Greetings from the road! I'm twelve days into this pilgrimage and I've come a long way physically, mentally and spiritually since I've last posted. I'm currently taking shelter in a fishermans lean-to on the shore of lake Busjön in the western Swedish province of Hagfors as I tap-type this on my iPhone. But before I get to the here and now, a run-down of what's happened since I last checked in:
My starting point of Bergen was a spectacular way to launch into this journey. The beautiful sea port city had much to offer in cultural terms as I arrived amidst the beginning of a summer festival. The hosts whom I found through they cycle-touring website, warmshowers.com, were gracious enough to let me stay for two nights as I nailed down my route with locals and explored the city. They also fed me very well and shared some of the local customs--including fishing etiquette, a few Norwegian words and a detailed explanation on why Norways wine monopolies were superior to their Swedish rivals.
My first jaunt on the road out of Bergen, I made very good distance covering an average of 100 kilometers a day. In no time at all, I had made it down the coast and to the opening of Hardangerfjord--arguably Norways most scenic waterway. The roads that took me up this fjord were absolutely incredible; raw majesty at its finest. Huge expanses of water and massive, steep cliffs complemented by quaint mountainside farms with rows of wild roses and rhododendrons made for an extremely scenic ride. A couple hundred kilometers and a few ferry rides later I stopped to rest in the small town of Øvre Eidfjord.
My starting point of Bergen was a spectacular way to launch into this journey. The beautiful sea port city had much to offer in cultural terms as I arrived amidst the beginning of a summer festival. The hosts whom I found through they cycle-touring website, warmshowers.com, were gracious enough to let me stay for two nights as I nailed down my route with locals and explored the city. They also fed me very well and shared some of the local customs--including fishing etiquette, a few Norwegian words and a detailed explanation on why Norways wine monopolies were superior to their Swedish rivals.
My first jaunt on the road out of Bergen, I made very good distance covering an average of 100 kilometers a day. In no time at all, I had made it down the coast and to the opening of Hardangerfjord--arguably Norways most scenic waterway. The roads that took me up this fjord were absolutely incredible; raw majesty at its finest. Huge expanses of water and massive, steep cliffs complemented by quaint mountainside farms with rows of wild roses and rhododendrons made for an extremely scenic ride. A couple hundred kilometers and a few ferry rides later I stopped to rest in the small town of Øvre Eidfjord.
Forbidden river spilling into Eidfjord
Threats of rain and a persistent cough were my primary motivations to hunker down in this valley before heading on. But I quickly learned of the crystal clear mountain river that emptied into the fjord right by my campsite. After chatting with a local over coffee and waffles, I learned that fishing this river would not be an option. Upsetting to say the least--especially since this was my first run-in with freshwater. He explained to me the unique regulations of Norwegian fishing. Most times, rules are dependent on the province or Kommune you are in. Other times, it's totally up to the landowner of the fishing hole, who very well might sell fiskekorts (fishing licenses) from his barn. The river in question was unfortunately off limits until the end of June. As an American, ignorance is always a believable excuse. But there was no way I could poach this river. Water is a vital and sacred part of the Nordic culture. So onward and upward it was.
From Eidfjord, I had one of the most physically and mentally taxing days of my young life, but I was rewarded for it. From the river valley, the iconic Mabødalen road would take me up more than 1,000 meters from sea level. 40 straight kilometers of climbing through sketchy conditions of rain, snow, narrow tunnels and gravel roads. Though halfway through it all I got to stop and take a break at the scenic vista of the Vøringfossen waterfall. You've probably seen it on a postcard or travel brochure somewhere. It's quite amazing in real life. After battling through the glacial plateau I was cold and numb on the descent into Geilo. I stopped for a hot meal and a cold beer but ended up getting a place to stay. The restauranteur was a fellow cycle tourist and I think could tell how depleted I was. Bonus tip for awesome hospitality.
The next few days were a breeze after that. Awesome weather and flat(ish) roads were all the motivation I needed to crush kilometers. I had chosen a scenic route that wrapped alongside rivers and lakes. Unfortunately, snow melt coupled with classic Norwegian rain spells meant they were too gorged and muddy to fish. No matter; I had my sights set on the road.
From Eidfjord, I had one of the most physically and mentally taxing days of my young life, but I was rewarded for it. From the river valley, the iconic Mabødalen road would take me up more than 1,000 meters from sea level. 40 straight kilometers of climbing through sketchy conditions of rain, snow, narrow tunnels and gravel roads. Though halfway through it all I got to stop and take a break at the scenic vista of the Vøringfossen waterfall. You've probably seen it on a postcard or travel brochure somewhere. It's quite amazing in real life. After battling through the glacial plateau I was cold and numb on the descent into Geilo. I stopped for a hot meal and a cold beer but ended up getting a place to stay. The restauranteur was a fellow cycle tourist and I think could tell how depleted I was. Bonus tip for awesome hospitality.
