In pursuit of the skrei: an Arctic adventure at the World Cod Fishing Championship

Set deep inside the Arctic Circle, the Lofoten Islands draw both cod and competitors north. But when the weather turns, reaching them becomes an adventure – and a test of nerve, endurance and teamwork.

Each winter, vast shoals of Atlantic cod, known as skrei, push down from the Barents Sea to spawn in the Lofoten Islands. It’s an epic journey of over one thousand kilometres, driven by instinct and repeated year after year. By the time they arrive, the skrei (Norse for The Wanderers) are stronger for it, lean and powerful, shaped by the distance they’ve travelled and the conditions they’ve come through.

For the fishermen who await their arrival, the World Cod Fishing Championship is both a celebration of the centuries-old heritage and a chance to give thanks for the bounty that still underpins life along Norway’s northern coast. Alongside, the aim remains simple – to land the biggest fish. The event itself unfolds over two days, beginning with the Lofoten Cup – an international competition that acts as a warm-up to the World Championships. But as the fleet gathered for the opening day, it was clear from the outset the weather would prove an additional challenge.

I’d travelled over 2,000 kilometres myself, leaving the shores of Devon in the UK just as the first signs of spring were appearing, and taken two flights to Harstad where we were due to motor down through the fjords to Svolvaer. The first hint of trouble came as the weather closed in, scuppering the planned fjord run. Instead, I arrived at a misty Svolvaer in a bone-shaker of a bus, rather than aboard the sophisticated Nordkapp Coupe 905 V12 as originally planned.

At 68 degrees north, Svolvaer sits on roughly the same latitude as Alaska and put me in mind of an Arctic Venice – a network of small islands and inlets, linked by low bridges under which the sea threads. I arrived as the temperature hit -10 °C with a mist jealously guarding the mountains that surround the town. There was excitement in the freezing air however, and the hotels and restaurants on the seafront were packed with hundreds of participants discussing the forecast over bottles of the local Lofotpils.

The next morning, fog creeping down from the mountains was the least of my worries. Out in the harbour, winds were already gusting to 40 knots, whipping up a steely grey sea that had my stomach broiling before we’d even left the dock. It was the worst weather in the 35-year history of the competition and the coastguard was hesitant about allowing it to continue and me even more so!

The townsfolk and visiting fishermen seemed made of sterner stuff and the dock was thronged with men in bright red or yellow survival suits, vivid against the grey sea and sky which had just started to rain. Bands marched past, their drums beating out an almost war-like rhythm, as last-minute adjustments were made to rods and lines. With just moments to go, the coastguard finally gave the all clear to the obvious relief of the competitors. A loud siren signalled the start and, as if in a shoal of skrei themselves, lines were quickly cast off and the fleet of some sixty boats turned as one, heading out of the harbour.

My heart was in my mouth. A steep, confused sea whipped up by wind funnelling through the channels was throwing up waves of up to 4 metres – enough, surely, to overwhelm the 7.2m Sting carrying us out beyond the safety of the harbour. The skipper, however, appeared entirely unworried, and it was obvious by the grin on his face that he had complete confidence in our vessel. Built by Sting – sister brand to Nordkapp – the Pro T-Top is no ordinary leisure boat, but a genuine crossover craft designed to bridge the gap between commercial utility vessel and private leisure boat, created for precisely these sorts of conditions. [Full test report on the Sting 725 Pro T-Top coming soon].

The warm red of the fishing huts at the water’s edge quickly disappeared, giving way to an other-worldly, monochrome scene, snow-covered mountains looming in and out of the mist. At the harbour limits, a figure eerily emerged, arm raised in farewell. The Fiskerkona, the fisherman’s wife sculpture, stands as a reminder of centuries of those left behind as the town’s men left in search of skrei.

The boat drove on, cutting through the waves, working its way alongside larger, older fishing boats as we searched for the first mark of the day. We finally came to a stop just 150 metres from a cluster of slick black rocks, pushing up out of the water like the dorsal fins of the orcas that patrol these shores, the sea spray lifting in sudden bursts, as though from the whale’s blowholes.

The Regatta survival suits were doing their job, keeping out the worst of the cold but roomy enough to allow us to move freely and ready the rods and tackle with ease. As the fishing started in earnest, it quickly became apparent that the Sting 725 Pro was well suited to the task ahead. Even with six on board, there was plenty of space to work and to land the fish, putting them quickly into the bucket to be bled. After an hour or so, in something of a Camp Granada moment, I found I was really enjoying myself and realised that the adverse weather was actually a blessing. I was experiencing this intriguing boat’s performance in extreme conditions, and even when stationary over the mark, it held its composure. The hull seemed to settle into the sea, softening the movement just enough that I wasn’t constantly adjusting my footing. Instead of bracing against the motion, I could focus on the fishing and crucially, avoid the seasickness I had been expecting.

Resting out of the rain for a moment on the wide helm seat, I watched Christian wrestle a large skrei into the boat, its broad mouth and single barbel giving it a slightly primitive look. He lifted the fish up and surprised me by kissing it on the head and returning it to the water, remarking that next year, it would be even bigger. At around 4kg, it was a decent size, but these were serious fishermen, thinking beyond the immediate catch. Confident I wasn’t about to land anything larger, I set about fishing in earnest, reassured that anything I caught could go straight back without consequence.

I haven’t done much fishing beyond putting a mackerel line over the transom, but it didn’t take long to get hooked – if you’ll pardon the pun. I landed four good-sized fish and released them back into the freezing waters, watching their tails flick in derision as they faded from sight. The time slipped by as easily, the camaraderie on the boat as warming as the cinnamon buns we’d eaten mid-morning. We moved several times in search of more productive ground, and each time the Sting responded in its confident, stable way, finding its path through the angry sea with ease. Longer runs felt controlled rather than draining, and it was with some surprise and a touch of disappointment, that I realised we were heading back to the harbour.

A welcoming committee of hardy townsfolk and visitors lined the breakwater, cheering us on as we stepped onto the dock and carried the day’s catch confidently towards the weighing station. The tension was palpable as each team’s average weight was called. We’d won the Lofoten Cup! First place in what must be one of the most challenging competitions in the world is no small achievement – not, I should add, down to my own fishing prowess, but satisfying nonetheless.

After a long, hot shower we made our way to the prize-giving – the Norwegians certainly know how to throw a party. Sitting around a log fire, with the rousing voices of folk singers mixing with the laughter of jumper-clad fishing teams, I raised a glass to our wonderful hosts from Nordkapp. The aquavit came cold, but the effect was the opposite, its warmth spreading as I thought back over the challenging hours on the water. Properly equipped and in the right boat for the job, those conditions became part of the experience. The Nordkapp Sting proving an excellent partner and, despite being the smallest boat in the fleet, more than holding its own even among full-size commercial fishing vessels. And because of it, what could have been an ordeal became an adventure worth repeating – the kind of day that draws you back to this Arctic Venice, where the skrei arrive each winter, and we wanderers duly follow.

From Sting, Nordkapp’s sister brand, the Sting 725 Pro T-Top is a rugged crossover designed to bridge the gap between leisure boating and commercial utility craft. Developed with input from expert fishermen and built for demanding northern conditions, it combines practical deck space and robust seakeeping with the usability expected of a modern adventure boat.