Fly Fishing in Southern Italy

A Cultural Experience

Napoli is dirty. Physically dirty. Trash everywhere kind-of-dirty. Yet, there is self-sufficiency. With a metropolitan population of about five million, Naples sits just west of the fabled Mount Vesuvius and east of the Phlegraen Fields. These fields consist of 24 craters and volcanic edifices and spread over an area that includes the rumored home of the Roman god Vulcan. These earthen escapes are how Italy, specifically the south, became a boot-shaped peninsula with local island off-shoots for beautiful estate holidays. All-in-all, the coexistence of humans and super volcanoes back-up the colloquial expression of getting anything done domani, or "tomorrow," because tomorrow is not guaranteed. But why not tempt it?

Among the flirtation with chaos, locals carry on with their daily existence in a delicate balance.  At first glance it appears this ideology explains-away the streets and alleys used as trash receptacles.  What is not readily known to tourists and non-native residents is Naples’ “trash wars” that lasted several decades. Naples has come a long way since literal mountains of trash and illegal dumping of toxic materials plagued the area.  Cleaning up ever since, a waste management process is now defined by sorting glass, plastic and aluminum, cardboard, organic, and unsorted trash. It is a big game of catch-up for the moment. But for now, sprinkled with litter, the everyday scenery takes some getting accustomed. Naples is also pushy. Crowded. And the initial thought is whether this could actually be the Italy advertised elsewhere? Or only Naples?

Really just Naples. But the people redefine its appeal. These individuals and families represent the core of the Neapolitan population and present themselves as thankful, caring, and timeless.  Their apartments, villas and parcos, are perched atop tuff or cobble laid a millennia before the United States was even a possibility. This cultural center predates the thought of a round Earth. And in each villa or parco, even down to the smallest apartment balcony, each has its own garden. There is always something growing.  From herbs in planters on an apartment stoop, to a functioning farm or vineyard on the cliffs above the most popular beaches. Families grow or raise whatever they can use.  If it can be shared or traded, then all the better.

Exhausting fumaroles are viewable from most of these areas and downtown Naples is a twenty minute drive from almost any direction. Within parco walls are chickens, pigs, and rabbits. The vineyards and groves are a mix of grapes, olives, and citrus. All growing among fig and pomegranate trees with gardens rotated to grow almost every Italian verdura you can imagine. It is urban farming, not hobby-gardening. Farming for sustenance and self-sufficiency, organized for the owning family for themselves and their children's children.  Almost every day the farmhands deliver eggs, fruits, or vegetables to the nonno and nonna plus their daughter's family living on site. The farmhands go home with their take as well. Same for wine, fresh lemons, and oranges.

The Neapolitan society yearns to extend this culture to anyone wanting to feel welcomed, whether they know it or not. Even when most individuals are constantly in a hurry on a crowded street or in a market, there is always a pleasantry exchanged and an attempt to welcome someone to Naples if a conversation manages to get that far.

It is that type of self-sufficiency and sincerity or familiarity that sets Naples apart from any cliché. These generous personality types extend outside the aforementioned cityscape and into the outdoor realm. Into angling.

Everyone has their own COVID lockdown story. Here is another short one to set the stage of this angling story. Italy was the first European nation to go into complete lockdown, possibly the first in the world to go into a true lockdown. Occupation required traveling to work every other day in a world that seemed post-apocalyptic. The only other travel was to the grocery store. Alone. By the first week of March, most Italians, and those suddenly calling the country home, would stay within the confines of home until mid-May. Summer brought an ease in restrictions and travel around Italy was an option from July to September. By October, Italy was back in lockdown. Everyone was restricted to their equivalent of a county. This was further confined with more than a few inter-periods where travel was restricted to within town only. However, planning to fish for trout took form during this time, taking advantage of that window between July and September. Ten months would pass from initial notification of moving to Italy, to fishing the Fiume Tevere in July of 2020.

Research into trout fishery starts like any other modern research, with a Google search.  Fairly straightforward criteria – “trout fishing in Italy” – is met with limited return, other than fishing in the Alps. Quickly finding that quality and timeliness of response far exceeded expectation, the abundance of pleasantry and genuine interest was unparalleled. There was no doubt a level of novelty in request; as there was no shame in hiding the request of a relocating American looking for trout streams and willing to travel six hours to fish them. Starting in Naples, the assumption was cold water refuge existed to the north and the north only. Luckily, the River Tiber, flowing through Rome, was home to trout. Granted, where the river actually flowed through the city-proper ran too warm and murky, so travel to Tuscany was required to fish the cooler, cleaner water.

Traveling to Tuscany for a chance to fly fish is obviously far from the worst thing one may encounter when searching for fishing spots during a pandemic. The Tiber rises north at Monte Fumaiolo in the Apennines and flows less than 30 kilometers to the artificial Lago di Montedoglio. Similar to the releases at Flaming Gorge, the water flow out of the lake falls right in the range of ideal trout water temperatures. Rarely above 55 degrees on even the hottest summer days, the river flows cold and clear. Sight fishing is a must for trota reaching 20 inches and beyond. These brown trout are not a native species to the Tevere, introduced about twenty years ago by a small, but avid group of anglers looking to fuel their newly growing sport. They are locally managed to great success in several no-kill, fly-only stretches through low-lying farmland with famous Tuscan vineyards making up the landscape. Now, the brown trout reproduce naturally, creating their own strain with orange spots larger than anyone has ever seen.

