CKB
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I've just realised there is a character limit on posts, so I'll try to split this into two. It's been a while since I have posted.
Lauklines - Kvaloya, Norway's Arctic
As many of you know, I have been less active on my social media pages than intended this year. I had a great trip to Fuerteventura and some scintillating wrassing throughout the summer. Working and paying the bills have kept me busier than usual. When offered the opportunity to travel to Norway's Arctic Circle to fish virgin territory from the shore, I jumped at it.
This was my 7th Norway trip, with my last being some eight years ago in March 2016. We put a crew together, including Lasse Boe, Norway's finest shore angler, my brother Mike Kennedy, and Nathan Fullwood, who most of you are familiar with from his popular Slippy Limpets YouTube channel and the Century Sea Team. The task was to find fish from a vast area of northern Norway that had never really experienced the pressure of shore anglers but was obviously famed for its tremendous boat fishing. We had the flexibility to drive three or four hours in any direction, to hop on ferries, or even to be dropped at shore marks via boat. The potential of such a trip was seemingly limitless, though a huge challenge at the same time. Most anglers who travel to Norway have a wealth of information from other anglers who have found marks and succeeded. British anglers love Norway trips, and they have been very popular for 10-15 years now. Our task was to use Navionics, Guile Sider, satellite maps, and other internet tools to find venues that could potentially hold fish. This is infinitely harder than the art of mimicry and replication; watercraft and free creative thinking are needed.
As a group, we dedicated months to meticulously planning our trip, taking screenshots, plotting routes, and discussing the potential venues. The excitement and anticipation grew with each passing day, but so did the pressure. Lasse, Nathan, and I were fortunate to have ten nights at Lauklines, while Mike, due to work and family commitments, could only join us for five. I embarked on this journey with the mindset that we must make the most of every moment; we were venturing into one of the most extraordinary parts of Norway and the world.
Lauklines is a camp 30-40 minutes from Tromso, Norway's most populous city in the Arctic. It is situated on the idyllic island of Kvaloya, on the edges of a beautiful fjord where eagles soar, otters steal your bait, whales surface, and the northern lights (aurora borealis) kiss the night sky. The immaculate accommodation, spacious rooms, and panoramic views were a delight. Each cabin has its own enormous chest freezer for bait or your catches. There are also sauna facilities, as well as laundry, a filleting station, and whatever else you could think of. It's the best-equipped camp I have been to. It also has two fantastic charter boats, which guides can take you out into the open sea or visit the plethora of deep fjords in the area. We bedded in, unpacked, and had enough whiskey from duty-free to put even Quint (Robert Shaw) from Jaws under the table; we were all set.
How blessed we were with the weather forecasts for our ten-night stay, with 20-23C most days, bright sunshine, shorts and t-shirt weather. Things began with a blast. Lasse and I fished a famous pier mark with locals close to the camp, with a strong tide and lateral movement. Mike, Nathan and Jacob (one of the camp boat guides) fished a few hundred yards away from the rocks. Things began quietly for Lasse and me; we were halibut fishing, which can be long periods of inactivity followed by an intense battle. I left Lasse with the rods, grabbed a spod rod, and some 60g Fish Black Minnows. Then, I worked my way along the rocky ledges, eventually coming to a point where I saw my brother Mike coming my way. The bait fish were boiling on the surface, perhaps being chased up by predators, and we began to cast, instantly hooking cod. Nathan soon turned up, too, with his fish lures and began battling fish. Mike and Nathan probably had 100lb of cod each in an hour, with Nathan's best run, 13 cod in 13 casts, up to around double figures. The lure fishing was sensational, bumping the bottom with the shad-style lures over slack tide. The locals peered at us like we had just invented fire, as they were using the much less effective metal jigs. The beauty of the Fiiish Black Minnows is their weedless design. We were able to fish through the rougher ground without losing lures and achieve the maximum hookups with cod. Mike had a nice coalie too, which gave a good scrap by the ledge. We moved spots, and eventually, the fishing died down, though Mike continued to catch until we packed up; he couldn't stop casting, addicted. The lure fishing was the best I had experienced anywhere in Norway and would likely rival anywhere on earth that day; it was incredible action. We celebrated that evening hard at the cabin; it had been the ideal start to our trip away and an experience to cherish.
