This is a wonderful piece of storytelling. It perfectly blends the secret traditions of an Icelandic family with the excitement of discovering that a “snag” is actually a trophy fish!
The Translation
“I don’t think it’s quite time for ‘autumn talk’ in mid-August. Yet, it is undeniable that various messengers of autumn begin to make themselves known as the month progresses.
One of these messengers in our family’s life is a hike to the ‘Lake That Must Not Be Named.’ There, we pick bilberries on the southwest-facing slopes above the lake and fish for ‘Ice Age’ brown trout. On Saturday, August 16th, we set off around mid-afternoon (nónbil) up to the lake. After an eighty-minute hike, all of it uphill, the choppy lake came into view. Choppy, because a strong wind was blowing from the north. This time, we intended to let the berry picking wait until Sunday, as the forecast was better for that sort of activity.
We intended to focus entirely on fishing. Joining me were my wife, my younger daughter, and our dog, Lappi. For the past two decades, I have fished in the Lake That Must Not Be Named and should, therefore, be getting to know the main fishing spots. Yet, it is so that I have only found one spot that regularly yields fish. I have trekked around the entire lake many times, hooking the occasional fish here and there, but I’ve never pulled many fish from the same ‘patch.’ Since the anglers on this trip have varying levels of patience, we decided to start fishing at this one known spot.
At first, my daughter’s casting was a bit shaky, so I set down my fly rod and waded over to give her a little instruction. Just as I am showing her how to handle the rod, a fish takes the lure! After a short while, a 2.5-pound trout lies in the moss by the bank. The little one took the casting lesson well and was soon casting beautifully out into the lake. I returned to my fly casting. After a moment, I see that the girl’s line is snagged, so I wade over to free it. I pull and jerk the rod with force, but then there is a pull and a jerk back! It turned out there was a 4.5-pound trout on the other end.
Shortly after this, my wife and daughter wanted to stop fishing and walk back down to the farm, as it was quite cold there in the northerly gale. I, however, decided to push on in hopes of finding new fishing spots. I fished the southwest bank, past Réttartangi, and back again. It yielded no results until I had returned to my starting point. There, I hooked a stout brown trout that turned out to be 5.5 pounds, 58 cm long, and very thick-bodied. The largest fish I have caught from the lake to date.
By then, the sun was setting in the west with such a spectacle. The red glow of the sun played across the sky above the mountains. It was almost as if the west were ablaze. Then came the walk home in the dark. It was just as the meteorological office had predicted: Sunday was ideal for berry picking.
