Early season salmon fishing on the Aaroy River
A personal story of precision, persistence, and a moment to remember on the legendary Aaroy River.
The Aaroy River is short, but it moves with force. Cold, clear water rushes through the birch-lined valley, indifferent to whoever steps in. It offers nothing. It demands attention, discipline, and a deep respect for its pace.
Early in the season
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was already high, casting light across the surface. The flow measured 132.1 cubic metres per second, and the temperature held steady at 13.06°C.
He arrived early, full of confidence, but he was quiet. You could see it in the way he walked. He moved with purpose and certainty, fully aware of his surroundings. Aaroy doesn't care about experience; it demands something deeper.
The first pool
We started low in the system. A strong current pushed through a defined channel, the kind of water salmon favour early in the season. He started fishing with a black and orange tube fly with a brass body. His cast landed on the surface. It was a clean loop with a precise mend. The fly swung deep and steady, the kind of presentation where depth, flow, and leader length work together.
The river stayed quiet. The gentleman adjusted his leader, changed flies twice, reeled in, and looked through his fly box. I watched him. I've seen that look before, the one that says patience is thinning.
A change of pattern
He stepped up the bank, and I handed him a sparse red pattern tied that winter on a brass US tube. “Try this,” I said. “Let it fish slowly. Two mends. Give it time. If nothing happens by halfway, we’ll go upstream.” He nodded, tied it on and stepped back into the water.
The take
His next cast landed a touch upstream, and he added a few slow mends. The fly began its swing deep through the run. Then the line stopped. It was not just a pull or a bump. It was a strong take from the salmon. The rod bent. The reel lit up in a screaming sound.
"Fish," he said. Then louder, "Fish on!" The salmon surged downstream, the dorsal fin breaking the surface once before it vanished. He eased the drag, but the fish used every inch of slack from the line.
"Keep it short," I told him. "Do not let it run into the main current." He brought the angle back. Lifted, reeled, controlled. The fish held deep. No jumps, no thrashing. Just pressure. Real weight.
The fight
Ten minutes passed. The runs slowed. The line angled upstream. Then it surfaced. Broad shoulders. Chrome bright. The kype is just beginning to form. Sea lice are still beneath the belly. It rolled once.
I stepped forward with the net and waited. When the head tilted, I moved, a scoop. The fish was in. We didn't bring it to shore. We stayed a bit out in the river. Knees to gravel, fish submerged. "Support him," I said. "One hand under the belly. One at the tail. Keep him low."
Release in the shallows
He knelt beside the fish and held it steady. The gills moved slowly in the water. The colours were sharp, silver, and green, and the faintest blue colours appeared. Then the tail flicked once, and the salmon slipped into the river again. Clean, slow. Back into the deep.
We stood quietly, watching it disappear. Some fish stay with you.
Catch and release guidelines
-
Handle with wet hands
Always protect the fish's slime coat. -
Keep the fish in the water
Don't lift. Support in the current. -
Use proper grip
One hand under the belly, the other at the tail wrist. -
Be patient with the release
Wait for that final push. -
No rush, no air time
The fish comes first.