“The weather was exceptionally beautiful in town when the first morning of summer vacation dawned. I decided to go fishing in Þingvallavatn in the evening, as it would have been a great shame to spend such a lovely evening watching football. To my dismay, it started blowing from the southwest as the day progressed. I didn’t let that stop me, though, and around seven o’clock, I was standing at Hallvík with the southwest wind right in my face.
This was my third trip to Þingvallavatn this summer. The other two had yielded nothing. On my last trip, a friend told me he had it from reliable sources that westerly winds are the absolute worst for Þingvallavatn. There were few people fishing that evening. I wondered if it was general knowledge among anglers that it was pointless to try the lake under these conditions. In both previous trips this summer, there had been a southwesterly wind, and nothing happened. Perhaps I had now confirmed that a lack of luck in Þingvallavatn follows the westerly wind. The char at Hallvík left me entirely alone, and since conditions for fly casting weren’t the best, I soon decided to move north of Arnarfell.
There was more shelter north of Arnarfell. I started trying my luck on the bank facing Miðfell. There, I soon hooked a decent char that took a Pheasant Tail. It struck in a spot where I have previously confirmed that there is usually fish. After that, nothing happened for a long while. I then decided to move to the bank under the slope on the western side of the cove you first come to when walking from the parking lot. After casting along the bank for a while, another nice char took. This time, it fell for the Killer fly. Shortly after, a third char took the same fly, though it was small.”
The wind died down. I waded into the lake to the point where the shelf drops off steeply. I cast my fly either straight out or along the rocky ledge to either side. A pair of Great Northern Divers (himbrimi) was loitering around me with their two chicks. The birds were clearly accustomed to anglers, as they were completely indifferent to my activities. I cast the fly straight out and waited a moment while it sank. Suddenly, one of the adult birds surfaced just three meters to my side. It looked around, then dived and streaked past me along the rocky ledge at incredible speed. I say ‘at incredible speed’ because it is unbelievable how fast that bird could propel itself.
As time passes, it won’t be the three char that linger in my memory. It will be the moment the Great Northern Diver showed me its swimming prowess in the crystal-clear waters of Þingvallavatn. Moments like this are the reason one bothers to stand for long hours by Icelandic fishing lakes without catching a single fish. I must admit, however, that the three char landed despite the southwesterly wind made a good trip to Þingvallavatn even better.