You ever get that feeling at dawn when the river’s just waking up? Mist curling off the water, the first tug on your line before the sun’s even fully risen? That’s what’s kept me knee-deep in this obsession since ’75. Funny how time slips by when you’re chasing trout—one minute you’re a kid with a hand-me-down rod, next thing you know, you’ve got decades of river mud permanently ground into your waders.

They call me "Guide of the Year" sometimes (thanks to those nice folks at Pêches Sportives), but honestly? The real trophy’s watching a client land their first grayling after hours of patient coaching. Picked up my national guiding diploma back in the late 90s—not that the fish care much about paperwork. What matters is knowing how the Haute Loire’s currents shift after spring rains, or why the grayling in Ardèche go crazy for certain flies just as the morning fog lifts.

Speaking of, if you ask me, there’s nothing like French nymphing when the trout are being stubborn. Most folks don’t realize how much dance there is to it—your line’s gotta move like it’s part of the current, not fighting against it. Learned that the hard way over years of guiding trips from Croatia’s emerald runs to Sweden’s icy flows. Funny thing about brown trout—they’ve got personalities. The Welsh ones? Sneaky bastards, hugging the undercuts. The Slovenian fish? Bold as brass in those crystal-clear pools.

Now, about these trips… Look, I’m not one for rigid itineraries. Some days we’ll hike into the misty bends of the Puy de Dome; others, we might just sit on a boulder troubleshooting your casting technique until it clicks. Bring your kid, your buddy, or just your own stubborn self—I’ve rigged flies for everyone from CEOs to seven-year-olds who’d rather splash than cast. Only rule? Leave the rush back on shore. Fish don’t wear watches.

Got about 5,000 kilometers of trout streams in my back pocket (give or take), and I still tie every fly like it’s 1975—because some traditions just work. So if you’re itching to learn why grayling fight sideways or how to read water like it’s gossip… well, my waders are always by the door. Just don’t blame me if you end up as hooked as the fish.