Sund Fisheries Museum

by Marit Lund Horseide

– The Advent of the Motor Fishing Boat
A fog horn blows harsh and loud. A Bolinder, or was it a Brunvoll, drones away rhythmically. The shrill sound of hammer on anvil rings out. You have arrived in the realm of the audible. You have arrived at the Sund Fisheries Museum, which once, by way of a printing error, was described as the Sund Fixeries Museum – and perhaps that is what it should have been called, because the fixing of curiosities and peculiar objects is something that has always been characteristic of this museum, which incidentally was not established on the basis of project descriptions, planning documents and bureaucratic paragraphs. This museum just simply developed, although not on its own.

A Museum is Born ...
Once upon a time – but not that long ago, only about 50 years as a matter of fact – a young, newly trained blacksmith set up a tiny smithy on an islet in the fishing village of Sund. Why did he do it? It was during the war, the fishing boat owners had long since installed engines in their boats, but there was a shortage of goods – engines and other equipment were poorly maintained. Worn out Heins coughed and spluttered. Aboard the "Brottsjø" and the "Bølgen" Bolinders droned in dissatisfaction. In stormy weather out on the Vestfjord, Wichmans had problems, and winches got stuck. It was a long way to the shipyard here in the western Lofotens. The young blacksmith realised that there was work to be done here.

Things had to be repaired quickly so that the boats weren’t stuck in dock when the cod were at their most abundant out on the fishing grounds. The blacksmith did not have much equipment himself, but in his imaginative way he managed to fix most things. He welded, screwed and oiled – a true inventor, he became. A wizard, some said. But could a museum arise from this? Of course not. But by way of all the improvisation he employed to get things to work, the blacksmith developed a special interest in, and insight into, just about any technical, mechanical or simply just any moveable part. And great was his satisfaction when he finally managed to coax life into these moveable parts. He grew more and more interested in anything that hummed or whirred, ticked or tocked ...

Ashlad and his Faithful Helper
He was born in a fisherman’s home "with one foot on the seashore" as he himself puts it. As a young lad he spent a great deal of time wandering along this shore. "I’ve found it, I’ve found it," he said, as did his close relative, Ashlad of Norwegian fairy tale fame. And he took care of what he found. He might easily find some use for a green glass float, a piece of rusty piping, or an old tin can. And as with Ashlad, before long, a faithful helper turned up. "She worked at the telegraph office and had a fixed income, so she bought me a welding set," the blacksmith once told me. And now they were two to find, obtain, and take care of ... For gradually the time came when the old drop-leaf tables were carted out the back door and replaced by Formica and teak tables. Chests and churns, wooden bowls, cod-liver oil funnels and lots of other "old junk" was thrown out of homes and boathouses and burned on bonfires. The small rowing boats rotted away on the shore.

Ashlad and his faithful helper took care of what came their way. But it was still no museum. In 1964, they came over an old, dilapidated "rorbu" cabin which they dismantled and moved to Sund. "The wages from the telegraph office were spent on nails," the blacksmith laughed. They crammed old domestic utensils into the cabin, together with tackle and ropes and "any old junk" as people used to say. The smithy was filled with tools and whirring bric-a-brac ... And that is how it became a museum. And that is how the fairy tail ended, or began ... Petra and Hans Gjertsen had begun to take care of part of our heritage ...

Derelict Fishing Villages – and new Ones
The oldest boat engine in Sund dates back to 1907, the newest is from 1963. We are now going back to about 1905, when engines began to appear in the fishing boats, replacing the oars and sails. It is no exaggeration to say that the advent of the motor boat revolutionised the fishing industry in the course of a relatively short period of time. By way of his research, a historian named Jan Vea has provided a thorough analysis of structural and other changes that took place along the coast, verified by, amongst other things, some solid statistics. On the basis of his figures, Vea establishes the following fact: it was the fishermen from the Møre region who were the pioneers when it came to putting the new technology to use.

The fishermen of North Norway "sat on the fence" for a few years, until Troms became the pioneer county of the north. The motorisation process did not gain momentum in Nordland until 1914, but from then on things happened quickly – quickest in Vesterålen, slowest in the Helgeland and Salten regions. Yet as late as around 1920, half or so of the fishermen of Nordland did their fishing from aboard motor boats. On the seas of Lofoten, open boats with sails were still a common sight, especially among those from Helgeland and Salten.

Østre Nesland
Sund was, and still is, one of the major fishing villages in the western Lofotens, together with the time-honoured neighbouring village of Nusfjord. On your travels you should, however, make a detour to another type of fishing village: to the derelict, yet well-preserved fisherman-farmer’s hamlet of Østre Nesland, which lies midway between its two "bigger brothers", Sund and Nusfjord. Østre Nesland evolved as a fishing hamlet in the 1850’s. Imagine arriving in Østre Nesland on a winter’s day in 1920-25. What would you see there? In the harbour, the fishing boats would be shoulder to shoulder, or drawn up on the shore if the weather were bad. You would see 15-20 "rorbu" cabins full of fishermen, most of whom came from Helgeland. And you would see a number of fish racks. You could drop into the general store and buy yourself a packet of Tiedemann’s tobacco. The aroma of freshly baked bread would ooze out from the tiny bakery. The cod-liver oil factory on the hill would not smell quite as good.

