There are many in Siglufjodur who remember the herring days, but in putting pen to paper interpretations are varied. Perhaps this reflects a fading recollection; or maybe a creative re-imagining. Many were hazy on the positioning of fins. Many spoke of the scales.

Last night we dreamt we were fish. Fish with many fins, tacked on in strange places. Almost like an amalgamation of all these drawings.

Harry Belafonte and the Herring Girls

We went out at 2pm with Orlygur in his Faeroese fishing boat, and after rowing to the harbour to fetch some gasoline, we motored towards the open sea. We stopped near the small lighthouse on the other side of the fjord and took out our lines. Orlygur had brought old-style angling hooks which attached to wooden reels that we, as novices, jerkily lowered towards the seabed. Once the hooks were settled Orlygur taught us to pull them up a metre or so, and then start tugging hard, every few seconds, to catch a bite. So we sat tugging our lines. Suprisingly, after only a few minutes, we felt a bite, something big. We started to reel it in, up and up. Then the end of the line arrived to the surface. Something had cut clean through the line, the large metal hook was gone. Something big indeed.

Then, moments later, our line tugged again. We pulled it in quickly. This time there was something. We spun the reel up. Then we caught another. After 10 minutes we had three generous-sized cod. Herring were not forthcoming, but we had something – a marine connection; at least with the fish that currently keeps Siglufjordur afloat, if not its historical half-cousin. We sailed back to the harbour with grins and the north-west wind on our faces.

That evening we learnt, with some difficulty, how to fillet and skin the fish. We were left with cod enough for three days. We cooked a cod dinner for ourselves and Kristjan, with flour batter, lemon and Icelandic potatoes.

Fishermen from around the country gathered here for a competition to see who could catch, by hand, the biggest fish. The boats went out at 5am and started arriving back at the harbour at 2:30pm. The type of fish didn´t matter so all sorts of interesting species were being offloaded. Prizewinning specimens were placed in blue plastic bags to separate them from the main catch. The winning fish weighed 15kg.

Of more interest to us (and also hidden inside blue plastic) was a herring. It was unwrapped for a few seconds, flashing like a blue jewel in the sunlight, and held up for us to photograph. Fresh from Siglufjorder´s own waters.

Here are some sounds from the harbour.

Today we performed incantations over this packet. Slipping into fish skins we summoned the King of the Sea in person. Can this packet of Egils síld bring herring to these waters once again?

Here are a series of film stills, drawn on fish skin. Telling the story of fish skin. The top 4 images are from 1930s footage of the herring girls, here in Siglufjordur. The second set are from our own adventure over the past couple of weeks.

These experiments have yielded little in terms of our mission, except for the realisation that once fish is dried it loses its fishyness and becomes something else. The essence of a fish lies elsewhere, perhaps in our bottle of Omega-3 oil or somewhere in our salmon lined stomachs.

What´s been more interesting, in the context of our quest, is hands on immersion in wet fish. To acquaint ourselves with herring we´ve explored the history, stories and the culture of herring. In drying and working fish skins we´ve been getting physical; embodying fish, experiencing it phenomologically. Working with wet fish links us to the herring girls. Makes a new link between us and the herring era. We documented ourselves collecting, cleaning and drying the fish. Comparing our actions with videos from the herring museum, it´s curious to see the parallels.