Sweden, August 2014

August 2

After having been home for almost 2 weeks, I have finally arrived to the north of Sweden, my favorite place. This is the place I often daydream about when I am in Thailand. This, and the Swedish summer. The feelings overwhelming you are something I don’t think anybody can understand who doesn’t live abroad in a country so different from where you are born….I can’t describe it words.

11 hours of driving from Stockholm has finally brought me here. I almost had a tear in the corner of my eye as I stepped off the plane at Arlanda, and now it is almost there again.

I don’t have time to to drop my stuff at the camp, but instead drive straight to the river to see my friend, who arrived a couple of hours earlier. Headlamp on and jumping into the waders while tackling my 8 weight, I can finally breathe out a couple of minutes later as my fly lands in the water. As I wobble on the slippery stones while preparing my next cast, I think that this is really life. The fresh air, the silence, the peace, and no mosquitoes(??). Nothing beats it. Ok, I could had been without the line tangling there. I had managed to forget it happens, when I daydream of this back in Thailand. There, far away, the evenings here are always calm and mosquito-free with lots of bite-willing trout.
The water temperature is very high, 20 degrees, and the water level low, but I can honestly say it doesn’t bother me now, I have time. To just be here makes up for it, and I feel confident despite the bad conditions.
I have 10 days of fishing before the general arrives to the Kingdom with another friend from Thailand to resume command. If I count low, say 1 cast every other minute, and 12 hours of effective fishing/day, that would give me a total of 3600 drifts, which should be more than enough. With that amount, I reason, I even have chance on blind trouts.

August 5 – 11

5 days later, I start to despair a little. I haven’t felt a nose bump, and neither has my friend. I have tied new flies, big flies, small flies, dark flies, light flies, bushy flies and sparse flies. I have lost flies, many flies, sworn over line tangling, fallen into the water on slippery stones, basically everything of the bad stuff, but but none of the good. On the positive side, the weather has been better than I have ever experienced up here: Sunshine, blue sky and temperatures reaching 30 degrees daytime, and no mosquitoes. Unfortunately I don’t see too much of the good weather, as I fish night time. The chilly mornings are especially picturesque with a thick mist rising from the river and lakes. There is no surprise people believed in trolls, gnomes and the water sprite back in the old days when met with these sceneries.


The river, early morning


My friend gives up after 6 days and decides to try another river before heading back home to Uppsala, but as I am a very naive person, I decide to continue, thinking I can still turn this disaster.
As I near the end of my time by the river this year, I notice I am the only one left fishing here, at least nighttime. You always meet or see other fisherman, but now I am all alone and can fish wherever I want without having to wait for a pool to be free. “Great!”, I think and double my efforts.

Towards the end, I have one tug at the fly. The result of 10 days of fishing. A whole year or more for me, before I can come here again. The wiser fishermen sought other destinations when they realized it was hopeless. The dumbass, which would be me, remained to the end. I could as well had searched for trolls in the forest.

August 13 – 22

While driving back to my house after picking up the general and her adjutant at the airport, we discuss what to do during our time here. It is the first time for the adjutant in the country, and he very much wants to see as much of the country as possible. He likes photography and wants to see the wilderness, something very different from Thailand. Hmm, this opens possibilities, I think, and start explaining how wild the north is, with reindeer in hordes, bears, wolves, lemmings and northern light(in the winter *cough*). Where you can walk in lush forests or on bare mountains for hundreds of km in either direction without seeing a soul. The general, who is a full blown city girl, has nothing to say in the subject, but I can see how the adjutant’s eyes take on a shine, and I know he is hooked. After mentioning I happen to know of a nice and clean guest house up there, it is settled. One keyword being “clean”.

After doing some sightseeing in Stockholm, including shopping and scouting for moose in the outskirts of the city, we finally sit in the car on the way north a week later, with me whistling a happy tune. I almost cannot believe my fortune! As it just happens, another friend of mine went up there a couple of days earlier, and has reported the water level has risen and the water temperature dropped to a much better 13 degrees. Most important of all, he has caught one trout, 4.7kg and had several contacts. It seems the trouts are finally on the move!

August 23

“I will only fish nighttime, for 3 days, and will be free to spend the days with you”, I assert, as I put on my waders. The general, who is so caring of me, has actually told me I can fish as much as I want, but I don’t have the heart to. The plan is to fish for 3 days with minimal sleep, so I can socialize during the days. I think I can manage that before collapsing. The problem is forgotten as soon as I meet my friend at the river. He has already lost one earlier in the evening.

