The first four days of the workshop were held on Sepp Holzer's private land where fishing was essentially out of the question. No need to upset the man who diligently and regularly uses his legal fisticuffs to protect his Alpen  paradise. But the mountainous landscape riddled with clear streams of glacial runoff had me eyeing potential beats everywhere we went. I was chomping at the bit and eager for aqueous adventure. Still, no dice. Strike one.

Upon arriving in Übelbach, our host, Johnny, assured me that I'd get a chance to fish in his charming Styrian hometown. After all, "bach" means brook or stream auf Deutsch. And in this case, the stream ran right through the center of the town. Similar to Germany, Austria is rather strict with their public access laws. But rightfully so. As a foreigner, I would need permission from a tenured landowner for everything to be copasetic. Johnny had a friend who owned farmland adjacent to the stream. Unfortunately, said friend was on holiday whilst we were in Übelbach. Strike two. Patience. 

Several days later the permaculture workshop came to a close and I was reunited with my bike. No bites--not even a remote chance of legally fishing--but many great memories and new friends. A very eye-opening experience indeed to spend time with such mindful and engaged people. Plus, I got a dashing new pair of lederhosen. No longer do I need to wear the hand-me-downs of my grandfather--cherished as they may be. 

On that note, it's appropriate that I explain the significance of my final point of interest on this journey: Zell am See. 

My great grandfather, Gustave Krollman (aka Gusty), was a native born Austrian. He moved to the US before having children, but he never lost touch with his heritage. Summer after summer Gusty would take my grandfather, Carl, with him as he traveled back to his homeland to take rest and paint in the picturesque village of Zell am See. Anyone who knew Carl also knew that these summers had an undeniable impact on him. Visiting often, he kept friendships alive late into his life and then handed the torch off to me and my cousins. I grew up listening to countless stories from these fabled summers. Wherever he went in life, Carl carried Austria in his heart. And I similarly have the Austrian pride running through my veins. 

After Carl's passing, some of his ashes were spread in the beautiful Zeller lake. A few of my family members have been fortunate enough to visit over the years, but this is my first time. A very appropriate way to end this pilgrimage; by visiting my grandfathers resting place in one of the most beautiful mountain vistas on earth. Aside from the heritage aspect, the opportunities to fish, camp and bike are abundant here. 

My first day in Zell I did some reconnaissance around the lake. Many local anglers fish for Zander and Pike either offshore or in a boat. But the lake also has a healthy Trout population. After a few hours of searching I found a beautiful outflow with water clear enough to spot a few Rainbows hanging out in the open. On my approach they retreated to the shady bank of the stream. I'd have to be more methodical to hook these beauties, but I had my beat secured. 

The next morning I rose early to greet the day. Clear skies and no wind. Perfect. I quickly made my way back to the sweet spot and geared up. I was able to make a more stealth approach this time by wading through high grass on the marshy bank. Once again, I spotted a few trout and started to cast. Perhaps it was my less-than-perfect casting ability, or maybe my choice of killer bug flies, but I only seemed to send the fish back to their hiding spot. Time to think. 

After a short breakfast break I relocated to another spot farther up the stream closer to the lake. I found a walking bridge that allowed me to peer into the water where I once again saw trout schooling. But before gearing up and choosing a fly, I sat and read the surroundings. A week of rain had raised the water significantly and there was lots of particulate flowing down the outflow. The only visible insects in the water were crawling along the top. Hint hint. 

The only terrestrial fly that I've got with me is a foam spider. Seemed like an odd choice at first but I thought "what the hell...can't hurt." So I tied it on and let 'er rip. Perched on the bridge, I started to cast upstream of the fish and let the spider float right in front of them. It certainly got their attention. My vantage point helped in watching them gain interest. Only once I had them trailing would I give the line a teeny twitch. After four or five casts...BOOM. I had landed a whopper. 

Compared to the negligibly sized Perch I had caught previously, this trout gave one hell of a fight. With an aggressive bite it wasn't hard to set the hook, but I had to get off the bridge and down in the marsh to bring him in. After he fought upstream for five or so minutes, he was tired enough that I could bring him to shore by hand. No net. Just patience. An EXTREMELY gratifying catch indeed. Cooked with garlic and lemon over coals, a delicious one as well. 

I can't help but think I've redeemed myself with this lovely Trout. But I can't take all of the credit. I feel like it was a gift. A cosmic pat on the back from my grandpa watching over me. Any way you look at it, I can't think of  a more quintessentially perfect way to end such an amazing journey.

-Rob

On hybrids and holism:

And the train rolls on. For real. In a both literal and metaphysical sense. I'm now aboard the third train that's assisted me in this leg of the journey. While part of me feels like I'm cheating, the greater, more clarvoyant half of my conscious tells me to sit back and enjoy the views. This far in I can already appreciate the various benefits and luxuries of this hybrid-style touring. But that's not to say it is free of all sacrifices.

The farther south I move, the more colorful and populated the landscape becomes. Bigger cities of course have more potent auras of culture and endless forms of entertainment, but they're a staunch departure from what I've grown used to. Few (if any) places to camp, the absence of public-access rights and congested, dirty waterways were difficult transitions to make after two months in the farm-speckled and pristine wilderness of the North. Needless to say I've had fewer opportunities to fish. Major city centers aren't nearly as relaxed as the local municipalities of Norway and Sweden--saturated with free rowboats and stove- touting wind huts--when it comes to regulating their fishing beats. But exploring each new city brings a fresh variety of reasons for me to appreciate urban dwelling.

