A year after the World Championship, I finally sat down to write this piece and share my experiences from New Zealand — sixteen unforgettable days that felt like a dream come true. My final ranking might not have been remarkable, but that hardly mattered. Being there was everything. I learned so much, met incredible people from all over the world, and, most importantly, had the honor of flying the Bulgarian flag for the very first time at a Fly Fishing World Championship.

I wasn’t alone on this journey. I was joined by my good friend Stoyan Filipov — my regular fishing companion — and his wife. Stoyan took part in the event as a judge for the New Zealand team, who needed international officials. But let me start from the beginning.

Before the competition…

One of the most memorable days was on a small river called the Waiho, where Stoyan and I caught more than 100 fish in just four hours, ranging from 18 to 45 cm. Interestingly, two of the rivers we fished held only rainbow trout. It’s worth noting that every fish we caught was wild — something that made the experience even more special.

My favorite and most exciting fishing, though, was on the Tongariro River — known locally as the trout fishing capital of the world. That’s where I caught the 70 cm brown. During both training and the competition, I mainly used small pheasant tail nymphs tied on size 14 and 16 hooks. Often, I fished a dry fly with a nymph about a meter below it. Most takes came on the nymph, but there were always surprises — the big brown took the size 14 fly.

Every afternoon, thousands of mayflies would hatch, and the pools of the river would come alive. The first time I saw it — hundreds of trout rising in a pool nearly 200 meters long — I was speechless. It was a sight I’ll never forget.

We also explored several smaller rivers where we targeted rainbow trout that had escaped from Lake Taupo and moved upstream to spawn. These fish were tricky to catch, but rarely under 50 cm.

And so, the blissful days of free fishing passed one by one, until the time came for the championship to begin.

Opening day and official training sessions…

The opening day came almost without notice. More and more anglers from around the world were arriving and checking into the hotel in Rotorua. Stoyan and I proudly waved the Bulgarian flag alongside twenty other nations. The ceremony was beautifully organized — we paraded through the whole town, with crowds gathered from across the country to watch. I felt an immense sense of pride holding the flag in my hands.

That evening there was a festive dinner, and after eating and sharing a few drinks at a table with the Croatian and Bosnian teams — who quickly became our friends — everyone headed to their rooms to rest and prepare for the training sessions starting the next day.

We had to choose whether to fish the lake in the morning or the afternoon. I chose to start on the river — the Whanganui. On the way there, in the small bus packed with anglers from the Netherlands and Canada, I found myself talking about Bulgaria, sharing stories and laughs as we wound through the countryside.

The fishing was tough. For three hours, we caught only small rainbows, fishing dry flies with nymph droppers. Twice I hooked strong fish that broke me off — both times they shot straight for the deepest part of the pool. A Slovak angler landed the biggest fish of the whole event — a magnificent 80-centimeter brown trout.

Just before lunch, I had my moment. I cast my dry and nymph rig dangerously close to a bush, the Klinkhammer passing only centimeters from its leaves. Suddenly, a large head appeared and delicately sipped the fly. I struck, and the reel came alive with a high-pitched scream. Ten minutes later, a beautiful brown trout of nearly 60 centimeters lay safely in my net. I snapped a few photos and released her back into the current — a perfect way to end the morning session.

After lunch, we were taken to the lake. We paired up two per boat, and since I preferred to fish solo, they put me with another like-minded angler — a Swedish competitor who soon became a good friend during the championship. He was an excellent lake fisherman, and I had a lot to learn from him.

This particular lake, however, played a trick on all of us. It turned out that the fishing there had nothing to do with what we’d face on the two official competition lakes. Still, we caught plenty of fish on small streamers — pink tungsten heads, pink bodies, and black marabou tails. The Polish team were relentless; they often pulled in two fish at a time!

And that’s how the first training day came to an end. That evening, Stoyan and I tied flies until we could barely keep our eyes open, before finally collapsing into bed, eager for the next day.

At dawn, we were back on the buses. This time there was only one training session — on the Waimakariri River, home to pure wild rainbows. The water was icy cold and unbelievably clear — one of the most beautiful rivers I’ve ever fished. Fun fact: water from the Waimakariri and the Waiho rivers is used in Coca-Cola products for New Zealand and all of Australia.

The trout there were extremely cautious, but I still managed to land around fifteen fish. With that, the training sessions were over. I returned to the hotel, tied a few more flies, and got a good night’s rest — ready for the real competition ahead.

The competition…

The competition began. We woke at six, grabbed a quick breakfast with Stoyan, wished each other luck, and climbed into the vans. My first day was set on the two rivers I had already fished — the Waiho and the Waimakariri.

