It´s one of those small rivers that looks modest but still holds salmon. A few years ago, it was primarily an Arctic char river, but then something changed, and salmon began entering the river in greater numbers. I remember clearly that only eighteen years ago, my wife and I nipped down to a single pool below the farm with a fly rod and, in a short time, hooked eleven char. Nowadays, it’s a rarity to catch a char in the river.
In this river, as in so many others, the char population has declined sharply in recent years. No one knows for certain why, but suspicions point toward rising temperatures. Recently, salmon have been running up the river in increasing numbers—though not to the extent that the river yields any significant catch. It’s likely that the yield could be increased through cultivation efforts if the local farmers were interested.
This past Sunday, my wife and I got the chance to visit the river. We knew it was a bit early, as the salmon usually run late there; it’s hardly worth trying until after mid-August. Still, we thought it likely that some fish had made their way up, since a lack of water hasn’t been an issue for the salmon this summer.
Our stroll up along the river was a sweaty affair, as the weather was at its absolute best: warm, sunny, and calm. At one point along the way, we spotted a grilse. We asked him to wait right there until we returned, as we had decided to start at the ‘Char Pool’ and fish our way up from there.
The Char Pool is the spot in the river best suited for fly fishing. Thus, the old man got priority with his fly rod. I put on a slow-sinking line, a 60-centimeter leader, and the Harpa fly. Shortly after, a fish took the fly. It wasn’t large, but decent nonetheless. It turned out to be a char, but unfortunately, it got away. Immediately on the next cast, a salmon struck but also escaped. A little nibble, and then it was all over.
We continued up the river, exploring one fishing spot after another. No fish were to be found until we reached the furthest point possible. Inside a narrow gorge, an impassable waterfall tumbles into a tight pool. If a fish takes there, your only option is to exhaust it completely within the pool and then attempt to grab it from a narrow ledge. The old man scrambled up to this waterfall pool, and a salmon struck on the second cast. After a brief struggle, we decided to lead him toward the ledge, where my wife was to slip the net under him. That plan was never put to the test, as the salmon bolted toward the waterfall, leapt, and snapped the line.
On the way back down the river, we checked on the salmon that was supposed to wait for us, but he had broken his promise and vanished.