The next session was an incredible wild fjord; I skipped the day with a migraine but saw the videos. The place was heavenly, the natural beauty, barely a breath of wind, and the fjord like a sheet of glass. Lasse managed multiple cod on bait, and Mike managed the same on the lures. The following day, we were thinking outside of the box a little and wanted to tick off some of the spots that we had previously looked at during our research. We plotted a van journey that would take us anything from two to three hours each way, only to realise later we could have hopped on a ferry as foot passengers from Tromso for as little as £8.50 each way. The road trip was simply epic; I would call it the road of a thousand marks. The excitement was unreal, us all in a trance, peering out of the windows, pointing out potential venues for various species, estuaries dry at low, littered with the biggest wormcasts you've ever seen, and rocky points with strong tidal pulls. Honestly, it was so picturesque, a place of dreams. Eventually, we pulled up and parked next to a fabulous pier with stunning panoramic views of a wide fjord and mountains in the distance. We all set up rapidly and began working lures and putting mackerel, herring, and fresh coalfish baits out. Despite a blustery forecast elsewhere, there was barely a breath of wind on the pier, and it was again shorts and t-shirts weather. Mike disappeared off to our left, skirting the rocky ledges until he was out of sight, disappearing around the corner. After we all wondered where he'd gone, Whatsapp messages began coming in, and a phone call explaining he had a double figure cod and that it was a fish a cast. I grabbed my camera, telling the lads that if my rods go, it's fine to hit them. Mike was a long way away from our wooden dock; it took me ages to get to him with my camera and a rod. I got there just in time to see him release a good cod. The spot was beautiful and it was the only place on the hike where the ledge came in right by your feet, allowing the easy landing of fish. He was hooking decent fish every cast, and at one point, he had three cod following one rhubarb and custard Fiiish Black Minnow in the 60g size 4. It was an amazing spectacle. As with tradition on Norway trips, if you are the first to catch a double-figure fish on a mark, then you get to name the venue. This mark would now be etched into the tapestry of history as Kennedy's Ledge, after Mike. We walked back, again a sweaty affair in the heat. We told Nathan and Lasse about the venue, and they grabbed their lure gear and left us with the bait rods.
As they edged off into the distance to our left, I put fresh baits on and stared aimlessly at the tips of my Zziplex M4 GT's, and admired the imposing cliff face in the distance. I think I'd been cast out 15-20 mins when my left rod started to go, and go and go. The drag was clicking as if a fish that could only be one thing was taking a line. The excitement was palpable as I waited for that crucial second run, as you must with halibut, or you may experience your bait being dropped. The drag on my Daiwa BG MQ went again, and I was "in". I could feel a good weight of fish thrashing around, and I was pumping and winding it toward the surface. Then my other rod went, which was nowhere near this one, and went really hard on a run, a much bigger fish perhaps. I told Mike to wait, but the second run never materialised, unfortunately. I asked him to chuck the rod back in the rest and get down the rocks behind the pier to land my fish. It was a mesmerising feeling to see the target species gliding up through the water column and following my rod tip parallel with the pier. Mike had no shoes on and no idea why, but he was finding the boulders hard work. When he got to the bottom, I asked him to look at the hook hold before trying to lift it. He said, "Get the gaff; it's only just hooked". I opened the bail arm, left my rod against the rail, and skipped down the rocks in no time to gaff the now thrashing halibut as Mike held the leader. I had the fish mouth hooked and was lifting it up the rocks. To my shock, the fish was barely hooked at all; the hook came out with zero resistance as if you pulled a feather from a pillow. How lucky was I? Very. I was over the moon, the first halibut of the trip, and my brother was there to help me land it. To be honest, it was a perfect day, as Mike's cod was a PB earlier.
We sat and had a drink, took in the moment, and some German chat returning from a boat trip kindly went and fetched some scales. The fish was ten point something kilos, probably between 22 and 23lb. We thanked the German as best we could, and he was on his way. Nathan and Lasse could barely believe we had one, when we called them for the measure size limits. They were back in a flash to rebait. The crazy thing was to get two takes so close together. The idea of the second fish still being out there was certainly exciting, particularly as it went so hard. We fished on and eventually called it an evening as the last of the light and hopes of more halibut had faded. What an extraordinary venue this had been, a moment in time for two brothers a long way from home, fortunate enough to spend time together, as if we were kids again, magic. The trip home seemed infinitely longer than the journey there; we all just wanted to be back at the camp, having a celebratory whiskey and an early-ish night. Seeing as I had the first double from the pier, I named the mark "Tenth Gear", for reasons that will become obvious to those who make the journey north and visit Lauklines.
The next day, Mike was on a lunchtime flight home. He'd really squeezed every drop out of the Lauklines Arctic experience, catching hundreds of pounds of fish, casting virtually every moment, and catching a new PB. We were all sad to see him go; his positive spirit and tenacity were very welcome, as was his dry humour.