The next few days were a breeze after that. Awesome weather and flat(ish) roads were all the motivation I needed to crush kilometers. I had chosen a scenic route that wrapped alongside rivers and lakes. Unfortunately, snow melt coupled with classic Norwegian rain spells meant they were too gorged and muddy to fish. No matter; I had my sights set on the road.
Lake Mjøsa
After several days in the mountainous interior I arrived at Norway's largest freshwater lake, Mjøsa. Surrounded by a trio of cities--Gjøvik, Lillehammer and Hamar--the clear and well-maintained water is a prime destination for fishermen. What makes it so special is a species of fish that is totally unique to the region: Mjøsotten. These lake trout--also known as Hundertrout--are a sub-species of brown trout that can weigh upwards of 20 pounds and are notoriously difficult to catch. I spent two days in Hamar trying my luck anyways. Kari, the host of my stay, is the city-planner of Hamar and thus had many suggestions of good spots to cast from. Surprisingly, I needed no permit or license to go after Mjøsotten. It is in fact encouraged by the local authorities in order to maintain a healthy population. Though I was unsuccessful in my efforts to catch any, I made some new friends along the way. Local anglers at the various spots I tried were very intrigued by the Tenkara stylings. Compared to their highly-specified setups, my rod seemed to be lacking something in their eyes. Several of them wanted to try casting with it, a few offered suggestions on "better" equipment, but none of them caught any Mjøsotten either.
Enlightened but not discouraged, I was on the road again. The terrain was becoming flatter and the lakes more frequent as I approached the eastern border. With my freshly acquired knowledge that lake trout don't require permits, I spent my last days in Norway breaking early in the afternoon to set up camp by water and bust out the gear. Fishing is a great way to unwind after getting off the bike and also helps to beat the sticky, inland heat.
I was starting to believe I had bad luck...or at the very least bad technique (still very likely). But on my LAST day in Norway--as if planned by fate/irony/comedic fishing gods or whathaveyou--I caught my first fish of the trip.
Enlightened but not discouraged, I was on the road again. The terrain was becoming flatter and the lakes more frequent as I approached the eastern border. With my freshly acquired knowledge that lake trout don't require permits, I spent my last days in Norway breaking early in the afternoon to set up camp by water and bust out the gear. Fishing is a great way to unwind after getting off the bike and also helps to beat the sticky, inland heat.
I was starting to believe I had bad luck...or at the very least bad technique (still very likely). But on my LAST day in Norway--as if planned by fate/irony/comedic fishing gods or whathaveyou--I caught my first fish of the trip.
*Insert size or inadequacy joke here.*
Regardless of what you may think, this little perch was a delight to hook. Aside from the satisfaction of finally getting something for my efforts, I was rather proud of my methodology. I paid attention to how and where the fish were active, tried a few different flies and tweaked my technique until I got a bite. The school I was going after seemed to be feeding beneath the surface, so I opted for a soft hackle kebari wet fly--barbless and tan in color. With a delicate cast and a slow drift through my observed sweet spot, it only took a few tries before I started feeling bites. I knew I had a solid strike when there was a quick, evident pop as my line grew taught and pulled beneath the surface. Not much of a fight to speak of, but obvious he was on the hook. Retrieving the line was a breeze as there was very minimal bending in the rod. I simply reached up to grab the level line and pulled him in hand over hand. Nothing to write home about--but, in this case, certainly something to blog about.
If the lesson from my last post was patience, this weeks lesson is persistence. I suppose the two compliment each other--especially in the realm of angling. I've learned from my travels as well as my fishing that answers aren't simply given to us. We must seek them out. But the search is perhaps the most rewarding part. It seems commonsense to say that it is where we stand to gain the most.
As I sit now beside this new and unexplored body of water, I'm filled with hope and excitement for what's to come. I can't say that all my days on the road have been easy ones. But when I find myself feeling stuck, frustrated or just plain tired, I take a breath and step back to realize the larger picture and am wiser because of it. Hard to do at times, but necessary for actual growth. So if at first you don't succeed, get a beer (or four) and find a new lake.
If the lesson from my last post was patience, this weeks lesson is persistence. I suppose the two compliment each other--especially in the realm of angling. I've learned from my travels as well as my fishing that answers aren't simply given to us. We must seek them out. But the search is perhaps the most rewarding part. It seems commonsense to say that it is where we stand to gain the most.
As I sit now beside this new and unexplored body of water, I'm filled with hope and excitement for what's to come. I can't say that all my days on the road have been easy ones. But when I find myself feeling stuck, frustrated or just plain tired, I take a breath and step back to realize the larger picture and am wiser because of it. Hard to do at times, but necessary for actual growth. So if at first you don't succeed, get a beer (or four) and find a new lake.
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