You know, I can still remember the first time I held a fishing rod—just a kid with his hands wrapped around this magic stick that somehow connected me to the water. By 14, I was already obsessed with fly fishing, tying these ridiculous knots behind my back just to see if I could do it blindfolded. Not that it was practical, but hell, that’s passion for you.

Life took me through this weird detour—chef apprenticeship in Appenzell, bartending nights—but the whole time, fishing was this constant hum in the back of my head. Like, I’d be filleting trout at work and mentally cataloging which flies they’d bitten on last season. If I’m being honest, I think I cared more about the fish than the food.

Then 2015 rolls around, and I’m knee-deep in hotel management studies because, well, that’s what you do, right? But that summer in Canada? Changed everything. Working at this remote fishing lodge, I’d wake up at 4 AM just to watch the guides rig up before guests arrived. The way they read the water—it was like watching poets, man. Came back to Switzerland with my diploma and this gnawing feeling that maybe I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.

2020 hits, and suddenly the world’s on pause. Silver lining? I spent every damn day on the river. Started realizing it wasn’t just about catching fish anymore—it was about showing people that moment when everything clicks. You know, when the fly lands just right and the line goes tight? That’s magic. So I threw together FLYTASTIC, this scrappy little website where I rambled about hatches and rigging. Didn’t expect much, but turns out people actually cared.

By summer ‘21, I’d fully embraced the crazy idea that I could make a living doing this. Now when I run workshops, it’s not just about teaching someone to cast—it’s about watching their face when they finally understand why we match the hatch, or how to mend line without thinking. And the rod building? Man, there’s something sacred about crafting the tool that’ll connect someone to their first big brown trout.

Speaking of browns—if you’re after them, or grayling, or even pike (which, between us, are like the street fighters of freshwater), I’ve spent enough sleepless nights studying their habits to maybe, just maybe, save you some trial and error. Not that I’ve got all the answers—hell, the fish remind me daily that I don’t—but that’s the fun of it, right? The river always teaches you something new.