Saltwater fly fishing has occupied a special place in my heart for years. Lately, it’s been the passion that excites me the most — the one that keeps me awake at night, dreaming of distant coasts and wild fish.
I first met Georgi some time ago when he reached out for a casting lesson. We immediately connected, and before long, we were planning a trip to Cuba. But then 2020 happened. While the world stood still, my own life changed forever — my son, Mikhail, was born, making that year one of the happiest of my life.
In the meantime, my fishing career took exciting turns. I became a member of the Radovljica Fishing Club, later joining Sora in Slovenia. There, I deepened my knowledge and skills in chasing the mighty Danube salmon (Huchen), achieving successes I’m proud of. Still, an unquenched thirst for a true adventure kept pulling at me.
One day, Georgi mentioned he was planning a fishing trip to Djibouti.
“Where?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“In Africa — between Eritrea and Somalia,” he replied.
The name alone set my curiosity ablaze. The turning point came when I guided a French father and son on a high-mountain lake. They told me they had been to Djibouti four times already and spoke about it with glowing enthusiasm. Their photos and stories painted a picture of safety, warm hospitality, and spectacular fishing. They even passed along the contacts of trusted local guides.
That was all I needed. I called Georgi immediately and told him I was in. He had been ready to make the trip alone if no one joined him. Soon after, we shared the idea with our friend Hristo, and his reaction was instant: “Count me in.”
Forming the Plan
The preparations started a little backwards: we bought our plane tickets first, then began gathering gear, researching the region, finding guides, and shaping the itinerary. Everything went relatively smoothly — at least by Bulgarian–Djiboutian standards — until our online visa applications were unexpectedly rejected.
Time was running short. Without visas, the trip was over before it began.
Luck was on our side. The only Djibouti embassy in Europe is located in Berlin, where Georgi lives. We quickly prepared notarised, apostilled powers of attorney, authorising Georgi to handle the process on our behalf, and sent them along with our passports via express courier. There was one last hurdle: the consul was ill. Our plans hung by a thread.
In the end, fortune smiled on us. Three days before departure, our passports returned — complete with valid Djibouti visas.
Arrival in a New World
The route was Sofia – Istanbul – Djibouti. We landed in the capital late in the evening, stepping into warm African air. A taxi ride later, we arrived at the modest hotel booked by our local guide, Mohamed Ali.
Stepping out into the streets the next morning, it was clear: we had entered an entirely new and unfamiliar world. The sights, the sounds, the rhythm of life — everything was different. The adventure was no longer an idea; it was real. And with eager hearts and open minds, we were ready for whatever lay ahead.
Day 1 – Into the Blue
The first morning in Djibouti began with a quick shower, a light breakfast, and a rendezvous with our guide, Mohamed, and the rest of his crew. We loaded our gear into the vehicles, stopped to buy local SIM cards to keep connected, and drove to the port. There, we transferred everything onto the boat that would carry us to our first fishing grounds — the Muchas Islands.
By late morning, we had settled into charming bungalows on the island, and it was finally time for the long-awaited fishing. Lunch was packed and eaten aboard as we motored farther out to sea. Georgi rigged up a popper rod, while Hristo and I — true to our fly-fishing roots — opted for dredging. This saltwater fly technique uses a fast-sinking line to drop the streamer deep, then strips it back toward the surface, tempting whatever predators might be lurking below. Out here, surprises can be monumental.
The first strike came to Hristo’s rod — something massive tore line from his reel, the drag singing. After a blistering run, the fish stopped dead. What followed was a gruelling 20-minute tug-of-war, the heavy pulses suggesting a formidable grouper. It began to rise toward the surface, and success seemed within reach — until, heartbreakingly, the hook pulled free.
Still buzzing from the encounter, we cast again. Lightning struck twice — another brutal take bent Hristo’s fly rod in half. This fish felt even bigger. Likely another grouper, it powered into coral cover, locking itself in. The battle stretched to 40 minutes, with Hristo and me taking turns to spare our arms. Then, during one of my pulls, the unthinkable happened — the 12-weight fly rod snapped above the handle. We had no choice but to grab the line and break it off. The grouper stayed in its fortress, undefeated.
Shaken and a little deflated, we agreed to avoid wrestling with these giants for which we were clearly undergunned. We moved inshore, where Georgi landed a smaller grouper on spinning tackle, and we amused ourselves with colorful reef fish until it was time to return to the island.
Day 2 – Along the Shoreline
The next morning, we decided to explore the coastline by boat, searching for fish in the shallows. The variety was good, though most were small. Highlights included two queenfish and a barracuda landed by Georgi on spinning gear.
