Lapland Clave... Part 3

Part 3 - Little Trout, Big Trout, and the Penthouse
Up the Hill!

When we last left our hero, he was sitting on the steps of the cabin,
smoking his pipe and enjoying the scenery - at 5:30am. This was our first
full day in Lapland and the sun was warm and bright that early in the
morning.

I decided to take of tour of our camp, as no one was stirring in the cabin
or tents below. I looked off to my left, and way across a peat bog, past our
homemade coolers, was the camp of Jarmo and Osmo. The Finns seemed to be a
rather unsociable lot, however, I soon learned, after looking over our camp,
that level ground wasn't in abundance near the cabin, and even later that my
assessment of there sociability couldn't have been farther from the truth.

I walked up the hill behind the cabin to check out the privy and sauna. The
outhouse was of a triangle shape next to a shed and had a padded seat (just
what you wanted to read, hey?). In the early stages of our clave it was
quite odor free, but later on I found that propping open the door helped my
gag-reflex to no end. The sauna was a little above and beyond the privy, and
looked modern and well built. It was actually nicer inside than the cabin.
Ah. a brief moment of brilliance hit me! When the raccoon-chicken arose, I
asked him if he'd mind sleeping in the sauna for the rest of the trip, and
he thought it was a wonderful idea - and so did everyone else. Don has
always been a good sport on the many fishing trips we've taken together, and
we moved his mattresses and other stuff up the hill.

Everyone began to get up and have breakfast, trying to decide what each
would do on that fine day. We hung around camp for a while, and Hans was
adamant about catching an Arctic Char, and headed for the lake with Jerome,
float tubes and other gear strapped to their backs.

While a few of the guys took the boat downstream, I took off upstream alone,
gathering all behind in the hindermost to ploddy, ploddy forward through the
bog to a finger of water where I'd seen fish rising the previous day.
Sometime later I walked over a hill of birch woods and connected with the
river. Small trout were rising, and eagerly took dry caddis and mayfly
imitations. I caught six Browns in a row from 8" to 12" long. I then trekked
toward the major river where it got deep and clear across from a small
island, and found a rock ledge sticking into the water on an outward bend
(Bob and I later christened this as the "handicapped fishing area"). There
was plenty of room in front and back to heave long casts into the deep water
beyond. A green wooly bugger streamer soon produced a nice Brown trout that
gave me nothing but trouble to land. Getting it briefly to shore in my net,
I measured it with my tape and it was 19" long and quite thick. I then let
it go with orders to find its father, who I longed to have nice chat with.

It was a long day of fishing, catching many more small trout though I never
saw an insect hatch. That night was the same as the first, however we knew
what to expect, and geared up accordingly. Having Don in the "Penthouse Up
The Hill" won half the battle.

Wednesday, August the 4th - After breakfast I headed upstream again and
crossed the river. I ended up directly across from where I'd caught the 19"
trout the previous day. My first cast with a black wooly bugger produced a
nice 16" brown, which I should have kept, since Roger had said we were to
have fish for dinner that evening.

I went back to camp to relax after catching many more small trout, and later
a bunch of us headed, some walking and some in the boat, the two kilometers
downstream to a large, deep bend in the river. I do mean deep! Perhaps 30
meters deep, and you could see every grain of sand at the bottom. We shed
our clothes when we got there, and took baths in the ice-cold water. Roger,
Fred, and Erik then put on a casting demonstration for us Americans, and
Jerome won the award for the best cursing tirade I've ever heard, after
retrieving fly after fly out of trees along the far bank. I wouldn't have
even attempted to cast from over there. Hans had great luck farther
downstream, and Bob did nicely in the deep, clear water of the bend, or
neck, as Roger calls it.

When it got darker, the moon coming up deep orange in the eastern sky, we
had enough trout for a feast. Roger prepared them with sweet red onions,
lemon, salt, and a little olive oil in foil over the campfire coals, while
Fred cooked mashed spuds. Roger also brought a couple of bottles of great
red wine, and someone had red port to share. A great time was had by all!
When we returned to the camp, there were hardly any mosquitoes in the cabin,
and we all slept great!

All for now. Next post: Part 4 - False Finns, Rain, and Walking on Water!

Tight lines,

Tom - somewhere in the Colorado Rockies