After four days of work breaking concrete out west in Dalir, it was a welcome relief to keep the Sabbath holy in Brautarlækur and rest my weary bones. Sunday dawned, bright and beautiful. This was considered news, as the month of July had thus far been wetter than could be considered reasonable. Now was the time to enjoy the dry weather before the next round of rain began. By mid-day, restlessness began to set in, so I suggested to the other family members that we go on a fishing trip to Langavatn. This was not met with cheers, so I drove alone down Norðurárdalur.
I intended to fish the southern bank from the Langá river in the west to Beilá in the east. First, I had to hike in to the Langá. That hike turned out to be over an hour long, including a stop for photography. The walk is relatively easy, but this time it really tested the body’s cooling system. Sweat poured off the hiker in steady streams, as the air temperature was high and there was no wind-chill. These were ideal conditions for the midges, which paid uncomfortably close attention to the only mammal by the lake. Describing the midges as blue plumes forming a mist before the sun would be a considerable exaggeration; however, the onslaught was fierce enough that I praised my foresight in remembering the head-net. By the same token, I now curse my lack of foresight as I look at my swollen hands. I left the gloves in the car! Who remembers gloves when the air temperature is over 18°C?
Soaking wet with sweat, I sit down by the Langá and think back to the family’s previous trips to Langavatn. Most of those trips were sightseeing excursions, though the fishing rod was, of course, always along for the ride. These trips haven’t been particularly memorable for the fishing, as the catch has been next to nothing. Rather, they are remembered for the immense natural beauty there by the lake.
In my mind, I draw up a fragment of a memory from our first trip on a sun-drenched day in August 1997. Joining me were my elderly father-in-law, my eldest daughter (then three years old), and my wife. We managed to get our car—a Nissan Pulsar—stuck in the shoreline, but fortunately, through some maneuvering, we managed to get it free. We always had more faith in that car than it actually deserved. Once those ‘exercises’ were over, we brought out some refreshments, which we enjoyed together there in the August sun. My wife tiptoed down to the water with the fishing rod and soon hooked a handsome Arctic char. She actually lost it just as she was about to scoop it onto the bank, but right then, we saw that the lake holds some fine fish.
For the most part, the water is deep right off the southern bank of Langavatn. In several places, small trickling streams seep into the lake, and those are, of course, promising spots to fish. In some areas, cliffs reach all the way to the water's edge, while in others, there are gravel banks that are comfortable to fish from. I tried casting a fly everywhere these streams seeped into the lake, but when all was said and done, the result was only two smaller Arctic char. One of them took the Krókurinn, and the other took a nymph I don't know the name of. It had a red body wrapped with silver wire and a brown collar at the bead-head. Next year, I plan to hike the eastern bank from Langavatnsá in the north to Beilá in the south.
