fishing – Bergheim .dk | .be

Fiskarane i Stilleelva

(Stein) Runar Bergheim — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 22:17:57 +0000

Det var eit relativt lite problem vi hadde, Håvarden og eg, samanlikna med problemet Jesus og læresveinane hans var plaga med i Markusevangeliet, 6. kapittel, vers 31-44. Der måtte dei mette 5 000 menneske med fem brødleivar og tre små fiskar.

Vi var berre to, og ein av oss hadde vel knappast rukke å bli svolten mellom to måltid så langt i livet. No stod vi altså med vatn til midt oppå magen i elva innom Labakken og freista det beste vi vann å berge levande småaure ut or eitt garn.

Etter å ha stengt av heile Stilleelva med fiskegarn, hadde vi jaga aure både oppstraums og nedstraums. Mesteparten av den symjeføre aurebestanden i elva, kjempa no ein kamp for livet i det finmaska nettet.

Det var ikkje fiskane vi var vyrke for. Det var ikkje difor vi freista å få dei ut or garnet. Det var sjølve garnet vi ville berge. Det hadde vi nemleg stole i skytja hjå bestefar Anders P. Fitje som var på Sandane eit bel – og som var ventande heim kva tid som helst.

Det vi ikkje hadde rekna med, var at vi skulle få så mykje fisk, at garnet revna når vi freista å lyfte det ut or elva. Sjansane for at dette ikkje skulle bli oppdaga av garneigaren var forsvinnande små og vi ante konturane av generøs adjektivbruk og trugsmål om vald frå den kanten om så skulle skje.

Våre 5 000 små fiskar var knapt nok til å mette tre menneske – så det talde knappast som noko mirakel. Vårt under kom i form av at vi lukkast få garnet attende i skytja – før bestefar vende heim frå Sandane.

…

Fisken selde vi til grandtante Anna – og skulda for å ha øydelagt garna let vi forbli eit mysterium. Det var best slik, tykte vi.

Cumbria: Hiking and fishing in Englands lake district

(Stein) Runar Bergheim — Sun, 09 Sep 2007 16:57:00 +0000

View from the ascent to Scafell Pike from Wasdale, overlooking Wastwater and the Cumbrian coast on the horizon.

This years fishing trip was destined for the Cumbrian mountains in North-Western England, making it the third of our fishing trips abroad, succeeding trips to the highlands of Scotland and to Connemara in Western Ireland. The original team was a bit reduced, leaving only Håvard (Nordvik) and myself. However, strengthened by Håvards student football team, “Pølsesnabbane”, we were far from being short of fishermen!

Click here for 91 highres photos from Lake District, Cumbria, Ambleside, Coniston, Wasdale and Scafell Pike (Norwegian captions)

The thing about English cars

New Castle Airport, car rental car park: While my companions were still smiling, satisfied that they wouldn’t have to drive

The thing about an English car is that the steering wheel is mounted on the wrong side, thus effectively rendering the vehicle useless! This inevitably leads to some quite suicidal driving by foreigners – something which I at one point demonstrated quite effectively while exiting the motorway. The exit at hand was rather on the complex side, offering me a roundabout with at least six exits to choose from – and regulated with traffic lights. Upon entering the roundabout I was meet by a green arrow, something which in Norway means go ahead, the road is all yours.

I was more than willing to accept this kindness on the traffic lights behalf and subsequently didn’t notice the next traffic light some fifty meters ahead, still in the roundabout, which glowed against me bright red. The effect being that I was very nearly run over by a large and rather unforgiving-looking lorry, which honked its horn in a way that not even with great difficulty could be interpreted as positive.

The air was laden with unspoken words – and stern, reprimanding looks from my companions told me that they weren’t words of praise. A heavy silence fell upon the car for the remainder of the drive and normality of conversation wasn’t restored until the car was safely parked – and the first pint of beer no more.