So how does someone who just moved from one continent to another find a local place to fish with minimal information? The short answer is communication. Internet search returns yielded one store that could be discerned as a tackle shop. Locating the tackle shop on social media led to contacting a local fishing group with a few members who knew about trout fishing. They provided a point of contact for a gentleman and the emails commenced with help from Google Translate.

The effort would be well worth it. Strangers talked about fishing locations, tactics, and their own experiences. This hospitality, largely unheard of or waning in the United States. Read a comment string in any American fishing blog or social media post with someone seeking information – or help –and someone else will offer a fight. Comparing fishing in Italy to fishing in the United States is like comparing spin-fishing to fly-fishing. They are worlds apart to most.

These conversations led to a public fishing group that managed a stretch of river along the Tevere – Mosca Club Altotevere. The club had created a fishery that appreciated those who utilized catch-and-release sight fishing. That first fishing experience commenced from the edge of a sunflower field in the early July heat. After months of correspondence, dirt roads become paths slipping deeper into the Italian countryside. This gives way to shaded groves with every color of wildflower imaginable. Bees and various butterflies, tiny hatches of summer insects, and the striking hummingbird hawk-moths made up the rich environment. Precisely what is hoped for when approaching a fishing spot, slipping on waders, and walking in.

Reaching the water's edge, the temperature differential between the river and air is evident with gentle clouds hovering above the water. Small dimples readily apparent where trout were sipping at the morning's offer. Entering the water, the cold press against waders adds relief from the walk. Having not cast a line in nearly a year, a little work needed to be done before the rhythm returned. Then, moving at an almost glacial pace upstream, it became easy to make out trout as they hung in their sun spots and dipped in and out of the shade.

Continuing along, patterns changed to find the right match. Everything from dry flies to the largest green worms imaginable. It was the perfect time of year for real, fat worms to fall from leaves and sink quickly. Bouncing off of river rock, they became further tenderized before trout swallowed them whole. One spot held several nice-sized fish that could not pass up these enormous offerings. Each made a follow with a flash of silver and gold. Several came to the net, others missed, and more watched. By early afternoon, enough fish had been caught, admired, and released, all while only seeing one other angler.

Friendly individuals facilitated this experience fishing the Tevere. This is just one example of the hospitality to be found in Italy. It comes from wanting to showcase the culture and the heritage, demonstrating the sincerity each generation has passed on to the next. The same courtesies aligned to gift a similar experience in the next attempt. Not a coincidence either. The angling network in Italy is small, especially when given the opportunity to fish with the guide who assisted the U.S. Fly Fishing Team during their tour through Italy. Something not known initially, but found during the type of discussion while slowly making way on a day along the river. Driving five hours to Tuscany had benefits, but driving an hour would be ideal. And, of course, this led to another angler who fished closer to Naples, in the Fiume Volturno.

Now, the ultimate goal was within reach, fly fishing for trout in southern Italy. What was thought as only possible in the north had descended to the Apennines. The first weekend of September quickly arrived with a rendezvous set at a restaurant at the Volturno's edge. One fantastic aspect of fishing in Italy is that espresso is always nearby. The café, in this case, also sold the required fishing licenses. 

So on a rainy September morning, driving just outside of Campania, clouds and the Naples crowds gave way to open space once again. The contrast of apartment blocks, litter, and agricultural self-sufficiency gave way to farmland and orchards, even snow in plain view on the hillside. The meeting time was 09:00, but like any agreement involving time in Italy it was really a suggestion. But by 09:30, greetings had been made followed by a quick espresso and license purchase. On the water by 10:00, running crystal clear and cold, and similar to the Tevere, the trout were out sunning themselves in plain view. Edging along the bank, dozens of baitfish bolted in all directions and away from the bridge embankment which appeared to have spanned several bridges over the centuries.  Casting towards a deeper cut that formed under low-hanging branches, several baitfish immediately attacked the fly.  What was not anticipated was a three- or four-inch chub grabbing onto the line. But when retrieving to release the chub, and from under the cut, appearing as if from nowhere, a healthy wild-born Brown bared down on the fly – and the chub – and inhaled the line.  A short fight later, the chub released in the melee, and a beautiful Volturno brown trout was landed and quickly returned to the cold water. Celebrations can be made in any language, and this was no different. Fishing continued after exchanging smiles, laughs, and high-fives.

Down the river, more browns were found, and even rainbows. Each section of this river could have been any trout stream.  Large cobble gave way to sandy beaches and then turned into clay boulders sliced through by time. One moment it seemed like fishing back in the northeast with dense overhead and moss covered banks. The next bend gave way to relatively rocky outcroppings similar to mountain streams in Wyoming. Then deep shaded pools like the Pacific Northwest. But above all else, the realization came that this river had its own definition. Although relatable to everywhere fished previously, it could not go unnoticed that when glancing at the riverbank, there would be a Roman wall built well before the discovery of the American continents. Multiple ruins lined the hilltops, built and abandoned before the United States was named. The church bells rang high atop their steeples, as they had most likely been doing for the last several hundred years. This was fishing in southern Italy, and there was nothing else like it. Fishing concluded with another round of espresso, still in waders, and then parting ways.