For the most part, riding rails in Europe with a fully-loaded fatbike is a non-issue. Language barriers and general dysfunctionality as a foreigner seem to be my only setbacks. But other than that's it's proved to be a very pleasant way to travel. Judging by how many other cycle-tourists are aboard each train I ride, it's certainly popular here. The minor inconvenience of lugging a bike into a train is easily compensated by the mobility you get when arriving at your destination. With only three days to spend in both Malmö and Copenhagen, my sight-seeing time was at a premium. After dropping my panniers and other weighty gear at my Couchsurfing host's place, I was free to roam around the city independently and at the exact pace of my choosing. Covering ten square kilometers by foot or public transport doesn't afford you nearly the same amount of flexibility that a bike does. Running late or missing a turn is no concern while on the bike. In fact, getting lost is fun when it gets you away from the heavily-trodden tourist traps to find something unique.

Much more so than in The States, Europe embraces bike culture. The universally accepted mindset that cycling should be respected and upheld is reflected in the infrastructure. Copenhagen is a beaming example of this mindful thinking. With more bikes than people, all of Denmark is equipped with not only bike lanes but full-on bike roads with their own traffic signals. Parents haul their children and groceries in cargo bikes that had capacities larger than those of wheelbarrows. Hoards of people in all shapes and sizes make their daily and nightly rounds all by leg power driving their chainrings. Everywhere you go, bikes dominate the road. For this reason and many more, Copenhagen will remain as a premier port-of-call in my travelers log. More than anything, it's just a beautiful city with vibrant culture and many affordances for cyclists. Though my other destinations have proven worthy candidates as well.

Hamburg came and went too quickly. I was lucky enough to have family friends host me while staying there. Their hospitality is much appreciated. Especially as the city itself is quite large and unwavering in propulsion. What used to be several villages separated by distance and water has now morphed into a fully-industrialized seaport that hasn't lost any of it's old-world charm. With an air of capitalist drive the city center seems to have more western influence than many of the other places I have previously visited. But paying €0,5 to use a toilet is an ever-present reminder that I'm in Europe. Not surprisingly, Hamburg has an abundance of water features and plenty of bike trails to complement them. What is surprising is that fishing almost never happens in these smaller waterways. Instead, many locals have taken to fishing Zander from the steep brick embankments in the industrial parts of the city. Deemed "urban fishing", this style of angling is frowned upon and has created cult-like followings that lay claim to their outlawish beats. Strange as it may seem, it is a reasonable response to fish the deep, cold waters of the ship canals rather than the otherwise polluted and high-traffic flows of the Elbe and other waterways in the city.

Brussels offered similarly poor opportunities for fishing but was markedly different in atmosphere. The fusion of French and Flemish speaking people provides the small metropolis with a rich culture that has an appreciation for international influence. They also really appreciate decadent food, strong coffee and tons of killer beer. I spent my days there avoiding rain showers in cafés and bars between my attempts to track down natural habitat to cast in. Much like Hamburg and Copenhagen the water found within city limits was subject to pollution and algal overgrowth. Upsetting that the confluence of humans and nature is so evidently negative in the urban setting. But it should come as no surprise.

As I now sit and reflect in this train-car I find myself weighing the pros and cons of city life. There is no doubt that I'm satisfied with my choice to have visited these amazing places. But it's strikingly obvious that this urban route has taken a bite out of my fishing time. I miss the wide open spaces of the Nordic countries ripe with fjords, lakes and rivers. And after seeing the drastic effects of dense populations on our planet, I'm inspired to continue reducing my own impact. Thankfully I've been able to find balance by visiting parks, gardens and public green spaces while in each major city. Europeans certainly value such spots. These sanctuaries help to break the commanding grip of a concrete jungle, but they also help to ground us and remind us of what's really important and worth preserving. I guess the lesson to be learned here is that a little bit of everything is good only as long as it's kept in balance. Hyrbidization in practice requires holism in thought. Or something like that. 

-Rob

For the last week and a half I've been living the island life. The Swedish island life, that is. Upon numerous reccomendations from locals I've met along the way, I decided to alter my south-bound route to include stops at Swedens two largest isles, Gotland and Öland. Despite having tough luck with fishing, this decision proved to be a valuable one. These beautiful archipelagos provided diverse scenery and a smooth transition into the next phase of my travels.

Gotland is the self described "Island Paradise" of Sweden's south-eastern coast. The regional capital, Visby, is perhaps one of the most beautifully preserved ancient cities of Europe. Surrounded by tall fortress walls of limestone, the inner city has a whimsical blend of castle ruins, quaint cobblestone streets and bustling cafés of various nationalities. A place where modernity and antiquity blend seamlessly in a surreal fashion to create a unique appreciation for culture both new and old. The island offerings attract a wide variety of tourists from Stockholm club-junkies to cycle tourists and wild-campers such as myself. The rich variety of nightlife and nature was perhaps the most interesting part of such a localized space. I wish I had given myself more time to cycle around the island. Two days and three nights was certainly not enough to experience all Gotland had to offer. So I decided to focus my efforts on exploring in and around the city of Visby.

The landscape of Gotland is much different from that of mainland Sweden. The tree growth is much more juvenile than the tall pine forests I had grown used to in the country's interior. This made finding a place to hang my hammock a but more difficult, but I managed to find a nice spot within audible distance of the crashing waves. The island also has much fewer lakes and rivers. Fishing opportunities generally came in the form of Sea Trout and a few other varieties of Salmon in the northern territory. Eel is also apparently a popular local catch but I was a little unclear on the regulations and techniques for such an endeavor. A guide at a local sporting store informed me that Sea Trout don't require a license and are found in several areas along the coastline of the city. Of course he wouldn't give me specifics without agreeing to pay for his guiding services but the advice was appreciated anyways. So bright and early in the morning of my second day I set out to try Tenkara on Sea Trout.