(Under considerable doubt I was allowed to drive on two subsequent occasions.)

The village of Ambleside

Basecamp was established at the comfortable Wanslea Bed and Breakfast in Ambleside, a village at the northern end of Lake Windermere.

Ambleside is beautifully located between the lake and the surrounding mountains and stocks all you will ever need as a tourist – as well as a good few things you could live a long and happy life without – such as the disco in the basement of The Sportsman Pub. This abominable establishment should be avoided at any cost – even that of going to bed early – as other places tend to have rather limited opening hours.

There is no shortage of restaurants in the Ambleside and from what I could tell, a couple of excellent chippers. The food was overall remarkably good, the English kitchen not being as celebrated as e.g. the French or the Italian expectations were low. However, all meat dishes I ordered during my stay put my prejudice to shame.

Conniston Water (half day trip from Ambleside)

Conniston Water: “…the lake is supposed to contain fish. However, nothing we experienced indicated that the latter was true…”

A bit to the south-west of Ambleside lies the quiet village of Conniston at the northern end of Conniston Water.

Motor boats, rowing boats, canoes and kayaks can be hired here – and the lake is supposed to contain fish. However, nothing we experienced indicated that the latter was true.

We hired two of the least credible looking rowing boats I have seen in my life and set out on the lake which was crowded with sailing boats, steam boats and other monstrousities. We tried fly fishing, we tried spinners, we tried wobblers, in fact, it would be far easier to list the stuff we didn’t try: nothing.

Nevertheless, the success of our fishing trips has never been measured by the catch. If so they would all have been severe tragedies! Boating on Conniston Water is a nice experience, regardless of whether you catch fish or not. It was simply very enjoyable and relaxing.

Scafell Pike, 978 meters (full day trip from Ambleside)

A steep edge on the ascent to Scafell Pike: “…before I had managed to even tie my shoelaces the others were out of sight…“

Englands highest mountain is named Scafell Pike and is located in the central western parts of the Cumbrian Mountains, the easiest access being from Wasdale in the west.

Now, the problem of travelling with a former student football team is that such people are prone to keep exercising beyond their study period. As a result they are bound to come out more physically fit for mountain climbing than yours truly.

This prognosis turned out to be painfully accurate as we begun the ascent from Wastwater (at measly 60 meters elevation). Before I had managed to even tie my shoelaces the others were out of sight. However, whereas they alternated between running and resting, I kept a slow but steady pace non-stop. Therefore we arrived at the summit more or less simultaneously.

I was prejudiced against English mountains before this trip, but as many times before I had to reconsider upon having experienced them. Scafell Pike is a mountain, and a nice one at that. What the summit lacks in attraction it more than makes up for by the bright green slopes of its foothills, lined and divided by stone fences and grazed by seemingly content sheep.

Estwaithe Water (half day trip from Ambleside)

A fat rainbow trout whose days came to a sudden end after a run-in with Håvards salmon-fly.

The desire to catch fish got the better of us and on the last day of our trip we abandoned all good sportsmanship and rented boats in a stocked lake, Estwaithe Water. The lake was filled to the brim with rainbow trout, but that did not stop me from NOT catching any fish!

Sitting in a boat on a lake for a full day isn’t the worst thing life has on offer though.

The dangers of fly-fishing

(Stein) Runar Bergheim — Sat, 07 Jul 2007 13:50:42 +0000

Vreid lead singer and Avinet co-founder Sture sent me these touching photos from his annual salmon fishing expeditioin to the once famous, now apparently empty, salmon river Gaula in Trøndelag. The thumbnail photo shows a no. 10 fly-hook (accidentally) embedded into Stures index finger.

The photo below shows a wall exhibition of fishing gear removed from various body parts of fishermen so far in 2007 at a local medical facility near the Gaula river. Though traditionally thought of as a peaceful and tranquil activity, fishing does hold it’s dangers for those involved!