Lauklines - Kvaloya, Norway's Arctic
As many of you know, I have been less active on my social media pages than intended this year. I had a great trip to Fuerteventura and some scintillating wrassing throughout the summer. Working and paying the bills have kept me busier than usual. When offered the opportunity to travel to Norway's Arctic Circle to fish virgin territory from the shore, I jumped at it.
This was my 7th Norway trip, with my last being some eight years ago in March 2016. We put a crew together, including Lasse Boe, Norway's finest shore angler, my brother Mike Kennedy, and Nathan Fullwood, who most of you are familiar with from his popular Slippy Limpets YouTube channel and the Century Sea Team. The task was to find fish from a vast area of northern Norway that had never really experienced the pressure of shore anglers but was obviously famed for its tremendous boat fishing. We had the flexibility to drive three or four hours in any direction, to hop on ferries, or even to be dropped at shore marks via boat. The potential of such a trip was seemingly limitless, though a huge challenge at the same time. Most anglers who travel to Norway have a wealth of information from other anglers who have found marks and succeeded. British anglers love Norway trips, and they have been very popular for 10-15 years now. Our task was to use Navionics, Guile Sider, satellite maps, and other internet tools to find venues that could potentially hold fish. This is infinitely harder than the art of mimicry and replication; watercraft and free creative thinking are needed.
As a group, we dedicated months to meticulously planning our trip, taking screenshots, plotting routes, and discussing the potential venues. The excitement and anticipation grew with each passing day, but so did the pressure. Lasse, Nathan, and I were fortunate to have ten nights at Lauklines, while Mike, due to work and family commitments, could only join us for five. I embarked on this journey with the mindset that we must make the most of every moment; we were venturing into one of the most extraordinary parts of Norway and the world.
Lauklines is a camp 30-40 minutes from Tromso, Norway's most populous city in the Arctic. It is situated on the idyllic island of Kvaloya, on the edges of a beautiful fjord where eagles soar, otters steal your bait, whales surface, and the northern lights (aurora borealis) kiss the night sky. The immaculate accommodation, spacious rooms, and panoramic views were a delight. Each cabin has its own enormous chest freezer for bait or your catches. There are also sauna facilities, as well as laundry, a filleting station, and whatever else you could think of. It's the best-equipped camp I have been to. It also has two fantastic charter boats, which guides can take you out into the open sea or visit the plethora of deep fjords in the area. We bedded in, unpacked, and had enough whiskey from duty-free to put even Quint (Robert Shaw) from Jaws under the table; we were all set.
How blessed we were with the weather forecasts for our ten-night stay, with 20-23C most days, bright sunshine, shorts and t-shirt weather. Things began with a blast. Lasse and I fished a famous pier mark with locals close to the camp, with a strong tide and lateral movement. Mike, Nathan and Jacob (one of the camp boat guides) fished a few hundred yards away from the rocks. Things began quietly for Lasse and me; we were halibut fishing, which can be long periods of inactivity followed by an intense battle. I left Lasse with the rods, grabbed a spod rod, and some 60g Fish Black Minnows. Then, I worked my way along the rocky ledges, eventually coming to a point where I saw my brother Mike coming my way. The bait fish were boiling on the surface, perhaps being chased up by predators, and we began to cast, instantly hooking cod. Nathan soon turned up, too, with his fish lures and began battling fish. Mike and Nathan probably had 100lb of cod each in an hour, with Nathan's best run, 13 cod in 13 casts, up to around double figures. The lure fishing was sensational, bumping the bottom with the shad-style lures over slack tide. The locals peered at us like we had just invented fire, as they were using the much less effective metal jigs. The beauty of the Fiiish Black Minnows is their weedless design. We were able to fish through the rougher ground without losing lures and achieve the maximum hookups with cod. Mike had a nice coalie too, which gave a good scrap by the ledge. We moved spots, and eventually, the fishing died down, though Mike continued to catch until we packed up; he couldn't stop casting, addicted. The lure fishing was the best I had experienced anywhere in Norway and would likely rival anywhere on earth that day; it was incredible action. We celebrated that evening hard at the cabin; it had been the ideal start to our trip away and an experience to cherish.
