1. Never forget the old salmon-fishing ways and its accompanying mindset.

    I certainly will never forget my second, junior impecunious employee’s half-rod guest week in Iceland with a “big boss” on a top Icelandic river in the July 1982.

    By the end of my allotted 4-day, shared fishing time, fishing spell (the other full rods were staying on for several / a week / more), I had caught (and HAD to kill) around a dozen salmon, all of which were waiting in a truck-sized freezer-chiller for me to fly home as fishy loot to London Heathrow (Icelandair flew salmon-fishers’ catches back for free in those days).

    The other rods had, so far, been a little to a lot less successful than I had, and were beginning to kick off – to lose their effortless English charm towards me, a lesser financial being, about my catch.

    To save them further grief and myself any trouble, on the morning of my departure for Reykjavik, I left the lodge early, quietly, before the fishing party’s breakfast assembly, and without my fish. I left a very nicely written note for my boss and his pals though, thanking them for the simply wonderful fishing.

    I killed very few last Atlantic salmon after that experience, and my very last one in the “big year” (in Wales) of 1988.

    Still a fair few out there who would dearly love to clunk salmon if only they were allowed to.

    Boote out.

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