Stuck on the board are the various types of hooks used with a small hand written note saying things like “Man 33, right index finger”, “Man 26, left ear”, “Man 52, unmentionable” etc.

Rapport: Fjellfiske 2006

(Stein) Runar Bergheim — Sun, 06 Aug 2006 07:00:00 +0000

I selskap med frendane Harald på Jensbakken og Håvard i Gunnja gjekk årets fisketur av stabelen frå 4. til 6. August. Etter fleire år med ambisiøse, kostnadsdrivande og sørgjeleg fiskelause turmål utanlands gjekk turen denne gongent til Granekupa. Anders i Kvia var ikkje med og vi konkluderte som George Bush at dei som ikkje er med oss då må vere…

Med Håvarden som sjefsplanleggjar for turgjennomføringa går ikkje noko gale utan at det på førehand er planlagt å gå gale. Skøyter ein på med den teoretiske og praktiske fiskevitskapen til Haralden er grunnen reidd for ein sensasjonelt vellukka fisketur.

Den fyrste motburden møtte vi på Langedalen der Byrge Fitje hadde samla eit større tal Moldensarar o.l. Desse virka etter eit kort overblikk å vere både kjekke og sympatiske menneske, det vil seie – heilt inntil vi fann ut at ein av dei hadde fått borti 20 fiskar i Granekupa tidlegare på dagen. Dette førte til betydeleg auka prestasjonspress på oss fiskarane som inntil då ikkje hadde hatt anna å konkurrere mot enn våre eigne høgst diskutable suksesshistorier frå Skottland og Irland. Etter å ha tenkt oss om litt bestemte oss for at storfiskaren for med dikt og løgn og at bakom det sympatiske, men grunne, ytre budde det ein vond og kjenslekald økokriminell.

Nokre fisketurfølgje plar fokusere på spesifikke fiskefilosofiske retningar. Det vere seg disiplinar som flugefiske, spinnarfiske eller agnfiske. I vårt lag har vi funne at slike avgrensingar er kunstige og kan ha dramatisk innverknad på fangstvolum, sjølvkjensle og generell sinnstilstand. Det fyrste vi gjorde etter ankomst til Granekupa var difor å strekkje tre garn over sundet, slengje ut ein makkedopp, ete oss sprengmette på medbrakte protein- og sukkervarer før vi kollapsa.

Garnfisket var berre moderat effektivt og vi stod att med ein (liten) fisk på kvar til frukost før vi la vegen utetter Storskrefjellet for å prøve fiskelukka der. Harald kasta fluger, eg kasta spinnar og Håvard kasta not. Til all lukke synte stangfisket seg å vere meir suksessrikt, så industrifisket vart fort lagt bort. Fem uheldige aurar måtte bøte med livet med opsjon på ein femte som framleis sym kringom i vatnet med flugedoppen til Håvarden hangande or kjeften, venteleg noko mindre lukkeleg enn før.

Neste stopp var Ytste Granekupvatnet der den heilt utilreknelege Moldensaren hadde skrytt på seg storfangst dagen før. Her beit fisken livleg og etter å ha landa nokre fine aurar sette eg meg ned og tenkte vakre tankar om Jon Otto. Eigentleg ein heiderskar han der nede på Skreddarbakken, som eigenhendig har sytt for at det framleis er fisk å få i desse vatna!

Vi hadde fiska og vi hadde fått fisk. Attåt sjølve fisket er den viktigaste aktiviteten på fisketurane våre å sende hatske og spotske nidvers som er meinte å såre, salte og svi skikkeleg. Det einaste faste grupperingsmedlemmet som hadde feilprioritert dette året var Anders. Dette er handsama i eit tidlegare innlegg og treng ikkje repeterast her. Nidverset han mottok lydde slik:

