In early March I made a scouting trip to the Ljuboviđa, a right-bank tributary of the Drina that meets it in the town of Ljubovija.
I reached the middle section near the old bridge and began preparing my gear. The weather was against me: for the first two hours heavy rain kept me in the car. The water quickly became coloured, although the level did not rise.
When the rain finally stopped, I stepped out, breathed in the fresh, damp air and looked at the river again. The Ljuboviđa was carrying turbulent, muddy water, as if unhappy with my visit. The fishing seemed doomed from the beginning, but I am not used to giving up.
I changed nymphs and streamers several times, hoping for any sign of activity, but the trout remained indifferent. I varied the retrieve and changed colours, yet the river stayed silent.
After several hours disappointment began to set in. I looked carefully along the banks and saw plastic bottles, bags and broken branches caught in the bushes. It seemed that this small tributary of the Drina had long since stopped being the quiet fishing corner it may once have been.
After one last look, I got into the car, started the engine and left. I will not return to the Ljuboviđa. The river will remain a memory — not my best, but instructive in its own way.
I sighed, packed away the tackle and walked back towards the car. On the way I looked at the old Roman bridge, beneath which the muddy water now surged. It seemed to watch me in silent reproach, as if asking, “Did you expect to find something different here?”
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