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Packrafting in Lappland: Salmon Fever on the Lainio
Packrafting in Lappland:
Salmon Fever on the Lainio
Rafting down a massive northern Lapland river and fly fishing salmon along the way; that was Krzysiek’s plan when he called me on the phone full of excitement while shouting Swedish words and names that I had never heard before in my life. The first wave of excitement, however, faded quickly after having checked out a batch of videos on YouTube about using a so-called “packraft”. Excitement was replaced by the fear of my own life. A “packraft”, apparently, was an inflatable, bathtub-sized balloon thing, and if Krzysiek had his way, we would be rafting 250 kilometers down the Lainio River in one of them.
By: WILD FISH STORIES Photos by: MICHAL CZUBER and KRZYSZTOF WASILJEW
We had no idea if we’d be able to catch a salmon. We were both complete beginners when it came to using double-handed rods. Krzysiek had absolutely no idea what to do with the rod and line and I had only minimal experience (if catching three dace on a double-hander in a Polish river even counts as experience).
When I shared my concerns about our skills, he said with the greatest of optimism: “I know a guy”. Less than a week later, we were driving from Warsaw to an agritourism farm called “Tartak Fly Fishing Center” where two magicians – Piotr Talma and Igor Glinda – were ready to teach us the fine art of casting a double-handed fly rod. After two eventful days, I felt that I had honed my skills to the point that I, at least, wouldn’t hook Krzysiek.
Getting there
Reaching the source of the Lainio River proved to be a challenge. My mate - once again full of optimism – said: “I know a guy!” A guy, apparently, who had walked across the whole of Scandinavia and who could help us. With his assistance, we stoically rose to the challenge of the logistical puzzle that needed solving. We sequentially connected dots on a map with different types of transportation in mind and finally finished a complete route from Warsaw, Poland to the Kilpisjarvi in Finland.
Our plan turned out to be flawless. After two days of traveling, we were packing our equipment onto a hydroplane in Finland and preparing to cross the Swedish border. The boundlessness and barren wildness of Lapland’s taiga intimidated us. Countless lakes and massive uplands intersected by meandering streams, however, awakened latent angling ambitions big enough to numb and annul any precautionary feelings of anxiety.
The main goal of the expedition was to catch a Baltic salmon, but we were aware that the first part, about 50 kilometers in length, wasn’t really salmon habitat. It was the kingdom of grayling and trout.
The pilot started looking for a good landing spot but, unfortunately, the water was too shallow, so we had to land on a different lake than the one we’d originally planned for. It forced us to walk an extra kilometer with one-months’ worth of heavy equipment.
As I finally took the weight off my weary shoulders and dropped my hundred-liter backpack, I suddenly noticed clouds of mosquitoes and gnats that had just been waiting for two such treats as ourselves all season long. We were about to get bitten…
The pressure mounts
A certain pressure had built up inside us while journeying north – higher than in an inflatable pontoon. We were dying to get started fly fishing. Krzysiek got his 9’ #6 Orvis Clearwater ready and scored a decent grayling on the first cast. Twenty minutes - and a few huge grayling - later, we were looking at each other with disbelief. “Where the hell are we?” Time was passing relentlessly, and we had to 250 kilometers of river to cover in 20 days. We inflated our pontoons and started the journey through the lake in which River Lainio has its origins.
For some reason, we hadn’t taken the low water conditions into account. They would make packrafting significantly more difficult. The conditions we found at the source affected the next three days. Kilometer after kilometer of boulders and stone gardens made it impossible for us to raft the river safely and efficiently. At critical moments, we were forced to transport the packrafts through dry land, and at other - more pleasant - times, we would slide them carefully through skinny-water rock gardens with 50 kilograms of gear and rations inside them.
I remember the beginning of the trip as a mixture of excitement, horror, and extreme physical exhaustion.
Out of Graylingland
Despite the gut-wrenching challenges due to our ignorance (of the water levels), we maintained high morale. Every day, we would catch grayling measuring 40 to 50 centimeters – and some of them would end up as dinner. At dusk, we would have a glass of good whiskey and some sashimi in the middle of Lapland’s eerie but soothing silence.
One day we were awakened by rain and soaked to bone. We were such survivalists that we hadn’t checked if our tents were waterproof. As it turned out, they weren’t. Krzysiek shouted „Rescue blanket!?” while unfolding a silver and gold foil from the first aid kit. It worked!
Reindeer were tirelessly traveling the wetlands without paying attention to our camp. After four days of seemingly endless struggles, we were tired - but happy. In the following days, the river sped up and started to look more promising. While making a sharp turn, Krzysiek spotted a salmon further downstream porpoising out of the water. That was a sign. The serious stuff was about to begin!
