Aaroy river
8th July 2023

The platforms of despair - Aaroy river

I stand quietly on worn wooden planks, the fierce current rushing relentlessly beneath my feet. The line drifts steadily through the seam, and for a second, nothing else exists but the sound of rushing water. The magical seconds before a salmon takes when the entire river seems to pause, holding its breath.

Where it all begins

These are the "platforms of despair," the platforms are more than just wood and nails. These were built in 1919 by Major W.J. Smith. They extend boldly into the rapid area in the river, like the ribs of a forgotten creature. Standing on them, I feel the echo of generations who've fished here, challenged by a river that never yields easily and salmon that humble even the greatest anglers.

I clearly remember my first step onto these platforms. A deep sense of respect flooded me, not fear, but an acute awareness of where I stood, who had come before, and the stories these timbers held.

More than just timber

Engineered for function, yes, bolted into a place where the river's current is running fastest, where salmon hold deep and anglers dare not go. But it's the feeling they hold that matters more. I've watched guests pause before stepping onto them, sensing that this isn't just a platform; it's a threshold.

There's a weight to it, the kind you feel in your chest. The kind that says many have stood here before you, and not all walked away with a fish.

A name forged in patience

"Despair" might seem overly dramatic, but after endless hours battling wind and rain, cold creeping into bones, and the relentless silence of the river, that makes perfect sense. Yet alongside this despair always sits hope. Every cast, every careful mend, holds the potential of glory, one fish away from the catch of a lifetime.

Charles Ritz stood here too

Charles Ritz stood right here, his writings capturing the essence of these platforms. I imagine him beside me, shoulders tense, eyes fixed intently on the line, waiting for that unmistakable pull. Here, titles mean nothing; wealth counts for nothing. All that matters is skill, patience, and all, endurance.

When the river roars

During high water, the sound of the river is deafening, swallowing voices and trembling beneath our feet. In moments like these, I've sprinted across these planks, racing towards an angler whose reel screamed against the rush of a strong salmon. The platforms flex and creak under our boots, alive with every step, every battle fought.

Fishing what you can't reach

There are pools unreachable from shore, depths impossible to wade, but salmon rest precisely there, hidden, waiting. The platforms of despair in Aaroy are not about to tame this wild river. But to respectfully join it, to meet the salmon on their terms.

The fight begins

When a salmon strikes from the platforms, it hits deep and hard. The rod bends sharply, and the fly reel screams urgently. Everything hinges on those early moments when everything is exploding. Hold the fly rod angle right, stay calm, and maybe you'll earn your prize.

Letting go

We always release them, kneeling quietly in shallow water, hands gently supporting the fish. Holding it feels sacred. Watching the salmon regain strength, slowly pulsing life back into its body, is a moment that speaks louder than words.

A century of stories

On these platforms, my mind doesn't linger on numbers or records. Instead, I think of the countless anglers who stood here before me, casting into the same currents with the same quiet imagination, that perhaps this next swing might change everything.