The fishing division of the Grandi Woodworking Club went on its twentieth trip from July 7th to 9th, 2022. According to the Met Office, the weather was supposed to be quite erratic, and it didn’t start well, as a weather warning was issued for gale-force winds on Thursday. The wind was then expected to gradually die down on Friday, followed by decent weather.
We rented a cabin near the lakes, and by the time we arrived around one o’clock, the weather had turned absolutely mental. That didn’t stop us; once we’d unloaded the cars, we headed out to fish. For a nearsighted four-eyes like me, it was a nightmare—twice I had to sprint after my glasses. It’s a miracle they survived intact. I had to settle for fishing without them since they wouldn’t stay on my nose. I started at a familiar spot on the point in Lake Arnarvatn, while my partner fished the bay where the late Örn had such a great catch during the 2020 trip. Out on the point, the weather was so violent that you could hardly stand upright. Sure enough, a sudden gust caught me off guard and knocked me off my feet. I plunged forward, landing belly-first in the water. Luckily, it was shallow where I took the tumble.
Soon enough, the fish started biting like crazy. I was scrambling back and forth between my two rods, and after about three hours of fishing, I had landed twelve decent brown trout. When I eventually headed back to the bay where my partner was still fishing, he had a similar tale of woe to tell. Exactly the same thing had happened to him—a gust of wind hit him head-on and knocked him over, sending him tumbling onto his back into the water. While we were struggling under these impossible conditions, the main highway was actually closed because it was deemed too dangerous to be on the road in such weather.
That evening, we raised a glass to a fallen fishing buddy and friend, as our companion Örn passed away early this spring after a battle with a serious illness. We reminisced about the club's previous fishing trips, which have become quite numerous. According to the group's statistical expert, we have now completed twenty trips with a total of 908 trout landed.
The Met Office hit the nail on the head, as the forecast seemed to be playing out exactly as predicted. The wind was somewhat lighter on Friday, and it continued to die down as the morning went on, though it was still quite strong. That morning, I managed to land seven trout in Lake Harðarvatn. They were caught off the point in the middle of the lake, where our companions had been fishing in the gale the day before. Two of my fish were Arctic char, and one of them mysteriously vanished. Suspicion fell on local scavengers—most likely a Great Black-backed Gull or a mink helped themselves to it.
After noon on Friday, the wind died down to a dead calm. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the wind that dropped—the fishing did as well. The trout stopped biting altogether. When all was said and done, I had landed nineteen trout, and the group had caught sixty in total.
