Inside Norway

In June 2008, Mark Bowler was amongst the first of many anglers to fish Norway’s salmon rivers since the lifting of its coastal nets

“You know”, Harald Oyen confided,”this pool frightens me”. As we stepped through the vibrant green ferns, fronds beseeching the 24-hour June light of Norway, following the small stream that flows down to Idgholen, I began to wonder how anyone that stands at least six feet six in stockinged shoes could possibly be frightened of a salmon pool.
Idgholen, on the Orkla, is certainly deep, and with a rocket of white water foaming under the footbridge at the neck, pretty impressive too. It sweeps round a big, right-angled bend with the smooth cornering power of Lewis Hamilton and then glides out over a collection of rocks at the tail.

Then, as Harald made a cast to the far ledge of the tail, where the big ones are supposed to lie, a porpoise lethargically head-and-tailed just off his rod tip. It took a couple of seconds for me to realise that this couldn’t possibly be a porpoise. We were miles from the sea and up in the hills above Trondheim. It was, in fact, the biggest salmon I have ever seen. I suddenly realised that the 15lb nylon I had been using – the nylon I alway use for my salmon fishing at home – was seriously inadequate for this pool. I realised that, to paraphrase the immortal line from Jaws, “We’re gonna need a bigger rod”.

One week later Harald sent me an email. In it was a picture of a man sitting on a rock as if it was a fighting chair on a big-game fishing boat. But wedged into his stomach he strained back with all his might and his rod bent so much the tip threatened to dip below his feet. He was connected to a massive fish in the Igdholen. 90 minutes later it got off. He never even saw the fish. Frightening.

This event typified a visit to Norway in mid-June this year. As we settled into our base camp on the Stjordal at Hembre Farm, our party was a-buzz with one, constant theme - here was the chance to clinch a salmon of a lifetime. And this was no average bunch of anglers either. The group contained some highly experienced salmon fishers, a smattering of gillies, champion casters, guides and instructors, yet all possessed a heightened sense of excitement and anticipation every time they stepped out onto the river. A feeling that some of the more hardened ones hadn’t experienced for a very long time.

Every day, Harald Oyen, the leader of our group, would download the latest catch statistics from the rivers in the locality (Gaula, Orkla, Verdal, Namsen, and our own Stjordal) and the list of fish taken of over 15lb would grow daily. Featuring in this list would be a stunning number of fish of over 20lb and into the 30’s, and, on our arrival, news of a 19kg (40lb) fish topped the headlines.

During that June week I had the opportunity to experience the fishing on three of Norway’s Trondelag rivers – those in the Trondheim area – and visit one other, the Gaula. On all four, I met anglers brimming with enthusiasm, confidence and hints of expectancy after the opening of the new season coincided with the lifting of Norway’s coastal nets. Even as we drove from watershed to watershed we couldn’t ignore the salmon fishing potential of this area. For the first time ever, despite having a roving river-eye since the age of eight, I witnessed a salmon being landed as I drove along the river. Well, it had to happen one day, I mused, but incredibly it occurred again later that same day.

Stjordal
There is 85 kilometres of fishable Stjordal river, and our base was located at Hembre Farm, which is one of its most productive beats. I had the chance to get a good look at the meandering, gravelly bends of the river as my plane came into land at Trondheim airport, which is a mere 15 minutes’ drive from the fishing. As such, Hembre provides probably the world’s handiest salmon fishing for air travellers. During its short, three-month season, the river regularly produces upwards of 1,300 fish.

However, the extensive snowfields of the Norwegian mountains over which I’d flown from Oslo were now melting fast with heavy June rain and the Stjordal was rising quickly. Due to the water height this was Norway salmon fishing as I imagined: big rods, long casts, sinking lines and weighty tube flies. The river here is Tummel in size, too wide to fly fish it all, unless you are a world Spey casting champion. Luckily, we had world champion Spey caster, Scott Mackenzie in our party, and to see him wade deep and cast a type 6 sinking tip and a brass tube way over towards the far bank of the swollen Stjordal was an awesome sight. As the water yo-yo’ed in level throughout the week and often held some rusty tinge, it was generally sunken lines and big, flowing tubes flies that worked; black or orange flies with lots of Flashabou was the general opinion. In the main, the fly fishers stuck to the wide gravelly runs, casting long and squarish, mending to allow the fly to sink, and lifting the rod tip high to control and slow the swim of the fly. However, Martin, our guide, was keen to stress that Stjordal fish moved close to the edges of the flow, so that deep wading and casting to the far side were not necessary. Many of the pools typically had a best side for wading; on the ‘good’ side wading was on gravel, and was not too difficult, although in some pools it paid to be wary of some the holes cut into the clay. On the other side big rocks and a steep bank comprised a generally unwadeable bank. Big, fresh fish were the order of this June week, most of the fish coming between the 12-20lb mark, but a week of varying flows and coloured water meant that Hembre Farm was not on top form, with Earn gillie, John Young topping the class with four fish. In general Hemre will produce 10% of Stjordal’s total catch.