Harbour Conditions and Development
Now, imagine that you return 30 years later. What do you see now? Perhaps there are a few open boats with outboard motors in the harbour. Only a few rorbu cabins remain. The fish racks are few and far between, and you can smell neither fresh baked bread nor cod-liver oil. What has happened during these 30 years? You will find the answer by looking out over the harbour. It faces the Vestfjord, open and unsheltered against the south-westerly storms. By no means a good harbour, but it was a short distance from the fishing grounds and that was important when you were rowing out to find the cod. And should weather conditions in the harbour grow too bad, the small unmotorised boats of which there were still many around the year 1925, could be hauled up onto the beach. In 1950, however, the fishing fleet had long since been motorised, one or other open boat might still be found, but they all had outboard motors now. The harbour in Østre Nesland was not meant for motor boats.

The once vibrant and lively fishing village of Østre Nesland became derelict. It was the end of an era.

There are many derelict fishing villages along the coast of the Lofotens, but motorisation also led to the establishment of new fishing villages. A good example of this is Napp on the island of Flakstadøya. There is a good harbour there, but on the other hand, it was a long way to the fishing grounds when you had to row or sail there. With the advent of the motor boat, this disadvantage was eliminated, and Napp quickly developed into a modern fishing village.

Innovation Always Meets with Opposition
A fisherman came home from the slipway with his new engine. Inquisitive neighbours wanted to know how it worked. The owner told them it worked well, there was only one problem, "... it swallowed exhaust fumes." It turned out that the engine worked the wrong way round, taking in air via the exhaust, and expelling exhaust fumes through the air intake!! This story proves that knowledge of new technology was often lacking, and as is reasonable enough, the fishermen feared that they would not be able to cope with the problems. A touch of superstition might also be found at the root of their scepticism, expressed in such poignant remarks as "Engines are as great a disaster on board fishing boats as women, waffles and brown cheese ..."

Short-lived Opposition to Engines
The outermost part of the western Lofotens is characterised as a pioneer area with regard to the process of transition, and this applies in particular to Moskenes. This might seem something of a paradox because, as we have seen, the new technology aroused considerable scepticism and opposition here as in other places. The years prior to the First World War were characterised by intense yet short-lived opposition to engines. The fishermen claimed that the noisy engines frightened the fish away, that the motor boats would catch all the cod before they got to their spawning places, and that the old Nordland-type boats were not constructed for engines. Protest meetings were held, and a ban on motor boats was demanded during the Lofoten fishery. Even the Lofoten Fishery Inspectorate were in doubt, worrying about disorder at sea and demanding that certain sea areas be reserved for fishing from rowing boats, a demand that was in fact implemented.

The Squire’s Involvement
The squires, too, were sceptical. Jan Vea says that "they were largely on the side of the rowing boat fishermen." In 1908, the ageing squire of Reine asked Parliament to help limit the use of motor boats. It is not difficult to understand the squire’s scepticism. The rowing boat fishermen were tied to one place, they came to the squire’s village at the start of the season and stayed their until it was over. They hired rorbu cabins from the squire, bought their commodities in his shop, and they delivered their fish to him. A motor boat fisherman would be a mobile fisherman – and would consequently pose a threat to the monopoly of the squire. But despite the threats, it is nonetheless a fact that many of the squires here, outermost in the western Lofotens, were quick to acquire their own motor boats. When the aforementioned squire of Reine asked Parliament to limit the extent of these newfangled operations in 1908, his sons and partners had already acquired two motor boats which were employed in gillnet fishing during the Lofoten fishery! And the squire of Nusfjord was to become a driving force during the process of transition.

A "Mobile" Fisherman?
How should one explain the squires’ active involvement in a process of structural change that they clearly feared would deprive them of power and influence? Why did they voluntarily elect to dig their own graves? Let us dwell for a moment on the notion of the "mobile fisherman". How mobile was he in this first stage of transition? There were in fact several factors that limited his mobility. Firstly, the engines were small, and as late as 1920, the average engine could muster a mere 13 hp. Their speed was correspondingly low, and in favourable conditions, a sailing boat could go faster. Secondly, the motor boat fishermen were still dependent on having a rorbu cabin, both as overnight accommodation for the crew, and as a place of work for the land-based workers, i.e. those who baited longlines and repaired the nets. There was therefore no immediate risk that the squires might be subject to the mass migration of fishermen from village to village.