4:30 wake up calls are never fun. Especially in spitting rain. But what the hell. This was going to be an adventure. The coastal waters have a very shallow depth and require quite a bit of wading in order to cast. Being that I don't have any waders, I donned flip-flops and shorts as I walked out into the sea. The Baltic waters were calm but very cold on this particular morning. After an hour of unsuccessful fishing I was feeling a bit foolish and unprepared. So once the sun started to rise and the rain was clearing, I relocated to a pier that stretched out maybe 300 feet into the water so I could stay warm and relatively dry.

Once again, the fishing was pretty slow from this concrete. I toyed around with a few different flys and moved up and down the pier to varying depths. While it was a beautiful way to spend the morning, I ultimately wound up with no bites. A bad day fishing is better than most. After two days in Gotland, I was packed up and back on the bike. Well, not after another ferry ride of course. I biked south from Oskarshamn to Kalmar in order to gain access by yet another ferry to the longer, skinnier island of Öland. Though I probably would have been content with a longer stay on the mainland. If Gotland is the "Island Paradise" of Sweden, then Öland is the desirous younger brother that doesn't quite have a hang of it yet. While the island itself is abounding with cultural sites like castles and nature preserves, it lacks something in the vein of individuality. Much of the landscape is gradual and tame, allowing for a good deal of farming and less so of scenery. The western coast where I was cycling is fragmented with claustrophobic camping sites, tacky tourist traps and the occasional windmill. So I pushed on to the northern village of Borgholm where I was able to find a very nice nature preserve where I could escape from the crowds and do a bit of exploring.

Just outside of Borgholm, the preserve was a water-protection habitat that used marshland to act as a natural filter for the agricultural runoff spilling into the sea. But fishing was still allowed

for free. Not so sure that my hammock-camping spot was totally kosher but I ran into no issues. Situated right by the water, my campsite gave me the opportunity to try out some more Sea Trout angling. Though, my experience on Öland was very similar to the fishing to be had on Gotland. Lots of running around, rearranging and daydreaming without any action on the rod. I have a feeling that Sea Trout are a more exacting beast than I had imagined. But I was happy just to have the opportunity to clear my head by the water watching the sun trace up and down the horizon.

Despite having no luck with the fish, I'm very satisfied with my visit to the islands. Both Gotland and Öland are getaways for the locals of Sweden, giving me a unique and refreshing perspective on the culture and also allowing me to get some R&R myself. Taking some time to slow down and resituate was perhaps an obligatory move for mental clarity as I switch gears and prepare for my trek south. I'll be getting some assistance from railways during my next leg and will be visiting some larger cities along the way. Taking the time to reflect on where I've been and also appreciate where I am at the moment is giving me the spirit-fire necessary to embrace the coming adventures with full awareness. I realize now, more than ever, how truly amazing this experience is and how fortunate I am to be doing what I love while meeting new people and making new memories along the way. This blog of course can't capture every detail of my journey, every nuanced moment or every illuminating conversation. But I hope that it at least gives a good glimpse into the life of a nomadic bike fisherman forging his way through foreign territories. It's a righteous feeling. 

- Rob

Sweden is incredible. I'm very glad that I made the decision to spend a good bit of time here. It seems that a month has flown by in no time at all--but that month has been absolutely flooded with amazing experiences and many lessons I won't soon forget. Time is strange like that; fleeting moments that are weighted beyond their size or duration. But i'll save you the philosophical rant and get straight to the details.

For roughly the last three weeks I’ve been taking refuge at my new home in the charming countryside village of Ålberga (pronounced: ool-berry-ya). I’ve been welcomed into a vibrant group of people who live communally on a small farm outside of the nearby city of Nyköping. The 6 hectare homestead was started in the early 60’s by the matriarch/patriarch couple of Kjell and Marianne—two quasi-revolutionary hippies who are living proof that the green wave is still alive and kicking. Since the farms inception, their children and their children’s children have all moved to the property to grab a little slice of surrealistic beauty. With friends, family and transplants included, the year round inhabitants of Smedstorp total 16 people, span 4 generations and come from a wide variety of cultural backgrounds. The property is decorated with over a dozen hand-built structures of various sizes, functions and designs. Chickens and sheep roam freely around the grounds, adding to the au-naturale vibe. Everything that can’t be recycled or composted (including human waste) is burned and turned into ash fertilizer. Everything is made from scratch and repairs are necessarily taken care of in-house. One can’t help but notice a sense of organized chaos in this beautiful place. But it’s in the best possible way.

Living on a commune requires a unique perspective on possession and belonging. It seems as though many of us would approach this living arrangement with a bit of reluctance. Relinquishing our personal freedoms for the benefit of others doesn’t usually come easily. But I’ve learned to love the simplicity and joy in this lifestyle. I support you and you support me. Together we can do more. No need to make things complicated. Most everything — especially the land — is universally shared at Smedstorp. Though everyone seems to maintain separate households, schedules and prerogatives with no issue. This style of living offers many benefits to the country life. Rather than living in solitude on the farm, Smedstorp residents always have something going on to entertain them. Aside from international travelers rolling through every so often, there are many attractions that bring people to this magnetic place. Just this week we wrapped up a festival of culture and arts. Completely organized and funded by the family, over 250 people were in attendance to celebrate the joys and beauty of simple living in the country. There is no doubt that everyone here has an overflowing passion for nature.

