Shooting Fish in a Barrel, the Maelstrom at Saltsraumen

Zagan the motorhome has a freezer full of pollock fillets! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Team Zagan’s Lofoten Islands fishing duck has been broken with a bucket-full haul in the Saltstraumen Straight, just a few meters from where we’re free-camping (N67.22506, E14.61560). Last night we ate fish, three of the smaller ones which, at 10pm and after three hours of cleaning, I couldn’t be bothered to fillet!

Sleeping at the Saltstraumen Straight

After a broken night’s kip at up Bodø (stomach cramps for me – possible result of drinking a litre of out-of-date milk perhaps?), we set off out of town. First stop (after launching the cupboards sky-high on an unmarked speed bump): the Esso station. Diesel’s much cheaper on the mainland at 11.20 NOK (about £1.05) a litre, and while there we used their weirdly-designed but totally free dump station. The strapping great BILTEMA sign opposite drew us in for a long gander once we’d done. If you think Halfords on Steroids, you’ll get the picture. They sell everything, from lobster pots to tandems, those things that stop boats being scratched by the quayside to horse blankets. For Norway, the prices in there are very reasonable. We left with a couple of brake lights for Zagan (one had gone), a wheel brace (not had one for the past 6 months trip), a small tube of silicon (used the last one resealing the sink the other day) and a couple of canisters of gas for our outside gas cooker. Five minutes later the wheel brace went back: too small for Zagan’s mighty nuts.

Odd design motorhome dump station in Bodø

More tolls out of town had me internally grumbling. Unlike tolls across Europe, Norway seems to just decree any old teeny bit of road toll-worthy, even if it’s just driving into a housing estate. Four tolls later (totalling 73 NOK), we drove over the Saltstraumen bridge, and down the narrow road to the spot we’re parked at now. 3.8 minutes later I was out fishing.

The Saltstraumen straight, all 150m of it at the narrowest point, links up two fjords, one of which (the Skjerstadfjorden) is like an inland sea, disappearing off to my right. Every 6 hours the pull of the moon forces up to 400 million cubic meters of water either in or out of the Skjerstadfjorden, generating one of the world’s strongest tidal flows (THE strongest according to local tourist info leaflets). For a reason I can’t twist my head around, this creates a frenzy of feeding activity. As I got my meagre fishing kit sorted out, I swear the water in front of me started to bubble, as fish leapt from the water in tens, presumably to escape larger predators beneath.

We couldn’t work this out at first, seeing a seagull struggling on the surface. Eventually we realised a stoat-like animal had grabbed it, not a pleasant sight

Casting the lure in, I had a fish in seconds. And another, and another. The odd cast yielded no bites, but in the main I’d catch something every time. The German chap beside me, using a huge lure kept catching fish, from their sides. Yep, he was hooking fish after fish by simply pulling the lure through water thick with them. At one point I pulled in a whopper, for me anyway, and had to restrain a whoop of delight as by this point I was surrounded by folks catching bigger ones. Ju saw a girl unpacking a new rod and being shown how to use it. Five minutes later the lass caught a whale of a fish. Small fish leapt onto the rocks to escape the frenzy, larger fish filled the shallows, seagulls squawked in the thousands, grabbing at fish breaking the surface. Four or five small fishing boats buzzed around. I was in a frenzy myself, I admit, catching an entire bucket of fish.

Pulling in a pollock at the Saltstraumen

Having never caught so many fish, I had no idea how long it would take to prepare ’em all!

Note chap on orange, he’s pulling in a multi-hook line with three fish attached – 3 in 1 – wow!

This all happened an hour or two before the height of the maelstrom. The tourist office in Bodø hands out pages showing the four times of day (and night) when the water flows fastest, and we were due to peak at 7:28pm. Gutted our fish wouldn’t fit in the fridge, I whipped the heads and tails off so they’d squeeze in, and off we set in the drizzle to stand on the bridge. Below us the scene played out as it must have for millennia, with the addition of the odd speed boat full of yellow-clad punters blasting about on the white-water whirlpools and eddies. After a chat with our motorhome neighbour’s wife, from near Munich, who confirmed the police overlook free-camping here, we got back into Zagan to complete the fish filleting marathon.

Ju at the Saltstraumen Maelstrom

None of the punters would let go to wave at us up on the bridge – can’t blame ’em!

The maelstrom was much more impressive than I’d imagined. Charlie wasn’t happy up on the bridge, or we’d have stayed for a good while to watch it

Not a bad way to spend a Saturday evening, watching nature show its power

I’m blogging on a Sunday morning as a result of being too tired last night. The sun’s glancing off the straight, the seagulls are quiet and the skies are clearing. Behind me gun metal grey mountains rise, not high but still holding broad pockets of snow. The waters are still moving quickly, but checking the timetable the next big maelstrom’s not due for another 4 hours. With no more room for fish in the freezer, it looks like time to be heading off. After a fresh coffee brew and a bit of breakfast that is.

Fillets of fish. Zagan looked and smelled like the inside of a chippy last night

Late night fish and chip nosh-up

Cheers, Jay

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