‘In a fit of buyer’s remorse, the salmon leapt, then headed for the rapids’ MORE line. Mend up. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait—hotspot. Now, stripping!’ Yesterday morning I was at my desk; this evening, I am running a conehead tube down the tail of the Home Pool, with Genna the Russian guide at my elbow. There is a silver flare in the stream and I’m into my first ever Rynda salmon. ‘My friend, you are very lucky fisher,’ he declares. Well, just being here is a stroke of good fortune. Tide-bright, 10lb, weighed, tagged and released. ‘And now,’ announces Genna, ‘many vodka.’
One of the quintessentially wild, northern rivers that debouches into the Barents Sea from the Kola peninsula, the Rynda flows through pristine tundra—there are no roads in…
