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| Jon and his viking boat. Photo by Chris Paltzat |
Beaming
with pride, Jón fires up the engine of his mighty viking boat and heads for the
open waters of the picturesque fjord.
“Don't
mind the smoke,” says the senior clad in winter clothing. I take a seat in the
middle of the boat where salty waves splash my face, leaving me with a chill.
I
ask Jón about his boat that has a dozen wooden “shields” painted in bright
colours on either side. A mast with a large sail sits in the middle, along with
a table for cleaning the catch of the day. The gorgeous wood finish makes the
boat look like an antique, but Jón informs me that it was made in 2007 by a man
in Pingeri — a sleepy fishing village located in Iceland's Westfjords.
The
boat seats about a dozen people. Jón has dreams for a bigger, better one some
day.
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| Some of the dramatic scenery found in Iceland's Westfjords. |
I
wound up in Pingeri on a self drive tour arranged with Icelandic Farm Holidays
that spends six days exploring the dramatic scenery of the Westfjords. The
country is known for its active volcanoes, the biggest glaciers in Europe,
spewing geysers and endless waterfalls, but I wanted to get off the beaten
path, staying in rural guesthouses with people who grew up on the land.
Filled
with narrow, winding, bumpy roads that hug the side of moss-covered table
mountains encompassing the sparkling ocean, the Westfjords are one of the most
remote regions of the tiny Nordic country of approximately 323,000 people. Only
3% of all foreign visitors make it to this untouched landscape that has some of
the largest fish stocks in the North Atlantic.
On
this particular day in early September, my friend Chris and I are the only ones
on board the viking boat. It's my first time plunging a hook into the ocean and
I'm feeling hopeful about my chances.
“Sit
here. You won't get wet,” says Jón as he hands me a metal blade tied with rope
to a thick piece of wood. “Now you can steer.”
With
much hesitation, I take the helm at the back of the boat and try to keep our
mighty vessel straight. We zigzag across the water, then stop to drop our lines
where a flock of birds are buzzing over the ocean like vultures.
The
technique used to fish for cod is simple: drop your line until the heavy hook
touches bottom, then real in slightly and gently lift your rod up and down like
a teeter totter. I do this for several minutes without any action. Everyone is
quiet and focused on the task, eager to make the first catch of the day.
With
no fish around, we move to another location that has about 30 feet of water.
Much to my disappointment, there's still no action so we move again. My
optimism begins to fade.
The
third time, however, proves to be the charm. Within seconds of dropping her
hook, Jón's assistant gets a bite and reels in a decent sized cod. Chris does
the same. The pressure is now on for me to find success.
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| Jon's assistant takes a cod off my hook. Photo by Chris Paltzat |
It
doesn't take long before I land my first cod, which feels like I'm pulling a
bag of rocks out of the water. The action continues non-stop for the next 20
minutes. Jón can barely keep up pulling fish off our hooks.
“I
can't believe this!” I say with excitement, a smile permanently glued to my
face.
“Got
another one!” shouts Chris in the midst of his laughter.
We
keep a few fish to bring back to our guesthouse and cook for dinner. On the way
back to Pingeri, Jón tells me about a local delicacy called Kutmager, made
every year during a winter festival in the village.
Holding
a gutted fish stomach, Jón demonstrates how the delicacy is prepared. The
stomach is stuffed with fish liver, tied at the top, then boiled for 20 minutes
before it's ready to eat.
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| Preparing a local delicacy called kutmager. Photo by Chris Paltzat. |
Jón
asks if I want to take the fish stomach with me and give it a try. At home, I'm
known to be a picky eater, but on the road I'll give almost anything a whirl,
even if it sounds disgusting. How bad could it be if the vikings used to eat
it?
“You're
the first tourist I know to try,” says Jón. He looks proud of my open
mindedness.
A
few hours later I'm staring at the cooked fish stomach sitting on my plate. It
doesn't look appetizing, even after it's boiled. Regret about this decision
begins to seep in.
I
pop a piece into my mouth and bite down with much hesitation. The liver has a
rich meat flavor, but the texture of the stomach is like chewing on a rubber
band that won't dissolve no matter how hard I try. Within seconds, I spit the
delicacy onto my plate, feeling like a failure. Kutmager is not something I
would ever recommend, but at least I gave it a try. It's all part of the
experience of cod fishing in Iceland's Westfjords.
If
you go:
The
Icelandic Farm Holidays Association was founded by farmers in 1980. Many
Icelandic farms offer guests beds and breakfast while some coastal farms also
offer fishing from small boats. For more information visit www.farmholidays.is.