NIDVERS

Ein småbrukarson ifrå Ytre Fitje
skulle på fjelltur, men “kunne” ikkje

Humanetikaren let det nok vere,
fordi teltet var så tungt å bere

Og kven treng no vel vener og slikt
vere omtykt og mykje godt likt

Vi er ei bitre at han ikkje let seg vende
men opplyser hermed at tre vennskap er til ende

Etter kløa kjem vanlegvis svida,
og denne gong kjem den til Anders i Kvia

Helsing 2/6, 5/5 og 5/8

Storhending i emning: Den årlege (industrifiske)turen i Fitjefjella

(Stein) Runar Bergheim — Fri, 04 Aug 2006 07:00:00 +0000

Helga frå 4. – 6. August 2006 skjer det igjen. Hyarar, Jølstringar og andre som ~~kjenner at dei~~ har ~~utvida~~ rettar knytt til fiskevatn og utmarksressursar i “smuttholet” mellom Fitje, Gjengedal og Årdal kan med fordel leggje vegen om Fagredalen om dei ynskjer å skrive ut nokre velfortente – men for lengst inntente – fiskeførelegg.

Ein beklageleg trend om ein tek eit statistisk tilbakeblikk på dei årlege fisketurane er den dominerande mangelen på fisk – og i einskilde år – også fisketid. Dette er likevel ein stolt tradisjon som vi tenkjer å vidareføre. Verd å merkje seg for året er at vi har blitt svikne av vår fram til no så nære ven Anders A. Fitje. Han feilprioriterar ein ussel jebussdag i ein slektslekk på feil side av Langfjella. Vi vil ynskje han eit godt jebussdagslag – og lukke til vidare i livet.

Dublin, Galway, Connemara and the Burren (Ireland)

