Fly Fishing for Brown Trout on Iceland’s Laxá River

Until recently, my only trip to Iceland had been a long weekend in 2016 to Reykjavik as a stopover on route to visit a niece in Amsterdam. While there I spent a few hours fishing for cod in the harbor and was rewarded with a fish lunch on the boat and also a dinner that I shared with my wife in a local restaurant. On that trip, I learned that a more worthy angling adversary would be large brown trout and I earmarked that as a bucket list trip for the future.

When I learned that a guide I have used in the UK began organizing trips to Iceland to fly fish for brown trout, I immediately started pestering him to include me. Thankfully, he had an opening for his second week of fishing this past July and I was about to check the box of another bucket list fishing trip.

It is a short flight of 6 hours from the Eastern Seaboard of the US to Reykjavik, and then a drive of 6 hours to northern Iceland from Keflavik International Airport. Although there is the option to book an onward flight to Akureyri airport, which is one hour from Laxá River fishing. However, unpredictable weather patterns can complicate the reliability of flights into Akureyri. Before leaving Keflavik, it is an important requirement to have all of your fishing equipment disinfected by a customs official (at the angler’s expense) and have the receipt confirming the procedure on your person while fishing.

The Laxá (which translates as salmon in Icelandic), also known as Big Laxá, comprises 58km of prime brown trout water that is considered to be among the best in Europe. These brown trout are native to Iceland and are fierce fighters that punch above their weight-class. The fishing guide that was our host,called them “dirty fighters” that would expose any weakness in an angler’s technique or tackle. Expect a fragile knot, a wind knot or a damaged leader/tippet to be taken advantage by these cunning fish.

Our fishing excursion would begin on a section of the river referred to as Laxá in Laxádarlur near to the seaside village of Húsavik. Here the Laxá flows through a long, narrow valley flanked by low, grassy ridges. The river here is more accessible and generally more easily wadable, with attractive pools and riffles that offer great dry fly fishing. This section of the Laxá also is known to hold larger trout than the upriver section near Lake Myvatn.

Our accommodation was a small rustic cabin in lava fields near to the local airport, about a 15-minute drive from Húsavik. It was a convenient spot to access our fishing beats and take lunch breaks at restaurants in the village. Húsavik also has several whale watching outfitters that embark on three-hour cruises several times per day. Another interesting side trip is to witness a thriving puffin nesting area on a bluff in the headlands about 20 minutes north of Húsavik.

After four days of fishing various beats on Laxá in Laxádarlur, we headed 35 miles south to the Laxá in Myvatnsveit, near to Lake Myvatn. Here the landscape is characterized by diverse volcanic landforms and geothermal features. Myvatn translates as midge in Icelandic and the presence of a rich supply of aquatic insects attracts a varied population of migratory bird life that come to nest in the summer. There we were accommodated in a rustic lodge that offered three full meals and we contracted a local guide to accompany us on the water.

The Laxá in Myvatnsveit section comprises a more challenging set of fishing beats. Here the water is characterized by a myriad of pools, pockets, lava shelves, back waters and riffles that in many cases requires a robust hike over challenging pastoral land dominated by dense clusters of tufted grasses, called tussocks, sometimes with no discernable pathway. The uneven clumps would have been difficult to navigate in proper hiking shoes, but an even more demanding grind in wading boots. One also had to be careful of volcanic holes and fissures hidden among the tussocks. And then, once at the riverbank, a stiff wind and ‘grabby’ Angelica plants represent an additional impediment.

Although the freshwater fishing season in Iceland runs from April 1st to October 20th , the brown trout season generally spans the three months of June to August. The more viable period to fish for brown trout on the Laxá is during July and August, and even then, weather conditions can be unaccommodating. This part of Iceland is on the cusp of the Arctic Circle and weather patterns can vary greatly – we witnessed all four seasons several times over the course of our week of fishing. Any presence of a reasonable wind was welcome as it drove away the midges, which are pesky during the summer. We made sure to have a head net handy when the bug activity became persistent.

The DIY fly angler is likely to find Iceland to be a frustrating destination. In Iceland, the fishing beats are mostly on private land controlled by fishing clubs or professional outfitters, through which a destination fishing package is arranged – some can be all inclusive of rod fees, guiding and accommodation. The fishing license comes with the purchase of a rod fee that entitles the angler to fish a designated stretch of water, called a beat. The fishing sessions are for six hours in the morning and another six hours in the afternoon, which makes for a long day. The mid-day break for lunch can be two or three hours, depending on where you are fishing.

Our arsenal of fly rods comprised a 4wt for tossing dries, a 5wt for nymphs and a 6wt or 7wt for streamers. For the stouter rods we utilized shorter leaders of 1x diameter (14 pounds breaking strength), and 9ft 3/4x leaders for the dries and nymphs. When fishing dries a sink paste (called mud) was used to camouflage the tippet and the fly line was dressed with flotant to keep it high on the surface.

Colder temperatures and winds dampened the dry fly fishing on this trip – there were few instances of fish rising to aquatic insect hatches. On the occasion that the fish were feeding on the surface, it made for exciting hookups. The most productive dries were caddis patterns, black sedges and a bibio hopper that mimics a local heather fly. This latter dry fly was a favorite amongst our angling group.

In the absence of viable dry fly fishing, I opted to fish streamers, which is not my usual approach on our home waters. This added a higher degree of difficulty because I am not very practiced at an effective strip set. Thankfully, the strikes were solid enough to trigger a reactionary set and I was able to hook up on my share of trout. In fact, about half of my catch came from fishing streamers – the most productive being an olive bead head Wooly Bugger, an olive Bunny Muddler and a green fish skull Zonker. A deadly Sunray Shadow salmon fly supplied by our guide, Ísak, was responsible for 24” and 25.5” monsters on consecutive afternoon sessions.

When not fishing streamers, the tendency was to defer to a tandem of #12 to #16 nymphs fished under an indicator with the 5 wt rod. Usually, the tandem comprised a silver bodied or silver bead head nymph as the dropper (such as a hare’s ear) and a heavier bead head pheasant tail as the point fly (such as a flashback pattern). The takes on this rig were fairly dramatic, but if the strike was a split second delayed, those fish would be gone. Most of the hookups were on the trailing pheasant tail and the resulting battle and acrobatics seemed to last forever.

The brown trout fishing on the Big Laxá was epic and exceeded expectations. Most fish caught over the course of the week were in the 14” to 18” range, and close to a dozen were above 20”.

Regardless of size, the ferocity of these fish when hooked up was by far the most impressive of any trout species I have experienced. Fish lost outnumbered those in the net by a big multiple and any compromised tackle gave the fish an advantage they willingly accepted.

In fact, the fly rods among three anglers in our lodge during the second part of the week were shattered while in action, including my coveted 5wt Orvis Helios H2, which was transformed from a 4-piece to a 6-piece by a sizeable trout that was inches from the landing net. I can still hear the crack of the rod shattering and see the look of disbelief on my guide’s face as the rod tumbled into the water and the trout coasted away.