The danger of losing control was not imminent at such an early stage. The squires here have therefore probably chosen the short-term solution, as Jan Vea points out, deciding that they were best served by going along with the unavoidable development of progress instead of trying to fight it, thereby providing themselves with the opportunity of reaping profits as long as there was anything to reap from. The fact that fishing in the western Lofotens was exceedingly good during these early years was no doubt a contributing factor to the squires’ decision.

The Poor Man’s Dream of Owning a Motor Boat ...
In 1907, the three motor boats that were to be found here, on the outermost of the Lofotens islands, probably created quite a stir, and we can imagine that some young cotter’s lad or other, maybe taking part in his first Lofoten fishery, dreamed of some day owning his own motor boat. "Success" the boat would be called ... or maybe "The Trial" ... On second thoughts, he would name her after his mother, "Henrikka". And maybe this very same lad sat down at the kitchen table 10-15 years later to write an application to "The Sea Fishing Fund" for a loan to buy a motor boat. In that case he would soon learn that it was no easy matter.

The Fund was indeed established precisely to help poor fishermen of limited means, but a municipal guarantee for the loan was nonetheless required. At this point, the Mayor would be able to inform our fisherman that the Council required surety from "well-to-do guarantors." Sounds difficult.
Maybe a bank loan would be easier? Our friend knew of a fellow who had got one, but he in turn said that the bank required guarantors, too, and that they also regarded the boat itself, and his house and home as security for the loan. Our young fisherman didn’t even have a house or home. A few years ago, his neighbour had acquired an engine. He had been given credit by the motor manufacturer.

For Lack of a Rich Uncle
During the first years of motorisation, it was not unusual for the engine manufacturers, who were very eager to make a sale, to offer both ordinary loans and hire contracts on given terms. But these arrangements were short lived, and our friend was turned down. And since he had no rich uncles either, who might have served as guarantors, it all ended up with him standing in the squire’s office one day, with cap in hand, begging for surety for the municipal guarantee and for a loan to cover the capital requirements that remained unmet, in order to fully finance the purchase.

Many a fisherman came to the squire’s office on the same errand as our impoverished young friend. We have no record of how many, nor do we have any record of how many were turned away. But various sources do show that many actually got what they were asking for. Often – very often – the squire would demand certain things in return for his goodwill. This might involve the fisherman being required to deliver his catch to the squire, or the far stricter demand that the squire be part-owner of the vessel. The latter condition was very common and meant that the squire could enjoy considerable control over operations.

Skipper on His Own Boat
The squire said yes to our fisherman, and after all the formalities had been dispensed with, he became skipper on his own fishing smack or cutter – one of the 140 motor boats to be found in Flakstad and Moskenes around the year 1920. And now he dreamed of how one day he would buy the squire’s part, too, and become the independent, sole owner. Maybe he grew old before attaining his goal, or maybe he never actually got that far. Maybe, at worst, he lost his boat at a foreclosure during the inter-war years. During the recession and up until the mid 1930’s, finding money to buy a boat became more and more difficult. The banks tightened up on the terms for loans. The State Fisherman’s Bank, which succeeded the Sea Fishing Fund in 1919, provided loans that covered only 40% of total costs. For many fishermen, the dream of owning their own boat was never anything more than a dream.

But some of them sought new solutions, and now more and more fishermen joined together to invest in a shared vessel, usually in cooperation with one of the squires out here. This was particularly common in the westernmost parts of the region. It should also be mentioned that as early as 1915, a special boat insurance company was founded. The company gradually managed to build up such a stable financial base that towards the end of the 1920’s, it was able to offer low interest mortgage loans for the purchase of new vessels or for the alteration of older ones. The fishermen of Moskenes made particularly good use of these initiatives.

"Nygaardsvold Boats"
In 1935 the Norwegian Labour Party came to power with Johan Nygaardsvold as prime minister. As part of the government’s social profile, the state was to provide "crisis grants" for the purchase of fishing vessels. The condition was that only active fishermen who were members of cooperative societies were eligible for grants. There was little interest for this kind of financing in our region. Only a few state boats, or "Nygaardsvold boats" as they were often referred to, turned up in the western Lofotens. One might ask why. Perhaps the answer can be found in the terms of these loans, where the squire was excluded from owning any part of the boats as he was not an active fisherman. The cooperative philosophy never made the necessary breakthrough in this region, opposed as it was by the squires.

The years passed by. Courses for ship’s engineers were held. The engines became bigger and more reliable. The boats became bigger, too, and one day the first boat with a wheelhouse showed up on the fishing grounds ... "A sheep shed," some laughed. It is said that once, under cover of night, some young pranksters in one of the fishing villages saw their chance to lay turf on the wheelhouse roof to emphasise the disgracefulness of "farmers at sea..."

People shared a wry smile, as they often do regarding anything new and unusual. Yet should a young lad on the post-war seas of Lofoten have caught sight of an open Nordland-type boat at sail – a highly unlikely event – he may well have thought, "It would have been fun to sail ... Granddad could do it."