One of the Smedstorp residents I’ve gotten to know rather well is a man by the name of John. He is a friend of the family who moved to the farm to escape the pressures of living in Stockholm and to get closer to nature. He is a fellow fisherman who has an abundance of knowledge for the surrounding lakes and streams of the area. Previously, he worked as a kayak guide in the north of Sweden before landing in the southern, more agriculturally dominated landscape. We’ve chatted many times about fishing, camping and exploits in the wild. He’s been a mentor of sorts; giving me tips and insights on where to cast my line-as well as other worldly advice. His recommendation for fishing was to move closer to the sea in order to find cleaner waters. Because of the presence of agriculture in the area, many of the lakes are murky, shallow and dirty with the streams even more so. Closer to the Baltic, John explained, I could expect to find clearer, colder waters with better populations of fish. And so the search began. On weekends and afternoons when I wasn't busy with farm work I was off on the bike to explore some new fishing holes. 

The mobility and ease of bike fishing cannot be overstated. Coupled with a Badger Tenkara Classic rod, this simple quiver for exploring has given me a great deal of flexibility in choosing the perfect fishing spot. Many of the lakes I've tried in this area have been duds. Perhaps I'm not patient enough, but casting from shore without live bait or a boat only allows me so much room for experimentation. So rather than continuing my efforts at a slow hole, I'd simply pack up my gear and move down the shoreline or to a new lake entirely. Collapsing the rod and wrapping my line takes less than two minutes and I'm back on the bike and mobile. After repeating this process of trial and error a few times over, I found a lake which started paying off: Navsjön. 

Only an hour away from the farm by bike, Navsjön is a large, marshy lake that is stocked with pike, perch and even salmon. Needless to say it was an appealing option. There is also a trail network that wraps around the lake giving me many different access points. When I first arrived the rain was light but persistent so I chose to cast from beneath a large tree canopy. This maybe wasn't the best choice as I didn't get a single bite in over an hour with a variety of flies and drag patterns. As the rain cleared and I moved closer to the bogs of the lake, my luck began to change. I soon started to catch small perch left and right. 

've learned that, to locals, these perch are known as Aborra. Many consider them to be the tastiest fish in the region. But their abundance is perhaps the greatest contributor to their popularity. It's also probably why I've seen only perch on the end of my line. Though when I told my hosts that I caught several of these using only fixed line and flies they were impressed. Typically, anglers will use more sophisticated setups to go after Aborra. In my experience it's not necessary. Here's how I did it. 


Like most fish, Aborra are more active during early and late periods of the day. This explains why my strikes increased as the day went on. They are also sub-surface feeders so I was choosing my flies accordingly--going only for weighted emergers and nymphs. I found the most successful fly to be a small orange nymph wrapped in copper wire with a gold beaded head. I used about 3 feet of tippet with an indicator attached right where it met the level line. This helped to give some suspensory properties but also allowed me to more easily tell when I should set the hook. I searched for natural habitats like sunken logs and lily pads to cast into, and would get as close to the as possible. When I had nailed my target, I would allow the fly to sink before slowly dragging it along the contour of my chosen habitat. No action other than a gradual troll through the water. When I felt a nibble, I'd delicately set the line by snapping the rod up. As before, pulling in the hooked Aborra by hand was a breeze. I'd wait until the fish was done fighting, reach for the line, set my rod down gently and continue to pull him in hand over hand. With small fish this is very simple but I'd love to give it a try with a bigger more sporty catch.

I've now packed up my things and have said my goodbyes to the kind souls at Smedstorp. Moving on is hard to do but I have a strong feeling that this isn't the end but rather a new beginning. Today I'll board a ferry to the island destination of Gotland where I'll stay a few days before continuing south. Aside from being a resort destination, Gotland has got some promising fishing opportunities in the Baltic waters. I'm only halfway through this journey but there is still much more to go. Stay tuned for what Tenkara can offer in saltwater scenarios!

- Rob

Greetings from the road! I'm twelve days into this pilgrimage and I've come a long way physically, mentally and spiritually since I've last posted. I'm currently taking shelter in a fishermans lean-to on the shore of lake Busjön in the western Swedish province of Hagfors as I tap-type this on my iPhone. But before I get to the here and now, a run-down of what's happened since I last checked in:

My starting point of Bergen was a spectacular way to launch into this journey. The beautiful sea port city had much to offer in cultural terms as I arrived amidst the beginning of a summer festival. The hosts whom I found through they cycle-touring website, warmshowers.com, were gracious enough to let me stay for two nights as I nailed down my route with locals and explored the city. They also fed me very well and shared some of the local customs--including fishing etiquette, a few Norwegian words and a detailed explanation on why Norways wine monopolies were superior to their Swedish rivals.

My first jaunt on the road out of Bergen, I made very good distance covering an average of 100 kilometers a day. In no time at all, I had made it down the coast and to the opening of Hardangerfjord--arguably Norways most scenic waterway. The roads that took me up this fjord were absolutely incredible; raw majesty at its finest. Huge expanses of water and massive, steep cliffs complemented by quaint mountainside farms with rows of wild roses and rhododendrons made for an extremely scenic ride. A couple hundred kilometers and a few ferry rides later I stopped to rest in the small town of Øvre Eidfjord.

Threats of rain and a persistent cough were my primary motivations to hunker down in this valley before heading on. But I quickly learned of the crystal clear mountain river that emptied into the fjord right by my campsite. After chatting with a local over coffee and waffles, I learned that fishing this river would not be an option. Upsetting to say the least--especially since this was my first run-in with freshwater. He explained to me the unique regulations of Norwegian fishing. Most times, rules are dependent on the province or Kommune you are in. Other times, it's totally up to the landowner of the fishing hole, who very well might sell fiskekorts (fishing licenses) from his barn. The river in question was unfortunately off limits until the end of June. As an American, ignorance is always a believable excuse. But there was no way I could poach this river. Water is a vital and sacred part of the Nordic culture. So onward and upward it was.