We fish through the night without neither of us feeling anything. “It must be karma”, I think, as I stumble over a stone in the dark. The nights are now much darker than when I was here last time. Almost pitch black. I remember several years ago, when I was up alone in the north, fishing at night and scared shitless. Even if you’re not afraid of the dark in general, you’re not so cocky alone in the forest at night, unable to see anything, with bears and wolves in every bush. A creak of a branch then almost make you poop in your waders.

When dawn arrives, we change to a place which requires some wading, as the current there runs on the other side of the river. We decide I will fish the upper stretch, and my friend the next pool just downstream.
Almost at the end of my stretch, and the end of my cast, as I begin to retrieve my line and take a few steps downstream, it feels like something jumps and lands on my fly. After all this time, I can’t believe it is a fish, and I look around, believing my friend is pulling a joke on me. Not until I see the line quickly move out towards the stronger current do I really believe. Out there at the edge, it stops and shakes its head violently in a very uncomfortable manner for quite some time. During this time, I have shouted for my friend, who comes running and asks if it is big. I reply “no, it is a small one I think”. Jokingly I say it could be a big grayling, which we both know it isn’t. Even though it certainly doesn’t feel like one, it wouldn’t surprise me with my luck. Finally it stops and just stays still, it doesn’t even move when I apply pressure. Afraid my line is around a stone, I wade downstream and apply some pressure from the side. No movement. “Crap!”, I think and wade a bit more downstream. When I apply some pressure again, it finally moves and begins to swim around fast and shake its head, but not taking much line, seemingly content in staying in the pool.
I start thinking about landing the fish, and slowly wade back towards land where the current is much calmer. The fish cooperates and nicely lets itself be led towards land, but once it starts getting closer to shallow water, it gets really wild and sets off towards the current again. Again, it wants to remain in the pool, and I can soon start winding it back in again. This time it lets itself be led into the shallows, but as my friend nears with the net, it sets off again in the shallows at high speed, creating a very cool plow in the water. Shortly after that, my friend informs me it isn’t that small at all, while looking into the net. The scale shows 4.75kg, minus 0.5kg net, which leaves 71 cm and 4.25kg golden, fat, beautiful trout. That weighs up the whole previous trip and turns this one into a success.


My 4.25kg trout.

After releasing the fish, my friend moves upstream of where I was, while I sit down to watch. Just a couple of minutes later he is hooked up. The fish is pretty calm, slowly moving upstream while taking line. A larger subject, but how large? A minute later, the question becomes academic as the leader breaks. My friend swears loudly and recalls before he even inspects the break point, that just before that very cast he changed fly, and had then noticed a knot on the leader, which he even told me about; but we both had forgotten the knot while he was choosing a fly. The breakpoint on the leader also clearly shows it broke at a knot. A high price to pay.

Not long after, he has another one on, which he eventually also brings in. The scale lands at 2.8 kg. A beautiful 63 cm golden male trout.


My friend fighting his 2.8kg trout.


My friend’s 2.8kg trout




We both continue to fish for a few more hours, without any of us feeling anything, before returning back to the guest house. By the time I go to bed, it is already 11:00 and I am wondering how I will feel when I have to get up some time later. The answer is clear 2 hours later, when my bad conscience forces me up for 3 quick cups of coffee.

After having spent the day with the general and adjutant, I now know that I will not be able to fish coming night. I am simply too tired. The fishing also seems better early mornings, so we agree to meet up 04:00 at the cafeteria and have breakfast before heading out. My friend, knowing me, suggest we message each other 03:45 to make sure we both are up.

August 24 – 25

I remember waking up 03:45 from the alarm, and in my drowsiness see my friend yet hadn’t contacted me. I came to the conclusion my friend must be very tired and probably needed some more sleep. With that, I happily went back to sleep again, to wake up 05:00 by a call from my friend. He hadn’t wanted to call me earlier, because he was afraid he might wake up my general. The messages he sent had been unanswered, but he was now out at the river and was wondering if I was coming. Yes, he had already had contact, but lost it after just a few seconds. No, he had not see any other fishermen yet. The water was sinking fast, but the temperature was at a good 12 degrees C.
On my with my stuff and jumping into the car, I find myself at the river shortly after, thanking my friend for daring to risk the general’s wrath. I had told him I was going to check another pool a couple of kilometers upstream of his location. If nobody was there, I would fish it off before joining him. If he finished before me, he would come to me.

