The Herring Girls

After a short flight from Reykjavic, we arrived in Akureyri.  The ride from the airport to the hotel revealed the magical landscape of the northern coast.  Snow-covered trees shimmered against a never-ending white background.

We opted for a private tour to a herring museum, because, hey, we know how to have fun in Iceland.  Siglufjordur was once the world's most famous herring town, an industry that shaped Iceland's destiny as a modern society.  In the earlier part of the 20th century, Icelanders incorporated new fishing technologies to become the main exporters of salted herring.  This ultimately led to their ability to declare their independence from Denmark in 1944.

But I am not in love with herring.  In fact, I have never tasted herring, and if the stories I hear from those who have are true, I don't want to.

I am in love with the Herring Girls.

During Siglufjordur's heyday as the world's herring capital, the summer months of 24-hour sun were full of bustling activity as the herring had to be beheaded, gutted, and salted quickly.  The salting stations employed between 80 and 120 workers, mostly women, for this purpose.  They came from all over Iceland to live in Siglo (the lazy way to say the town's name) and work long hours outside.  When the weather was fine, the hours passed quickly, but bad weather made the work akin to slavery, endless and terrible.

The Herring Girls were paid "by the barrel," so speed was crucial to their ability to end the summer profitably.  The men, on the other hand, were paid by the hour, so there was no pressure for them to be quick and efficient.  The Herring Girls were able to behead and gut the fish with one stroke of their knives and called out for a "New barrel!" as soon as the one they were filling was nearly done.  Their dependence on the men to get them a new barrel in a timely fashion put the girls at the mercy of the men.  I will not speculate on how each girl assured that she would get the quick response she needed.

In their off-hours, the workers enjoyed music and drinking and dancing, and if the stories are true, that is what they remember of their summers of long and tedious work.

In 1969, due to over-fishing by Norway, Iceland and Russia, the herring failed to show up, and the town of Siglufjordur was pretty much abandoned.  "Herring comes and herring goes."  And so did the Herring Girls.

I am in love with their history, work ethic, optimism, and their ability to help support their families under terrible conditions.  But mostly, I am in love with their happy memories of a time in their youth when they danced and made merry under the midnight sun.