From Eidfjord, I had one of the most physically and mentally taxing days of my young life, but I was rewarded for it. From the river valley, the iconic Mabødalen road would take me up more than 1,000 meters from sea level. 40 straight kilometers of climbing through sketchy conditions of rain, snow, narrow tunnels and gravel roads. Though halfway through it all I got to stop and take a break at the scenic vista of the Vøringfossen waterfall. You've probably seen it on a postcard or travel brochure somewhere. It's quite amazing in real life. After battling through the glacial plateau I was cold and numb on the descent into Geilo. I stopped for a hot meal and a cold beer but ended up getting a place to stay. The restauranteur was a fellow cycle tourist and I think could tell how depleted I was. Bonus tip for awesome hospitality.

The next few days were a breeze after that. Awesome weather and flat(ish) roads were all the motivation I needed to crush kilometers. I had chosen a scenic route that wrapped alongside rivers and lakes. Unfortunately, snow melt coupled with classic Norwegian rain spells meant they were too gorged and muddy to fish. No matter; I had my sights set on the road.

After several days in the mountainous interior I arrived at Norway's largest freshwater lake, Mjøsa. Surrounded by a trio of cities--Gjøvik, Lillehammer and Hamar--the clear and well-maintained water is a prime destination for fishermen. What makes it so special is a species of fish that is totally unique to the region: Mjøsotten. These lake trout--also known as Hundertrout--are a sub-species of brown trout that can weigh upwards of 20 pounds and are notoriously difficult to catch. I spent two days in Hamar trying my luck anyways. Kari, the host of my stay, is the city-planner of Hamar and thus had many suggestions of good spots to cast from. Surprisingly, I needed no permit or license to go after Mjøsotten. It is in fact encouraged by the local authorities in order to maintain a healthy population. Though I was unsuccessful in my efforts to catch any, I made some new friends along the way. Local anglers at the various spots I tried were very intrigued by the Tenkara stylings. Compared to their highly-specified setups, my rod seemed to be lacking something in their eyes. Several of them wanted to try casting with it, a few offered suggestions on "better" equipment, but none of them caught any Mjøsotten either.

Enlightened but not discouraged, I was on the road again. The terrain was becoming flatter and the lakes more frequent as I approached the eastern border. With my freshly acquired knowledge that lake trout don't require permits, I spent my last days in Norway breaking early in the afternoon to set up camp by water and bust out the gear. Fishing is a great way to unwind after getting off the bike and also helps to beat the sticky, inland heat.

I was starting to believe I had bad luck...or at the very least bad technique (still very likely). But on my LAST day in Norway--as if planned by fate/irony/comedic fishing gods or whathaveyou--I caught my first fish of the trip.

Regardless of what you may think, this little perch was a delight to hook. Aside from the satisfaction of finally getting something for my efforts, I was rather proud of my methodology. I paid attention to how and where the fish were active, tried a few different flies and tweaked my technique until I got a bite. The school I was going after seemed to be feeding beneath the surface, so I opted for a soft hackle kebari wet fly--barbless and tan in color. With a delicate cast and a slow drift through my observed sweet spot, it only took a few tries before I started feeling bites. I knew I had a solid strike when there was a quick, evident pop as my line grew taught and pulled beneath the surface. Not much of a fight to speak of, but obvious he was on the hook. Retrieving the line was a breeze as there was very minimal bending in the rod. I simply reached up to grab the level line and pulled him in hand over hand. Nothing to write home about--but, in this case, certainly something to blog about.

If the lesson from my last post was patience, this weeks lesson is persistence. I suppose the two compliment each other--especially in the realm of angling. I've learned from my travels as well as my fishing that answers aren't simply given to us. We must seek them out. But the search is perhaps the most rewarding part. It seems commonsense to say that it is where we stand to gain the most.

As I sit now beside this new and unexplored body of water, I'm filled with hope and excitement for what's to come. I can't say that all my days on the road have been easy ones. But when I find myself feeling stuck, frustrated or just plain tired, I take a breath and step back to realize the larger picture and am wiser because of it. Hard to do at times, but necessary for actual growth. So if at first you don't succeed, get a beer (or four) and find a new lake.

Before extending the rod, it's best to start by first attaching your line to the lillian. I've found that this allows for a quicker rigging setup, but it also reduces the chance of damaging the thinnest rod section. After the line is attached, I begin extending each section from thinnest to widest, applying only minimal force when they come into contact. When collapsing the rod, it's best to do the opposite; working from thickest to thinnest. When doing this, it's critical to offer support to both sections you are working with. Holding a thumb and forefinger on both sections near the joint you are collapsing is definitely advisable. When you encounter resistance, rather than forcing the sections to move, applying a slight twisting action works very well to loosen the more stubborn joints. 

I can't take credit for this technique as it was taught to me by Matt. But I found it very useful for preparing myself mentally as well. When we encounter resistance, our initial reaction may be to to use force. In my experience, this hasn't always worked so well. Alternatively, when we take a second to observe, be mindful and try a different approach, we stand to achieve much better results. Even if they weren't what we had originally sought out. Awesome to think I can get that type of lesson from a mindless mistake after a day of fishing.

