Original text written 20, August 1994.
Even though chasing salmon is great entertainment, it is not a pursuit I had practiced particularly often. That´s why I haven’t landed many salmon in my lifetime—though there have been a few, as I have occasionally allowed myself to cast a line into salmon-rich waters. The reasons for this are, of course, financial. Too many wealthy foreigners are interested in spending their money in Iceland, and because of them, fishing rights owners can price this resource beyond all reason. In recent times, the number of wealthy Icelanders has also grown, leaving salmon fishing as nothing more than a distant dream for the average person.
Nearly thirty years ago, when I was just beginning to cast lines into water, we decided to make our way down to Mýrar, all the way out to Straumfjörður. My wife had relatives there whom my father-in-law, Halli, wanted to visit. While he popped in for coffee, Guðrún and I took little Harpa, along with Halli’s old rod and my new Hercon rod, down to Stóra Lón. We intended to catch our first salmon. I must admit, I don’t find much charm in that first salmon, as it was simply a farmed fish that the landowners had stocked in the lagoon. The owners created the lagoon in 1990 by building a dam and stocked it with farmed fish, both salmon and trout. The fish seem to have plenty of food, as they can survive in the lagoon year-round; the connection to the sea is sufficient for scuds and other feed which washes in from the sea.
The person who sold us the fishing permit told us that baiting with worms was best, claiming the salmon would take nothing else. Fortunately, we had a small supply of worms, and it did not take long to land the five-fish limit. The salmons we landed were all small, though I later heard a story of a young boy who landed a 43-pound salmon there. Not far from us was a group with a foreign guest who were having no luck at all. The father of the family strolled over and asked what our secret was, seeing us pull in one fish after another. It was, of course, the worms that made the difference, so we gave them a few. They were very grateful, as they too soon began pulling salmon onto the bank.
When we returned to our cabin in upper Norðurárdalur, we set to work processing the fish. Guðrún and I intended to throw away the heads, but Halli wouldn’t hear of it. In his world, everything useful was utilized, and throwing away food was simply not an option. He took the heads and boiled them for dinner. The modern generation could learn a lot in this regard from previous generations, who were shaped by the harsh struggle for survival in our unforgiving land.
