The Great Unknown
Icelandic Salmon and the Late Summer Sun
This comes to you from Iceland, where it’s 11pm and still light out. This illumination equation is complicating my jet lag, but that’s all right. This country is roughly the size of Ohio but with fewer than 400,000 residents. That’s a lot of space for not many people.
I’m with Michael Williams, who’s a son of Ohio, and we’re working on a story. In a perfect world we will both catch Atlantic salmon and that story will be a lot better. I certainly want to catch a salmon, who wouldn’t want to land the most perfect fish? But a bigger part of me wants Michael to catch his first salmon. And our friend Marco, en route, deserves his first salmon as well. There’s no salmon quite like the first one.
My salmon debut was with Mungo Ingleby, a gentleman and a scholar, a few years ago in Scotland. This was after not catching salmon in Norway, Canada and various other rivers across Scotland. Many hours and many days, many flies on many rivers delivered no salmon. In fact, I quickly became an expert in the art of not catching salmon. This is a bit like being an expert in virginity—not something you advertise widely or something you can change as easily as you’d like.
This triumphant salmon-catching arrangement was executive produced by John Sugden of Campbell’s of Beauly who’s well-known for running his wonderful store. But connecting desperate angler with enlightened friend on short notice for salmon deliverance also counts as an accomplishment. If you want to get into the sordid details of all of this then please refer to the Norway and Scotland chapters of The Believer.
I’m only twelve hours into Iceland and am already into this place. I haven’t even experienced the dramatic landscapes, but the city is very endearing. Summer in colder places is good for me. Soon enough I think northern-ness in summer will be good for many people.
I’m also excited to discover a new country without overthinking it. And I do suffer from overthinking when traveling. Too often I try to make sure things align on the correct axis of tastefulness. But why not just go into the cafe? Why assume there’s a better place around the corner or around the corner from that corner? Just order the damn thing. It’s coffee!
I’m happy for the advice about Reykjavik bakeries and bars. They’ve been great. But I’m also to take a pass on dinner in tweezer-friendly Michelin-starred restaurants. On this trip I want local fish and local beer. We’ll deal with the aquavit later. And I don’t mess with puffin.
Tomorrow we’ll drive all along the coast. What will happen on the rivers of this country? Who can say. But it’s fun to write without knowing the answer. In books, in magazine stories, even in newsletters, I’m familiar with piscatorial success or failure before I write. Goodness knows I’ve bombed out spectacularly in many countries but I can pull it together with the various lessons learned. Not this time.