Like many of Norway’s salmon beats the fishing at Hembre is based on a farm. Like many of the ancient mustard and cedar-red wooden farmhouses, it nestles by the river, plying snug shelter and wholesome food. The fishing rights came with the farmland. Accommodation, usually at the farm base, in the form of a cluster of chalet-type rooms with bunks, a washroom, and a small kitchen serves to keep the self-catering angler happy.

Increasingly, farms such as Hembre are recognising the beat and lodge systems used in Britain and elsewhere, where the beat is taken by a party of rods for the whole week exclusively, and catering is provided by the lodge. Wholesome Norwegian food served at regular mealtimes became the mainstay of our party, keeping us well fed, comfortable, rested and informed of all the fishing news during Norway’s relentless 24-hour daylight fishing. The traditional, wood panelled, cosy farmhouse became our headquarters, particularly for daily late night/ early morning discussions about the finer points of salmon fishing and other matters relating to the world, and setting it to rights.

Orkla
Although just a hop over the hills from the Stjordal, the Orkla is a completely different river. Rocky, and more intimate with smaller more defined pools, which curve and thrust through beaver-hewn pine-fringed margins. Wilder and more youthful than the wide, rolling Stjordal, the Orkla is a much more manageable river to fish. Since the 1980’s the flow on the Orkla has been controlled through hydro-power stations so it tends to hold flow better than neighbouring rivers and also is less prone to large floods following rain and snow-melt. However, the Orkla still plays host to some massive fish. To give a flavour of the type of sport that it can provide I’ll summarise my day at Aunan lodge’s water.

As Harald and I dropped down from the mountain pass into the Orkla valley we crossed a bridge on which we met two anglers - Tom and Jean Marshall from Angus, who were looking over the bridge looking at a river which looked not a million miles from their North Esk. Tom was excited; he’d just lost a fish he estimated at 25lb. Prospects looked good, so we quickly moved onto meet Vegard Heggem at his Aunan Lodge. Vegard is better known in the UK as the full back with a mazy dribble who was transferred from local club Rosenberg to Liverpool FC. Injury forced him from the football field back to the fields of his family farm at Aunan, but today, farming is less a way of life in the Orkla valley and the farmers are merging their pieces of salmon fishing to produce enviable beats. Having breakfasted in the granduer of his new lodge (incredibly, it was once a potato shed), Vegard introduced us to his guide, Erik, who was recounting how he hooked and landed a 20-pounder earlier that morning. Surprisingly, I learned that he’d hooked it on a small fly fished close to the surface at the tail of a pool on a floating line. The season was ten days old and 18 fish had already come off the beat, which extends over about two miles.

I couldn’t wait to get going, so we were soon walking up through the pines and upstream to fish Frona pool at the top of the beat. This pool could have been cut straight out of the Aberdeenshire Dee: beautiful, rumbling streamy fly water smoothing out into a popply run with arable farmland surrrounding us and wooded high hills in the distance. With no roads to be heard or seen this was a piece of Norwegian paradise. Vegard expected something to come out of this pool; it had been rested before our visit and he told me that the fish-counter on the river was already up to a healthy 1,100 fish (it generally records 8-9,000 fish a season). However, salmon fishing, being what it is, saw that neither myself nor Harald connected with anything, although we expected to with every cast, so inviting was the water. We returned to the lodge to discover that Jean Marshall had gone one better than us and her husband by managing to land a beefy, square-tailed silver fish of 22lb. The next day she went two better with a 30-pounder. Again, it was all about floating lines and small flies. It was then that, with some trepidation, Harald and I set off for the infamous Idgholen Pool. Having witnessed the biggest salmon I’ve ever seen (see above) Harald went to fish on the far side of the pool over the footbridge and had a brief connection with a fish. Meanwhile I couldn’t leave the pool tail alone. That monster fish had to be there somewhere. It possibly still is.

