How to go fishing in Helsinki - Long read

I wish I could say that this story doesn’t begin in a sauna. Starting any article about Finland in a sauna seems such a cliche. However, hopefully the truth won’t get in the way of a good mediocre story.





Every Saturday the apartment building where I live has lenkisauna, which basically translates as running sauna. It’s a sort of communal time-slot, one for men and one for women, when you can use the building's sauna for free as long as you don’t mind sharing with other people. The best thing is that it’s also the time when the Finnish seem to be at their most gregarious and all the polite but timid faces that normally just pass quickly on the stairwell with minimum eye contact, suddenly transform into people with personalities, stories, problems and questions. It was at one of these at which I met a naked neighbour who turned out to be a master fisherman.

Why is this important? Well, for most of my life I’ve dreamed of living off the land. At one particularly difficult period I managed to drag myself through an existential crisis with just cigarettes and back episodes of Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall’s River Cottage. Ray Mears quietly resolving the problems of life with his unshakeable calm, like Paddington’s Ghurka brother, has also been a great inspiration. So things that make me feel I’m on the path to self-sufficient paradise excite me greatly. Unfortunately, apart from, drinking water from streams and forcing down my not-very-nice dandelion salad, progress along the path has been slow.

But then I moved to an island in Helsinki. Within months I’d picked buckets of berries, first blue then lingon, collected and fried wild fungi, made a tiny basket out of birch bark, brewed pine needle tea and joined the local farmers' market group on Facebook. This last step may seem fatuos but getting grubby veg. from a car park seems eons closer to the wilderness than the shiny stuff from the neon sterility of the supermarket.

Speed along the Whittingstall-Mears path had picked up. I had also noticed that the bridge near my house was often packed with fisherman filling buckets with very shiny silvery fish, sometimes three or four on one line. It seemed so easy. Water, water everywhere, and as far as I can make out it’s full of fish.  As with many sports and hobbies though, it seemed like a secret world of which I was on the outside. Now though, thanks to the sauna, I’d found an in.

My dog Marlene picking berries

Back in the Sauna, naked neighbour and I had some beers and like a gold crazed pirate he told he told me of the great riches to be had off the coasts of Helsinki. All you needed to do was cast, put the rod into the ground, then wait. He told me of a new fishing shop which had recently opened up. The boys in there are young, he warned me, but they will help you find the treasure, or fish. Giddy with excitement, and beer, and ninety degree sauna heat, I immediately forgot the address of the shop but it mattered not. I’d search this whole island if needs be.

A few weeks later, after failing to find the shop on the internet, I realised I’d have to search the whole island. I headed first down to the harbour. I’d seen some sailing shops so I thought I’d ask there since they’re probably all part of some happy water sports community. They’re not, and they couldn't help me. However, next to the sailing shops was a outdoor clothing outlet which very kindly helped me have a second look on the internet, this time using Finnish words. Bingo. I’d cracked the code and the shop was just around the corner.

KALASTUKKA is the loveliest shop. Recently opened and barely high enough to put the rods together it’s managed excellently by a patient man who also speaks English. The walls are packed with all of the shiny treats that will soon turn your hobby into a financial disaster. I explained my predicament and he kindly didn’t attempt to sell me the latest carbon-fibre-digital-GPS model but instead got me the entire kit including a pot of dutch worms* for less than 40 euros.

*Finnish worms aren't available commercially.

Here’s what you need.

Rod

Reel

Toxic looking weight (TLW)

Swively thing

More line with hook

Dutch worms

He very kindly explained walked me through the steps; Put the reel on the rod, the line through the rod holes (hope this isn’t getting too technical), then through the TLW and tie onto the swively thing with a series of amateurish knots. Then tie the other piece of line with the hook onto the other end of the swivel and you’re set. Now all I had to do was go fishing.

Note: In Finland you need a licence to fish, then you’ll need another one if you plan to use more than one rod. You can do it all on this website for 39 euros though some Finnish skills will be necessary.  

Now I had to choose where to fish. I’d seen plenty of fishermen on the granite rocks just a few minutes from my house so I headed down there with the dog to join my new brethren. There wasn't a soul to be seen. The entire coastline was silent of rods or reels. My fisherman instinct already kicking-in sensed this was an ominous sign. Still, I was there. At least I’d be able to practice the system. I tied everything together, wrestled a very reluctant dutch worm onto the hook and then lobbed it all into the sea. I’d asked patient fishing shop man how far out the bait needs to be. He'd considered me for a second then advised, "as far as you can cast", with emphasis on the you. With a plop everything disappeared into the water. Then I waited.

My insane fishing companion

I waited for a hour, recasting every 15 minutes, then went home.  Once the gear snagged excitingly on the bottom and to the casual passer by it must have looked like I was reeling in a seal. Then the line snapped but thanks to patient fishing shop man's rig I only lost the hook. Perhaps in a thousand years or so, when the river has long gone, some archaeologist will find that rock with my hook embedded in it and make some sweeping generalisations about my lifestyle. Hopefully he’ll see me more as a survivalist and less as an eco-hipster.

The second trip was much like the first and by the third my expectations were so low that I took with me some books, my Finnish vocabulary notes, a sandwich and some binoculars to pass the time. If I wasn’t catching any fish at least I’d learn the difference between a Common Tern and a Black-Headed Gull.

Black-headed gull. 

Common tern

Then, after about half an hour the rod began to twitch. I’d mostly forgotten that I was still fishing so it took me a couple of seconds to react. It was definitely a fish, you could feel it kicking and flipping on the line. I reeled it in slowly, terrified that something would break, then finally it appeared, a monster, almost a kilo long. Not wanting to risk swinging it into the air I jumped down into the water and grabbed it out with my hand. One crack on the back of the head with my knife and it lay dead. Amazing.  

Siika or Whitefish

So there you have it. How to go fishing in Helsinki. It takes a bit of time and patience, but it does work. I caught and ate a fish and it was delish. The truth is though, the effort is worth it just for the amazing feeling of calm that comes from just sitting next to the sea. The fish was a bonus.