On the run back for lunch, we spotted a solitary giant trevally patrolling close to shore — a living shadow beneath the waves. But the boat spooked it before we could present a cast.
That afternoon, we stayed on the island, fishing from the beach. The target was triggerfish, those stubborn, toothy bruisers of the flats. We had several excellent shots, but the fish proved elusive, rejecting or short-striking the flies. One particularly determined trigger bit down so hard it bent the hook inward like a paperclip wire. In the end, we landed only small GTs and yellow-spotted trevally — fun, but nothing to write home about.
Day 3 – The Danakil Bank
This was the day we’d been eagerly anticipating. Our destination: the Danakil Bank, a vast underwater plateau far offshore, known as a meeting ground for countless species of fish. We had high hopes.
Two hours by boat brought us to a scene of controlled chaos — the surface was exploding with sardines, driven into tight schools by marauding predators. Georgi cast his popper directly into the melee and immediately hooked a giant trevally. After a short but furious battle, the first GT of the trip came aboard, glistening in the sun. We took a few quick photos before releasing it back into the deep.
While Georgi was fighting his fish, two more GTs followed it. I dropped my fly right in front of them, heart pounding — but to my disappointment, they turned away.
Then came an unexpected twist. We had drifted away from the sardines and asked our guide to motor back, but instead of the rumble of the outboard, we heard the unwelcome click of a dead battery. The engine wouldn’t start. With no phone signal and nothing to do but drift in the open Red Sea, we watched the coastline slowly fade.
“Which way is the current taking us — toward Somalia or toward Djibouti?” I asked our guide Abdul. He smiled and assured us we’d eventually reach the Djiboutian shore. In the meantime, there was fishing to be done. Georgi still had two spare spinning rods, and Hristo and I decided to make use of them. Soon Hristo landed his first GT, while I missed two solid strikes — one from a spectacularly colored dorado that lit up in neon blues and greens before spitting the hook. Georgi added another GT to his tally.
Eventually, we drifted back into mobile range and called Mohamed, who arrived hours later with a fresh battery. The day’s fishing window was gone, but the sea had given us something better — encounters with a whale shark, manta ray, sea turtles, a whale, and even a marlin. The Red Sea truly teems with life.
Day 4 – The Shoreline Hunt
We returned to the relative shelter of the coastline. Georgi had a strong morning, landing a barracuda, a cubera snapper, and a yellow-spotted trevally. One massive GT, however, broke his rod.
In the afternoon, we switched to fly fishing from shore. Stalking the shallows from a high bluff, we spotted triggerfish feeding on the flats. Both Hristo and I managed to land massive specimens — beautiful, stubborn fish that tested our patience and tippets. Several others chased our flies without committing.
On the walk back, I saw two GTs — each close to a meter long — cruising tight to shore. I dropped my 10-weight, grabbed my my 12-weight and sprinted 30 meters to get infront of them. My cast landed where I guessed they’d pass; one lunged and inhaled the fly. In seconds it tore into my backing, then sliced the leader clean in the coral. I never landed it, but I’d hooked my first GT on fly — proof that it could be done.
By evening we were headed inland to our second base: Lake Ghoubet. We arrived in darkness under a wind so strong it could nearly knock you down. The camp was basic even by Balkan standards, but this was Africa, and the rawness added to the charm.
Day 6 – Back on the Water
The wind finally eased, and we were able to launch again. The fishing was steady — I landed a cubera snapper, while Georgi brought in groupers, a snapper, and two GTs.
Passing a small island, Hristo asked to be dropped off with his fly rod. Two hours later we collected him; he’d seen a huge Napoleon wrasse, but it had spotted him first and vanished.
Day 7 – Closing the Circle
Our final morning was short. I still hadn’t landed a GT. So I decided to spin to win and focused entirely on that goal. It paid off — two fish, measuring 105 and 98 cm, with the first being the largest of the trip. Brutally strong, they were the perfect send-off, though the dream of a proper GT on fly will have to wait for next time.
In the afternoon we visited the famous Lake Assal — the lowest point in Africa and one of the saltiest lakes in the world. Georgi even took a dip. We bought a few souvenirs and headed back to the capital to catch our flight home.
Reflections
Saltwater fishing is never easy — it demands stamina, patience, and the ability to accept long hours without action. But when the sea comes alive — birds diving, predators smashing bait, water boiling with life — your blood surges and the world narrows to that one perfect cast.
The stealthy stalk of a wary triggerfish, the sudden flash of a Napoleon wrasse, the explosive charge of a GT — each moment is etched into memory. This was more than a fishing trip; it was a genuine adventure. And one thing is certain: we will return.
Join us on our next adventure, and experience the thrill for yourself — it’s worth every cast.