(Stein) Runar Bergheim — Tue, 17 Aug 2004 07:00:00 +0000

Dublin, Galway, Connemara and the Burren (Ireland)
While I put myself in a position where people might say that I am overly negative to things in general, I try to take on a different angle than traditional travel literature when I share my experiences… Even though Ireland for the most part is a very agreeable country that all of us would do well to visit once in while, there are still some minor faults in the fabric of the Emerald Isle. [Photos]
Itinerary: Flying in to Dublin, going over to Galway on the west coast, touring and fishing in Connemara, exploring the Burren by car and finally returning to Dublin for some city life before flying home. Company: Anders A Fitje, Håvard Nordvik
The Irish don’t travel by public transportation
…and least of all by bus.
If you are going to Ireland and are planning on going by public transportation, I would strongly advice you to think at least twice before you embark on a bus journey. In our case we asked a friendly, yet completely ignorant, guy at the O’Connel Street bus station what the duration of the journey between Dublin and Galway would be – upon which he answered us that it would take 3 1/2 hours – which would be accetable (barely), since the cost was about half of that of going by train.
Upon entering the bus, the driver informed us that the trip most likely would take four hours. At this stage we didn’t yet realise that also the four hours were an approximation based roughly on the memory of a driver who seemed to struggle finding his way from east coast to west coast without occasionally straying from the path visiting numerous destionations on the north- and south coast as well.
Four and a half hour later we were eventually parked in Galway and could set out in the search for our B&B which according to the information on its web site was located in a beautiful and quiet cul de sac – or a dead-end street as they so cleverly omitted to name it.
Help me helping you helping who?
The purpose of our visit to Ireland was fishing. Asking for a good place to catch some brown trout or salmon in a tackle shop in Galway, we were directed to the Galway Tourist Information where they “would no doubt be able to accomodate our every need regarding fishing”.
The guy we met at the tourist information wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed though. Having tried twice to bounce us back to the tackle shops from whence we came, he surrendered and gave us a page full of completely useless information on where to charter boats with a capacity of everywhere between 30 and 50 people.
Be therefore prepared that city tourist informations might not be all up to date regarding activities in the rural hinterlands!
It’s too dangerous (for MY boat)
Having driven into the moors surrounded by the “Ben’s” of Connemara we made a quick stop at the most vulgar and pleasant little place called Recess. Here a guy recomended that we drove on to Lough Inagh – where there would be a hotel specializing in boat hire and fishing for tourists.
Upon arrival at the hotel, the the Lough Inagh Lodge Hotel, we were greeted in a most untraditional manner by a woman who immediately doubted our abilities as boat men and didn’t trust us enough to surrender one of her third rate boats at our mercy even for as little as a few hours. Nope – the only way we could be trusted to carry out such a dangerous and risky task as rowing a boat would be if we hired along a pricey fishing guide.
We saw no need to take more insults from the woman who clearly didn’t appreciate the fact that we spent most of our childhood in boats in far more stormy waters than her !%&/”&#( lough.
That’s what you’re getting and that’s how it is!
After getting caught in the undisputable tourist trap called the Cliffs of Moher (which nontheless were an impressive sight) we moved on to a nearby village called Liscannor where we stopped to have son food. In a pub whose ungodly name I have sadly forgotten – a place where the customer rarely if ever at all – is right
Ordering some sandwiches and toasts we received a bill charging us for spring rolls and sushi and some other monstrosities – adding up to a sum far greater than what we asked. Upon informing the barman that there might be something wrong he unkindly but very efficiently pointed out to us that the buttons on the register carried the wrong labels and that it was plain even to the poorest eye that spring rolls were eqiuvalent to a chicken and bacon club sandwich.
At this stage we tried to put it through to him that we could live with the names of the items being wrong as long as the sum on the tab was right. The best that could be said about the bar man at this stage was that he didn’t actually spit at us – allthough God knows what he did to the food. He told us that this was what we were getting, and this was what we were paying – and that, that was how it was!
Only after secondary negotiations with other bar personell were we able to reclaim the funds that had so efficiently been cheated from us.
It is unfortunate that I have forgotten the name of the establishment so as to recommend you to stay away from there, but they seemed to be the best marketed pub in Liscannor so it should be reasonably easy to identify it.
Right, turn left!
When you have acquired your drivers licence in Nordfjord in Norway you don’t really know how to drive a car in a big, medium size or even small city. However – Ireland does provide an enourmous network of poorly maintained country roads that except from the pot holes much resemble the roads back home. With one noteable exception: the road signs.
At approximately every 5th – 7th junction there might or might no be be a sign showing the distance in kilometers, imperial miles or – God forbid – Irish miles, to a random place in the general direction of the road. Quoting John Cleese in the feature film Clockwise I say – right, turn left.
A double room for three (again)
You would imagine that a Catholic country like Ireland would rise its eyebrows at three men, one outsized, sharing a bed room of two beds. Not so at all at the Glen Guesthouse B&B, Dublin. Anders who did the mistake of ordering double – rather than twin – bed rooms for us last year, immediately felt the blood rise to his head. He was fearing the consequences of the B&B’s inability to accomodate us in a more traditional way.
Even though it was blunt to the eye that there were a pile of mattresses on the upper landing of the staircase, the guy in the reception came back and said “sorry guys – but I will try to find an extra set of blankets so you’ll each have your own”. Which he didn’t.
By a strike of Gods luck, however, we found some blankets ourselves and I crashed on the floor for the night. The floor was a heavenly bed, when considering the option of waking up entangled in Anders arms, him having one of his regular intense dreams about his girlfriend.
Here’s your bomb back sir, but I am afraid we’ll have to keep that fishing rod
Upon leaving Dublin we forgot to take into account the afternoon rush and assumed that the time consumption for the journey would be the same as when we arrived. As a result we were running a little short of time when we arrived at the airport.
After having travelled for some years, passing through security control usually doesn’t render any surprises anymore. Dublin, however, was going to prove a new experience for me.
After passing my bag through the scanner a less than averagely intelligent person approached me and asked if it was ok for me if I let him take a look. After taking his time going through my stuff he produly pronounced that telescopic fishing rods were against EU-regulations and that I could go back out and check it in – or – he would personalle do me the friendly favour of disposing of it for me. He seemed rather keen when informing me of the second option.
Having no time to go back out and check in the fishing rod, I informed him that I find it very difficult to relate to these regulations when they are not the same everywhere… He then inquired where I had been travelling from – I said Oslo – and he sighed relieved and uttered that he couldn’t be held responsible for how lenient Oslo security was.
It passed my mind that the only decent thing to do, would have been to pop him one in the eye – Dublin style. After all that was what “they” did to me the last time I visited Dublin. Pondering a little over what to do, I decided against, me not being a particularly violent man.
I surrendered my fishing rod – unscrewing the reel, since, after all, this is the most expensive part. The former “special child” then informed me that the line was also a potential weapon and had to be left behind. I asked him if I could borrow a knife from him in order to cut the thing away. He replied that he had quite a bit of knifes, but that he wasn’t allowed to use anything he had confiscated – it was all to be destroyed.
As a result, passengers walking through security at Dublin Airport on the 16th of August, 2004 around 17:50 could see me pulling 300 meters of fishing line off my reel in a very angry manner.
I guess I should be thankful though, that I got to keep my shoe laces, my belt and the threads that make up the fabric of my clothes. All of them more convincing terrorist weapons than a telescopic fishing rod. God bless EU regulations and Dublin Airport Security.
[ (Stein) Runar Bergheim, 7 . 1.Tue, ]

