In my opinion, travel is the best investment one can make. It's the only one I can think of that doesn't depreciate over time. In fact, the value of past adventures only seems to grow and grow. Looking back at the last three months I'm astounded by how much I've managed to see, accomplish and learn. My mind warps when I try to unpack and relive all the memories that I've managed to fit into one summer. In the grand scheme of things, 90 days is a swift passage of time. But considering the ground I've covered, the souls I've encountered and the lessons that have arisen from this journey it's been the longest, most revelatory 90 days of my life.
August, in particular, has been very action-packed. But in an odd way I've found the commotion to be quite natural. I've found a sense of normalcy in the calculated chaos necessary to live out of panniers.
After my romp through Germany, I arrived in Vienna to meet up with a group of fellow Americans to attend a permaculture workshop taught in part by the infamous "Rebel Farmer" Sepp Holzer. The twelve day symposium would bring us through the rich cultural landscape of the Styrian mountains as we visited various farms, producers and stewards of the land. Though I had to store my bike in Vienna for the time being, the fishing quiver very easily fit into my daypack. Sad as I was to leave Freyja behind, my load was significantly lighter. About 35ish lbs. She's a Cadillac...not a Porsche.
August, in particular, has been very action-packed. But in an odd way I've found the commotion to be quite natural. I've found a sense of normalcy in the calculated chaos necessary to live out of panniers.
After my romp through Germany, I arrived in Vienna to meet up with a group of fellow Americans to attend a permaculture workshop taught in part by the infamous "Rebel Farmer" Sepp Holzer. The twelve day symposium would bring us through the rich cultural landscape of the Styrian mountains as we visited various farms, producers and stewards of the land. Though I had to store my bike in Vienna for the time being, the fishing quiver very easily fit into my daypack. Sad as I was to leave Freyja behind, my load was significantly lighter. About 35ish lbs. She's a Cadillac...not a Porsche.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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