Every autumn, the San River in Poland calls us back. It’s a place of memories—of triumphs, failures, and the kind of fishing that keeps you coming despite the odds. This trip, shared with close friends, turned into something more: a story of persistence, big fish, and moments that remind us why we return year after year.
BY KURT KONRAD
One of our annual fly-fishing traditions is visiting the Polish river San, a place that holds so many memories for me. However, this October trip—shared with Vladimir, Zdeno, Daniel, and myself – was something special, especially for me.
Over the years, we have experienced it all on the San: unforgettable fishing trips, but also days when the fish simply wouldn’t bite and every catch had to be earned. Yet it’s often those failures that push us forward. Just a year ago, we managed to fish only a single day, as a relentless overnight downpour raised the water level and turned the river into muddy “coffee.”
This time, we arrived with more experience and full confidence in our fly boxes. On the evening of our arrival, we managed to check the river, and a few rises on the surface lifted our spirits – they were feeding. As we prepared our gear, I had a feeling: “Guys, tomorrow I’ll catch a Hucho.” No one laughed. The last time I said that, I landed an 87 cm fish within two hours.
We had a clear plan. In the morning, we would spend two to three hours targeting the queens of the river – hucho hucho – and then switch to grayling. At dawn, we had the river to ourselves. Silence, a glassy surface, and cold seeping into our bones. I love it here.
With my nine-weight, I cast a 15 cm streamer. The still surface, like a mirror, was occasionally broken by the predatory strikes of Hucho in the shallows. Just witnessing these torpedoes hunt is unforgettable. Several of them often share a single deep pool in this stretch.
Suddenly—BAM! After about an hour, I had a take. I retrieved the line, keeping the fish on a short leash. With a 0.35 mm tippet, I could afford to. It wasn’t a dramatic fight, and soon I had the fish at my feet, where Zdeno helped me land it. At first, it seemed small, but in my hands, its beauty was undeniable. Though not a personal best, it measured a solid 83 cm – my first Hucho from the San.
As the temperature rose, we switched from heavy streamer rods to light #2 and #3 setups for dry fly fishing. Grayling began to show on the surface – and so did a growing number of anglers. Throughout the day, we landed several fish, with Vladimir being the first to break the 40 cm mark. A solid start.
The next morning, after a frosty night, we pulled on our frozen wading boots, stiff from the cold balcony air. Motivation was high after the previous day’s success.
Soon, I spotted two fish mid-river – one of them enormous, easily 120–130 cm. A true monster. They ignored my streamer, but my adrenaline stayed high. I worked downstream while Zdeno returned upstream. After a couple of hours, fatigue set in, so I cast across to the far bank and let the streamer swing freely. A gentle take – at first I thought I’d snagged the bottom. I didn’t strike. Then the rod came alive, and a Hucho broke the surface… only to come off seconds later. The same spot as the day before. Still, we had time.
Daniel, meanwhile, patiently covered a wide, slow stretch. Suddenly, a swirl behind his fly—a Hucho chased but missed. On the next cast, it connected. His shout echoed across the valley, and we ran to him. I took photos as Vladimir netted a perfect, one-meter fish. A moment we won’t forget. After a quick celebration, we released it back into the current.
“After a few tense minutes, the fish slid into the net: a new personal best. A perfect end to the day.”
Later, at the “under the wires” spot, we met a group of French anglers. Strong winds made dry fly fishing difficult, but Vladimir still managed several nice grayling, while I picked up a few smaller fish, mostly brown trout.
On the third day, we allowed ourselves a slower start and headed to my favorite stretch at Bachlawa. Here, the river runs deep, and grayling often rise steadily in the softer water – fish of 50 cm are not uncommon.
A light rain fell. Around 11 a.m., the first rises appeared, and soon we were into fish. They eagerly took olive mayflies and spinners in sizes 18–20. No need to overthink it – a rare gift. Rises surrounded us, and often I didn’t know which fish to target first. Days like this are rare, and we savored every moment.
By 3 p.m., the activity slowed. I moved upstream and spotted a single rise near the far bank. Carefully wading closer, I made my cast. “Blup.” A grayling took the fly with dolphin-like grace. I set the hook gently and felt a strong fish.
Finally, I could test my new two-weight rod properly. When I saw the fish – around 50 cm – I wasn’t sure my 0.10 mm tippet would hold. The rod absorbed every run beautifully. After a few tense minutes, the fish slid into the net: a new personal best. A perfect end to the day.
On the final morning, we tried once more for Hucho, but without success. Returning to Bachlawa, we found a completely different river under bright sunshine. Where we had caught strong fish the day before, we now struggled for smaller ones.
It was time to pack and begin the 500 km journey home. Once again, the San had shown us its many faces. And as always, we left knowing one thing for certain – we would be back next year.
