Like the migrating cod he once pursued off the deep banks of the Lofoten Islands, the old Norwegian emigrant was returning to his spawning grounds.
We had just boarded a car ferry that would carry us on a short ride north from Levang to Nesna, a small coastal town forty kilometers south of the Arctic Circle. En route, we would pass Hugla, the island where my grandfather was born and raised.
As our boat pulled away from the dock, John Nickoli made his way to the forward deck, where he stood with his hands on the railing in mounting anticipation. A brisk afternoon breeze tilted his hat and ruffled the waters, stirring up the nostalgic scent of salty sea air. The old man knew these surroundings well. It was here that he was taught to fish from an open boat with hand lines and nets. On these waters, he learned how to pull an oar and tack into the wind. The memories so clear, it seemed like only yesterday he left his island home for America.
