Our afternoon walk ended at Muehlegg. There is a wooden bridge and nearby a hutte, where the shepherds spend summer months in the valley. The hutte itself is a beautiful piece of work that has survived the elements in the alpine heights.

While waiting for the taxi back home, we rambled on up along the river admiring little flowers - casting flies only at the fishy spots.

When a big silhouette takes the fly, hold your breath, and then strike! Tipsy fishing makes full of misses but that's not a problem.
In fact, that's the fun part of it!!

And now, time to go.

We emptied the ash in the fireplace and with the tattered bloom cleaned the floor. Having shut the windows, we pulled our rucksacks, and ourselves out. When I locked up the big steel padlock on the squeaking door, I knew it's a farewell, to the hut, to the valley, to the river and its adorable inhabitants.

Up on the roof of Europe, in the snowy peaks of Dreiherren range, the river springs up to begin its journey. Its noble name is Krimmlerache.

5p.m. the return taxi came around on time. After an usual exchange of greetings, we climbed into the dusty cabin. We looked back, to see off the hut disappear into the distance, Until we come back soon, it's a long good bye. Alles Gute, und auf Wiedersehen.

- Next (revisit in 2018)

And the best thing of it all is a night in the "Fischerhuette". Neither running water nor electricity, this little hut is beautifully empty. We have to go get the water from nearby spring and chop your own firewood with a hand axe. Such little chores are sweet pastime we enjoy very much. Once the last of the hikers are gone, the evening in the valley is filled with a complete peace. The only sound that is heard is cracking of the firewood nothing more. Sipping whiskey, we turn over the pages of the guestbook - which contains the past footsteps of our own, too. The evening mellowed slowly, as we refused to put out the candlelight.

Day2. Again the valley was filled with morning mist. As we rekindled the fire and had breakfast, the first ray of sunshine reached in, to light up the wooden floor of the fisher hut.

The last day in Krimmlerache, at least for now. We decided to go down to the lower end of the stretch, down by the Holzlaneralm lodge, which we hadn't fished for some years.

The fish were active looking for chunky meals. But sometimes, you really cannot torture these poor innocent creature. In the slower water you can see everything - the way fish comes up, wanders for a good few seconds, and take the big bad blackfoam ant. Unless it's a big fish, I'd just leave it without striking. Then the fly pops up several seconds later. When one's so happy and content, you won't even do C&R. You simply release one without even catching.

Lunch as usual at Soellnalm. The beer in the bucket was nicely chilled. Say, Prost!

The pet cat of SoellnAlm came greeting us.
What? The net smells fishy?
Well, smart cat, you're damn right!

As the sun climbed high, so did the temperature. As it reached 18c, we began observing active hatches and rising fish. The water also warmed up to 9C and fish were coming out of the deep pools not to miss out the breakfast buffet.

Sayuri was having a good time, sight-fishing to the feeding fish one after another. Watching her fun exercise in the corner of the eyes, it was not long before I had to quit nymphing. After quick lunch on the bank, we continued fishing thru the afternoon. Sayuri caught 30 and I, 22. A happy day,

Most were modest at around 20cm, but nice ones around 30cm also entertained us from time to time. The majority were Brooktrout, and their comely feature is a pleasure to the fisherman's eyes.

Their innocence is disarming. Especially in the morning when the water has not warmed up, their movements, rising up to inspect the bait, were so slow that you coud see the whole thing as if in a slow motion. You feel almost guilty to strike.

Perhaps it looked like we're having a party
- a crowd of wandering cow came up to us. They too have individuality, and the one with most curiosity came up for an interview.

'Hi there. Catching anything?'
'Well, a couple. We've just started though.'

The morning mist that floated in the alpine valley dissipated as if watching a magic. Though it's middle of June, the air at the elevation of 1,700meters was chilly at 10c, while the water temperature at shivering 6c!

Even with that, as we stared at the riffles on the shallow, we could see occasional micro-sized mayfly, similar to trico, floating by. We picked up the smallest fly out of our arsenal, and cast it on the thinnest line we had. As it swirled by in the slack tide, a fish rose, and the rod sprang up.

No summer is for us complete without the annual pilgrimage to Krimmlerache.

Over the years the heavenly alpine stream has become such an intimate place of ours that every run, every pool and every turn of the stream has its place in our fond memories.

This year being the last of our stay in Europe, to pay those adorable playmates a one final visitit was nothing short of an obligation. The drive up the hill, in the national park taxi as always, was exhilarating, and the stream that we reunite with after a whole year's interval, was flowing as peacefully as ever.