Let me tell you about the Lech – this mountain river that’s got under my skin like no other. You know how some rivers feel like they’re just waiting for anglers? Not the Lech. It’s got this wild, untamed personality that demands respect. I remember rounding a bend last July, the scent of damp pine needles thick in the air, when a brown trout exploded on my Adams fly so hard it nearly yanked the rod from my hands. That’s the Lech for you – full of surprises.

The water here dances between moods like a temperamental artist. One minute it’s all gentle riffles where grayling sip mayflies with ridiculous precision (I’ve watched them reject flies with the discernment of a Michelin critic). Next thing you know, you’re battling whitewater that’ll test your wading skills. Those natural weirs? They create pockets so perfect you’d swear the fish have advanced degrees in ambush tactics. My buddy Thomas – been guiding here twenty years – showed me a pool behind the third cascade where the big browns hold. Took me three trips before I could place a fly there without spooking them.

Now about the fish – these aren’t your lazy, pellet-fed stockers. The browns here fight dirty, using the current like accomplices. And the grayling? Pound for pound, they’ll outfight any trout in the system. (Funny story – the first grayling I landed here back in ’98 measured maybe 14 inches but peeled line like a bonefish.) With only six anglers allowed on the prime stretch daily, the fish haven’t developed that wariness you see on pressured waters, but they’re plenty smart. Make one clumsy cast and they’ll vanish faster than whiskey at a guides’ reunion.

Gear-wise, leave the fancy stuff at home. My go-to’s a 8’6” 5-weight that’s taken more knocks than a rental car – short enough for tight quarters but with enough backbone when a big one runs downstream. You’ll want a WF line that turns over in the breeze coming off those peaks, and leaders tapered to 5X for those crystal-clear flats. Pro tip: pack layers like you’re dressing for four seasons in one day (because you are), and for God’s sake don’t skip the polarized glasses – spotting fish in that turquoise water will give you a migraine without them.

What really gets me about this place is how the river changes character every hundred yards. The headwaters roar like a freight train, then suddenly you’re in these serene glides where the only sound is your fly line whispering through the guides. It’s not fishing – it’s a conversation with the mountains themselves. And when you finally outsmart one of those wild Lech trout... well, let’s just say you’ll be picking gravel out of your wading boots from kneeling to admire it.