Creatures of the night
Brothers Jacob and Albin Eliasson are bewitched by the giant brown trout of Sweden’s boreal forest rivers
WHEN THE August darkness slowly returns to Swedish Lapland, my brother Albin and I find solace in the ancient pine forests. Armed with outdoor and fly-fishing gear and a deep love for the wild, we head out in search of giant brown trout that hide in the dark.
We base our journeys out of Skellefteå, the town where we both live and grew up. We look at maps almost daily, dreaming of different places we have visited or want to explore. What we look for are streams flowing between big lakes. To find them, we regularly travel a few hours by car deep into Norrland — the northernmost, largest, and most sparsely populated of Sweden’s three traditional regions — where migratory brown trout travel to feed, or to reproduce later in the autumn.
There is a particular kind of silence that only exists in the northern Swedish boreal forest during the second half of August. It is not an empty silence but a heavy, breathing pause where nature holds its breath before the gentle arrival of autumn. The mosquitoes have lost their fierce mid-summer aggression, the nights have reclaimed their velvety darkness after months of relentless midnight sun, and the scent of damp moss, pine needles, and ripening cloudberries hangs thick between the dense spruce trunks.
The final sliver of orange light dips below the canopy at the Björnbäcken river, Sweden.
Deep within this wilderness runs a river. We call it Björnbäcken — the Bear Creek. It is an anonymous, quiet pulse of amber-coloured water that twists and turns through endless miles of old-growth forest and vast peat bogs. To the untrained eye, it might not look much as it glimmers faintly through the thick brush. But beneath its dark, peat-stained surface live wild, ancient creatures: migratory brown trout with rich colours and spotted bellies.
The mosquitoes have lost their fierce mid-summer aggression, the nights have reclaimed their velvety darkness after months of relentless midnight sun
My brother, Albin, and I had driven deep into this backcountry in separate cars, navigating the winding gravel tracks until the roads dissolved into the moss. By travelling separately, we could turn our cars into simple, self-contained base camps. We parked them side-by-side on a narrow logging turnaround and cleared out the back panels to serve as our beds for the weekend. Sleeping in our cars wasn't about seeking hardship; it was a choice born out of a desire to be as close to the river and fishing as possible.
This was the first night of two in which we would fish here this season. After a year of planning, waiting, and longing, we were standing once again on the gravel bar by the riverbank, watching the final sliver of orange daylight dip below the jagged tree line.
Nearly time: Dancing clouds in the moonlight.
A camp fire and food in preparation for a frantic night.
“I’m so excited for tonight; it's nice to fish before the mink eyes* kick in,” Albin said. “I have a feeling that this is going to be a good night.”
*Mink eyes: a condition in which sleep deprivation meets a trout-bum’s fishing enthusiasm, resulting in staring eyes after nights out fishing. Rumour has it that this affects focus, but it is unknown if this is in a positive or negative way.
If we hadn’t fished this place before, we would probably have started before dark — it is wise to learn the rocks and gravel you walk on, find guidelines in the water, and know how many retrieves you can make before recasting in different pools.
This creates a cat-and-mouse game, moving the fly so fast that fish hardly have time to think before striking
We fish with either single-handed or double-handed rods in seven- or eight-weight. We use floating lines to fish the fly in different ways. If I fish during the day, I often just dead-drift the fly through a pool as slowly as I can or hang it so that it fishes in a nice arc over the “neck”. In these instances, I usually use a smaller Sunray, 4cm-8cm in length.
When it gets darker, I tend to fish in the same way but switch to a longer, 10cm-15cm Sunray, to make its silhouette even more prominent. If dead-drifting or hanging the fly over the neck doesn't work, I fish strategically further out at different angles — fanning casts like the ribs of an umbrella — and then retrieve the fly as quickly as possible. This creates a cat-and-mouse game, moving the fly so fast that fish hardly have time to think before striking.
Patterns for the night shift: (Top) 6-10cm Sub-Surface Muddler Zonkers tied with a deer-hair head and a rabbit-strip wing. These push a distinct wave of displacement through the water that trout can easily detect. (Bottom) 4-15cm Sunray Shadows tied on a lightweight plastic tube with a long goat-hair wing. These are fished on a tight line to create a distinct wake on the surface, dead-drifted, or hung using the "belly" of the line.
