The Tungoddens have been living here for many generations. They hold down a few cabins and a piece of an island at the mouth of the Sognefjord: Norway's King of Fjords.

Oda’s grandparents also live on the island, just 40 meters away from her parents. Her 94-year-old grandfather was born and raised on this island. He started off as a fisherman before becoming a teacher in the area, hopping from island to island to tutor children. He has in-depth knowledge about the inner workings of the island life, about the sea and the history of it all.

Oda’s ancestors have been residing on what is now known as the Tungodden farm since the 1600s, and possibly even earlier. They survived mostly from fishing and keeping some cows and sheep. They even played a part overthrowing a Nazi fort constructed on the western side of the island.

I also had the honour of embarking on my first North Sea fishing excursion while here. The Tungoddens made sure I was dressed for the occasion, which included two layers of pants (one waterproof) big boots, four layers on top, a wind jacket, and a warm hat. I was prepared for anything.

We set off around 10:30 pm. The sun was low on the horizon, but it had not set yet. Bertil suggested we cast some nets out to see what we could catch, so we set up our nets in three different locations. He expertly wove through the nets, untangling them with his experienced fingers and flinging them far into the water. Oda was in charge of the boat, and she guided us around expertly.

Once the nets were set, we decided we still had time to cast a few fishing rods into the water. We headed back to the cabin to pick up the rods, and Heidi, who now took charge of the tiller.

Just as we settled into the boat again, I saw fog begin to roll in on the horizon.

“We have about 30 minutes, I would say,” Bertil said, frowning into the fog.

Once the nets were set, we decided we still had time to cast a few fishing rods into the water. We headed back to the cabin to pick up the rods, and Heidi, who now took charge of the tiller.

Just as we settled into the boat again, I saw fog begin to roll in on the horizon.

Our boat slipped quietly into the water and we stopped nearby to cast our fishing rods. We waited patiently for the fish to bite as the fog advanced nearer. Eventually, we decided to call it a night. It was 11:15 pm now, and even though the sun was still lukewarm, the fog had locked us in darkness. But just as we were about to head home, I felt a tug at my rod, and I pulled up a mackerel.

We were still not done. After we got home, Oda and I went to visit the grandparents, who were surprisingly still awake. Hot chocolate was served, and stories were swapped. It was well past midnight when we returned to find my mackerel prepared with bread, a midnight snack if you will. I have never eaten something I helped source before, so it was a proud moment for me.

Even though it was not entirely dark outside yet, it was bedtime. Tomorrow a whole list of chores awaits.

Collecting the night's catch

“I bet it’s seven!” I called out.

“Make that twenty,” Bertil challenged me.

“I say ten!” Oda yelled out from the motor at the back of the boat. We were placing bets on how many fish we caught in our nets. I was the realist, Oda the optimist, and Bertil out of his mind. The morning was crisp, with no sign from the fog from the previous night. The ocean was calm and vivid.

“I got something!” Bertil yelled as he hauled the nets onto the boat. I could see him heave. As he pulled his catch onto the deck, I saw a gaping mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth.

“What is that?” I whispered.

“It’s a breiflabb,” Bertil said, looking chuffed with himself. “It makes a great soup.” He paused before pulling up the rest of the net. “Look, there’s a few more! I guess you're out. That’s six already.”

We circled to the other nets that we had cast out, three in total. The others proved to be just as fruitful, and I saw my bet slip away. Oda was grinning. By the end of the hour, we had brought home fourteen fish in total. We put our catch on the docks, were Bertil and Oda prepared the slab for gutting the fish.

They had a system worked out. Bertil would decapitate, gut and skin the fish, and after each one was carefully packed away, Oda would fling a bucket of seawater over the thick wooden blocks to prepare the surface for the next one.

This was the first time I saw a fish get prepared from ocean to package since I watched my grandfather do it when I was about nine-years-old. It scared me then, and I wouldn’t say I’m too comfortable with it now. It was interesting to see how the food we eat gets prepared, and where it comes from, and what effort it takes to make it edible.

Watch a local prepare a fillet the Norwegian way:

The Midnight Cruise

The setting sun called us into a late-night tradition on the island: greeting the passing cruise ship. A colossal cruise ship hugs the western coast of Norway as it migrates from south to the northernmost tip of the country, carrying thousands of eager-faced passengers.

It passes by Tungodden twice a day: once at 9 in the morning, and then at 11 pm at night. It’s been passing through these waters so often that it has become a tradition to ride out on the little motorboat and wave to all the passing passengers.

This night was the auspicious occasion. We wrapped ourselves in several layers, and we all climbed aboard the bigger motorboat to ride out to meet the cruise ship.

At around 11 pm, we saw the metal tank advancing. It moved quickly and quietly for something so large. It was dusk, and a pink light hung in the corners of the sky, fending of the grey for a little longer. Bertil guided the boat closer and I snapped photos.

We parked off near the narrower part of the passageway the ship would pass through. We waved our arms, making movements as big as space would allow. The tourists rushed out onto the deck to snap photos of us this time. It became a waving contest.

As the cruise ship came closer, I realized how gargantuan it was. It dwarfed us in the motorboat and swallowed up the narrow strait. I feared it would scrape the rocks on the side. But it passed by easily, no doubt navigated by a weathered captain. It sliced through the water as it moved, leaving in its wake choppy waves that left me grabbing for anything to hold onto on the boat, almost dropping my camera.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, I sunk into my old-fashioned bunkbed. These long, eighteen-hour days were beginning to take their toll. I slipped into a deep sleep to salvage all the rest I could, before my inevitable early awakening.