Chasing Wild Icelandic Trout: A Deep Dive Into Heidar Valley’s Raw, Untouched Fishing

With: rustiefly

This interview drops you straight into a week in Iceland’s Heidar Valley — the kind of place that wakes up slow, reveals itself one ridge at a time, and leaves you feeling like you’ve stepped into something untouched. From pre-dawn gear checks outside a quiet lodge to long days chasing wild trout across lakes and rivers within walking distance, the story unfolds with that perfect mix of raw landscape, good friends, and the kind of moments you wish you could freeze in time. Add in a few laughs, a couple of knockout fish, and a reminder of why wild places matter, and you’ve got a trip that any fly angler — especially those of us who live for the outdoors — can’t help but lean into.

When you first arrived in the Heidar Valley, what stood out the most — the landscape, the atmosphere, or the feeling that something special was about to happen?

I had already talked to some of my Icelandic friends about the place, so we knew the fishing would be something special. We arrived at night, and in early October, it’s completely dark in Iceland by then.

Waking up that first morning was something else. I was outside the lodge, disinfecting all the fishing gear before the sun came up. Slowly, as the light started to creep in, more and more of the landscape around the lodge came into view. It’s honestly some of the most striking scenery I’ve ever seen. Hard to describe, it just feels sharp, raw, and completely unpolished. I’ve been to Iceland many times before, but this little valley… it hits different. It’s brutal, in a beautiful way.

What did a typical day look like out there — sunrise to sunset? Were you running and gunning, or slowing things down and soaking it in?

I always struggle to sleep when I know there’s good fishing just outside the door. I’d wake up in the dark, before anyone else in the crew, and jump straight into my waders. The lake, Heiðarvatn, is just a five-minute walk from the lodge, and the outlet where it drains into the river Vatnsá is a proper hotspot.

Most mornings, I’d fish that spot for about half an hour, hoping that some big fish had moved in during the night, something trout often do as spawning time gets close. I’d usually be back at the lodge just as the rest of the crew was waking up.

We’d make our own breakfast and brew some good coffee before heading out. The options in this area are endless, and a week is nowhere near enough to cover it all. So, we’d split into smaller groups and fish the first half of the day in one spot. Then it was back to the lodge for a hot lunch before heading out again for the afternoon session.

It was a nice rhythm, fishing the river in the morning and hitting the lake in the afternoon, or the other way around. The whole river is within walking distance from the lodge, and most of the lake too, though it’s handy to have a car if you want to cover more ground around the lake.

Every great trip comes with a good laugh — was there a moment of chaos, mishap, or classic fishing banter that needs to be retold?

Right outside the lodge, there’s a great pool in the river that holds several sea trout well over 10 pounds. We had all seen them and tried for them over a couple of sessions, without any luck. Everyone had taken a shot. Everyone except Tuva.

She had mostly been filming. Not because she wasn’t interested, but because she already landed a 14-pound sea trout on the very first morning, still the biggest fish of the trip. Tuva is my girlfriend, and I’ve been teaching her fly fishing for about six years now.

One evening, we asked if she wanted to take a turn at the home pool. She said, “Yes, but only if I get to do it my way.”

She’d been watching the rest of us work the pool with upstream nymphing and indicators, but Tuva had a different plan. She decided to approach from above, crawling the last 20 meters on her stomach to get into position. I was crawling behind her with the camera, until she turned and told me, in a very serious tone, that I wasn’t staying low enough, and the fish might see me.

Yes, we’ve now reached the stage of our relationship where Tuva occasionally teaches me how to fish.

In her own very untraditional way, she dead-drifted an indicator rig with a rubber-legged nymph down through the pool. And, well… I probably don’t even have to say it, but she hooked one of the biggest sea trout in the pool. And she landed it.

A total knockout performance from the only girl in the crew, now holding both of the trip’s biggest fish — and honestly, it put a smile on all the guys’ faces.

If you could freeze one moment from the trip — not even a fish necessarily, just a feeling — what would it be?

Without a doubt, the first night at the lodge stands out. The first glasses of wine, perfect. Conversations with old friends and new ones, all of us buzzing with excitement about the days ahead. At that moment, a week feels like forever. Everyday life fades away, and what lies ahead is a week of pure joy. 

If someone’s dreaming about fishing Iceland but hasn’t pulled the trigger — what would you tell them before they book the flight?

Iceland is wild. It feels untouched in a way few places do.

In many parts of the world like New Zealand, Argentina, the U.S., even many places in Norway trout have been introduced by humans. Stocked, managed, altered. But in Iceland, the trout and salmon are as native and pure as they come. These are some of the most original, wild genetics left on the planet.

But that might not last forever.

Recently, Norwegian open-pen salmon farming companies have begun operations in Iceland’s fjords. And already, farmed salmon have escaped and started spawning in pristine rivers, risking the genetic integrity of Iceland’s wild fish.

If you’ve ever dreamed of fishing Iceland, don’t wait. Go now. Experience this raw, wild place while it’s still the way it should be, and join us in the fight to protect it.

Head over to the North Atlantic Salmon Fund (NASF) to learn more about what’s happening — and what you can do right now.