready."

"Wait. Wait."

"Set, set, set!”

I do, and come tight. This is a good fish. He turns and runs directly at me as I furiously strip to keep tension.

"Keep tight, keep tight!"

Now changing course and running upstream he goes airborne; I turn the rod and drop it low.

"Keep tight, keep tight!"

But I can feel as the tiny ant pulls from the corner of his mouth. It zips through the air past my head and perches neatly in a branch.

"Damn these barbless hooks," I shout, deflecting, of course, from my failure.

“Allen, maybe you do better using fly with treble hook,” Bojan ribs, not missing a beat, in his characteristic way.

I can't help but laugh.

My frustration settles. I reel in, light a smoke, and it all comes into perspective. I've just had the chance to fish some of the most beautiful water in the world, landing a number of great rainbows and hooking into two elusive marble trout. I have almost a week's worth of adventures still ahead with my wife on this trip. It's all pretty damn good.

"At least you will bring marble trout home on hat," Bojan quips, referring to the logoed hat I purchased in his fly shop the day before.

Yeah, yeah, funny guy, at least there's that, I think to myself, then break out in a grin.

"Okay, let's go,"

Deep inside I already know I'll be back to this water for another shot at all the marbles.

Author's Note: I hope you appreciate the humor in this story. It's fair to say that while the conditions were tough, my guide did his job to perfection - any failures rest squarely on my shoulders. The Soca is a beautiful, otherwordly place and Bojan is a knowledgable and fun guide. You can find him and his wonderful wife Ana on the Soca Trout Flyfishing website here, or email them at info@socatrout.com.