But it is the people's living, and in a favourable season they make immense hauls. An ordinary catch for an ordinary day is 500 cod per boat, and a good day will double that number, though in such a case the boat has to make a second trip to bring the fish ashore. A simple calculation will show that millions of cod are landed on the islands every day. Imagine the sight and imagine the smell! The fish are split open and, after the roe and the liver have been removed, hung up on hurdles to dry. Some are sold to the fishing-smacks, which come to the islands to buy the fresh fish, and then salt it down in barrels, or take it away to dry elsewhere. Scores of bundles of dried cod, looking like slips of leather, may be seen for the remainder of the year on every wharf in Norway. Who eats it all is a mystery; but it goes to England and Spain in large quantities, and most of us have eaten it on Ash Wednesdays. Cod's roe and liver are probably of more value than the fish from which they are extracted, and there are large factories for making cod-liver oil, not only at the Lofoeddens, but also at other places on the coast. At Hammerfest, which boasts of being the northernmost town in the world, the whole air is laden with the nauseous fumes issuing from the steaming caldrons of boiling cod-liver oil. The fish trade of Norway is not, however, confined to cod and the Lofoedden Isles, for in many other parts fishing is the chief industry of the people, and hundreds of thousands of barrels of salted herrings and sprats leave the country every year, while sardines and anchovies are tinned or potted in the factories at Stavanger and other large seaports. The salmon, also, for which the Norwegian rivers are famous, are brought over to England packed in ice, and well repay the owners of the rivers. Even in the depth of winter a good deal of sea fishing goes on through the ice of the frozen fjords. The fisherman erects a shelter of some kind to protect him from the biting wind, and within view of this he breaks two or three holes in the thick ice. In each hole his baited hooks are dropped down, the other end of the line being fastened to a simple contrivance of pieces of stick, which begin to waggle when a fish is hooked. On the Christiania Fjord numbers of these sporting fishermen are to be seen at work all through the winter, and judging by the frequency of their visits to their different holes, they must take a quantity of fish. It is cold work, however, sitting and watching for the signal to come from the hole, and one cannot help admiring the men's energy and keenness.