A Scottish Championship, and a Man I Will Never Forget

This story is for Jim Quigley, who is no longer with us.
Jim played a huge role in my journey at the World Fly Fishing Championship and opened the door for me to discover the raw beauty of Scotland. What he did for me will stay with me for the rest of my life.

The 2009 World Fly Fishing Championship took place in Scotland, in the quiet provincial town of Drummond. It was one of those championships where luck mattered more than usual — conditions were unpredictable, fish were elusive, and nothing came easy. Twenty-seven countries from every continent were represented. Bulgaria, however, stood alone. I competed as an individual, without a national team behind me. Malta, Hungary, and Sweden also had solo competitors, but most anglers arrived backed by full squads.

I returned to Bulgaria shortly after the event, and I want to tell this story clearly and honestly — before misunderstandings and rumors have a chance to grow, as they so often do.

Before the Storm: Training Days

I arrived in Scotland a full week early to train. Most of that time was spent on the legendary Scottish lochs — lakes, as the locals call them. That’s when I met Jim, a Scottish guide whose enthusiasm for helping me prepare was contagious. And he truly delivered.

My training was carefully planned:

  • three days on one loch stocked with rainbow trout,

  • one day on a loch with wild brown trout,

  • and one day on the river.

Each venue closely resembled the competition waters.

I caught fish everywhere. The toughest was the brown trout loch — only about six fish, but they were beautifully marked and incredibly strong. Most of the fishing involved traditional Irish and Scottish wet flies, and it was fascinating.

On the rainbow loch, there happened to be a local club competition one day. The winner landed seven fish. I caught seventeen in the same amount of time. The reason was simple: I noticed wild browns rising beneath overhanging trees and switched to a dry fly. That single observation made all the difference.

When I later told the locals that I had caught sixteen brown trout and only one rainbow in a stocked rainbow lake, they laughed. Even the bailiff was stunned. But it was true.

My final training day was on the River Tummel, a breathtaking salmon river and a major tributary of the River Tay. I had only experienced water this fast once before — in Norway. You wade knee-deep, and the gravel simply disappears beneath your feet.

In a three-hour session, matching competition conditions, I landed four fish and lost three more — all brown trout. The biggest was around 40 cm. I drew my conclusions, packed up, and headed to the hotel where all competitors would soon gather.

Opening Ceremony & Official Practice

The opening ceremony was festive — great food, familiar faces, and plenty of laughter. Still, there was one quiet moment that weighed on me: no one to take a photo of me with the Bulgarian flag. I was alone the entire time, and that reality hit harder than expected.

From that point on, the rhythm was the same every day:
fishing by day, fly-tying by night.

Official practice was difficult. On the first day, a sudden heatwave hit — sunshine in Scotland is an event in itself. That sun stayed with us for the entire championship and pushed the fish deep. Very few were caught.

On the second practice day, I skipped the official session and trained privately with a close Croatian friend on another lake. That decision turned out to be extremely valuable.

That night, I tied the mandatory ten flies for the next day and went to sleep.

Day One: One of the Best Days of My Career

Day one remains one of the finest fishing days I have ever had.

In the morning, I drew a rainbow trout loch. In the afternoon — a river. I shared a boat with an Australian angler who claimed he knew exactly where the fish were. I let him take the lead.

On my second cast, I landed my first fish — a solid 44 cm rainbow. Scottish rainbows are stocked large, mostly to protect them from cormorants and pike. That single fish gave me calm and confidence.

Midway through the session, I landed another. The fish were taking blobs — classic English-style attractor fishing. Even though these were stocked fish, they were far from easy.

I landed a third fish… only to realize it was a pike. Not counted — and there were plenty of pike caught during the championship. Eventually, the Australian landed one fish as well. Ten minutes before the end, I landed my third valid trout.

Three fish placed me sixth out of twenty-four in my group — a solid result considering the specialists in that discipline.

In the afternoon, we arrived at the River Tay — Scotland’s largest river. Vast, powerful, and breathtaking. I was assigned to Sector 6, which would later prove to be one of the most productive sectors of the entire competition.

The French angler before me had caught three fish and was leading. I started nymphing, knowing persistence was everything.

I caught six undersized fish before finally landing my first keeper — a 21 cm grayling. The minimum was 20 cm. I have never celebrated a fish that small so intensely.

Soon after, I landed another fish that looked legal — but it measured 19.5 cm. The Scottish judge simply said, “Sorry, sir.”

An hour before the end, I lost a strong fish. Fifteen minutes before the finish, my rod nearly flew from my hands — a powerful brown trout, 41 cm, safely netted. Three minutes before time ran out, I landed another brown, 35 cm.

Three fish again — excellent for the river.

I finished fourth out of twenty-four in the sector. One fish short of second place. Had that 19.5 cm fish counted, I would have been second — no one else had a trout like mine.

After Day One, I stood 11th individually. A strong start.

Day Two: When Luck Turns Its Back

Only one session — Loch Awe, the largest lake in Scotland.

Three hours of casting. One single take. Many anglers had none. My Polish partner landed a five-kilo pike — impressive, but irrelevant.

Only six anglers caught fish. Eighteen blanked, including many top competitors.

That single blank pushed me down to 29th place overall.

Day Three: Legends and Frustration

Loch Leven — a legendary lake whose genetic line has populated waters all over the world. New Zealand. Australia. America.

I never caught one.

Three hours of stripping massive streamers on a fast-sinking line. Pure luck. The local Scot won — his house was five kilometers away.

Only six anglers caught fish. My Belgian boat partner and I blanked.

In the afternoon, we moved to Lake Menteith, another rainbow venue. I fished with an Italian angler who won the session with five fish. Skill-wise, we were equals. Luck made the difference.

I landed three fish and lost at least four more. One moment still haunts me: a massive rainbow followed my fly, hesitated — and then the Italian cast and landed it. 71 cm.

My largest fish measured 48 cm — I remember it clearly. But when results were posted, it was listed as 44 cm. That error alone cost me at least two positions.

I didn’t get angry when I lost fish. I didn’t get angry when luck failed me.
I got angry when I saw that mistake.

Protests had to be filed within two hours — results came five hours later. Impossible.

Final ranking: 47th. Corrected, I would have been around 44th or 45th.

Closing Thoughts

World Champion: Ian Barr — thirteen fish total, including one caught in the final minute on Loch Leven.
Second: a Canadian — Donald — an exceptional angler who competed in my group.
Third: Belgium.

Only five out of 120 competitors finished without a single blank — all of them in the top five.

It was a good championship, but luck played a decisive role. Many great anglers never had the chance to show their true skill.

Could I have done better? Yes.
Am I satisfied? Also yes.

Where fish were catchable, I caught them. I was missing just a little luck — and that can change everything.

Gratitude

I want to thank everyone who supported me — especially my parents, Dr. Misho, Itso (who called me every single day), and Stoyan Filipov.

And above all — Jim.

This story exists because of him.