Fly Fishing Bavaria: Part IV – Obtaining the Licenses

Frau Keller wouldn’t budge. Seated behind her desk in a minimalist-modern styled office, she looked forward at us, austere and silent.

It was the language barrier that complicated things; 56% of Germans speak English, Fr. Keller was not one of them. Or the fact that two foreigners had just showed up, unannounced, at her door. I was dressed head to toe in outdoor wear and a Patagonia trucker hat, not exactly blending in. But this was strictly fly fishing related business and I was dressed for the occasion. My mom, doubling as translator, was sitting in the chair next to me. Try as we might, we could not explain my mission to the key holder of the local fishing license.

We were at the Gemeinde Oberammergau office in the town’s center. A building who’s exterior was classic Bavaria – Gothic architecture and covered in paintings of ornate patterns. This is the community center where licenses are obtained, fees are paid; anything that would require the local government’s assistance. As we approached, it looked more like a theater house than a place for administrative work.

About 6 months before this day, I had sent an email to Jean-Pierre asking about the various licenses that I would need to acquire before fly fishing in Bavaria. He put me in touch with Fr. Keller, who told me to find her at this office on my arrival and we’d get everything sorted. I think…the correspondence required Google translate on both sides. Out of all of the logistics and hurdles that come with planning a DIY international fly fishing trip, this step had been giving me the most heartburn.

We walked into the Gemeinde Oberammergau, located Fr. Keller in the directory and made our way to her first floor office.

In hindsight, we probably should’ve rehearsed the spiel a bit, but we winged it. No response from Fr. Keller and things were looking bleak. She could see the looks of concern and perhaps a bit of panic on our faces. We clearly showed up in need of something that she couldn’t comprehend. “Einen moment bitte“, she waved a finger in the air and departed her office. I remember looking over at my mom and letting out a slow, “Sooo…”.

When Fr. Keller returned, she did not come back alone. She brought a young woman with her, possibly a college intern, who spoke some basic English. We began again with the spiel, perhaps a bit more refined this time. Nothing. I motioned my hands in the shape of a rectangle and said “fischereischein”. I could see the internal lightbulb go on. “Ahhh.”

After some German cross-talk with Fr. Keller, she turned back to us explaining, “You must take exam.” (This is the standard way to obtain a German fishing license, I cover more details about it in this post) But we were from out of the country and I could bypass the exam, at least that is what I had learned in my research and was told by Fr. Keller over email. More cross-talk. “She says that she does not email with you.” Luckily I came with receipts.

I dug through my bag and pulled out a sheet of paper, a copy of our email thread. I handed over the document and sat back. This is when things finally got rolling. I started filling out paperwork, signing on lines for things that I could only barely understand, and handed over the passport photo that I brought along to attach to the license.

The license itself was distinctly German, and by that, I mean overcomplicated. It needed to be printed on a special, blue, type of waterproof paper. And there was an embossed, holographic (and impressively detailed!) silver pike stamped into the bottom right hand corner. All of this required a special printer…that wasn’t working.

The more frantic that the German began to sound, the more worried that we grew. Finally, the intern explained that we must use the printer in order to make the license official. I asked if they could sign-off on a different document instead, no dice. Instead an ultimatum was given, she would call the government help desk and try to get the printer to work. Otherwise, and I quote, “no fishing trip.” We agreed on meeting back up in 3 hours.

Three nervous hours went by and we were back on our way to the Gemeinde Oberammergau office. We knocked on the door and went inside. This time Fr. Keller had a new tone. She smiled widely as she held up the printed license. I sighed a deep breath of relief, paid the fee, and thanked Fr. Keller for her help. “Petri Heil!” she exclaimed, “Good luck with the fishing.”

At long last, the elusive German fishing license was obtained! I posed outside of the office for a ‘new driver’-esque photo. It was a proud moment.

Later that day, we would make our way to the edge of the village to meet with Pauli, a member of the local Kreisfischereiverein Garmisch Partenkirchen fishing club and the lone key holder of the tageskarte (day pass), that I would need to fish the particular stretch of the Ammer River.

This encounter was much more pleasant than the last. Pauli welcomed us into his home, introducing us to his wife and grandchildren. He was a charming older man with a snow white beard. “Passionsspiele”, he said as he smiled and combed his fingers through it. He was referring to the famous once-a-decade play that the town puts on, cast entirely from community members. As legend has it, back in 1634 the townspeople promised to put on such a play if they were spared from the Bubonic Plague. They were and the tradition has continued ever since. Ironically, the play that he was growing the beard for was cancelled due to the New Plague, now postponed to 2022.

My mom visited with his wife while Pauli and I sat at the kitchen table. He had just returned from a fishing trip in Norway the day before and had some photos to show me. Then we got to business, he pulled out the tageskarte and I produced my newly acquired license. “Ah very good”, he breathed as his eyes scanned the blue card. He read and explained the long list of rules and regulations outlined on the yellow tageskarte and I paid him the fee.

He wished me luck and soon we were on our way, with the hardest logistics cleared from the path. A bona fide Bavarian fishing license and permission to fly fish on a beautiful stretch of the Ammer River. In 2 days I would be casting, legally, on German water for the first time.