To my joy, I see nobody there, and probably nobody has fished it since previous day. As my friend stated, the water level is really low, almost as low as it was when I was there before, but there really isn’t much to do about it, except start fishing.
I have almost fished the whole pool, when I feel 2 bumps at the fly. A couple of years ago, I would had raised my rod at that, but I manage to keep my cool and wait. It could be a grayling or juvenile trout. A second or two later, I feel a decisive and sucking pull, much like a salmon take and not at all like how trouts generally take the fly. When I lift my rod, it is there. Like the previous trout, it starts by shaking its head and doesn’t move much. Afraid it will go downstream to the rapids, I take it easy, not applying much pressure on the fish, and slowly backing up. The fish follows nicely, like a dog on a leash. Once I get it into calmer water and start leading it into the shallows, it starts swimming around and then head for the current, but it is too small to have the strength to swim the whole way out. I am still amazed at its stamina and strength in the calm water. As I recall, a baramundi will fight harder, not to mention a queenfish, but I must say I had forgotten how strong these trouts were. Their endurance beating that of the barramundi, and their strength about equal. Of course, these trouts have the current to help them, but they also live in much colder water. A queenfish is a totally different story however, and it is unfair to compare them.
Just as I am about to call my friend, he comes walking down the trail, just seconds after I release the 59cm and 2.2kg female. He hasn’t felt anything more, and we decide to try the place where we had fish previous day. The morning progresses without any of us feeling anything, and we give up 11:00 am. I need to get some sleep to manage the day. I have now realized it doesn’t work to socialize daytime and fish nighttime.

As evening approaches, me and my company decide to do some barbecue by the river. My friend is already there and we decide to meet up with him. As the sausages are taking on a mouthwatering brown color, I hear my friend shout, and we can all watch at ringside as he takes on a 3.2kg trout. My company, who never have seen a trout before, make wide eyes as the fish is netted, and I can see the adjutant casting lustful eyes between the fish and the barbecue. Disappointed he later watch the trout swim away in the dark.

Just as previous day, we decide to start early morning and meet up 04:00. This is the last fishing day, so I have no problem getting up this time.
Out at the river, we can see the water level has gone down even more, and we conclude the best fishing is behind us for this time. We fish until 11:00 am before giving up and head back for brunch. The fishing is over here for this time, but has in all honestly been better than I had expected with 2 trouts in 3 days.

August 26 – 27

My friend has has packed and left already, but me and my company decides to head up the mountains to the highlands the two remaining days. I want to show them the incredibly beautiful nature up there, and also hope to see some reindeer, snow and maybe lemmings. The nature in Sweden is as exotic to them, as the nature in Thailand to us, and it sometimes almost gets comical at what they find fascinating. I can really understand Thais shaking their heads at the ‘farangs’. An example being all the mushrooms and blueberries. The season was already over for blueberries in the lowlands, but up here, it was at its peak. There are no blueberries in Thailand, but you can buy them imported at a very high price. They could not believe what they saw here, and it was difficult to drag them back from it.


Blueberries everywhere


In the end, we did see reindeer, but never any lemmings. Instead, we saw something better: Northern Lights. A rare phenomenon at this time of the year. This was something that truly made them jump out of their pants.


Northern lights in August


Everything must come to an end, and it is with sadness I pack the car for the drive back to Stockholm. I promise myself I will be back again next year. I don’t want to miss this again for as long as I live. Thinking about it, it probably isn’t going to be that many. There really aren’t that many summers you experience in a lifetime. Even a hundred are way too few.

The Gulf of Thailand April 2014

The videos

I stare tiredly at the remains of what was once was my leader. This was the fish of my life. Really, it was! The darn thing just had to take the way pass something that damaged that leader. Here I thought Queenfish were clean fighters. Had some bloody honor! That’s what I’ve read everywhere. But no, this one of all just had to go do something. I decide it must have been a female. At least I had more than 9 minutes of pure fun while it lasted. I have most of it recorded as well. Wish I had had the strike on tape too though. Can’t have it all I guess.

I am tired, thirsty and thirsty. It is over 36 degrees Celsius, and no shade. Nip, nada. Not even around my feet. How impossible is that? There are only a couple of islets around. There is no crevice I can stick my head into. Not without looking obscene at least. There is only smooth stone and barnacles. I can swim, it helps, for a while.

My body aches, my fingers and feet hurt from cuts by coral, barnacles and leader from past 2 days. Changing flies and tightening knots eventually does that to wet swampy fingers. The wounds in constant contact with the water are infected, despite me cleaning and applying alcohol to them every night. Each time I make a cast it hurts. If there was just some water left. The 4.5 liters I brought are gone. I never learn. “Som nam naa” as they say in Thai. 3 days here, no 2, wear you out more than a month of fishing in Sweden or Norway. Still I don’t want to go home. There is nowhere else I want to be after all. I have another 2 hours of fishing left before it gets dark and one more day before my fishing trip here comes to an end for this time. After that, it is back home to Bangkok. Back to tying flies in substitute of fishing, or go to a Barramundi pond to wear the worst of it off.

