Articles

Iceland for anglers: Virgin fish

How changing traditions change a fishery

by Kris Millgate - Monday, Nov 6th, 2017

The Husey River has four beats. Laxhylur is one of them (photo: Kris Millgate).

I'm situated on a bump of grass rooting its way into the Fljótaá River. My earthen perch is barely bigger than my boots so my balance is precarious. Despite wobbling, I'm content concentrating on the current in front of me. I don't have to worry about snags on my back cast because there are no trees in Iceland. No shade either, but it's the island's first cold snap so I welcome the sun seeping over the top of surrounding ridges dusted white overnight after the northern lights went to bed.

Beads are the best

Flies tied with beads almost always outfish their counterparts, but why?

by Domenick Swentosky - Tuesday, Oct 31st, 2017

Photo: Domenick Swentosky

I’ll fish any fly. Really, I’ll fish anything. I have zero hang ups about synthetic materials or fluorescent colors. I don’t care if the fly is fur and feathers or nylon and silicone. If a plastic minnow caught more trout than a Pheasant Tail nymph, I’d fish it. But the Pheasant Tail is better. Trust me. I’ve fished a lot of nymphs and too many plastic minnows.

Iceland for anglers: The guide's guide

Translating the island's fly fishing formula

by Kris Millgate - Monday, Oct 30th, 2017

Photo: Kris Millgate

There's 15 hours of sunlight daily while I'm in Iceland. I plan to drive two of that. Eat for one and fish for 12. I'm so serious about fly fishing Iceland that when the staff at Deplar Farm, where I spend the dark hours, calls to pick me up early, I decline. They've spotted 30 whales and commandeered an ocean vessel for viewing. They're sure I don't want to miss it. I'm sure I do.

On killing trout

Fish are food, not friends

by Tom Hazelton - Wednesday, Oct 25th, 2017

Photo: Tom Hazleton

Killing trout is easy. The actual act, at least. I use a four-inch Mora knife for all my trout work, and even its light birch handle has plenty of heft for the job. For a hand-span length trout, one or two sharp raps above the eyes triggers that electric death-shudder, the final sparks of current, and the trout is perfectly limp in hand for the rest of the cleaning process. No twitches, no gill movement, nothing. If I’m lucky there’s some wild mint along the streambank to wrap the fish in before sliding it into my creel.

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