The next session was an incredible wild fjord; I skipped the day with a migraine but saw the videos. The place was heavenly, the natural beauty, barely a breath of wind, and the fjord like a sheet of glass. Lasse managed multiple cod on bait, and Mike managed the same on the lures. The following day, we were thinking outside of the box a little and wanted to tick off some of the spots that we had previously looked at during our research. We plotted a van journey that would take us anything from two to three hours each way, only to realise later we could have hopped on a ferry as foot passengers from Tromso for as little as £8.50 each way. The road trip was simply epic; I would call it the road of a thousand marks. The excitement was unreal, us all in a trance, peering out of the windows, pointing out potential venues for various species, estuaries dry at low, littered with the biggest wormcasts you've ever seen, and rocky points with strong tidal pulls. Honestly, it was so picturesque, a place of dreams. Eventually, we pulled up and parked next to a fabulous pier with stunning panoramic views of a wide fjord and mountains in the distance. We all set up rapidly and began working lures and putting mackerel, herring, and fresh coalfish baits out. Despite a blustery forecast elsewhere, there was barely a breath of wind on the pier, and it was again shorts and t-shirts weather. Mike disappeared off to our left, skirting the rocky ledges until he was out of sight, disappearing around the corner. After we all wondered where he'd gone, Whatsapp messages began coming in, and a phone call explaining he had a double figure cod and that it was a fish a cast. I grabbed my camera, telling the lads that if my rods go, it's fine to hit them. Mike was a long way away from our wooden dock; it took me ages to get to him with my camera and a rod. I got there just in time to see him release a good cod. The spot was beautiful and it was the only place on the hike where the ledge came in right by your feet, allowing the easy landing of fish. He was hooking decent fish every cast, and at one point, he had three cod following one rhubarb and custard Fiiish Black Minnow in the 60g size 4. It was an amazing spectacle. As with tradition on Norway trips, if you are the first to catch a double-figure fish on a mark, then you get to name the venue. This mark would now be etched into the tapestry of history as Kennedy's Ledge, after Mike. We walked back, again a sweaty affair in the heat. We told Nathan and Lasse about the venue, and they grabbed their lure gear and left us with the bait rods.
As they edged off into the distance to our left, I put fresh baits on and stared aimlessly at the tips of my Zziplex M4 GT's, and admired the imposing cliff face in the distance. I think I'd been cast out 15-20 mins when my left rod started to go, and go and go. The drag was clicking as if a fish that could only be one thing was taking a line. The excitement was palpable as I waited for that crucial second run, as you must with halibut, or you may experience your bait being dropped. The drag on my Daiwa BG MQ went again, and I was "in". I could feel a good weight of fish thrashing around, and I was pumping and winding it toward the surface. Then my other rod went, which was nowhere near this one, and went really hard on a run, a much bigger fish perhaps. I told Mike to wait, but the second run never materialised, unfortunately. I asked him to chuck the rod back in the rest and get down the rocks behind the pier to land my fish. It was a mesmerising feeling to see the target species gliding up through the water column and following my rod tip parallel with the pier. Mike had no shoes on and no idea why, but he was finding the boulders hard work. When he got to the bottom, I asked him to look at the hook hold before trying to lift it. He said, "Get the gaff; it's only just hooked". I opened the bail arm, left my rod against the rail, and skipped down the rocks in no time to gaff the now thrashing halibut as Mike held the leader. I had the fish mouth hooked and was lifting it up the rocks. To my shock, the fish was barely hooked at all; the hook came out with zero resistance as if you pulled a feather from a pillow. How lucky was I? Very. I was over the moon, the first halibut of the trip, and my brother was there to help me land it. To be honest, it was a perfect day, as Mike's cod was a PB earlier.
We sat and had a drink, took in the moment, and some German chat returning from a boat trip kindly went and fetched some scales. The fish was ten point something kilos, probably between 22 and 23lb. We thanked the German as best we could, and he was on his way. Nathan and Lasse could barely believe we had one, when we called them for the measure size limits. They were back in a flash to rebait. The crazy thing was to get two takes so close together. The idea of the second fish still being out there was certainly exciting, particularly as it went so hard. We fished on and eventually called it an evening as the last of the light and hopes of more halibut had faded. What an extraordinary venue this had been, a moment in time for two brothers a long way from home, fortunate enough to spend time together, as if we were kids again, magic. The trip home seemed infinitely longer than the journey there; we all just wanted to be back at the camp, having a celebratory whiskey and an early-ish night. Seeing as I had the first double from the pier, I named the mark "Tenth Gear", for reasons that will become obvious to those who make the journey north and visit Lauklines.
The next day, Mike was on a lunchtime flight home. He'd really squeezed every drop out of the Lauklines Arctic experience, catching hundreds of pounds of fish, casting virtually every moment, and catching a new PB. We were all sad to see him go; his positive spirit and tenacity were very welcome, as was his dry humour.
) but well done Chris, great report!