The time here has been wonderful so far. The fishing has been fantastic. Despite only 2 Queenfish on land, I have had at least a dozen of them on during the 2 days I have been here. The largest one well over 6 kg, closer to 7, and the other around 3 kg. The one I just lost was bigger, a lot bigger.

2 days ago I sat on the bus from Bangkok with a silly smile on my face, prepared with loads of flies and a new stripping basket I made out of a laundry basket. I thought that this time, there wasn’t going to be anything I would need that I didn’t have. I was wrong of course, but I had loaded up with plenty of deceivers, clousers, poppers, gurglers and a newly tied pattern with marabou-like feathers in sizes 1/0 – 4/0.


The journey was long, 15 hours door to door, including a night on the bus. Fascinating it took longer than me going home to Stockholm to meet my parents, even though the distance to Sweden is more than 14 times longer.

Day 1

Upon arrival, I merely unpack the needed parts of my luggage, before rigging my 10 wt with an intermediate and jumping into the kayak an old friend of my father, who has been living here for over 20 years, generously let me borrow. The fishing takes place around some islets and stones some 2 km away, so a boat or kayak is a must to get me there.

Once out, I see the conditions are perfect, with a slight breeze from the east(unfortunately coming from my left side most of the time, as I am left-handed and cast southward mostly), and a falling tide.


Stepping off onto the most western stone above water, I have contact with my first fish after some 30 minutes on my new white marabou fly tied on a 4/0 hook. It was merely a tug on the fly and a splash some 5m out from where I stand. It looked like a mediocre fish weighing some 3-4 kg. The fish comes again the cast after, but never attacks. 15 minutes later a larger fish is after the fly. I can clearly see the bullet come flying from the side in an amazing speed, take a bite on the go and fly pass, leaving me behind with a slack jaw. I almost didn’t feel anything at all, despite it all happening right at my feet. I wonder how many times I have takes I never feel. Many, I think optimistically.

An hour later, I see a flash of silver and a swirl some 10m out, feel the characteristic rubber-band-effect in the line, caused by the fly moved backwards and sideways so fast, the line makes an angle in the water and then tightened. Stripping as fast as I can, I pull that rubber-band until it can’t stretch more. Then I give it one more sharp pull, and before my brain really can comprehend what is going on, the line in the stripping basket has disappeared, and before you can say “peekaboo”, 30m of backing is gone. Pure luck there was no mess with the line there, which undoubtedly would had ended with me looking sadly at a ruined rod. Now that I finally start feeling confident and think: “I have you on my reel now little fish. I see you are going out there where my line points, haha”, a nice fish jumps in front of, and some 10m to the side of my line. My fish? but my line is tight?! A very confusing moment where you don’t quite know where to point your rod: towards the fish, or the line?

After the initial run, things settle down somewhat, and I realize I have forgotten to turn on my camera in the chaos. Turning on the camera is followed by some give and take, but the fish seems to have exhausted most of its reserves during that first hard run. A few minutes later, I proudly land my first Queenie this trip. It is my largest Queenfish, above 6.5 kg. Unfortunately the hook sits right at the beginning of the gills, and the fish is bleeding profoundly, but as the barb has been clamped down, the hook easily comes loose without further complications. While reviving the fish, a man in a boat approaches, and I get worried he’s going to ask for the fish, so I hurriedly release the fish a bit earlier than I had wished for. Though wobblily swimming away at first, the fish recovers its balance and takes off. I hope it survives. They are such beautiful creatures, with their olive-green backs, scaleless silvery sides, forked tails and over-dimensioned mouths, these bullets. No pictures can make them justice.


I continue to fish from this stone, which normally lay under water at high tide, for another 45 minutes, before deciding to change place.

On the next islet, I have a fish on at my first cast. Unfortunately it comes loose just as my camera starts recording. It’s impossible to determine the size, because they all feel the same initially: Rubber-band, stop, run. That’s the common theme, independently of size. There is no stopping them, even when I see they are small sized. Unlike anything we have back home in Scandinavia.

This islet is very interesting with a small reef just outside, or maybe it should be called a large stone. To the east(left) and west(right) of the stone, it immediately gets deep, whereas outside(south) of it, it gently slopes down, which creates a wide underwater crest. As the evening approaches, the tide is rising, creating a rather strong current, flowing in from the deep on my east side over this crest and passing over to deeper water on my right side.