- Rob

With only a week to go before he starts the trip across Scandinavia, Rob checks in with a post about his plans, and the equipment he has chosen to carry. It is easy to see how Tenkara fits the ultra-light, ultra portable requirements for bike travel! 
-Matt

For roughly a year now I’ve been planning  a journey that should thoroughly test my grit and—if all goes according to plan—my psyche as well. I’ve got a respectable amount of experience in the realm of travel. But this voyage will be unlike any of my previous undertakings. This June, I will begin my pilgrimage-by-bicycle through the Scandinavian peninsula in the pursuit of a richer connection with the earth and all the magnificent creatures that fill it. This probably sounds like an airy, utopic abstract to most. But I assure you, my conviction for this voyage is focused and intense.

Living in an outdoor mecca like Boulder, Colorado has opened my eyes to many new prospects—but more than anything, it’s helped me to refine my vision. This town is a magnet to travelers, transients and adrenaline junkies of all kinds. There’s also a substantial population of booze-addled student zombies—myself included. But since graduating, I’ve been strapped with an overwhelming ambition to get outta Dodge. Don’t get me wrong; I am completely enamored with life in the mountains and have every intention of returning someday. However, the opportunity for travel is too ripe not to pick. This is perhaps one of the last times I will have an unencumbered summer at my disposal free of scholastic endeavors or any real-world responsibilities for that matter. Though, rather than spending my summer in perma-lounge mode, I am planning to make the most of it by learning through first-hand, utilitarian experience.

Initially, I started planning my trip as a way to reward myself for jumping through the institutionalized hoops of CU Boulder. It seems fairly common in my social circles that students—at some point during their college tenure—take the opportunity to expatriate and “find themselves” or “see the world”. These narratives of travel and discovery are certainly romantic. And I hope to find at least a shred of self-actualization whilst abroad. But I feel that the best way to reach these conclusions is to try things I never have before. Rather than using traditional modes of travel, I’ve elected to travel by bicycle, carrying all of my worldly possessions upon a CroMoly frame while staying at organic farms and wild-camping along the way. By moving slowly and bunking with stewards of the land, I hope to get fully saturated with the local culture, customs and wildlife. Furthermore, I’ll be using these destinations as an opportunity to learn various skills like beekeeping, adobe building, biodynamic farming, cheesemaking, hugelkultur food production and a whole bunch of other great earthy-crunchy stuff. So—without further rambling—here are the the bare bones of my upcoming adventure.

On May 31st, I will land in Bergen, Norway—the coastal metropolis of Hordaland. I’ll spend a day or two relaxing, adjusting to my locale and re-assembling my bike before heading out on my proposed route. The first leg of my journey will take me from Bergen all the way to Nyköping, Sweden; about 1,200 km straight east from start to finish. I call it the “first leg” because I plan to rest for a few weeks at a family-operated farm before continuing on to Bavaria—but more about that later.

For roughly the first five days of this stretch I’ll be pedalling to 1,360 meters above sea level. A steadily increasing climb through the mountains of the Hallingskarvet and Stølsheimen ranges. (Interesting tidbit: Stølsheimen is Norwegian for “Home of the Summer Farms” due to the strong agrarian heritage of this region.) After I reach the peaks of the mountainous interior, I’ll have a smooth-sailing descent back below the tree-line through rolling glades and nature preserves before I reach Oslo. From there, it’s only a quick jaunt to the Swedish border. The last half of this leg will likely be a bit more happy-go-lucky as much of Sweden’s terrain is flat. Though it won’t traverse mountain ranges, my push to the eastern coast will bring me through heavily-wooded forest and a smattering of lakes, streams and marshland. Long story short: navigating through the Scandinavian landscape will provide PLENTY of opportunities for fishing, camping and wilderness ambling.

Because of my stints in both Minnesota and Colorado I’m certainly familiar with flat, lake-riddled landscapes as well as craggy, snow-capped peaks. But navigating new terrain will always have unforeseen challenges. In an attempt to compensate for my general unfamiliarity and naivete, I’ve done the due diligence in researching the topography, terrain and wildlife  of my route. Both Sweden and Norway are abundant with saltwater and freshwater fishing opportunities, though I’ll exclusively stick to the latter category. And with thousands of protected lakes, rivers and streams, the fish populations are similarly abundant. Because I’m staying in the lower latitudes, I may not have the best access to the sought-after Atlantic Salmon or Arctic Char—but hey, ya never know. Though there are plenty of other predatory fish I plan to come in contact with. In Norway, I’ll likely spend most of my time fishing the waterways for Brown Trout and Grayling. The high alpine lakes will also provide many holes to fish for Northern Pike and Bream. This will be good practice as in Sweden I’ll likely do more lake and pond fishing than moving water. Popular freshwater species of Sweden include Trout, Perch, Pike, Burbot, Grayling and Whitefish.

Whether or not you’re aware, Tenkara-style fishing offers numerous benefits. The lightweight, simplistic design of my Badger Tenkara rod makes it the perfect option for travel. But the most valuable asset in my opinion is it’s versatility. Without having to switch gear, I’ll be able to fish in a wide variety of different locales and conditions. Seamlessly transitioning from Trout in swift currents to Pike in weedy shallows will allow me a great deal of freedom. Familiarizing myself with this fishing quiver will definitely be fun!

