Martin Bowler’s Adventures Martin chases silver in one of the world’s most incredible locations
A far cry from the River Wye, but these Nordic fish are the same species, separated from their fellows when the ice caps melted
“Salmon... desperate to reach journey’s end and the breeding grounds where their life began a few short years ago”
WHEN the Northern Lights cease flickering in the Nordic skies it’s not long to the big thaw. Soon, ice relinquishes its iron grip on the River Tornio, which once again runs blue along the Swedish/ Finnish border.
As the peaceful forests of pine, spruce and birch give way to a less primeval landscape the Tornio
picks up pace in its rush to reach the Baltic Sea. Equally impatient are the Atlantic salmon heading against the flow, desperate to reach journey’s end and the breeding grounds where their life began a few short years ago.
Such a clash of dynamic forces makes this a truly wild place, and one I was eager to visit when my friend Henrik Korkeamaki made an invitation.
Henrik and I met years ago on the Wye after he contacted me about fishing with his brother for the barbel.
I offered a day’s instruction, purely to help a pair of fellow anglers and not for any favour in return, but it’s funny how things work out.
“Melting ice caps made a connection to the Atlantic and a new path for salmon to explore”
Working for Finnish government company Metsahallitus, Henrik’s role is to help promote fishing in northern Finland. Not surprising, then, that at some time our paths would cross again.
Landing in Rovaniemi, I was on the first leg of a road trip through Lapland, heading towards the mighty river and exploring what this wonderful place had to offer.
We met up, Henrik and I, and were chewing the fat as only anglers can when a herd of stubborn reindeer that would bow to no car slowed our speed to a slow crawl. I took advantage of this natural break to finally learn what I was fishing for. Salmon, yes, but was there a gateway from the Baltic to the Atlantic? If not, how could I possibly catch the same species as on my beloved Wye?
Mmy friend told that I would indeed be fishing for Atlantic salmon – except that from the Baltic they would be far bigger! Thousands of years ago, melting ice caps made a connection to the Atlantic and a new path for the salmon to explore.
This, however, didn’t last, and when the water receded the salmon were trapped, causing a break in the migration cycle. The rich Baltic Sea allowed then to grow to immense proportions.
HUGE RIVER
The road became a track and the forest closed in before a clearing revealed a log cabin and the huge river. I had to forcibly draw my gaze away from it so as not to be rude to our hosts Rauno and Lea Virta, who run the guiding company Elamysvirta.
Warm handshakes and the offer of freshly brewed coffee put us at ease, then cabin builder Jouko took justifiable pride as he showed us our accommodation crafted by his own hands.
After a long day’s journey, bed might have been the sensible option, but just as the sun never sets on a Nordic summer, neither does my enthusiasm to fish. So I took up Rauno’s offer to wet a line within an hour of arrival.
I love to fish in a traditional style, and here I would try harling for the first time. Rauno would
steer a canoe-like craft downriver, traversing lies where the big Baltic salmon could rest up during their migration. My job was to position the lures at an optimum distance from the boat and keep watch on the tackle, which consisted of rods in the 12lb-30lb class with multipliers to match.
Braid, a rubbing leader and mono traces would make the connection between man and fish.
Afforested banks, home to bears and moose, drifted by in sublime silence – a silence in which you can hear the real world.
PERFECT WOBBLERS
Below the tranquil surface, our wooden lures were doing their best to torment our quarry. Another guide at the camp, Tomi Salonen, had painstakingly shaped the wobblers we were using. I was told they were so precise, even a bulking knot could distort their wobbling action.
From the pulsing of the glass rod-tips I judged that ours were working as intended, and ready to snare a salmon’s mouth on a set of sticky-sharp hooks.
A porpoise of a running fish is a sight to behold. Sweeping across the flow, our wobblers followed the salmon until one of the four being towed was resolutely smashed. Rod buckled, reel sang, and Rauno helped set the hooks with strong, sharp pulls on the oars. The three other lures needed to be retrieved before I began the fight, and somehow I needed to keep my cool. I tried not to look downstream, where a big Baltic salmon was spending more time in the air than in the water.
When at last I did battle with this magnificent creature, its silver flanks and big bold spots revealed to me with each jump, I was enthralled – at that moment there was no finer sight in angling.
The season had just begun, and as Rauno’s net took my prize I breathed a sigh of relief.
That night we celebrated around the camp fire with Salmakki, a powerful liquorice liquor, before taking a sauna while the salmon soup stewed.
I am like a stamp collector of fishing adventures, and this place of pure pleasure at the top of the world had given me a truly wild experience – the ultimate page in my angling album.