HLM -Chapter 1340 River Fishing

The Golden Waterfall got its name from its unique geographical location.

Wang Bo had read in a travel magazine that because of the waterfall’s turbulent rush, the droplets sprayed into the air would, under sunlight, appear golden, making the entire waterfall look as if it were forged from gold—a truly magnificent sight.

With anticipation, he drove to the waterfall’s parking lot. From there, the waterfall was already visible, though only a misty veil could be seen—no golden hue at all.

“Is there no sunlight today?” Old Wang asked, tilting his head in confusion, only to see the sun high in the sky, radiating a gentle glow.

Eva explained, “The fame of scenic spots is always somewhat exaggerated. Besides, it’s winter now, the sunlight is weak, so not seeing gold is normal.”

Wang Bo sighed in disappointment. “Then let’s get closer and take a look.”

The waterfall surged downward with a thunderous roar.

Naturally, it wasn’t a place to bring a baby. Mother Bo stayed behind to care for the child, while the other four ventured forward together.

Since they had Little Wang, Zhuang Ding, and the Fat Cat brothers in the car, Wang Bo didn’t have to worry about his mother and the child’s safety. Besides, Iceland’s public security ranks first in the world.

Since 2012, this country had officially been recognized by UNESCO as the most peaceful nation in the world.

The evaluation considered many indicators: crime rate, political stability, proportion of prison population, and so on. Iceland scored top marks in many categories.

For example, in just three days of visiting Iceland, Wang Bo noticed a habit among the Icelanders: when shopping, they would tie their pets outside, and even leave babies at the door. Who in the rest of the world would dare do that?

At this time, Iceland was in its off-season, and there were few tourists. The Golden Waterfall, therefore, wasn’t crowded either.

When the four arrived at the viewing platform, only a few dozen people were scattered along the riverbank, taking photos.

This worked to Wang Bo’s advantage; with fewer people, he could get to the front line to admire the waterfall. The Golden Waterfall might not be golden, but its scale and power were undeniably overwhelming.

At 2,500 meters wide and 70 meters high, the numbers alone were impressive. But standing there, Wang Bo was truly awed by the sight.

Sunlight on the incense burner produces purple smoke; from afar, the waterfall hangs over the river. A torrent falls three thousand feet straight down; it seems like the Milky Way descending from the heavens.

The mist was so dense that Wang Bo couldn’t see even 2,500 meters ahead, giving the waterfall an endless, majestic impression.

The raging water rushed down, crashing into the canyon with immense force. The dozens-of-meters drop made the river roar deafeningly as it struck the ground.

Eva bought four pairs of earplugs and handed them out. Only after putting them on did Wang Bo feel comfortable.

However, this muffled the primal, earth-shaking impact of the waterfall.

On the platform, some people were painting the scenery. Wang Bo walked over to look. One artist turned and laughed loudly: “Are you tourists?”

Wang Bo nodded. “Yes, we came because of the reputation.”

The artist paused his brush and said regretfully, “Too bad, you’re visiting in the wrong season. In spring, the area is lush green; summer has dazzling sunlight; autumn brings flocks of birds. Now, there’s nothing, and the water flow is at its lowest for the year.”

Wang Bo replied, “Still, it’s awe-inspiring. It’s my first time seeing such a massive waterfall.”

“You’re not seeing the full view. For the complete panorama, it’s best to take a helicopter, but they can’t operate in winter.”

“Why?” Old Wang didn’t mind spending money for the scenery.

The man pointed to his damp sketchpad. “Look at the mist. It clings to the helicopter’s body, wings, even the engine. In winter, if it freezes—what then?”

He then briefly explained the waterfall.

The Golden Waterfall is Iceland’s largest fault-line canyon waterfall, forming upper and lower tiers. They were currently at the upper fall, 50 meters high. Further downstream lay the lower fall.

“You can go down and see. The river narrows into rapids downstream, and it’s home to delicious salmon. It’s not the salmon breeding season, but with luck, you can still catch fresh, uncontaminated salmon!”

Wang Bo thanked him, wished him success with his painting, then took several photos before they boarded the park’s tram to go downstream.

“Downstream” was relative; the two falls were close, less than two kilometers apart.

Here, the river narrowed sharply, with neat railings on either side. Even in winter, the current was ferocious.

Yet some people still stood in the water to fish—on rocks or at the river’s edge where it was shallow.

Wang Bo went to observe, and someone waved at him: “Tourist, don’t go down! Be careful not to slip into the water, it’s dangerous!”

Respecting the warning, he stayed on the upper path.

A nearby man laughed: “Don’t be scared. There’s no rule against tourists going down to the riverbank. Just don’t cross the railings.”

Encouraged, Wang Bo stepped down. After all, what’s the point of visiting if you only observe from afar?

The fishermen either used rods or cast nets, each with a fish tank beside them. Wang Bo peeked inside; there were fish in every tank.

An elderly man with graying hair started hauling his net ashore. The fast current and heavy net made it strenuous, and his movements looked laborious.

Seeing this, Wang Bo removed his jacket and stepped forward, taking over the man’s position. He moved his elbows outward and used chest strength to pull the net back, much like an ancient woman weaving.

The elderly man relaxed, recognizing Wang Bo’s skill.

At first, the net was heavy, gradually becoming lighter as it came in. Even then, Wang Bo had to exert himself.

He smiled at the man. “Looks like a good haul.”

The man grinned. “Wonderful. Worth waking up so early.”

They pulled in a resilient net containing three fish—one nearly the length of Wang Bo’s forearm, the others over twenty centimeters.

All three were the same species: long, round-bodied, resembling weaving shuttles.

Wang Bo was surprised. “I thought there’d be ten or more.”

The three fish were stronger than he expected.

The man chuckled: “That’s normal. They grow in cold water, which takes time. So their strength far exceeds farmed fish.”