Man, if you haven’t fished Switzerland yet, you’re missing out—big time. It’s not just the postcard-perfect scenery (though, let’s be real, those alpine views do make even a skunked day feel worth it). It’s the fish. The way a Fario trout slams your dry fly in some crystal-clear stream you’d swear was Photoshopped if you hadn’t just waded into it. I’ve guided these waters for years, and trust me, the trout here? They’re rude in the best way. No polite nibbles—just full-on, heart-racing strikes that’ll make you forget to breathe.

Speaking of rude… pike. Oh, the pike. You want monsters? Head to the mountain lakes. Not the touristy ones—nah, I’m talking about those tucked-away spots where the water’s so still it’s like glass, and the pike? They’re lurking like underwater linebackers. Last summer, I watched a client lose his lure to a pike so big it practically yawned before snapping the line. (Pro tip: Bring wire leaders. Seriously.)

Now, if you’re the kind of angler who hates walking, let’s talk boats. Or better yet, float tubes. There’s something magical about kicking your way into a hidden cove where the perch are stacked like cordwood. Pike, zander, even roach—they’re all out there, waiting. Just don’t blame me when you spend more time untangling line than casting. (We’ve all been there.)

Grayling. Ah, the silver ghosts. Some folks dismiss ’em as “trout’s dopey cousin,” but those folks have clearly never hooked one on a dry fly. Grayling don’t just sip—they savage flies, especially when they’re schooling. One second you’re admiring the hatch, the next your rod’s doubled over and you’re laughing like a maniac. They fight dirty, too, all head-shakes and sudden sprints.

And barbel? Underrated. Freshwater bonefish, my foot—these things are more like freight trains with fins. Hook one on a nymph, and you’re the one getting dragged downstream. Summer, winter, doesn’t matter. They’re always game for a brawl. I once saw a barbel peel 50 yards of backing off a reel before the line snapped. Client just stood there, slack-jawed. “That,” I told him, “is why we come back.”

So yeah, trout, pike, grayling, barbel—pick your poison. Or, you know, chase ’em all. Tight lines, and maybe I’ll see you out there. (Bring snacks. And a spare rod. Just in case.)