I'm situated on a bump of grass rooting its way into the Fljótaá River. My earthen perch is barely bigger than my boots so my balance is precarious. Despite wobbling, I'm content concentrating on the current in front of me. I don't have to worry about snags on my back cast because there are no trees in Iceland. No shade either, but it's the island's first cold snap so I welcome the sun seeping over the top of surrounding ridges dusted white overnight after the northern lights went to bed.

I’ll fish any fly. Really, I’ll fish anything. I have zero hang ups about synthetic materials or fluorescent colors. I don’t care if the fly is fur and feathers or nylon and silicone. If a plastic minnow caught more trout than a Pheasant Tail nymph, I’d fish it. But the Pheasant Tail is better. Trust me. I’ve fished a lot of nymphs and too many plastic minnows.