A good friend of mine shared a valuable piece of insight as I was assembling my gear for this trip: “Within the realm of outdoor gear, you’ll only be able to choose two of the following attributes—being lightweight, being durable and being cheap. Choose carefully.” He himself is an experienced ultralight thru-hiker and certainly provided a wealth of knowledge on how to minimize and simplify my loadout. But this particular philosophy of his certainly rang true with my needs. I’ve always been rough on my equipment, regardless of how carefully scrupulous I am with preventative maintenance. Thus, I need my gear to be able to withstand routine and thorough beatings. Durability is priority #1 most of the ime. But in my case, I also need my gear to be lightweight. Without paying attention to this aspect, I could very easily be miserable on uphill climbs and long days on the saddle. Unfortunately—as evidenced by my friend’s advice—durable and lightweight often eliminates the option of being economical. Because of this, I rose to a new level of resourcefulness and creativity in assembling all of my gear...and I think I’ve just about figured it out. Here is rundown of my carefully-selected gear load-out for my upcoming voyage.

Clothing:

• 2 pairs padded cycling shorts
  
  
• Gusseted climbing pants with roll-up snaps
  
  
• Gusseted climbing shorts
  
  
• 3 merino wool t-shirts
  
  
• 2 collared hiking shirts
  
  
• 3 pair wool cycling socks
  
  
• 1 pair thick wool socks
  
  
• 3 pairs boxers
  
  
• Wool long underwear
  
  
• Fleece pullover
  
  
• Rain shell and rain pants
  
  
• Trail shoes
  
  
• Flip-flops
  
  
• Full-fingered cycling gloves
  
  
• Bucket hat
  
  
• Wind buff
  
  
• Helmet
  
  
• Sunglasses
  

Versatility was a huge consideration for my clothing choices. I wanted to make sure I could use everything both on and off the bike without sacrificing performance or *sigh* style. I very intentionally avoided cotton products like the plague and instead opted for wool or synthetic fabrics. Unlike cotton, wool retains its thermal properties even when wet. Furthermore, it’s quick-to-dry and naturally antimicrobial. This means I can minimize my funky stench as well as the time spent washing/drying clothes. Sadly, I still feel like I’m over-packing in this category.

Camp Gear

• Nylon hammock with adjustable structural ridgeline
  
  
• Silnylon rain tarp
  
  
• Zero degree sleeping bag
  
  
• Handmade underquilt
  
  
• Assorted stakes and guy-lines
  

If you haven’t tried hammock camping already I’d highly recommend it. This system is not only extremely light but also very easy to set up. In saturated conditions a hammock is also much more likely to keep you dry compared to sleeping on the ground. In an attempt to save money I taught myself to use a sewing machine and handcrafted the underquilt I’ll be using. It’s not the fanciest setup in the world, but my wallet is happy and I’m very confident in my own craftsmanship.

Tools and Repair

• Bike multitool
  
  
• Leatherman
  
  
• 3 tire levers
  
  
• Mini pump
  
  
• 2 replacement tubes
  
  
• Tube patching kit
  
  
• 3 chain quick-links
  
  
• 4 pairs brake pads
  
  
• 2 replacement fiber-fix spokes
  
  
• Chain lube
  
  
• Spare fasteners and washers
  
  
• Assorted zip ties
  
  
• Duct tape and electric tape spooled on a pencil
  
  
• Handkerchief/grease rag 
  

Being able to make repairs in the field is obviously a necessary precaution. Though with proper maintenance and daily inspections I should be able to avoid major blow-ups. In the chance that I break a spoke on the drivetrain side of my rear wheel, I’ve got the nifty fiber-fix kevlar spokes that will grant me the luxury of not needing a cassette tool in order to perform an impromptu replacement.

Fishing Gear

• Badger classic tenkara rod w/ hard travel case
  
  
• Replacement rod sections
  
  
• 2x Badger floating line
  
  
• 2 spools of 5x tippet
  
  
• Assortment of flies
  
  
• Locking forceps 

Aside from the forceps which I procured from my fathers tackle box, all of this gear was generously provided by the fine folks at Badger. When laid out, it looks like a very minimal arrangement of tackle. Because it is! That the beauty of it; tenkara doesn’t require much gear to be effective. Better yet, it’s all very lightweight and compact and fits VERY easily onto my rack. But thankfully minimalism doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice functionality. The level line will work in a wide variety of scenarios and I have a diverse enough collection of flies to employ several different techniques.

Electronics

• iPhone 5 w/ Lifeproof case
  
  
• Point-and-shoot camera
  
  
• Portable recharging battery
  
  
• EU outlet adapter
  
  
• Headphones and USB cords
  
  
• Front and rear bike lights
  
  
• Headlamp
  
  
• Spare AAA batteries
  

It seems silly—even petty—to have a category devoted to electronics. But these items will prove to be necessary along my journey. Aside from keeping me connected with family, I’ll use my phone to navigate through larger cities, upload blog content and listen to music if I feel so inclined on the bike. My point-and-shoot is nothing fancy, but it cranks out very respectable pictures for it’s relatively small and lightweight stature. The portable battery will also allow me to keep these gadgets charged while I’m out in the sticks and away from on-grid electricity.

Miscellaneous

• Ultralight day-pack
  
  

• Water filter
  
  
• Collapsable water reservoir
  
  
• Bic lighter
  
  

• Moleskine journal and ballpoint pen
  
  
• Paperback book
  
  
• Microfiber camp towel
  
  
• 15’ paracord
  
  
• Bungee cords
  
  
• Needle and thread
  
  
• Earplugs
  
  
• Ziploc bags
  
  
• U-lock
  
  
• 1:50,000 road map
  
  
• Passport, credit card and insurance card
  
  
• Assorted toiletries 
  

I imagine I’m forgetting a few extraneous items, but if I can’t think of them then I must not really need them. That was a primary consideration for trimming the fat off of this list: necessity. In all reality,I could stand to shed some weight still. Many other, more experienced tourers have perfected the art of minimalist bikepacking. But for all intents and purposes this loadout should be pretty solid. I’ve already chosen to ditch my camping stove and fuel which is saving me a bunch of weight—but there is always a way to simplify even more.

