May 9,2005 - Torraccio Santa Maria, Grutti, Italy

    Dante and I pulled Aaron out of bed to head through the tunnel for an early morning rendezvous on the "No-kill" portion of the Nera at Borgo Cerrito on the other side of the mountain near Spoleto. I'd been unsuccessful for a week stumbling around between tourists offices looking for information on how to fly fish in Italy. Googling at home had uncovered some complex fishing license applications indicating that a federal, regional, and stream permit were all needed as well as permission from a property owner. Although the other nine people staying in our 13th century stone tower believed my Italian was truly amazing, I knew I was barely getting by on cognates and sincerity. Getting permission to do anything in Italian would be nearly impossible and probably trigger an international incident.

    Finally the internet had come through. An email message to a fishing guide at an Orvis shop in Foligno had gotten through on the 56kb modem in the tower and he suggested the special "No-Kill" area on the Nera. A 20 kilometer section of this remote river in mountains was set up for 15 euro/day permits. There were some special regulations but the river keeper spoke some English.

     Somehow we missed the sign indicating the village of Cerrito and found ourselves one village further upstream. "Aha", said Aaron the 15 yr old, "It's up there." pointing to a hill town clinging 2,000 feet above us to the side of the mountain. After 20 hair raising minutes which included squeezing by an oncoming gasoline truck on the one lane, no guard rail, road up the mountain, I parked in the piazza, got directions to the police station, and set out to get our licenses. "No, es verso il basso." So back downhill we went, now traveling on the outside next to the drop.

      Surprisingly, cell phone reception was great in the area and a call to the "No-Kill' river keeper got us straightened out. She was very friendly and helped us select a nearby section of the stream to fish. Only 24 licenses are sold each day, 12 for each section. We only saw a few people but plenty of very healthy trout and aquatic insects. As we were leaving she reminded us to follow the special regulations on the back of the license (in Italian). I checked it out and guessed that it was catch and release, barbless hooks, flies only. We always fish that way. No problem. Later that night when I got out my Italian/English dictionary  I realize that we'd violated four regulations. No strike indicators, no multi-fly rigs, no floatant, and no streamers. These Italians are tough.

    The Nera is crystal clear in this region and 55 degrees year round. There is little agriculture or industry, (except trout hatcheries) up stream and run off does not seem to be a problem. In one section of the stream, what I thought were brightly colored shells, turned out to be stone fly casings composed of brilliant chips of quartz, red, and yellow gravel.

      Aaron had never used a flyrod before and I set him up with a streamer and let him drift it downstream. On his first retrieve he hooked a 9 inch trout and fly fishing hooked him.  Dante left the stream early to quench his thirst and score a boar sandwich from the porchetta di Gruti mobile butcher truck. We found a very nice spot along the Nera and he joined us a ittle later for our expensive lunch as the only patrons. The strangolevese tagilinni con tartufola (eggless pasta with local truffle sauce) was as always in Umbria delicious.

      After lunch Aaron was visited by a friendly warden checking his "permisso" to make sure he had one and was fishing in the correct area. As he was bringing in his fly a small trout grabbed it. Momentarily confused over which activity should take precedence, he stopped retrieving his fly. "Portalo, portalo" yelled the warden, "No-kill !" But as Aaron started bringing the thrashing infant in, a huge brown trout rose up from the bottom and grabbed it. Now Aaron had two fish on the line, one of which certainly must be dead, and the other caught with bait, right in front of the warden. Only if he couldn't find his license would he be in more trouble. Fortunately as the warden was laughing the giant trout let go, the little trout wiggled off, and Aaron fumbled his license out of his wallet. Something always happens on a flyfishing adventure.

       We had a great day on pure stream in a beautiful place and many fish on this well preserved environmental resource.