Viking Lars | Saturday, 24 April 2021
Some events stay vivid in memory for a long, long time. It can be anything, obviously significant to all, less significant to others, but for some reason, stil significant to me or you. One of my earliest fishing memories is standing under the bridge over my local, childhood river, casting my spinners upstream into a weir pool. Spinners my dad had bought me the same morning in the local sports shop (I still have one or two of them). That wasn’t allowed, but when you’re a kid you get away with a lot of things. There was another river I often persuaded my dad to take me to, where I never had a license. Sometimes walking along the river, the landowner would step out of his tractor and ask if I was a member of the local club. A simple “No, I didn’t know you had to” (which was true the first time) would leave me with a shrug from the farmer and a “Well, you just keep on fishing, it’s OK”. That’s a lot harder to get away with as you grow up (or a least, get big enough to look like a grown up). Eventually I got a license, of course. Nor would i ever consider fishing illegally today, of course.
Another very vivid memory is my first atlantic salmon. Everything surround the catch is extremely clear in my memory. The stretch I was fishing had a deep, slow section on the upper half, and fairly sharp turn and the a perfect, shallow run with a swift current, ending in a neck leading into the next pool.
I clearly remember the casts across the pool, the pull from the current on the floating line. The line swinging. And of course the take. Somehow I managed to do everything right. I hooked the salmon and I can still remember every run and jump. I landed the salmon, a 6-7 pound grilse, perfect silver with sea lice, straight from the ocean. I was alone and beached the salmon and killed it. Brought it to the cabin to show the others. And it was prepared and eaten at some event (see, here’s a difference, I can’t even remember which one) in my family.
I also still have the fly I landed the salmon on (in today’s PoD). It has retained it’s “freshly-dried” look, with hairs and hackle fibres still stuck together. The overwing is coming off as you can see. I still do that sometimes - keep a fly that catches me a special fish, a fly that broke on a fish of epic dimensions (of course) and so on.
I have many other flies in a small collection. Flies from famous fly tiers given to me, flies I tied in fly tying classes, kept as reference flies and memories from hours well spent. I even have quite a few of Paul’s flies, which I might share some day. Even a few of those famed Royal FuckUps.
I have another memory attached to that first, Norwegian atlantic salmon. I had borrowed a rod from my friend, Michael. I had no double hander on that trip and borrowed a 13’ prototype of his, from the time when he was making a selling a small custom brand of rods. He was fishing in Norway at the same time, on the same river, further down stream. I borrowed the car and drove down to show him and the others the salmon. All of them seasoned veterans of hundreds of big salmon, yet they shared my enthusiasm with this first Norwegian salmon. Michael asked me if I had caught on the rod I borrowed from him, which I did. “You better keep it as your own then”. I still use the rod, it’s quite excellent actually and now holds not only the memory of the first, but many more salmon. And furthermore, it was a gift from a close friend.
Rods like these are so much more important to me than the latest snake-oil-rods. So are my HTs, since Paul’s a very close friend as well, and I’ve tried and given my input on most of the prototypes. I just means something. I have a few Scott rods that were also given to on special occasions. Old, maybe, but representatives of good memories.
Call me sentimental - I know it, but I like it.
Have a great weekend!
Lars