#7. In which books are read, icy lakes swum and … Fish caught

After two days in Bergen we took out our map and pointed at a large lake somewhere vaguely in the direction we were headed. That done we put the nearest town name in the TomTom and set off up a road that twisted madly and rockily up into the mountains.

  

The next morning was spent recovering from our intensive coffee drinking days in Bergen. We sat in the van with the bed down, the doors wide open and read our books. When distraction arrived it did so in the form of some lovely cows who politely announced their presence with bells long before they stuck their noses into the van and defecated liberally in front of it.

Feeling a little guilty that we hasn’t got out of bed before midday we decided to do some running to make up for it. This turned out to be a horrible idea which me feeling very sick. The only benefit was that we were sufficiently hot to persuade ourselves to get into the icy lake for a wash. Exercise done we wrapped up warm, packed our newly acquired fishing gear and added some whisky and chocolate to the back pack for good measure.

This fishing experience was better than the last in that I didn’t have to get into the lake to retrieve any hooks or floats. It is even possible that a fish nibbled our bait. However, as with last time, we stopped having caught no fish and having created a magnificent knot in the line by wrapping in around a tree. If anyone reading this blog knows how you cast then do let us know. Our attempts so far have only seen the hook swing away from us and then back towards our eyes at an alarming speed. 

 

On our walk back to the van we encountered a farmer and his kids trying to herd some cows along the road. Having witnessed a boy sprinting after an errant cow we foolishly asked if we could help. Some rapid Norwegian followed of which I understood only the words ‘take care’. I think he meant of the cows but cannot be sure. Anyway, we waved our arms at one group of cows and made them stay where they were while the farmer drove another group away up the road. Having spent some time standing next to them uncertainly, unsure of when the farmer might return we decided they would probably stay still and so abandoned our post.

The enthusiasm created by new purchases of sharp things could not be dimmed despite our unsuccessful attempt to catch any fish. I worry about the end of the tale of ‘Archy and the hatchet’ but the beginning of it sees Archy try to make a bow out of a piece of driftwood and failing quite emphatically. 

The next morning we set off once again in the hope of doing some cycling. Unfortunately as we neared our destination we encountered a tunnel with barriers at its entrance. The three hour detour that the closed tunnel necessitated meant that we gave up hopes of cycling that day and decided once again, to fish. We are not good at learning from negative feedback. 

An open and wonderfully lit tunnel

This time, we fished in a fjord and, it would transpire, we are salt water rather than fresh water fishermen. As we scrambled down the rocks to the water we heard an odd puffing sound and saw some splashes out in the fjord. The slightly dimwitted conversation that ensued went something like: ‘They’re really big’,’big fish wouldn’t surface like that would they?’, ‘they look at lot like dolphins’, ‘cor, I mean they really look like dolphins’. Slowly, and with much tooing and froing we decided that they were in fact porpoises and so it transpired. Harbour porpoises. That established we could get to the serious business of fishing. As we still hadn’t worked out how to cast we spent a good deal of time trying to swing the hook clear of the rocks and weed.

Mostly we caught a lot of weed and so when the line went taut in Archy’s hand I barely noticed it. When fish emerged flapping from the water I was somewhat taken by surprise and jumped about stupidly for a while before I managed to take it in my hands. We were fairly chuffed to a have finally caught a fish after the hours and hours of effort, and with a little steeling of resolve and after one lame attempt I managed to bash it convincingly enough with a rock to stop its flapping. With dinner secured we drove on to the beginning of the cycle path. Archy took out the hatchet once more and we proceeded to have an excellent time massacring a celeriac with it. Fish, celeriac, pasta and pesto by the lake proved lovely, if unconventional dining experience.