Aberdeen, Edinburgh and the Highlands (Scotland)

(Stein) Runar Bergheim — Tue, 26 Aug 2003 07:00:00 +0000

Aberdeen, Edinburgh and the Highlands (Scotland)

The annual fishing trip was subject to a minor modification this year as we decided to go abroad to nurture a childhood illusion of the splendour of fishing in Scotland. For two of us the illusion of catching fish in Scotland is still just an illusion.

Aberdeen

Travelling from Norway (Bergen) to Aberdeen is quite inexpensive; in fact it is rivalled by nothing if you disregard the horrendous costs of parking at Bergen Airport, Flesland.

Aberdeen is known as the granite city and the oil capital of Europe. Followingly our companions on the flight over, were of the gray and oily type.
Having identified our hotel which was centrally located at Crown Street – Butlers Islander Guest House – we made our way for Union Street to breathe in Aberdeen. As it was; Aberdeen breathed at us first – with a questionable breath – and we decided to grab a bit of lunch and be on our way to some more rural tourist attraction.

Lunch was consumed in the company of the Aberdeen eldars; A very conservative estimate says it was at least 50 years between us and the second youngest group of lunchers… However; the food was good so no complaints from us.

Stonehaven and Dunottar Castle

The choice of a rural tourist attraction fell on Dunottar Castle in Stonehaven. A bus brought us there and, after arming ourselves with one plastic bag of snacks and soft drinks each, we proceeded along the coastal path to Dunottar Castle looking like complete tourists.

…zzz…

Edinburgh

Even though this was a SHORT trip we decided to try to get as much of Scotland as possible; therefore we needed to spend at least one night in Edinburgh in order to satisfy the whole company. So be it; at the IBIS Edinburgh, a hotel which had tried to save money at a late stage in the building process by hiring second rate craftsmen, for the carpentry work in the rooms and bathrooms. The hotel also advocated the very bad invetion called continental breakfast. The very thing people travel to Scotland to avoid.

Hamlet gone bad

Acting on the initiative of the two most culturally disposed of us (Anders and Harald) we went to the Royal Lyceum to take in a production of Hamlet set in modern surroundings, in which most of the actors in the end were killed by a gun which I can’t remember from the original by Shakespeare.

The two wiser members of our company (me and Håvard) were suffering. The rest of the audience wast just starting to understand why there was no scheduled interval in the play, in which case most of them undoubtedly would have left the theater, the street it is locates on and possibly also Edinburgh. Anyway – to every cloud there is a silver lining and so the play ended, most of the actors were shot and we could proceed to dinner.

