Chapter 1. The call of the Arctic waters.

January 1905

The biting wind sweeps across the deck as we ready our vessel for the journey ahead. The Arctic cod, known as skrei, are making their annual migration from the Barents Sea to the spawning grounds of Lofoten. This journey of theirs is centuries old, a rhythm as ancient as the mountains that rise over Henningsvær, and it is the rhythm of our lives too.

Each man aboard knows the stakes. The nets are ready, the boats laden with supplies, but there is no certainty in the sea. The skrei come in waves, sometimes abundant, sometimes sparse. Every journey begins with hope and ends with a story—whether one of bounty or of hardship.

These cod, known as skrei, are prized across Europe. Legends whisper of skrei so large they defy belief—88, 96 kilos, the old men say. Whether such giants are truth or tale, every fisherman here dreams of hauling one in, of feeling the nets groan under the weight of the sea’s bounty.

As we cast off, the racks lining Henningsvær’s shore are empty, their wooden arms outstretched, waiting. These racks, called hjell, will soon be heavy with cod, hanging to dry in the salty air, feeding families not just here but far beyond these islands.  As we push off into the cold, choppy waters, the village recedes behind us. Ahead lies uncertainty, but also hope—the promise of skrei.