Originally written on July, 21st 2005.
Guðrún, the little one, and I drove along the western side of Hraunsfjörður, intending to bait fish there. The results were nothing to boast about, but Guðrún did hook and land a beautiful char.
I understand that as the summer progresses, the char congregate at the innermost part of the fjord. I tried wading out there a bit but found it disagreeable, as you sink into the mud on the bottom and cannot move. I consider this one of the most unpleasant and dangerous fishing conditions one can encounter. At the very end of the fjord is the valley Árnabotn. There are reportedly ruins of three abandoned farms there, one of which is Botn, where a man named Árni lived. Botn was a wretched little croft, hardly inhabitable deep in that valley where the sun barely reaches for a small part of the year. Yet, Árni managed to secure a prominent wife, but it was through trickery that he managed to woo her. He was traveling and stayed overnight at a vicarage he did not know. Three mornings in a row, Árni looked at the weather and muttered to himself, yet loudly enough for the reverend and his wife to hear: “I wonder if my boats will sail today?” Naturally, the reverend and his wife concluded that this was a fabulously wealthy man from the West. As it turned out, Árni married their daughter and took her home, where the truth was revealed. Such was Árni’s deceitfulness, and a poem was composed about him. This is a direct translation.
Árni in Botni, completely rotten. His virtue is not fine. A den of vice, that is his home. Where the sun never shines.