Aggregating, testing and organizing all of my gear has certainly been entertaining. But it’s also taught me the virtues and challenges of packing light and living simply. There is no luxury without consequence and no shortcuts without sacrifice. Packing up your life and putting it onto a bike is extremely humbling. But what is already painfully obvious is that you really don’t need much to be happy, let alone survive.

-Rob

You'll hear us say it again and again - Tenkara is a perfect compliment to any outdoor adventure. We are happy to announce that the Badger Tenkara Classic rod is about to take a long bike journey in the hands of our #bikefishing Adventure Correspondent - Rob Woodworth, who is bike-packing from Bergen, Norway to Stockholm, Sweden this Summer. We'll be featuring reports as he get ready for the trip, and then hits the road in June. In this first installment, Rob says hello and tells us a little bit about his background. 

Greetings fellow nomad! My name is Rob Woodworth and I believe the best way to move through life is to tread slowly, pack lightly and live simply. Guided by this philosophy, I’ve always been driven to explore what our green earth has to offer. In my experience, travel is the wisest investment one can make—especially when adventuring through the great outdoors. And though my journeys have taught me a wealth of valuable lessons, I’ve never been able to fully satiate my wanderlusting appetite.

A few of my expeditioning highlights include hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, biking through the Austrian countryside and rafting with hippos and crocodiles on the Zambezi river. I feel extremely fortunate to have experienced such pinnacles in my travels, though, I’ve learned that much of my gratitude is owed to the journey and not the destination. It is my belief that we stand to learn much more from navigating the bumps in the road than we do arriving at any particular stopping place or designated end. Why stop exploring and evolving? My wandering habits are certainly a product of my environment—perhaps the greatest gift ever given to me. But aside from my zeal for travel, my family has also taught me to care for and value our planet.

My appreciation for the natural world was no doubt fostered at a very young age. Born in Minnesota, I was raised a child of the north. I spent my summers biking through marshland, poaching bridge-jumping spots on the surrounding lakes and fishing for sunnies off the end of our dock. The Land of 10,000 Lakes breeds a unique and obligatory admiration for water in its habitants. My fondest memories of home seem to always incorporate a water feature of some kind. Surely, anyone else that has been canoe-camping in the Boundary Waters, hiking on the North Shore or cruising on Lake Minnetonka during Independence Day has to feel the same way I do. My upbringing in Minnesota has no doubt taught me to respect and revere nature. But as I continued to adventure in my home state, I couldn’t help but think what else might be waiting for me in the farther reaches of our planet.

For the last 5 years, I’ve been living in Boulder, Colorado soaking up all the Rockies have to offer. Skiing and mountain biking are my preferred modes of travel, though I’ve also picked up few new hobbies along the way. With a massive network of public trails and more than 2,500 square miles of national forest just through the foothills, Boulder has shown me the undeniable majesty of mountain living. Sure, I’m a flatlander at heart. But I know that I belong in the mountains. Since moving here, I’ve: worked as a ski instructor, survived biblical forest fires and floods, written for Skiing Magazine, competed in a collegiate ski-racing circuit, camped above tree-line more times than necessary, racked more than 1,000 miles on bikes of all sorts, maintained a freebooting backcountry hut at 10,000 feet, found an appreciation for rock climbing, learned to properly cast a fly rod and developed a vice for accumulating—sometimes fabricating—outdoor gear. Almost forgot...I also found some time to get my BA in Communication at the University of Colorado. Needless to say, I’ve managed to keep myself busy since moving out west. My passion for adventure has only grown since then, but I (tragically) haven’t found much time for fishing or hunting the mountainous wildlife of Colorado—two pastimes near and dear to my Minnesota roots. But with the help of Badger Tenkara, I fully intend to change that.

Much of my fishing experience has been on the lake of my childhood home. No larger than 150 acres and only 16 feet at its deepest, Gleason Lake is by no means a premier destination for anglers. But it’s surprisingly well stocked for its unassuming appearance. With boat-launching privileges given only to lakeshore owners, healthy populations of Crappie, Bluegill, Northern Pike, Largemouth Bass and Walleye are well maintained by the DNR. Extremely low traffic and a long, narrow shape make for very calm conditions that allow easy transport by canoe or paddle-board, but I was perfectly content to cast for sunnies and catfish right off the dock. I’ve had the pleasure of ice fishing on the legendary and frigid Lake Mille Lacs in subzero temperatures with furious wind. Oddly enough, it’s a ritual I look forward to every winter I go home. Fresh Walleye is really a treat. Other than lake fishing, I haven’t had much other angling experience. A few choice experiences include spear-fishing in the Caribbean and a handful of times fly fishing, but never without borrowing someone else's gear. In all honesty, I am not a truly seasoned fishermen—especially in regards to rivers and streams. I find the quiver of necessary gear a little intimidating and feel like the know-how can be esoteric at times. This is exactly why I am drawn to Tenkara style fishing. With minimalist design and fewer moving parts to complicate things, I believe that Tenkara will beautifully complement my simple, lightweight methods of outdoor travel. Furthermore, the emphasis on technique, not equipment, is an ideal that I can stand behind. I’m thrilled that I have the opportunity to get back into fishing with guidance from Badger Tenkara. It’s about time that I get my feet wet again.
- Rob Woodworth 

Rob is going to have great opportunities to fish a huge variety of water and species as he travels across Scandinavia. Keep checking in to see how the trip unfolds!