Continuing to fish, I have several takes, but can’t manage to hook them. Their mouths seem to be made of steel. Believing I have set the hook well, they still let go after a few moments, or after the first run. I don’t know how many times I check the hook. Most of my marabou flies are now also fluff-less, mainly because of needlefish constantly nibbling at them. They are aggressive fish, with a very bad temper and long sharp pointy teeth, which they happily sink into you given the opportunity. Fortunately I also tied a couple on tube, where I have separated the head from the tail, so I can switch to using different color combinations on head and tail.

With the increasing current, the fish becomes more active; or maybe just more fish move closer to shore as dusk arrives. Most takes happen when I strip the fly across or against the current. I have takes when casting ‘upstream’ as well, but not as many. I guess the fish finds it unnatural a fly comes swimming towards them instead of trying to swim away. I also notice, that the faster the fly moves, the more takes I have. Sure, I have hits when using a slower, erratic retrieve, but when I strip as fast as I can, and even using the current to speed my fly further, they go absolutely crazy. In the end, I don’t care about trying to vary the speed, I just try to strip as fast as I can, while trying to keep the fly straight in the water and trying to get the line into the stripping basket. This proves to be difficult, because: 1) the wind picks up and constantly blows the line away from the basket while I’m stripping. As a result the line falls to the ground and, of course, tangles around all barnacles in view. 2) The line keeps getting tangled in my fingers, for which I have to pause my retrieve to clear the line. Any following fish then seems to loose interest in the fly and departs with a swirl.

The stripping basket I made proves to be my line’s savior. Last time I was here, I didn’t have one, which resulted in a ruined flyline and me being sad. Out here, I use a double-handed retrieve, with which I can strip faster than with a one-handed retrieve. It also allows me to more ‘easily’ direct the line into the basket. However, it also prevents me from stripping as fast I could had done without one, as I cannot extend my arms as far down as I could have done without one when retrieving the fly. The short movements my hands have to make, also keeps the flyline tangling in my fingers. Very annoying! I will try to work on a solution to attach it to one leg, or something, so I can get it lower.

I finally depart and move on to the most eastward islet, where I can see a reef just outside working as a natural jetty, directing the current. Here, the current is even stronger, and there are even more fish. As the sun sets, I have contact in almost every cast, either through a small tug in the line, a splash at the fly or a hooked fish. There is fish at the edges of the current, but most seem happy to be in the middle of it. I do not need to strip as fast here either, which my exhausted arms happily accepts, because the fly gets good speed with the help of the current. I Just strip enough to allow the fly to go at maximum speed without laying down on its side or rotating. Thoughts of changing to a gurgler and just strip away as fast as I can pass through my head, but my arms complain, and as the fish attacks the fly anyway, I let it pass.

No matter how many takes I have, I can’t seem to set the hook. Finally, in the last hour, I manage to land a nice Queenie in the 3kg range, and not long after, loose a very good fish I fight for 2 minutes before it decides to jump off in the last minutes of light.


As I paddle back, I feel the fatigue wash over me. I have not had time to drink water or eat. I simply wasn’t thirsty: “A bad mistake” the headache I didn’t notice before pounds in my head. I should had known better. It is not the first time this happens. I also feel wounds and cuts I didn’t know I had. Probably, somehow from barnacles and leader.

Well back home, I just want to go to bed and sleep, but I have work to do. The rod, reel, flyline and flies have to be washed clean, and I have to eat something. After cleaning my gear and myself, I stumble out to a nearby restaurant and order a hot Tom Yum and a big bottle of water. No beer tonight.

Day 2

In my optimism, I had set the alarm at 06:00, but dehydration from previous day has left me totally exhausted and with a really bad headache. Think hangover multiplexus and you get the whim. I hardly remember turning off the alarm, but the next time I open my eyes, it is already 11:00, C***P! With a headache pounding as a gong inside my skull, and my head begging for paracetamol, I jump up and rig my stuff. I feel strangely strength-less and only rig one rod to bring out. Reminded by my headache, I gulp down 1.5 liters of water and pack enough for a platoon before heading out.

The paddling out is slow and painful. I was too tired to care for my cut and bruised hands and feet from previous day.

Following a long and healthy tradition in the lead of Murphy, my flyline is rendered useless after 5 minutes of fishing. This line was ruined by the barnacles at this very spot previous time I was here. The head of the line was still good, so I had just cut and replaced the old running line, which I now connected with a loop-to-loop system to my intermediate head. Sadly the end of the running line, which had been threaded into a braided line to form the connecting loop, had pushed through the wall of the braid. The only other line I have with me is the head of a floating line, from which I had taken the new running line, but since it is the running line loop that is damaged, I can’t fish at all. There is nothing else to do than paddle back home again.


Well back in my room, my bed invites me to lay down for a while, before anguish pushes me back up a few seconds later to rig my 8 weight, which is the only rod to which I now have an intermediate. I have previously avoided this rod due to the wind coming from my left, and, well, how Queenies in general are..

