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Swedish Lappland: Off the Charts with The Tundra tribe
Swedish Lappland:
Off the Charts with The Tundra tribe
This will not be an anthropological essay on the Sami or the Nenets. Nor will I describe animistic beliefs or shamanic practices, although - in retrospect - I dare say that there was a lot of magic in our Lappland adventure. There was no lack of souls in non-human bodies along the way. The following is our encounter with the underwater tribe of the Smaug wilderness and the Sami tundra. While their populations in the rivers of the south are fading out like sparks from a fire, those hidden in the north are still doing well. Thymallus thymallus is the name of the species.
By RAFAL SLOWIKOWSKI, Photos by WWW.BAYANGOL.PL
We are sitting in a Cessna 180B Skywagon, which looks more like a toy plane made in some garage by a bunch of kids than a real seaplane. Surprisingly, it breaks away from the lake’s surface after a short momentum and now allows us to admire the monotony of the Lappish tundra with our noses pressed against the glass. A few hundred meters below us, there are many watercourses and lakes resembling puddles reflecting the sky. The forest tundra turns into shrub tundra and finally into a moss-lichen wasteland. We pass the “unbuttoned bra,” two lakes connected by a characteristic-shaped overflow, on which we were originally supposed to fish.
Welcome to Lappland
Unfortunately, the long-lasting heat has effectively reduced the water level in the north of Finland, and not wanting to take any risks, we have decided to change our target fishery at the last minute. Instead of mountain lakes connected by inconspicuous streams, a full-blooded river with backwaters and rapids awaited us. Not a big one - just big enough to accomodate three guys from the Angling Globetroters’ Club. After all, the “toy” could not take more than 350 kg of cargo, including a maximum of three passengers.
Since Mongolia crumbled (Covid-19 did not allow its borders to open), we had to find an alternative not only for fishing but also for a real angling adventure. It was supposed to be taiga – instead there will be tundra. There were supposed to be horses – instead there will be reindeer. There were supposed to be taimen – instead there will be grayling. If you don’t have what you like, you should like what you have.
We are relieved to throw all the trash off our backs and start setting up camp. There is an old fireplace, a makeshift bench, an old underground smoker, and a hanging footbridge over one of the two rivers, which rushes out of a huge pool. We work impatiently, casting longing glances at the river again and again. Finally, I go for water and scare a fish, about 50 cm long, in the small river below the footbridge. I rub my eyes in amazement. It is unbelievable that a fish likes tat lives in such a narrow stream with more stones than water between them!
Get rid of Salma Hayek ...
It’s the end of August and the sun is shining high in the sky. Finally, we’re in waders with black parachute dry flies at the end of our lines. We walk down to the river, about 200 meters away, and find something we never dreamed of. And no, we didn’t see young Sophia Loren shooting her stockings or Salma Hayek dancing with a python. We found something much more wonderful - the river was full of hatching black bloodworms, countless amounts of bibios landing on the water, and lots of rising graylings. They were feeding so greedily that we were shocked.
Grayling were everywhere in both shallow and deep water water – in both rapid, and slow-flowing sections. The water was boiling, and we were going to have a week in this place, forgotten by the world, untainted by human stupidity, political decisions, COVID, and other plagues.
While my companions were very effective in the fast-flowing sections of the river, I enjoyed fly fishing in the deep crystal-clear pools the most. I presented flies on a 0.16 mm line and, hypnotized, watched as the grayling, one after another, broke away from the bottom and headed 1.5 to the surface in slow-motion, eating everything I tossed without the slightest resistance. A phenomenal phenomenon. Presenting, fish rising, strike, presenting, fish rising, strike... It’s just impossible for us to get bored. I’m sure even Salma Hayek’s hips would eventually get boring, but not this.
The pantry rapid
On the first day, we also discovered that right next to the camp is a rapid where grayling take the fly in every cast! After calming the first amok with several dozen grayling caught by each of us, we called the place “pantry” and left it alone for a known purpose. Yes, we were provided with lyophilisates, but living on that seemed a masochistic practice.
