Around five o’clock, my wife and I decided to dash east to Þingvallavatn to spend the evening by the lake. The weather was excellent, apart from the relentless rain. We decided to fish at Nautatangi, even though we don’t know that area well. If you’re going to learn a lake, there’s no point in always sticking to the same old spot.
We began by walking out onto the point—at least, we think we hit the right place. In the shallow bays, the Red-necked Phalarope was minding its own business, indifferent to the fuss of the anglers. It was dead calm when we started fishing, and we soon noticed fish. They were there, but they weren’t taking. I managed to slip on the slick bottom and took a header into the water. It’s certainly not the first time that has happened.
Usually, I only bring my fly rod to Þingvallavatn, but this time the spinning rod came along. My wife is still learning to cast a fly, and naturally, it takes time to gain confidence in the casting and believe that something can actually be caught this way. As it turned out, there at Nautatangi, she landed two Arctic char on a small spinner, while the one wielding the fly rod didn’t get a single hit.
As we walked back, the phalarope was still busy in the shallow bay next to the islet we had been fishing from. We decided to stop at Nes, which is east of the parking lot, on our way back. I had ended my session at Nautatangi by snapping my line, and when I replaced the leader, I only had a five-pound one on hand. I didn’t feel like walking those few steps to my wife to get the eight-pound leader. I put the five-pounder on, and I was destined to pay for it. At Nes, a decent fish struck my fly but snapped the weak leader, and I cursed under my breath. At that point, we felt it was time to head home, as we were soaking wet from all the rain.”