Fishing in the highlands

I live in Húsafell, a little place and summerhouse area far inside the country (in Iceland 60 km from the coast is considered as "far inside the country"). Shortly behind Húsafell the so-called highlands begin, the uninhabitated huge inner area of Iceland. In many parts, the highlands are stone and sand desert but the area between Húsafell and the North Western part of the country is rather green and characterized by countless little lakes. Its name is Arnarvatnsheiði, the "Eagle water highland". The sheep are grazing here during the summer and many of the lakes have fish in them (char and trout) because they are connected to rivers. My friend Snorri is taking care of the area and selling fishing licences in his little shop. And when my parents were visiting he invited us to a fishing trip on Arnarvatnsheiði.

Mountain and glacier Eiríksjökull seen from Arnarvatnsheiði.

It is only possible to go to Arnarvatnsheiði by jeep since the way leads over a huge lava field and crosses the river. Snorri himself was one the guys building this way and in most parts it consists of many turns following the shape of the lava. (Usually I was getting car sick when being driven through all those turns ...) The last time I stayed healthy. The jeep was packed with us, two fishing rods, several rifles and we were pulling a trailer with a hay roll behind us for a horseback riding group which was going over Arnarvatnsheiði. The rifles were Snorri's and used for polar fox hunting. It is a special experience to drive over the big lava field. It is like a desert consisting of dark grey asphalt-like rocks sticking into the air, many of them showing the flow direction of the lava. The only thing which is growing on the lava field are white fluffy mosses and here and there tiny birch and willow trees. But once arrived at the lakes the area is fertile and green.

Fertile lake highlands with Mount Strútur and glacier Ok in the background.

We were stopping at Arnarvatn litla, the little Eagle lake, trying our luck with fishing. My dad was walking far into the flat like with the fly fishing rod while I was fishing from the margin. We caught ... nothing. Nothing at all. But Snorri found some beautiful whooper swan feathers, so we decided to be happy with that and continued.

Close-up of a Whooper Swan's feather.

Then we stopped at a delta of a little river which Snorri said has always fish. So I cast the rod - and almost immediately caught a big char! I was getting all excited reeling the fish in, my mom came running with the net ... and the fish got free and went away and never came back. That was the only time we saw a fish that day, by the way. Snorri was lying in the grass chilling and my mom was taking pictures of the unsuccessfull fishers, the landscape and the plants.
... But it turned out later on that it wasn't an unsuccessfull trip. We caught something. But it was not a fish. It was a bird. A little fluffy white golden ball of feathers was running around close to us and Snorri encouraged me to try to catch it, it was a Golden Plover hatchling. I was running after it trying to crap it somehow without hurting it but oh, I was clumsy, throwing myself to the ground without getting the little bird. Snorri caught it in the end and gave it to me, the little fluffy Golden Plover.

The little Golden Plover calling for his mom which was close+by.

The unsuccesfull fishers.