Following the same routine as previously, I finally stand on the most western stone again. The wind is a tad weaker today, and it is warmer. The tide is low, but still falling, so there is a slow current coming from the west this time. A splash at the fly some 30 minutes later washes away all fatigue and pain. I feel as good as new again. The fish never shows again, but this was the cure I needed.

Moving on to the next islet again, I fish at the sides of the stone outside. After 5 minutes I have a smaller Queenie after the fly in the shallows just to the right of the stone. A few minutes after that I see a school of small bait fish just outside of the stone being scared of something. This happens several times the coming minutes, but I cannot reach it from my current position, so I decide to move out to the stone so I can fish the outside of it. Before paddling out to the stone, I change my white marabou-like 4/0 to an olive/white clouser in size 2/0, to better match the baitfish.


Well out on the stone, I immediately have contact with a fish, following the manner I am now so used to: rubber-band, stop, run, lost fish. Grumbling to myself I cast out again, but the line gets tangled. While trying to untangle the line, a fish takes the fly, and during a panicked moment I am frantically trying to untangle my line while having a fish on the other end. I somehow manage it and lift my rod, feel the pull of the fish before the line goes slack again. When I pull in to inspect my fly, I find it gone. It baffles me how this could happen, when I just before this very cast inspected the leader and tested the knot. Swearing I tie on another olive/white clouser.

The coming hour, I have a few fish after the fly, but no takes at all. I don’t like the fact that I can’t see my olive-backed clouser until I feel the leader in the guide. This makes it hard to look out for following fish. I therefore change to an orange/white clouser. Suddenly I see a school of baitfish to my left being spooked by something, and immediately throw my fly just to the side of the school and start to strip the line as fast as I can. Rubber-band, stop, run, fish still on! I’m almost surprised it’s still there. The fish then nicely follows me in, like a dog on a leash, but once closer to land it wakes up again and performs some spectacular jumps. I can then see it is a fish in the 3 -4kg range. After that, the fish is tired and is easily led in. When I lift my rod to prevent the fish from going under the rock I am standing on, it just dislodges and I can see it lazily swim away. Ahh well, I had the fun part at least.


I take a rest, chew down a sandwich and empty another bottle of water, now warm but still refreshing. Constantly stripping the fly almost at top speed in this heat, wears you out, immensely. I sit down in the water for a while and just soak in the peace, then I stand up, retie my orange/white clouser and go back to doing what I came here for.

The following 30 minutes, I neither see nor feel anything. It is almost to 5pm when I lay a cast westward, almost towards the stone where I began my day. I let the clouser sink for a while, then begin to strip as fast as I possibly can. I am very pleased the line doesn’t get tangled in my hands for once, and when the fly is some 10m from me, I see a flash of silver in the water, then feel the classic rubber-band effect. Keeping pulling the line in for my life, the tension in the line increases until I can’t take any more line in, and then when I lift my rod, the fish takes off. I can’t distinguish this fish from any other, except…it doesn’t stop. For the next minute, it just goes. In the beginning, very fast, then slowing down to an almost mockingly slow pace, as if it is playing with me. Finally it stops, and I can feel the weight of the fish for the first time. It’s like trying to pull a wall through the water! I don’t feel any jerks, It just hangs there, not seemingly resisting. I manage to gain a meter or so, before it takes off again for another minute. At this point I start getting worried about my backing. I know I have 300 yds of backing, but now I am well into the inner curvature of the spool. I am not fond of the idea of jumping into the kayak to follow the fish, when it smells so much of broken rod, but are prepared to if necessary. 3 minutes into the fight it finally seems to stop and I can start to gain some line. I had gradually increased the drag on my speedrunner, until it was 2 steps from max. The rod was practically parallel to the surface by the time it stopped. Slowly able to gain line, it suddenly gets alarmed around the 5 minute mark and takes off again with a series of jerks. Then suddenly, more than 150m out, it breaks the surface in, what I can only describe as, a Sailfish-like leap(from clips I have seen) and lands on its side. I cannot see the fish clearly, but it looks like a huge bloody silvery halibut out there. I can only stare in mistrust. Watching the clip later on, I managed to squeeze out a delayed “oh..” after that jump. The coming minute I manage to winch it in further until it sets off again for a while. When I start to being able to gain line on this monster and it starts showing signs of getting tired, I start sniffing victory. Then around 7:45, it suddenly stops. I cannot gain any line. I get worried it’s around something, but then it suddenly yields again. Still, it felt strange at that moment. Then, the same thing happens again. I apply more pressure, and again it yields, then suddenly, it is just gone. Reeling in with shaking hands, I notice it was just 15m out on the backing when I lost it. When I inspect the leader, it’s full of scratches and very ragged at the breakpoint. I never had a Queenie bite through my leader and normally this wouldn’t happen. I did apply a lot of pressure on the fish however, so I guess it eventually gnawed through.


