It felt impossible to let the entire month of May pass without wetting a line, and now it was drawing to a close. The weather had been perfect for being outdoors, so I decided to remedy the situation, climbed up to the storage loft, and retrieved my gear. I made a quick trip to Lake Þingvallavatn and decided to stroll out onto Leirutá. In the parking lot, I met an angler who was just coming off the point. He had landed one sizeable snail-eating char and mentioned there were Danes fishing out there. He remarked that it wouldn’t be a problem because ‘they had no idea what they were doing.’
I walked out there and met one Dane and one German. They had been working the water all morning and through the day without a single strike. Nevertheless, they cast with me for a while and were clearly experienced anglers—at the very least, they cast their flies better than I did. They were obviously tired of the lack of fish and soon packed up. I worked the water for three hours myself without any luck. I just wasn’t in the right ‘flow,’ and the water felt incredibly cold, so I headed home early, empty-handed.