Leader length and strength
The single-hander 7X set-up, with long leader and Sunray.
THESE BIG migratory brown trout are incredibly aware of their surroundings. Even in the pitch-black, a fly-line landing with a splash or casting a shadow over a pool can put them on edge. To be as stealthy as possible, we use an ultra-long leaders of 18-20ft. When we swing a Sunray Shadow across the tail of Tuggumminacken or strip a Muddler Zonker through Sjönacken, the long leader ensures that the fly-line stays far away from the trout’s window of vision. The fly therefore moves alone, a tiny, natural shape drifting through the current. Our tapering formula is simple but effective. We start with a 13ft pre-tapered Loop Synchro Multi Leader in 0.35mm (19lb 4oz) and to this we add at least 5ft of 0.31mm fluorocarbon tippet (17lb 1oz). We choose a fluorocarbon tippet because it is strong, abrasion resistant, and is invisible in the amber current. Managing a leader up to 20ft long in the dark requires slow, deliberate movements and a lot of patience. It can be testing, and tangles do happen, but it forces you to slow down and pay attention to the rhythm of your cast. When the line tightens and a big trout comes to the net, that patience is entirely worth it.
Occasionally, the entire night of fishing feels “hot”, but the absolute best time is just as dusk begins to fall or when dawn arrives. Perhaps it is because we see better. Maybe the fish do too? You have even greater certainty of where the fly lands — behind or in front of stones and into deep holes where trout hold up — which ultimately makes the fishing much more effective.
On this night, we started at the head of a pool we call “Tuggumminacken”, the chewing gum neck — which got its name from a time our friend Pelle lay on a rock and got a piece of gum stuck in his hair. I won’t tell you who placed it there…
You develop creeping certainty that something is about to step out from the back of a tree or start chasing you from behind
We fished our way down the pool in tandem, moving slowly, content with the simple rhythm of casting and stepping. Albin went first, swinging his Sunray Shadow at a 45-degree angle across the current, letting it skate gently across the surface tension under the starry sky. After a few casts, just as the fly swung into the glassy water right above the rapids at Tuggumminacken, the quiet night was interrupted by a sudden, heavy splash. A trout had taken the fly on the swing, and Albin's rod bent into a deep arc.
“I think it's a nice one,” he said with a large smile.
Albin's first, a beautiful trout from the rapids at Tuggumminacken.
The trout swam hard, utilizing the heavy river current, but we took our time, enjoying the shared moment. After a few minutes, I slipped the net under a magnificent, heavily spotted brown trout. We took a quick photo, revived the fish against the current, and with a powerful slap of its tail it disappeared into the dark river. We stood in silence for a moment, grateful to have landed such a fish. The night went by and we struggled to catch anything else. We refueled with some coffee, which gave us the energy for one last go.
I looked at my watch — it was close to 3am. I told Albin that I would walk to a pool we call the “Sjönacken”. To reach it, I had to leave the open riverbed and navigate a thick, overgrown section of the woods. Walking through a boreal pine forest in the dead of night is a humbling experience; it strips away any illusion of human confidence. Even with my headlamp switched on, the darkness felt absolute, almost physical, as the dense forest walls swallowed the beam and the towering silhouettes of the pines seemed to close in around me. In that pitch-black, your mind plays tricks on you. You feel incredibly small and a primal, childlike fear kicks in. You develop creeping certainty that something is about to step out from the back of a tree or start chasing you from behind. Having recently watched a string of horror films, I found myself silently cursing that late-night decision. My imagination ran wild as terrifying scenes flashed in my mind as the forest shadows stretched and twisted into grotesque shapes. In a minor state of panic, I frantically swung the beam of my headlamp from side to side, checking the dark gaps between the spruce trunks, half-expecting two glowing eyes to stare back at me.
The beam from Jacob’s headlamp slices through a dark forest full of shifting shadows and vivid imagination.
The first hint of a pale blue dawn in the eastern sky.
When I finally reached the Sjönacken, I turned off the headlamp and could hear my heart beating. The first hint of light returned to the sky, and I could make out the outlines of the stones again. My fly-fishing mood returned quickly, buoyed by the hope of an early-morning result.