On the question if this really was a Queenfish, I can only say I am pretty sure it was. I do not know what else it could had been. It behaved like one when it took the fly. It certainly looked like one, with that deep profile, when it jumped; and it did jump. There are pompanos out here, but they don’t jump that I know of. I don’t know how big it was either. 10kg Queenies are not that uncommon I have heard. At least not Down Under. There is not much information about Queenfish in Thailand, so I really don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t 10kg, maybe it was bigger. One thing I know for certain, it would had been my largest Queenfish.

I continue to fish, but without much concentration. I have no more contacts either. As the sky starts to darken and the tide pushes in, I head to the reef outside the most eastern islet, where the fishing was so good yesterday evening.

Before walking out on the natural jetty, I change back to one of my marabou flies in pink and I make a few casts along side it. It doesn’t take long before a small Queenfish, just short of 2 kg takes the fly in the now very familiar manner. Once again, I am surprised by the strength and speed these fish show, even at this size. I kid you not when I say a small fish this size would easily break my 30 lb leader if I locked the drag. Unfortunately, the sd card in my camera is full and I can’t record my catch. No matter, I will remember. If fish had ears, I would had tugged one before I let it go back to where it belongs.

Well out on the jetty, I have a few takes, but it is not close to what it was like the day before. I wonder why. The wind is stronger than yesterday, but other than that it looks the same to me. Apparently not to the fish. Shortly after, I pack my things and head back home. The wounds in my hands has started to bother me, and each cast hurts. Maybe I notice this now because I am tired. On my way back, the sun sets in front of me in a marvelous display of red, orange, yellow and blue. I feel privileged to be here right now as the only person to ever see this here.


Back in my bungalow, I once again disassemble the rod, put my reel and flies in fresh water and thoroughly rinse my rod. Then I head out to have dinner again. Today I’m having kaeng jut salai muu sap with pad pak bong and rice with a 1.5 liter bottle of water. Impressed with the amount of food and water I manage to squeeze down, I contentedly walk back home. I’m happy I don’t feel fatigue like I did yesterday. My headache has disappeared at some point as well. Before falling into bed, I thoroughly clean my cuts and bruises with sterilized water and alcohol, hoping they will be ok tomorrow. Then I sleep.

Day 3

Arrgh, the alarm didn’t wake me I realize in horror as I wake up by sharp light in my eyes. Almost not daring to look at the watch, I see it’s 10:00 already. Damn, and this is my last day! Up for a quick shower, run to 7-11 to buy 5 x 1.5 liter of water and a couple of sandwiches. I hastily gulp down a bottle of water when I get back, never forget that, while tackling up my rods and selecting the flies to bring. For todays menu, chef Janne has prepared, fort starters, a delicious marabou souffle enroule autour 4/0 marinated in crème de la chartreuse, and an equally delicious iced marabou et lemon a la tube.


30 minutes of eager paddling later, I’m greeted by sea swallow-like birds occupying the first stone, which I disrespectfully take in possession under loud protests.


The wind is stronger today, coming from the east, and I have some difficulty casting south with the 4/0 on the 8wt, but I manage ok by avoiding lots of false-casting before shooting out and instead just make on false-cast with shorter line before shooting. The water is more turbid today, and not at as clear as previous days. Perhaps the fish is less intimidated and will move into the shallows, I hope. 1 hour later I give up. I have not seen, nor felt anything, not even a needlefish, and decide to head to next islet.

While fishing around the reef/stone outside this islet, I manage to hook a needlefish on my 4/0, a feat in itself. They are beautifully turquoise/silver colored, generally like fast moving flashy flies, are quick, strong fighters considering their size, and performs spectacular jumps when hooked; but due to their sleek body, they cannot really use the water to brace against the pull, and therefore tire quickly. To make up for that, they come with a bad temper and a snapping beak. I’m always cautious around these fast moving fish, as they can turn 180 degrees seemingly without loosing speed and attack with their beak in the blink of an eye. There has actually been 2 reported deaths by needlefish, I have read, in which the needlefish unfortunately pierced their victims through vital organs, when they jumped.


After releasing the needlefish, and having fished around the stone outside for quite some time without seeing or feeling anything, I once again paddle out to the stone where I lost the big one yesterday. 45 minutes later, there still is no sign of any Queenie in the neighborhood. I decide to switch my 4/0 to a smaller fly, and choose a similar 2/0 orange/white clouser, which worked so well the day before. After a short break with a bottle of water and a sandwich I am at it again.