“Day of the Madman”
The sound of fish crashing onto the water woke me up the next morning. Several salmon, apparently, were jumping right next to the tent. „I’m going” – I said to a sleepy Krzysiek. While heading to the hot spot, I saw three more fish jump. I felt that this was the day.
In my head, the words of Piotr Talma rang: “Never strike a salmon” – and I never did. I just leaned back against the fish as I felt the weight of it. It was the first salmon in my life, the goal of the trip, and the perfect trophy. I did it!
Here’s Krzysiek’s account of how it all went down and what followed…
From Krzysiek’s perspective
“When I heard Michał, who was screaming like a possessed man, the only thing that came to my mind was „Where is the camera!?” I looked around for the equipment, grabbed it, and ran to him.
I was recording him reeling in the fish from every possible angle and anxiously watched as the fish rushed up and down the river”.
“At one point he had such big problems that I had to put the camera down. This is what happens when you are a photographer, cameraman, and “landing net” at the same time. I threw the camera into the grass and quickly helped him get the fish ashore. It was so exciting!”
“Michał was hitting the water with his hands and screaming like a little child. I went to get a whisky to celebrate Michał’s success, but it didn’t take long before I was fishing myself ”.
“When I started fishing, I became painfully aware that I am a bit of an amateur. I hadn’t cast a fly rod more than 20 times in my life (at least before the course at the Tartak Fly Fishing Center)”. “I was standing on a rock a couple of meters from the shore, and I was trying to improvise a little bit. Salmon were jumping around me all the time and suddenly I felt a slight pull. I somehow remembered not to strike. Instead, I slightly lifted the rod and, to my surprise, felt the pulsating weight of a fish”.
“Although the salmon turned out to be rather small, it was such a great joy! A quick photo session and the fish was released. Then I went back to get more whisky”.
Back to the story
A quick glass of Jack Daniels and then back at it. Observing Krzysiek downstream after landing his first salmon ever on a fly rod, I was now fishing in a deeper lane – focused on making the most of it. I felt a strange tap on my fly line. One more cast. Fish on! Soon after, I could hear Krzysiek swearing under his nose as he came running with the camera.
I could tell that the fish was huge, but having very little in terms of experience, I felt as if the fishing rod was too long, that something was, somehow, off – that I didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t help, either, that my mate seemed aloof.
Multi-tasking as he was, filming with his camera underwater while trying to tail the fish, I was overwhelmed with surprise that he somehow managed to land the fish for me.
Well over 100 centimeters, the long male I had just caught proved the biggest fish of the trip – and we both froze in awe looking at it. “It can’t be real”- I thought to myself in disbelief.
A stream turns into a river
The following days, we traversed an increasingly wider and mightier river, unsuccessfully looking for salmon. For a total of 20 days, we had no contact with the outside world. We had calculated freeze-dried food for 80% of the trip. The rest of the necessary calories were supposed to be provided by fish and berries. While there was no shortage of blueberries, catching fish started to prove difficult.
Even before the trip, we had decided to release every salmon. But then again, we weren’t catching one after another. And we could hardly find a single grayling. Calorie deficits have a strange effect on a person. Getting upset over trivial things and lacking the energy for paddling was something new for us. The struggle was now real!
Reaching Salmon Nirvana
Having passed through twenty-meter-deep canyons, dangerous cataracts, and kilometer-long white-water sections, we finally reached our dream water. Salmon started appearing more and more frequently jumping across the surface.
By wading waist-deep in the water, we tried to outsmart the fish with our wiggly long fly rods and hairy salmon flies. We were accompanied by two boys on a boat trolling with spinnerbaits. After two sessions of whipping the water to foam, we had exactly zero fish to brag about, while the boys were releasing their eighth fish.
The salmon fishing was good - for those who knew how to catch salmon.
Wrapping things up
August 31st was the last day of our trip and the last day of the salmon fishing season in Sweden.
In Särkimukka, at the famous three bends that provide solid holding spots for the salmon, we met Sanna Koljonen with one of her friends.
While drinking coffee, I admired how Krzysiek’s casting technique had evolved and improved during our trip, but I couldn’t help compare him with one of the Finnish ladies who were fishing nearby. The difference in experience was quite obvious, but the moment of shame was yet to come.
Krzysiek tripped over a rock and fell neck-deep into the water in front of the blond-haired Scandinavian. The last nail in the coffin was the capture of a prime salmon by a friend of Sanna’s only five minutes after Krzysiek’s dive. At that point, we both agreed that – after 20 days of salmon fishing – we were still pretty clueless!