I was treated to an afternoon of pleasurable streamy water runs and inviting pool-tail lies, but I still couldn’t move an Aunan fish to my flies. As a final fling, Vegard rowed me across Pollen, a large deep corner pool and I fished the fast neck with an intermediate and a larger (1.25 inch) copper tube fly. I was soon playing a bright silver fish which at one stage looked like it had decided to exit Pollen and move down to Gamsholen pool through a short rapid that would excite any whitewater canoeist. Luckily, it changed its mind. Vegard eventually netted a meaty 15lb fish for me, probably the smallest fish he had seen all season, but my first fish from Norway. As we drove back to Stjordal I knew I had been privileged to fish somewhere so special. The anticipation of connecting with a salmon the size of a porpoise inevitably does something to your adrenaline levels. Meeting up with Gary Scott on the way home confirmed these thoughts. He had been fishing further downstream and he told me that he had experienced one of the most exciting day’s salmon fishing in his life. Quite something for a casting champion who has fished all over the world. By the way, he had also landed a 15-pound fish that day. Gary agreed with me: the Orkla is awesome.

Verdal
The Verdal is Trondelag’’s most recent salmon river. Earlier in its life it was affected by the unstable clays of the area. Heavy rain would trigger massive releases of silt which would render the Verdal grey and unfishable. Landslides are natural hazard here, and in the 1800’s 100 people were killed in a landslide close by. Due to this instability of the river, a massive bank revetment scheme was commissioned which involved sealing the banks with local stone. As a result floods now mean the river stays clear and fishable with a fly. Geir Olsen, a local school teacher, has known the river since he was six. When he was young it could only be fished on a maximum of 30 days per season, but following two years of the stonework construction, the river ran clear enough for the youthful Geir to spot squadrons of massive fish hanging under the ledges of the pools. These days, he can’t wait for the summer school holidays to start, for then he’s guiding or fishing on the river every day.

Of course, clay also means chalk, and some of the world’s largest reserves of chalk are found in and around here. Chalk also means quality fishing and the Verdal produces a good supply of fish per year, including a grilse run (which peaks July) and a sea trout run.

During our stay a 19 kg (40lb) fish was taken from this river on a floating line. Geir was the proud guide, but he was devastated that the fish was killed, highlighting the new, modern, conservation-minded outlook of many of Norway’s anglers.

A short river, the Verdal boasts some deep rock-lined pools and gravelly runs with rocks , cuts and ‘fish traps’, as Geir calls them, set into its well forested banks along with weirs of white water. Holmen is a massive estate, with land stretching far up the river to the edge of the Troll mountains where a fish pass assists Verdal salmon to run up and into the mountains beyond, opening up kilometres of spawning ground. A dusty, grey track extends up the left bank, and Geir bounces his lozenge shaped 1960’s Saab through the potholes, and perches along the ruts, through the birch and alder and then parks on the gravel banks of the river.

Moose, bear, lynx, otter and beaver frequent the clean, neat and pretty scenery of his pastoral landscape. In the river, Geir confides, there are pools which hold the 4-12 lb fish and pools for the 15-30 pounders - generally deep cliff-sided pools where no-one can touch them ... until the evening, or on good water, when they start to move, into the quiet water just off the main flow at the head of the pool, before pushing on onwards to the next resting place. The fish that run in June tend to move at night, he goes on to tell me. Not that the night is quite like we would imagine; it’s just a short span of greyness when the daylight fades through dusk and into dawn. You first become aware of the change, not by light intensity, but by birdsong, which strikes up as if relieved that the day has started, although in reality, it never stopped. An evening’s fishing has suddenly become a dawn sortie.

Geir’s approach is to pick one of his ‘fish traps’ and fish through the night, waiting for signs of movement, the residents jostling for postion with recent arrivals and the fresher fish more eager than the others to snap or snarl at a carefully presented fly. Floating line and tiny slim tubes of aluminium with wisps of black hair are Geir’s preferred line of approach, with presentation paramount. He’ll make just a few casts over the same lie every 15 minutes or so until the main period of activity is over. It only takes one cast.

• All three rivers enjoy a run of big fish as soon as the season opens on June 1, and then a grilse run develops in July. The season finishes at the end of August.