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I found a few fish there, too. They were redband and whitefish and bulls, at home in quiet sliding waters, feeding unbothered on a weekday from deep pools as blue as my vintage truck.

A couple of Decembers ago, during an unstructured and very unfishy few days in Scandinavia, I stopped in at a local fly shop. The owner kindly entertained my many questions about the local fisheries, seasons,...

What truly gave me chills was the snap I’d heard as we’d gone down—the give of something that wasn’t supposed to go. 

As I gather my line from around the rocks, clean off my deceiver, and start casting into the deep again, I have the feeling that the stop would have been worth it regardless.