…zzz…

After a good long shower I took the extra trouble of kicking my foot hard into a floor board in the bathroom and broke or seriously sprained a toe. PAINFUL!
Breakfast was interrupted by a fire drill; or at least what turned out to be a false alarm We had the pleasure of inspecting our fellow late sleeper guests different night garments on Hunter Square just as the rays of the morning sun caught the ground and another day at the Fringe Festival was kicked off.

The Highlands

The next item on our travel itinerary was to get ourselves to Edinburgh Airport and hire a car. By the time all the forms were filled in and all the mandatory optional extras were added the bill was raised one hundred and sixty percent from the original and we proceded to load our Ford Mondeo Estate which turned out to be a Toyota Coupe.

Approaching the Highlands, Dunkeld

I am aware that technically speaking Dunkeld is not in the Highlands; but it was on our route to the Highlands and isn’t devoted a headline of its own in my narrow and rather brief travel log.

Dunkeld is the town where the river Tay crossed our route into the Highlands and offered us an excellent change from highway driving. We enjoyed the view and a somewhat over-potatoed course at a pub.

Dalwhinnie

The home of the smoothest and most mellow of highland whiskies also proved to be the hitherto smoothest part of the Highlands regarding the landscape. We drank coffee and consumed a very agreeable toffee like cake substance before proceeding to the garage across the road to ask for fishing permits and advice on local fisheries. This garage was the place to go to if you wanted gas, oil, milk, butter, fishing, hit men, travel tickets, whisky and a few other things.

We opted out fishing in Dalwhinnie after a brief look at the lake which was almost empty after a very dry summer. The area was nontheless very beautiful and gave us the opportunity to take some very nice photos.

The road to Inverness

We took the long route to Inverness from Dalwhinnie acting upon advice from a casual acquaintance made at an Edinburgh Internet Cafe; advicing us to drive via Fort William and on the nothern side of Loch Ness to Inverness. this trip took us along the river Spean down to Spean Bridge and then through Invergarry, Fort Augustus and finally Inverness. A number of scenic photo stops along the way, among others Urquhart Castle, made this a long journey and it was late when we finally arrived in Inverness.

Dinner was consumed at local pub/restaurant where we did our best; that is Harald did our best to drive the waitress mad by asking for a little too much documentation on the current stock of goods and ingredients in the kitchen.

Dunlichity

Dunlichity was not the easiest place to find and we had to apply technology – our most excellent driving computer from now on known as E-lane – to find our way.

B&Bs – allthough a most agreeable form of accomodation – are likely to be a little hostile towards late arrivers so we were not so welcome as we might have been if we had come earlier. However, Dunlichity House B&B proved to be excellent and the hosts very accomodating and friendly.

…zzz…

The morning was spent by and in the nearby lochs where we fished and swam until noon when we thought it would be nice to go somewhere where we could be in a boat while fishing… The host suggested Loch Tarvie; and so we set out to conquer the scottish trout.

Dingwall

Mentioning Dingwall by its own headline in this log is rather over doing it a little, but at the time I wrote this it seemed like a good idea. Dingwall – as so many other scottish towns – is one of these places where you simply feel well. We felt well there over a period of 1 hour or so while consuming a large meal of different varieties of fish and chips.

Loch Tarvie

On the advice of the couple who run Dunlichity House B&B we drove up to Loch Tarvie Trout Fisheries where we hired two boats and did ourselves some fly fishing – after all – this is what the trip was about (in the name).

The location of the lake was very scenic in the highland setting and accompanied by the beautiful weather it was unrivalled by anything we had previously experienced on the trip.
The night was finished off with a traditional Scottish tandoori meal in Inverness before getting back to the B&B to sleep.