A few casts later the first queenfish for the day shows its interest in my clouser. The silver bullet comes shot from my right side, just as I am about to lift the fly out of the water, and makes a sharp turn out and disappears. I am pondering how they can move through the water like that, seemingly without moving a fin, as I cast in the direction it disappeared.

Standing on my stone casting in a fan-like pattern, starting from my left side and turning clockwise, I have a good feeling about this, as I lay a cast at 2 o’clock. I have previously begun the retrieval as soon as the fly lands, but this turn I am letting my fly sink for a while before starting to strip, fast of course. Some 20m out, the much welcomed rubber-band is there again and I can feel I set the hook good before lifting the rod. Oddly, the fish doesn’t really take any line and I manage to bring it in a few meters, just like it doesn’t understand what’s going on and just hangs along. I can feel the weight of it while pumping it in, and I know this is a good fish. Then, it seems to realize what’s going on and decides to not play nice anymore. The next 40 seconds, I can only hold on to my rod and watch the backing on my spool disappear in a quick and consistent manner. It feels like the fish is jumping somewhere, but I cannot see anything in the general direction my line points. Then it stops, and I can begin to winch it back. Slowly and unwillingly it lets me gain meter by meter. Then it’s stop. Trying to apply more pressure, without gaining an inch, I know something is stuck somewhere out there, be it the fish or my line. Sighing, I jump into the kayak and begin to pull myself towards whatever I am stuck to. This is not at all what I want, and the rod suddenly feels much longer than 9 feet. While I am nearing, the fish suddenly takes line again. Odd. Finally reaching the position where the line almost points straight down, I still don’t see any sign of my flyline. That is strange, as I know it’s not that deep here. Deciding to not play this game to only break my rod, I paddle pass the spot the line points down to, and resolutely wind the backing around my arm and pull. I don’t care if I loose a fish, which is likely gone anyway. Almost without applying any force, and to my surprise the line comes loose. It was definitely not around some stone. As I wind up the slack backing onto the reel, I cannot see or feel any damage to it. The procedure is repeated at the next spot where the line is stuck. Again the line comes loose without me having to apply much force. I start to suspect a rope, or piece of a net or something. Approaching the final anchor point, I see my flyline, and when I wind the flyline around my arm, the head to my line is just a meter below the water line. This time I need to apply force when I pull. Eventually something breaks, and up comes my flyline and a short piece of the leader. I don’t know what I was stuck at, but whatever it was, I suspect it was man made. In the disappointment, I’m still happy I cannot find any damages to the backing, or my flyline.

As I’m already in the kayak, I decide to head to the last islet where I have concluded my previous days. Upon disembarking, I make a new leader to which I tie another clouser. A pink 3/0 this time. Following my normal routine, I fish my way out on the jetty, but still haven’t seen a whim of a fin an hour later. I then decide to change to a darker clouser in olive with heavier eyes, hoping I will be able to get it down somewhat in the current. Standing there, minding my own business, I suddenly see a group of larger fish swimming around, some 1.5 – 2m below my feet. When I retrieve my fly, I suddenly feel a light tug and see 4 – 5 Queenies in the 2kg range chasing after, and immediately break off and return to circling around, below my feet for a few moments before disappearing. That’s the last I saw of them. I continue to fish for another 30 minutes, but the Queenies are tired of me and my fingers hurt badly.

On my way back in the dark, I remember what I had totally forgotten: that I had planned to have a go at Barracudas around the reef edges, and maybe the shallows. The silver torpedoes came second to the silver bullets this time, but they will wait for me.

Things to remember for next time

  • Take the amount of water you think you will need for a day and double it. Make sure you finish it all, or you will regret it and perhaps remain in bed for a day or more.
  • Cover as much of your body as you can.
  • Sunscreen is your friend, but not your flyline’s.
  • Bring gloves? It’s not pleasant to fish with wounds on your hands. They don’t heal well when constantly being wet.
  • Better footwear. “foppa-tofflorna” are better than nothing, but one misstep and you will likely manage to cut yourself and limp around the remaining time.
  • Stripping basket is good to have around barnacles and coral, unless you don’t care about your flyline.
  • No need for a huge amount of different fly patterns. Most importantly: Make sure your flies can be stripped very fast and keep their balance. Good colors: white, orange/white, olive/white, chartresuse/white and maybe pink/white.
    Sizes: 1/0 – 4/0+.
  • Make sure the barbs are clamped on any hooks you use.
  • Tropical Intermediate (and maybe a floating) line.
  • Rod weights: (8), 9, 10, (11).