On the Saturday of the Whitsun weekend in 2014, there was unparalleled calm weather in Norðurárdalur fremra. So warm that dogs and men were panting if they allowed themselves to move a limb. It was also very warm on the Friday, so I reasoned that the highland lakes had become warm enough for the trout to move closer to the bank in search of food. My younger daughter agreed to come along on a little highland adventure, and around mid-afternoon, we set out onto the heath. The original plan was to walk in to Djúpavatn, fish it, and finish in Krókavatn.
As we, father and daughter, stood by Krókavatn, we shuddered at the thought of walking that distance in to Djúpavatn. The daughter in her mother’s far too large waders, armed with our old spinning rod, and I armed with the Sage fly rod—the one that didn’t break in Þingvallavatn last week. The walk would be such a sweaty trek in the hot June sun. We therefore decided to let laziness dictate the decision and fished the southern bank of Krókavatn from east to west.
For a long time, not a single damn thing happened. Around half-past seven in the evening, we were getting bored with the struggle, and our minds had started wandering home to Brautarlæk. I decided to finish this by casting a spinner a few times with the spinning rod, just to see if the char were lying further out than I could reach with the fly rod. I haven’t cast many times when the spinner is grabbed, and a beautiful char was brought to land. Then a short biology lesson on fish began, because, of course, we examined what the char was eating. We decided that the Pheasant Tail fly came closest to resembling what was on the char’s menu, so it was tied onto the leader. On the third cast, the fly is taken, and a second beautiful char was lying on the bank a short while later. Another cast, and again the fly is grabbed. I don’t know if this one was bigger than the other two, but it grabbed quite vigorously. Vigorously enough to snap the five-pound leader. There went the only Pheasant Tail fly I had, and it seemed the char did not fancy anything else I had to offer.
Now it was decided to try again with the spinner, and the goal was for my daughter to get a fish. After a few casts, a char grabbed the spinner, and the girl landed the third char. Now the clock had struck ten, and we decided to head for home, but of course, we had to set up for a photoshoot. While we were setting up the tripod, my daughter points north across the lake. It was, of course, a given; Grána [the fog] had arrived and was moving fast. So fast that before we managed to pack up the gear, we were in pitch-black fog on the heath. Nevertheless, finding the path down to the main road went without trouble.