ous, for storms and
heavy seas are of frequent occurrence, and tides and currents among
the islands most treacherous. And here, close to the fisheries,
is situated the dreaded whirlpool, the Maelstrom of renown.

But it is the people's living, and in a favourable season they make
immense hauls. An ordinary catch for an ordinary day is 500 cod per
boat, and a good day will double that number, though in such a case
the boat has to make a second trip to bring the fish ashore. A simple
calculation will show that millions of cod are landed on the islands
every day. Imagine the sight and imagine the smell!

The fish are split open and, after the roe and the liver have
been removed, hung up on hurdles to dry. Some are sold to the
fishing-smacks, which come to the islands to buy the fresh fish, and
then salt it down in barrels, or take it away to dry elsewhere. Scores
of bundles of dried cod, looking like slips of leather, may be seen
for the remainder of the year on every wharf in Norway. Who eats it
all is a mystery; but it goes to England and Spain in large quantities,
and most of us have eaten it on Ash Wednesdays.

Cod's roe and liver are probably of more value than the fish from
which they are extracted, and there are large factories for making
cod-liver oil, not only at the Lofoeddens, but also at other places
on the coast. At Hammerfest, which boasts of being the northernmost
town in the world, the whole air is laden with the nauseous fumes
issuing from the steaming caldrons of boiling cod-liver oil.

The fish trade of Norway is not, however, confined to cod and the
Lofoedden Isles, for in many other parts fishing is the chief industry
of the people, and hundreds of thousands of barrels of salted herrings
and sprats leave the country every year, while sardines and anchovies
are tinned or potted in the factories at Stavanger and other large
seaports. The salmon, also, for which the Norwegian rivers are famous,
are brought over to England packed in ice, and well repay the owners
of the rivers.

Even in the depth of winter a good deal of sea fishing goes on through
the ice of the frozen fjords. The fisherman erects a shelter of some
kind to protect him from the biting wind, and within view of this he
breaks two or three holes in the thick ice. In each hole his baited
hooks are dropped down, the other end of the line being fastened
to a simple contrivance of pieces of stick, which begin to waggle
when a fish is hooked