Every saltwater fly fisherman has a bucket list with species they absolutely want to catch. Top of my list is the Atlantic halibut, a fish that has drawn the attention of Scandinavian swoffers in the past couple of years. After two trips to arctic Norway I make up my score: no halibut yet, but the by-catches have been spectacular.
Text and photos: Jeroen Schoondergang
My very first encounter with the most spectacular flatfish in the world will be engraved in my memory for ever. June 2013: fly fishing buddy Rob and I are making a drift over a fishing spot near the Norwegian town Bodø. After an incident with an incompetent and impolite boater the year before, we had christened the spot The Asshole. It is basically the top of a reef: a sandy patch, 13 metres deep surrounded by rocky drop-offs to twenty metres. This spot had been very good to us during previous sessions. The sandy patch was completely filled with cod, eager to attack any fly that came near the bottom. Along the rocky drop-offs coalfish roamed. A cast on this spot without at least a hit on the fly, was rare.
This session wasn’t much different. We had been boating good sized cod and Rob had hooked and landed a massive pollack while lowering an exploratory soft plastic bait with his spinning rod. Then I saw the long awaited silhouette. I was fishing my fourweight over the sandy patch and as my small clouser minnow came into sight, a distinctive diamond shape was swimming alongside my fly. The metre long halibut was clearly interested in my fly, but had other concerns on his way up. Below him a bunch of codlings was taking shots at his tail and fins, so the flattie decided to decline my invitation. During this spectacle I was holding my breath. My first flattie on a fourweight? That would certainly be a date with disaster.
Happy disappointment
That trip we had several confrontations with the flat predator. Unfortunately it stayed with followers and an incidental fish that nudged our flies. Rob had switched over to spinning gear and finally hooked a halibut. Ok, so it wasn’t on fly, at last we got to see close-up what we were up against. The fish took at least three violent runs before being boated. With the first flattie on spinning gear, my anticipation grew.
A couple of hours after Rob’s successful encounter, we returned to The Asshole. We had given the spot some rest while we tired our arms pulling cod and coalfish from a steep rock wall nearby. As we saw the reef edge appear on the sounder I lowered a heavy clouser minnow with the aid of 25 feet of T11 shooting head on my seven weight. I counted the descent and as the fly reached the fish-zone I started stripping. It took three strips for the clouser to fasten in something substantial. This wasn’t a cod, so could it finally be..? Not unlike Rob’s fish this fish treated me to a series of violent runs, and with every foot of running line that left my reel, my anticipation grew. This was a halibut for sure.
As the loop of my shooting head went past my rod tip, I saw some colour. “Crap, it is a pollack!”, I shouted out, as I saw a distinct golden glow emerge from the deep. No diamant-shape, but a massive golden-brown silhouette came up to the surface. “And you are disappointed by that?”, Rob said, while he gill-grabbed the biggest pollack I had ever seen. The fish turned out to be well over a metre long. The unster I brought went to ten kilos. It wasn’t sufficient to weigh this fish.
A haddock and more pollack
June 2014: our dinghy drifts in the Mistfjord, some twenty kilometres north of Bodø. The weather is terrible and has minimised our fishing range and opportunities. Fishing buddy Menno has also been infected by our quest for halibut. He has taken his preparations seriously, with a hefty spinstick and super-sized soft plastics. Within a couple of hours after the start of our fishing holiday he hooks his first flounder: 85 centimetres, nearly seven kilos. The fish will be dinner for the next five days.
On a lee spot only a hundred metres from our dock, I find a nice reef that ends in a sandy area. The wind makes our drift fast and messy. I struggle to keep my twenty centimetre long, twin-eyed superclouser near the bottom. Menno has less problems to control his lure. Within minutes he is into another good fish. Again the fight reveals that this isn’t one of the countless cod that hurry to get our baits. After a hefty fight, Menno’s second halibut is ready to be boated. This flounder is released. I only hook cod and blame the wind for not connecting with a flounder on the fly.
After two trips I take stock of the results and my only conclusion can be that my halibut on the fly is well within reach. During our 2014 trip the weather made it nearly impossible to fly fish. Yet we had encounters with halibut during every session. They followed and inspected the fly, or were very interested in the codlings we hooked.
So were these trips a failure? To claim that would be very spoiled of us. Our search has resulted in quite a list of ‘collateral damage’; I popped my haddock on the fly rod-cherry with a magnificent specimen that gave the sevenweight quite a workout. And on the same spot Menno took his second halibut, I hooked another XXL-pollack on the fly rod. This one even more massive than the fish I had last year.
Oh, and finally this. After day one, Rob had put his fly rod back in the tube and continued with a spinning setup. His halibut on the final day was a reminder for me that I am the last person in our Norway-team, that has to go through life halibutless. C’est la Vie.
To read more from Jeroen please visit his website