I had decided not to change my Sunray, but instead of letting the fly swing passively on a tight line, I cast straight across to the opposite bank and stripped it hard and fast to imitate a panicked sculpin.
Crawling into the backs of our respective cars, surrounded by the smell of pine needles and damp gear, we felt an immense sense of peace
Out of nowhere, a massive fish hit the fly on a short line. The impact almost pulled the rod from my grip. The fish didn't jump; it simply headed upstream like a freight train, forcing me to stumble over slippery rocks to follow it. I put on my headlamp and could see Albin running towards me with the net, shouting encouragement through the half-light.
When the fish slid into the mesh, we were amazed to see its wide girth. It was a breathtaking creature — holding it in the cold water felt like a privilege. It was a magnificent bonus to what already was a perfect night.
Jacob’s breathtaking trout, caught on a single-hander and Sunray Shadow.
As dawn began to paint the eastern sky in shades of pale blue, we walked back through the wet, quiet forest towards our vehicles. Crawling into the backs of our respective cars, surrounded by the smell of pine needles and damp gear, we felt an immense sense of peace. Hunting migratory trout in the Swedish interior requires patience and a willingness to lose sleep, but for Albin and me, the fish are never the main goal. They are simply a bonus to the allure of the forest, the joy of brotherhood, and the privilege of sleeping under the northern sky.
This had been an incredible night, but it is not always like this. Sometimes, all we come home with is a severe lack of sleep. But then, sometimes, you get a night like this one — a night you will remember forever, featuring one or several trophy fish. This was our first night out here along Björnbäcken — an incredible start to the trip — and we knew that tomorrow would bring a new day, filled with opportunity.
Tackling the forest rivers
A Classic with its audible click — ideal for alerting the brothers to a hooked trout.
The banks of a forest river like Björnbäcken are choked with ancient spruce, and the limbs hang low over the water. As such, false casting can result in snagged branches. To avoid this, you need to use the correct tackle.
Rods
Albin opts for a Loop 7X 11ft 6in seven-weight Switch rod, or a 7X 13ft 2in eight-weight double-hander. Albin’s switch rod is wonderfully efficient because it requires very little back-cast space. By using the water’s surface tension to anchor the line before the forward stroke, he can lay out a gentle line parallel to the bank without snagging the trees behind him. This also allows him to stay tucked into the shadows, away from the cautious trout.
Meanwhile, my single-hander gives me just enough leverage to lift the belly of the line clear of grabby shoreline boulders and poke the fly under low-hanging branches. For this I use my Loop 7X 9ft 6in seven-weight.
Reels
We pair our single-handers with Loop’s Opti Runner and Classic (7-9wt), while the switch rod is paired with an Opti Speedrunner, and our 13ft 2in double-hander an Opti Strike.
By using the water’s surface tension to anchor the line before the forward stroke, he can lay out a gentle line parallel to the bank without snagging the trees behind him
Fly-lines
Select lines that you’re comfortable using to turn over long leaders in the dark, but your choice should be as much about stealth as it is about casting. Pick lines that minimize false casting, as this can easily spook the fish. We also want our flies — be they a skating Sunray Shadow or a drifting Muddler Zonker — to land softly on the water. For single-handed rods, a short-headed floating line is needed to turn over big flies. We use an old Loop Marauder Predator line. On the switch rod, we use a Gaelforce Equalizer 6/7wt Switch and Short Spey line, which offers a more subtle presentation. With our double-hander, we use an old Loop SDS kit (using the floating belly and the floating tip).
PHOTOGRAPY: JACOB AND ALBIN ELIASSON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eliasson brothers
Brothers Jacob (left) and Albin Eliasson are Loop ambassadors and founders of Flyfishingstories, where they bring their love of media creation and guiding to anglers everywhere. Born and raised in Skellefteå, Sweden, Jacob has been a fly-fisher since the age of ten and now works in a fly shop (as well as being a father of two), while younger brother Albin, a trained physiotherapist, started fishing a little later. Both love catching all species on a fly, but exploration and adventure is their true passion. For more information, visit www.flyfishingstories.com or email flyfishingstories@outlook.com