…zzz…

All good things must come to an end; unlike Hamlet which was a bad thing that inevitably had to come to an end anyway. The day of departure was over us and only one quintessential activity was left on the agenda; whisky distilleries… many of them… plenty of them…

Dufftown

We decided to play it safe and visit Glenfiddich, a renowned distillery located in the midst of Dufftown; a rather modest but nevertheless really nice little town who bragged of being the worlds malt whisky capital.

Plan for Fisketur til Skottland 2003

(Stein) Runar Bergheim — Sun, 01 Jun 2003 07:00:00 +0000

Når Anders, Harald, Håvard og underteikna skal skal på fisketur må det planleggast – grundig. Ved ein gjennomgang av den etterkvart nokså antikvariske datamaskinen heime i stova fann eg mellom anna dette dokumentet.

Fisketur i Skottland

Destinasjon

Aberdeen

Aberdeen er valt kun og blott fordi det er ein grei stad å ta seg fram til frå Noreg. Det kan godt vere at staden er om lag som Førde for alt eg veit. Uansett – det er Skottland og vi kan sikkert klare å overtyde dei vi fortel om turen til etterpå at det var ein utmerkt stad!

Aberdeen er kjent som granittbyen (i motsetning til Førde som er kjent som asfaltbyen – eller kanskje berre asfalt). Det er også oljehovudstaden i Europa på same måte som Stavanger er det i Noreg. Noko som borgar for ei rekkje oljearbeidarar med låg og fallande moral samt ei rekkje falne kvinner med permanent tilhald på land.

Avreisedato: 21. August

Ankomstdato: 25. August

Reise og reisekostnader

Bergen

Turen endrar pris kvar gong eg søker – irriterande… Det verkar som om det mest frekvente resultatet er 2388 kroner med Coast Air tur/retur… Det er ikkje så hakkande gale. Flytidene er også meir eller mindre ideelle og gjev maks utteljing på tid i høve hotelldøgn…

Dette er vel mest aktuelt for meg, Harald og ev Anders dersom du er heime i August?

Tur: 08:35 (08:55)

Retur: 17:25 (19:55)

Pris Type	Pris		Skatt				Norske Kroner
Publisert	1720.00	+	398.00	X	1 Voksen	=	2118.00
Pris totalt						=	2118.00

Oslo

Turen verkar å koste 3164 kroner meir eller mindre uansett. Det billegaste er å reise frå Sandefjord – ikkje Gardermoen. Ein kan då reise tidleg på morgonen og kome seg attende rimeleg seint på måndagen på ettermiddagen

Dette er vel primært Håvard og Anders som kan nyttegjere seg av – litt avhengig av kvar de er hen i August!

Tur: 07:15 (08:55)

Retur: 15:50 (19:50)

Pris Type	Pris		Skatt				Norske Kroner
Publisert	2620.00	+	544.00	X	1 Voksen	=	3164.00
Pris totalt						=	3164.00

Overnattingskostnader

Har ikkje sjekka så grundig enno, men det verkar som om grunnlinja for overnatting ligg ein stad mellom 45£ – 70£ for natta for eit dobbeltrom (twin – for Guds skuld) inklusive frukost. Vi har budsjettert med fire overnattingar…

Overnatting er nok dyrare inne i Aberdeen enn ute i ”provinsen” – ettersom vi skal på fisketur er det vel rimeleg at vi vel oss ein av dei mindre stadane for ei natt eller to i alle fall

Eg vil gjerne ha hjelp til å finne ut kvar vi bør satse på å reise til…

Lesestoff

På denne sida kan de freiste å finne ut noko om fiskemoglegheitene http://www.fishing-uk-scotland.com/. Klikk på The Fishing og Grampian regionen for å kome til Aberdeen området.

Både Dee, Spey og Lossie er velkjende elvar frå dette området. Spey høyrest ut som ein stad med tett vegetasjon langs elvebredda – ikkje sant Harald? Tay er heller ikkje langt unna på veg sørover…