James Fox and friends encounter an extraordinary fish on an isolated mountain stream
IN AUGUST, I WAS FISHING IN Iceland with my friend Alfred Pope and photographer and camp manager on the East Ranga river Jack Selby, who had been given permission by the owner of a secret valley to explore the source of a mountain stream.
After a long drive through rough terrain, Oliver Shoulden, our guide, located a track surfaced with lava gravel that led us to the base of the mountain, where we abandoned the car. Jack sauntered behind to take photos while Oli led the way uphill to the river’s source.
After stumbling over steep ground, we came to a spot where we could see the tiny lace of a stream making a wide detour around the side of the mountain. This sparkling ribbon was interspersed with wider pockets, and our aim was to reach the source and stealthily approach those broader parts that may hold fish. The hillside was scattered with wildflowers —an artist’s paradise —we were half-expecting Mary Poppins to appear with a goat herd. We eventually reached the base of a waterfall, where we rested. The first pocket of water lay below, in which we spotted a half-hidden salmon. I tied on a small barbless fly and made a gentle cast, keeping my single-handed rod low and parallel to the ground. The salmon miraculously disappeared —but at the same time, I was aware the line was moving. Two minutes later, we released a beautiful trout of at least 2lb.
I repeated the cast, and this time the salmon took hold but threw the hook.
We then proposed creeping downstream. Under the waterfall there was no depth of water for a fish to gain momentum for leaping the falls. There were dozens of similar falls, one after the other, leading up, around and out of sight like a never-ending ladder with rungs two or three metres apart. The cascade of water was hitting the hard rock below.
As I started to descend, I looked back for Oli. Out of curiosity, he had climbed to a shelf at the side of the third waterfall. His intention was to get a better view of the valley. He beckoned me up, which reminded me of my climbing days in the Alps. We stood on that narrow shelf with the torrent tumbling past our boots. In front, a few feet away, was a 3ft-deep pool of clear water, connected to the waterfall and no bigger than a billiard table. Its back and right side were formed by tall, sheer rocks and a low rock partially concealed our presence. In the pool were two salmon.
I have learnt over the years on our private beat of the Hampshire Avon how to mesmerise salmon and sea-trout at close range and gain their confidence. We employed that technique now, and while the fish remained quiet, made a plan. We decided to try a micro riffle hitch fly on a long tippet with the aim of skimming the fly only on the surface. We fe
