This year’s European Fly Fishing Championship took place in the beautiful Sondrio Province of Lombardy, Italy, from October 19th to 26th, 2025. The event was truly special, bringing together 16 nations and some of the best fly anglers across Europe.

After qualifying through last year’s national championship in Romania, I had the great honor of representing my country both as a competitor and as team captain. It was a proud and humbling moment to wear our colors on such a prestigious stage.

After the official draw, I was placed in Group D, alongside some of Europe’s most experienced anglers — a real test of skill and composure. My first sector was Sector 4, on the Adda River (lower section) — a river full of character, history, and challenging waters.

The first session was scheduled to begin at 10:00 a.m., with departure from the official hotel at 8:00 a.m. sharp. The atmosphere that morning was a mix of excitement, tension, and quiet focus — everyone knowing that the smallest detail could make the biggest difference.

When we arrived by the official bus, the scenery immediately caught my attention. The Adda River flowed gracefully between its stony banks, framed by the crisp autumn colors of the Lombard landscape. It was calm, yet full of promise — the kind of water that hides surprises for those who read it well.

After a short briefing, we learned our beat numbers — the exact stretches of water we would fish for the session. As it was the first day of competition, no one could really tell whether a beat was “good” or “bad” in terms of fish density.

And so, with anticipation building and my heart beating just a little faster, my European Championship journey officially began — right there, on the banks of the Adda River.

Once we arrived, I checked the time: more than 1 hour and 15 minutes left to rig my rods and study the water. Perfect. I decided to start with a full beat inspection; the setup would come after I understood what I was up against.

At first glance, the beat didn’t look particularly generous. The lower section gave me about 80 meters of fast-moving water, knee-to-waist deep, running between 50 and 120 cm. Above that, an island split the river in two.

Right side (upstream-facing): shallow, quick, mountain-stream style water.

Left side: a long, dark pool—around 50 meters—estimating 1 to 3 meters deep.

Past that pool, the river tightened into a deeper, fast 20-meter channel, then spread out again into rapids for another 20 meters.

At the very top of my beat, I found a final 40-meter deep pool, the kind of place that either hides treasure… or absolutely nothing.

Clouds covered the sky, and the forecast promised rain around noon. Not ideal, but not terrible either—just one more variable in the mix.

Choosing the Setup

With the beat mapped in my head, I went for a versatile setup:

While I rigged, I kept chatting with my controller. Turned out he’s a competitor himself and actually controlled the same beat last year. His comment?

“Only two fish were caught here.” 

Not exactly confidence-boosting—but this is competition fishing; you play the water you get.

10:00 AM – Session Start

When the whistle blew, my plan was clear: start from the bottom and work my way up, dividing the beat into time-controlled segments.

First 30 minutes – Lower fast water:

I went in with long line, heavy nymphs to get down quickly in the pushy current.

Next 30 minutes – The big pool:

Time to swing and strip: streamers only.

Third 30 minutes – The deep, fast channel:

Switched to long-shank, lighter nymphs, focusing tight along the edges where fish might hold out of the main current.

Fourth 30 minutes – The rapids:

Kept the nymphs on, picking apart pocket water and seams.

Fifth 30 minutes – The upper deep pool:

Streamer rod again—trying to wake anything lurking in the depths.

Final 30 minutes – Return to productive spots:

The session’s home stretch: revisit any place that showed signs of life or produced fish.

This beat may not have looked promising at first, but competitions have a way of surprising you. Fish or no fish, cloudy skies or rain, there’s always something to learn—especially when the river forces you to think harder and fish smarter.

And that was the start of my championship journey on Beat 10.

Right after the start whistle, I headed straight into the fast-moving water at the bottom of my beat. Only five minutes in, I landed my first brown trout, around 30 cm, which gave me a quick boost of confidence. I was fishing a two-nymph setup: a size 16 Gasolina with a 3 mm bead on the point, and a 3 mm light-pink bead-head hare’s ear on the dropper. The trout took the bottom fly—an early sign that the fish weren’t feeding aggressively and the water was probably still too cold for them to move far.

I kept working the section, but the next 25 minutes passed in silence—not even a touch. That’s when I realized the fish were really turned off. Pressure is creeping in already.

Moving up to the big pool, I switched tactics and started covering the water with streamers. I fished from the head of the pool, swinging at a 45-degree angle and stepping my way down. After about 10 minutes, I connected with my second fish—a trout that took a black leech pattern. Spirits lifted.

Five minutes later, I hooked another one but lost it mid-fight. With 10 minutes left before moving on, I switched back to heavy, deep nymphs at the very top of the pool. That decision paid off with a beautiful 35 cm grayling, finally adding some weight to my scorecard.

One hour into the session: 3 fish. And the pressure was definitely building.

Next up was the deep, fast channel. I started probing along the right bank, and after just a couple of casts I hooked a solid brown trout. A few minutes later, two more grayling followed. That little flurry of action was exactly what I needed.

Feeling confident, I crossed over to the right side of the island to try the shallow, quick, mountain-stream water—but it was lifeless. Not a single sign of fish.

At 1 hour and 30 minutes, I had 6 fish on the scorecard—a decent tally, but I knew I still had a long fight ahead to turn this session into a competitive one.

With 1 hour and 30 minutes left, I stepped into the 20 meters of rapids ahead of me—classic pocket water, full of potential but demanding every bit of precision. In the first five minutes, I hooked a fish but dropped it right away. A few more casts confirmed it: that fish wasn’t coming back.

I moved to the next pocket and that’s where things picked up. A beautiful 41 cm grayling came to the net, exactly what I needed to keep momentum going. A few meters upstream I hooked another fish but lost it right at the net—call it bad angling or bad luck, the result was the same. Still, as I continued picking apart the pockets, I managed to put two more fish on the card.

I left the rapids with 3 additional fish, bringing my total to 9, and suddenly things didn’t look so bad. I still had a full hour and some promising water ahead.

I moved straight to the upper big pool to fish streamers, hoping for a late-session surprise. But as I started working the water, a cold, steady rain began falling. At first I didn’t think much of it—but later, back in the bus, every competitor said the same thing: the rain killed the fishing completely.

I returned to where I’d started the session and tried everything—nymphs, streamers, different angles, different speeds—but it was pointless. The river had shut down.

And just like that, after three hours of grinding, my first session of the European Fly Fishing Championship ended with 9 fish on the scorecard.

Back in the parking lot, I finally heard the full results. To my surprise, 9 fish placed me 7th in my group—not bad at all given the conditions. Beat 10, as it turned out, wasn’t a terrible beat. I’d call it a middle-tier one, generally producing 9 to 10 fish per session, which fit exactly with my result.

Flies that worked:

Gasolina with silver bead

Pink bead hare’s ear

Black hare’s ear with silver bead and green ribbing

Mistakes I learned from:

Not starting in the main holding water—the rapids and the deep channel

Fishing the left bank of the channel before the rain started, instead of prioritizing the productive side

Losing three fish that, with a bit more focus, might have put four more fish on my scorecard

But that’s competition fishing: adapt, learn, and move forward.

See you in the next adventure — Session Number 2.