Awakening with the first rays of dawn, I embraced the promise of a new day after a night of peaceful slumber. The weather, though not the epitome of salmon fishing perfection, bestowed upon me the gift of a fair and sunny morning. The optimism that surged within me, fueled by the memory of yesterday's cleansing rain, propelled me into the day with a buoyant spirit.
A breakfast of bacon and egg sandwich, a hearty ritual to fortify the body and soul, preceded the assembly of my fishing gear. Armed with anticipation and determination, I made my way to the river, where the shimmering waters beckoned, eager to reveal the secrets hidden beneath.
The first pool on the stretch awaited my explorations—a majestic expanse flanked by the verdant embrace of spruce trees. Fishing from the right side, the pool unfolded its secrets as it stretched beyond the horizon, interrupted only by the presence of a small island at its pinnacle. The challenge presented itself as I waded toward a petite outcrop island, positioning myself at the apex of the pool, ready to commence the dance with elusive companions below, but sadly with no success .
Embarking on a journey to the second pool, a realm where success has graced me in the past, I feel the thrill of anticipation coursing through my veins. This particular stretch of water, with its shallow, brisk currents at the summit, cascades into a profound abyss on the right side of a secluded island. Here, beneath the overhang of rapids, the salmon find sanctuary, enveloped in the embrace of oxygen-rich waters.
Armed with the knowledge of this pool's nuances, I cast my line with precision, aiming for the sweet spot opposite the fishing hut. As the rhythmic dance of my fly begins, a sudden surge of weight on the line signals the promise of an impending encounter. Swiftly tightening the line, I relish the momentary connection with the unseen force below. However, as quickly as the pull came, the line slackens—an ephemeral dance with the elusive salmon, leaving me yearning for what might have been.
Undeterred by this fleeting encounter, I persist, working my way through the pool with an unwavering determination. Seeking solace on the riverbank, I reflect on my next move, a moment of respite to lick the wounds of a missed opportunity and contemplate the evolution of my strategy. The decision is made to switch to a trusted shrimp fly, this time adorned in vibrant red hues—a bold choice to entice the discerning salmon.
Eagerly, I cast once more, the scarlet fly dancing upon the water's surface in a seductive rhythm. Yet, in the midst of excitement, I find myself succumbing to impatience, retrieving the fly too swiftly and too close to the surface. The salmon remain elusive, indifferent to my endeavors. Undeterred by the initial setbacks, I persist, casting thrice and then a fourth time, each attempt met with the silence of the river—a stark reminder of the unpredictable nature of salmon fishing, where one must be prepared for the bittersweet taste of disappointment, knowing that each cast might be the only chance to dance with the elusive kings of the river.
As the clock strikes 6 pm, I conclude my day on the river, a day marked by the dance of the sun on the water and the elusive waltz with the salmon. Returning to the hut, I find solace in the melodic blend of Norwegian and Danish voices, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and tales from the day's endeavours. The golden hues of the setting sun paint a portrait on the hills before me, a canvas of nature's final masterpiece for the day.
Reflecting on the week's odyssey, I absorb the energy that the summer trip has bestowed upon my soul. Each Norwegian and Danish conversation, every ripple on the river, becomes a cherished melody etched in the recesses of my mind, a symphony to be revisited during the long winter nights. With the promise of the next summer's escape to the north in pursuit of the mighty salmon, I bottle this essence of vitality, a reservoir to draw from when the frosty grip of winter seeks to dampen my spirit.
Tomorrow heralds the journey homeward, a melancholy mix of farewell to the river's embrace and anticipation of reuniting with loved ones. For now, the present moment unfolds in a tableau of surroundings that I relish—an evening steak paired with a robust red wine, a sensory feast to be savored before the southern journey beckons on the morrow.
The new day unveils itself, draped in clarity and a hint of the previous night's indulgence. With a contented heart and a slightly thick head, I begin my morning rituals, splashing cool water on my face as I bid farewell to the cabin that cradled my restful night. The journey to the port of Kristinsand awaits, a 45-minute drive adorned with an alternative route through the high country, where caution for morning deer guides my path. The sunrise graces the woods with its ethereal glow, while low-lying mist delicately clings to the valleys below. In this serene landscape, a fleeting encounter with a fox adds a touch of wild elegance to the journey—our paths momentarily intertwined before diverging, as it heads home up a mountain path, and I turn toward the familiar embrace of civilisation.
The embarkation process at Kristiansand unfolds with elegant simplicity, and I find myself amidst a gathering of kindred spirits, fellow travelers homeward bound, their hearts adorned with memories of Norway's majestic landscapes. Seated at the stern of the ferry, I witness the departure from port, a bittersweet farewell to the enchanting tales woven into the fabric of this Nordic haven.
On the right, a tableau of new flats and apartments stand resilient against the rugged rock face, accompanied by the steadfast silhouette of a white lighthouse at its base. To the left, a small rocky outcrop captures my attention, adorned with a peculiar stone wall whose purpose remains shrouded in mystery, perhaps a vestige of a bygone era or the foundation for an erstwhile dwelling.
The Kristiansand fjord, a low expanse adorned with petite rocky islands, stretches before me, soon to vanish from sight. In this fleeting moment, bathed in sunlight, I share the company of fellow sojourners, casting glances back at the receding landscape. As we navigate the waters, I reflect on Norway's unfolding journey towards the Arctic, bidding adieu to the land beyond. Until next year, when the call of the salmon beckons me to revisit these small, cherished places, where camaraderie with fellow "brothers of the rod" becomes the thread that binds us to the rivers and the tales they tell.
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