Icelandic Cod Fishing

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It was early fall of 2013 and found myself invited aboard 1272 Sturla GK-12, an Icelandic Cod Fishing boat. Soon after setting foot on the boat with my large camera and personal bag in tote, I found myself following Sindri, a new friend, and experienced fisherman aboard the boat. I squeezed through tiny doorways, rushing to follow quickly behind, up and down a bewildering maze of ladders and doors. Quick introductions were made to the men of Sturla, as they hurried calmly to do their jobs, loading up for another routine journey out to longline fish in the open sea for four days and three nights. Finally settling myself in my bunk with a peculiar odor of dead fish, sweat and stale air. My bunk which was a converted sauna wasn’t built normal, and the bed rocked head to foot, not side to side. As you “slept” and the boat swayed, you slide to up to your head, then down to your feet. Your intestines sliding up and down, up and down all night long.

The boat headed out six hours east of Iceland into the glacier blue Norweigan Sea. Then the work began. The crew worked in two teams of five men each, rotating every six hours for three nights and four days straight. The boat was continually baiting, setting long lines out, hauling them back in with cod, killing, bleeding, gutting, and icing. Repeat. All the while the Captain and first mate took even longer shifts of twelve hours, fueled by constant coffee, steering the boat, finding the best place to lay the long lines, and taking responsibility for the safety of everyone on the boat. The never-ending storytelling chef kept everyone full, supplying snacks all day of cheese sandwiches and apple slices. Even hanging fresh-caught fish in the air to dry to make Harðfiskur. A delicious dehydrated cod you eat with butter. In between hauls, the men drank coffee and smoked cigarettes in a break room with quintessential naked lady photos. A big-bellied, suspender wearing, red-cheeked, jolly mechanic maintained a continuously moving original 1967 piston M.A.K. engine.

While all these guys worked with ease and walked with the confidence of being on solid ground, it was tricky to get my sea legs in 15 plus foot waves and the occasional random big wave slamming you into the wall. I spent a lot of time hugging the closest wall. Eventually, I was able to maintain standing while looking through a camera viewfinder, capturing an incredible, to me, experience. It is a miracle I never got seasick. *knock on wood* There is something calming about being in a situation so out of your control, to let go of worry and trust the boat and Mother Nature to protect you. At sea you are at the whims of the world. It makes sense why fishermen have such superstitions.

Photographing these men was an honor and a real joy. To be able to show them a new perspective of what they think of just mundane, normal work, shocked them. Many of the men were surprised when I shared their portraits of themselves and co-workers. One man joked, “I have never seen him actually look happy!” I am so thankful for the experience and to the boat and the whole crew for being so welcoming to me, especially those who only spoke Icelandic.