During the morning session, I managed to catch just eleven fish, but it was an incredibly tough sector. The judge stood on one bank while I had to wade almost all the way to the other side, sprinting back to him after every fish. Still, I was satisfied with how I did — especially after hearing the results. The anglers who fished the same sector after me were from Japan, South Africa, and the Czech Republic. The Czech competitor — from the team that eventually became world champions — caught the same number of fish as I did, eleven. The others caught eight, nine, and ten. That told me everything I needed to know: it was a hard sector, and I’d done well. Of course, there was room for improvement — there always is.

In the second session, the angler before me had caught thirteen fish in the morning, so I knew what was possible. I started strong, landing ten fish in the first hour. The judge came over and told me that only the French competitor and I had ten each — that gave me a good dose of motivation. Unfortunately, things slowed down dramatically after that. I finished with fifteen, while the Frenchman had an unbelievable thirty-four and won the sector. I placed seventh out of twenty anglers — still a solid result, especially since three of my fish were over forty-two centimeters. I went back to the hotel tired but content — and particularly pleased that I’d beaten the English angler by nearly double his score.

Day two brought the third session — back on the mighty Waiho, a stunning river full of fish. I started confidently, landing three browns between thirty-eight and forty-four centimeters. After catching the first one, I realized most of the fish were holding in the shallows on the far bank. It was beautiful fishing — long casts across the river, standing waist-deep in the current, and strikes coming just seconds after the nymph touched the water. Each time I hooked a fish, I’d fight it in, net it, and wade back toward the judge. Everything was going perfectly — until it wasn’t.

My sector was number thirteen, and as if cursed, things suddenly turned around. I began losing fish — heartbreaking misses and break-offs, one after another. I can’t even describe the frustration. Just two minutes before the end, I finally landed my tenth fish, a gorgeous forty-three-centimeter brown trout, right before the final whistle. I had lost at least ten others, most right at the net. Looking back, the problem was the hooks. Later I learned that the Czech team used a better model that held fish far more securely — but that knowledge came too late, and it cost me dearly.

We had the afternoon off to rest, and the next day it was time for the lakes — the dreaded lakes. I had at least some idea what to expect on one of them, which was where I’d fish in the morning session. I shared a boat with a French angler. On his third cast, he hooked a beautiful fifty-centimeter rainbow. He caught another around thirty-five halfway through the session. Then, finally, I felt a take — not a big fish, maybe thirty centimeters, but it saved me from blanking. On these lakes, many anglers caught nothing at all; even the French team had two blanks and still finished third overall. Five or six fish almost guaranteed a sector win.

A little later, I hooked a big fish — my hands were trembling. It dove straight to the bottom and tangled in the weeds. Moments later, the line went slack. I felt sick. I was fishing a seven-weight rod with 0.22 tippet; my French partner had an eight-weight and 0.25 tippet — better suited for these strong fish. Two minutes later, I hooked another one. This time it leapt clear of the water — when I saw it, my knees almost gave out. Thankfully, I was sitting down; otherwise, I might have fallen right out of the boat. I managed to net her — a wild rainbow, sixty-two centimeters long. Only ten fish over sixty centimeters were caught during the entire championship, and mine was roughly the eighth largest — a great catch by any standard.

That put me even with the Frenchman, but he managed to land one more fish at the end and edged me out. We each had three takes, so I couldn’t be too disappointed — I felt I’d fished the lake well.

The second lake, however, was a nightmare. Three hours passed, and I had just one tentative strike. The Portuguese angler in my boat caught a single fish, while I finished the session blank — a “capo.” Up to that point, I’d been doing respectably in the rankings, but this session crushed any hope of a high finish. Believe me, I tried everything. Out of twenty anglers, six blanked completely and seven caught only one fish. The winner had four, and a few others managed two or three. It was a brutal round — truly one to forget.

Closing ceremony…

The championship came to an end, and with it, the tension and excitement began to fade. The closing ceremony was every bit as grand as the opening — flags waving, applause echoing, and smiles all around.

In the team standings, the Czechs claimed first place, the hosts from New Zealand finished second, and France took third. In the individual results, a Czech angler once again took gold. The French competitor I had fished alongside on the first day finished second — clearly, his performance only improved as the days went on — and another Czech secured third. Just behind them, in fourth, was the Englishman John Horsey, who missed a medal by a mere two centimeters.

As for me, I finished seventieth overall. I would have been around fiftieth if I had managed to land just one more fish in that final session — but that’s how results turn in cometitive fly fishing. Every cast, every decision, and sometimes even a single lost fish can make all the difference.

In the end, I want to thank everyone who supported me throughout this journey — from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I’m deeply grateful to my parents for helping me fulfill a lifelong dream, and to Stoyan for coming along and fishing shoulder to shoulder with me in such an incredible country. My thanks also go to Dr. Misho for the beautiful flies he tied for me — they caught plenty of fish, including my biggest one. Truly, thank you all.

If all goes according to plan, I’ll be competing again this year at the World Championship in Scotland. This time, there will be four lakes and only one river — but I’ll do my best to climb higher in the rankings.