When the hatch stopped, using Squirmy Wormies was more than effective. A 100-meter section downriver from the hanging footbridge seemed to be paved with grayling and rare brown trout. An almost half-meter grayling that emerged from under the footbridge was the culmination of this long-awaited first day of a new fishing adventure. Along with the sunset, the colours in the sky, and the lack of clouds announcing a cool night, the blowing wind brutally made us realized that our down winter sleeping bags, which worked even in Kamchatka, unfortunately, turned out to be too thin here. Our inability to light a fire due to the lack of wood further cooled our enthusiasm. We fell asleep with teeth chattering. Rum was also heavily rationed. Just the prose of camp life. Even Salma wouldn’t warm the atmosphere...
Change of plans
The plan was to go a few kilometres down until “our river” joined another one. We would do a reconnaissance, and then move our camp there the next day. The weather was cooler and windier, with fewer insects on the water and no fish surface activity.
It was a great day, although we lost the reindeer path several times and walking in that terrain wasn’t very pleasant. Unfortunately, we met two anglers four kilometres below us. The end of August was really the end of the season, and we didn’t expect any competition. They were coming from downriver, so we assumed they were probably camping at the junction where we were heading. We saw them, and they saw us.
Everyone politely started fishing on “their” section of the river. Without any closer meeting or conversation, they came back down, and we started fishing upriver.
Until the afternoon, we had poor results with very few fish, and we resorted to using the Squirmy Wormy again (which we called “Parkinson” in Poland). We even took a nap “under the cloud”. When it got boring, there were many berries to nibble on, such as very healthy cloudberries, which still covered the tundra in sensible amounts.
Finally, after 4:00 PM, the hatch started, and we got back to the “dry” game. It wasn’t as great as the day before, but we were still really satisfied. Unfortunately, I wasn’t a witness to the “big game”. My two companions hooked 10 approximately fifty-centimetre-long grayling, one after another, which swam from the rapid below and positioned themselves at the outlet of a large pool, just where the water sped up. They were like mini-sailfish and were biting no matter what! They had such great fish, and I had my camera with me already in camp. The next days, we returned to that place several times, but as you can predict, it never happened again.
That day, we decided that our camp would be stationary, and we wouldn’t change the place for our tents. It was a little bit of relief, but also a bit of regret. Effort and tough attempts during fishing expeditions always pay off, and the easy ones like to take revenge. Fortunately, not this time. We were very mobile without heavy backpacks (although my bag with
cameras and lenses weighed 9 kilos!), so we walked an average of no less than 20 km per day according to our GPS readings! It was a good way to lose weight.
Our friend - the drone
The windless morning allowed us to witness the abundance of life in the pool above our camp. Dozens of fish were feeding on dry flies, but unfortunately, as the clock struck 9:00 AM, a light breeze rippled the water, and the hatches were off.
Before proceeding with our upriver march, we used a drone for reconnaissance. It’s a first-class solution for fishing explorations as it saves plenty of time and effort by providing an overview of the area you’re interested in. During rafting exploratory trips, it helps us choose the better branch of the river and even identify dangerous places. With a range of up to 3.5 km in open space, such reconnaissance reveals a lot. So, we checked what the river looks likean interesting natural 200-metre canal between lakes, followed by lots of promising pools crossed by rapids.
At first glance, the wide canal seemed to be deprived of life. We were too early and also fatigued by wading through the swamps. So, we rested for a bit and then saw some movements under the water. The fish were surely feeding on something, though not rising and breaking the surface.
Before we started breaking our heads thinking which fly pattern would be suitable, we simply cast our lines with whatever dry flies had been effective in the past few days.
The water was like a mirror again, and the presentations had to be delicate. After a while, our flies - one after another - started to disappear into the mouths of fish. It was a lot of fun. I found a large flat rock on which I sat and cast without making any noise, hooking a dozen grayling, unfortunately, up to only 40 cm. Finally, upriver, when we were on a fabulous section with grayling swimming in what appeared to be a big aquarium, we met five spin fishermen who, with pike-calibre equipment, passed us without pardon and began to fish the pool. Somehow, it deflated the air inside us. Luckily, we still had promising water ahead. It was time to retreat.
When we reached our camp again, a hot cup of tea was a great relief. With every passing day, it was getting cooler. But on our way back, we found some pieces of wood, so there was a chance for a fire in the evening. I took the drone again and started to check an inconspicuous tributary that flows into “our” river 200 metres down from the hanging footbridge. After the first few hundred metres of non-interesting water, we found some nice pools. Bingo!
