The time had come for the mountain lake that shall remain nameless. These days, my wife and I are quite busy with our construction projects on the weekends, so we have to prioritize wisely. Therefore, we took a break from building for one afternoon and evening to fish the lake. We had originally planned to go on Friday, but due to the weather, we postponed it until Saturday. It was a clear day with temperatures reaching 20°C.
Saturday arrived, clear and warm with temperatures hitting 20°C. There was nothing to do but head out, dressed in light layers. After a sweaty hour-long trek, entirely uphill, we reached the midpoint of the lake. We decided to repeat our strategy from last year since we had such good luck then. We walked along the eastern bank to the spot where the fish were last year, and then I continued along the southern shore. But first, we sat down on the eastern bank and got our gear ready.
We had recently watched a fishing show featuring the brothers Gunnar and Ásbjörn, Veiðikofann, where they were fishing for brown trout in Lake Þingvallavatn. They received advice that the best way to get the trout to strike was to use a “dropper” and tie small flies to the leader. I had never fished with a dropper before but decided to give it a try. I tied a Pheasant Tail on the point and another small fly as the dropper. I then walked along the southern bank, past the island where the Great Northern Diver nests, toward the rocky skerry opposite Réttartangi. When the water level is low, as it is now, you can wade out to the skerry, so that’s what I did. Wading out there is actually quite tricky and doesn’t get any easier with age—it gets deep and the bottom is covered in large rocks.
Just as I reached the deepest part and was about to scramble over the rocks, I felt one of my rods snag. “Damn it, the fly must be stuck on a rock,” I thought. I was holding two rods in my right hand and using my left to steady myself against the rocks on the bank. When I jerked the rod to free the snag, the line suddenly screamed out. A trout had grabbed the fly, and it was no small fish! With two rods in my hands, I tried to reel it in, but they were hopelessly tangled together. I realized this wasn’t going to work. I had to give the line some slack to untangle the rods, hoping the trout wouldn’t slip away in the meantime. Once I got them apart, I tossed one rod onto the skerry and focused on netting the trout. I succeeded, and then scrambled up onto the rocks myself. The trout turned out to be four pounds. Let it never be said that a dropper doesn’t work!
I then fished all around the skerry and had one solid strike, though that fish got away. When I returned to the eastern bank, Guðrún hadn’t had any luck. We then moved to the southern bank; I headed to the gap by Lómavík, while Guðrún fished in Veiðivík. She lost a good fish there. By then, the fog had rolled in, and in a very short time, it became incredibly thick. I decided to call Guðrún. I could hear the ringing loud and clear—because her phone was actually in the backpack I was carrying on my shoulders! She must have had a hunch, though, because suddenly I saw a bright light through the fog. We both had lamps with us, knowing it would be pitch black by the time we started our walk back.
Between Veiðivík and the bank where I was fishing lies Breiðavík. We both fished there—she from the east and I from the west. We both had takes; she lost hers, but I managed to land a two-pound brown trout. By now, it was 11:30 PM, and it was no longer possible to see the path. The sun had long since set, and the fog only added to the darkness. We set off for home, happy after a great day in the outdoors. The next day, the construction work was waiting for us.