Tributaries and other helpful technologies
After an easy walk -and taking a great many photos of reindeers, we reached our new hunting grounds – and soon my friends were fishing. I heard a loud curse thrown on the wind, proving to be the result of a lost fish of substantial size. Another friend found a spot below a small waterfall and hooked 16 nice grayling one after another. On the other side, I caught four and instead of casting, I turned on the underwater camera, put it into the water up to my elbow, and filmed a “blind” video of what was going on under the water.
I wish I had watched the video right away because the one played at home showed the true potential of the place. Within the reach of a small GoPro, there were a dozen or so unaware, beautiful grayling. You rarely see something like this with your own eyes. It was a phenomenal place that we surely did not fish properly. The water was so crystalline that it was turquoise.
It’s impossible not to be impressed with the privilege of fishing in such water. By the way, I came to the conclusion that a selfie stick, to which you can attach an underwater camera and explore a much larger area of the underwater world without disturbing the fish, is a handy tool for future trips. And it is obligatory to watch the material immediately.
We knew from the satellite map, which we printed at home, that two kilometres away, another river was flowing in parallel. And this one did not disappoint. There were countless grayling, although quite a lot of them were showed signs of earlier encounters with hooks.
In general, in all the waters we fished, it was evident that, on average, every third fish had facial scars. The scale of the phenomenon was staggering. The fishing pressure in northern Lapland is reaching even the most remote fisheries, and obviously barbless hooks are not so popular. New management practices are needed!
Marriages from stillwater
One windless day, the fish were very active in the morning, especially in the longest lake-like pools. We could see how many fish lived in these waters; it was just a matter of reaching them. Double-hauling was mandatory. Unfortunately, the stunted birches in which the line was entangling almost on every cast drove us crazy!
It was different in the faster water. There, only the Squirmy Wormy seemed to work. I eventually left “the Parkinson” and, noticing that many graylings were patrolling pools near the banks, I focused on those. I approached via bushes - carefully and on-point, with no visible walking along the bank.
As soon as I saw a fish, I would drop the fly into the water nearby, and if it was not swept away immediately, it was enough to pick up the bug two/three times and let it fall again. Hardly any grayling was able to resist this technique. The most important thing was an effective and silent Indian-stalking approach, which was so much fun.
The largest grayling, almost half-a-meter long, would usually swim in couples. There was a chance to hook both fish, but usually one was hooked and the other was not. Several times, I saw the unhooked fish swimming visibly worried, repeatedly rubbing against its hooked companion, as if it wanted to rescue it from the invisible force.
They were escorting the hooked grayling almost to my net. I had seen such behaviour only once in my life, on New Zealand’s South Island while fishing for brown trout. It was a fascinating and touching phenomenon. Of course, all these fish were returned to the water quickly.
Till the last moment…
The day before our departure, I managed to persuade my companions into arranging an early wake-up call so we could pack up and head to the pickup point where the hydroplane was supposed to arrive. There was a lake where we still hadn’t cast a single line, and for peace of mind, the last night in the tundra was quite rainy, and the wet tents did not encourage early packing. But since we had agreed to leave early, we had to follow through.
We reached our destination faster than we expected, and the sky had already cleared up. Nevertheless, we disassembled our rods again with a little dose of scepticism. Perhaps the enormity of the water was a bit too much for us. However, after an hour of empty casts, Marcin had the first bite, which ended with a line cut, possibly caused by a pike or a sharp edge of a rock.
After retying, he caught the largest grayling of the expedition - 52 cm! “To make matters worse,” ten minutes before the arrival of the hydroplane, I had a strike, hooked, and successfully hauled out a fabulous 65 cm long male arctic char! After the photo session, the release of the fish, and the assembly of the rod, a “toy” arrived.
Fifteen minutes later, we were in the sky again, watching the land of reindeers and grayling slither under the water-plane floats, constantly losing water. We still had a few days of fishing in Sweden, so it felt good to warm up a little bit.
Later, I would hook a 92 cm salmon on my grayling rod. But that is a completely different story…
