An Englishman in Latvia
An Englishman in Latvia
On fish
Latvia has a remarkably long coastline for its size. Therefore, seafaring, fishing and eating fish are important parts of Latvian life and culture. We step back in time and discover the history of Latvia’s fishing industry, with many good tales. We will also taste some typical Latvian fish, mostly smoked in the way Latvians love it, which the EU now wants to ban. I will suggest a fish driving tour along the Bay of Riga coast from Jūrmala up to Kolka and then down the Baltic Sea coast to Mazirbe, where fishing boats came to die. Join me as we get stuck into some tasty fish!
Thanks for listening!
On fish
Latvia has a remarkably long coastline for its size. Therefore, seafaring, fishing and eating fish are important parts of Latvian life and culture. We step back in time and discover the history of Latvia’s fishing industry, with many good tales. We will also taste some typical Latvian fish, mostly smoked in the way Latvians love it, which the EU now wants to ban. I will suggest a fish driving tour along the Bay of Riga coast from Jūrmala up to Kolka and then down the Baltic Sea coast to Mazirbe, where fishing boats came to die. Join me as we get stuck into some tasty fish!
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Latvia’s coastline stretches 500 km from the border with Lithuania and the Baltic Sea, north to the Kolka Peninsula and then around the Bay of Rīga, eventually extending northwards to the border with Estonia. Most of that coastline is composed of sandy beaches. For a small country with a land mass of 64,589 km², the sea plays a significant role in its livelihood, cuisine, and culture. Latvia has a long history of seafaring. My neighbour in Rīga is an engineer on board ships for three-quarters of the year. Sailors are prominent in my wife’s family. However, I would like to focus on fish and fishing in this episode.
Imagine the coast of ancient Latvia: low mists, black pines, the soft lap of brackish water against the birch-bark canoes. Thousands of years ago, even before the first town was drawn upon a map, people here were fishing. Archaeologists, combing the muddy edges of old lagoons like Sloka and Lake Engure, have found bone harpoons, stone net weights, and charred fish bones. Evidence sewn straight through time. Every weight, each shaped flint blade, tells us that fishing was not just a way to eat, but a way to live.
By the 1700s, coastal villages such as Ragaciems, Kolka, and Engure had become hubs for wooden boatbuilding and net-making. Baltic herring, eel, and lamprey were smoked in fires of green alder, the smell drifting. Records from the 18th century speak of “fishing tithes”, with families paying their landlords in barrels of herring or pike.
The dawn of the 20th century brought science to these shores. Latvia sent delegates to the 1910 Baltic Sea Fisheries Congress and joined the International Council for the Exploration of the Sea in 1923. Latvian boats fished as far as Denmark, their catches bringing prosperity, and canned “Riga sprats” had world fame.
The storms came in 1940. The Soviet occupation drove away the small traders and boat owners. Fishing was collectivised: private vessels were “donated to the state”, and families joined kolkhozes - collective farms with fleets named after heroes or Marxist slogans. The coastal strip became a closed border zone. Stories from those years linger with the scent of tinned sprats. Trawlers dragged the Baltic Sea as far as the Atlantic, all under watchful Western European eyes. Propaganda trumpeted that “Three big trawlers can now bring as much fish as Latvia’s entire fleet before the war”. However, many locals recall strict quotas, limited access to their traditional fishing grounds, and a growing sense of loss.
And yet, the fishing culture survived. In hidden inlets and deep woods, net-makers kept weaving. Despite regulations and tangled bureaucracy, smoky shacks on the roadside still lured people with the promise of fresh fish. During the Soviet occupation, many old boats were abandoned. Some were hauled into pine forests like those at the Mazirbe boat graveyard, left to become part of the dunes again.
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What was it like to live in a fishing village 100 years ago?
In Latvia, fishing is regarded as a way of life, rather than work, and has played a significant role in the lives of local people along the coast. The soil along the shore was poor, so not much would grow on it; therefore, fishing was the primary source of income. Fishermen built small huts along the seashore to keep their nets and other equipment. Their boats were located near the huts. Fishing boats were costly; owning one was a privilege, as the ship was the main equipment necessary for fishing as a livelihood.
A boat needed a crew. To become a crew member, specific abilities were highly valued, such as knowledge of the sea, understanding of fish behaviour, locating suitable fishing areas, and the ability to steer the boat.
Local blacksmiths prepared the metalwork for the fishermen. Ropes were handmade by the fishermen. Slim ropes were individually twisted, but the larger ones required help from other fishermen using a special twisting device. Women helped prepare the netting and weave the nets. After the net was woven, fishermen added net sinkers and floats to it. In autumn and winter, when the fishing season ended, the men went into the forest to prepare and remove timber, which was stacked on ships and sold in the spring. In winter, they also prepared for the next fishing season by repairing boats, making new nets or mending old ones. It could take all winter to weave one net.
The local coastal population lived modestly and was lucky to have a cow, pig, or chicken in the house. Tenants were taken in to supplement their income. Visitors were mainly craftsmen or seasonal workers, and, in later years, also people on holiday. Boys' lives can be divided into two phases: from the age of 16 to 40, when they went to sea, and after the age of 40, when they returned home and worked in the local fishery. Girls' lives were very different from those of boys, and often local girls could read and write just a little. They took care of the household kitchen and were involved in tasks such as fish cleaning, mending nets, and fish processing.
During autumn and winter, Roja Maritime School would accept students with an elementary education and at least two years of internships in sea voyages with a sailing ship. The school trained coaster steersmen to improve their qualifications. To become a captain, students could continue their studies in Rīga, Liepāja, and Ventspils. At school, students mastered mathematics, navigation, maritime practice, and other subjects necessary for seafarers.
One fact is indisputable. Fishing was a dangerous occupation. Many never came back home after a night on wild seas.
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Let’s look at one collective from Soviet times, the “Banga” kolkhoz.
In 1947, 74 men from the fishermen's cooperatives of Valgalciems, Kaltene, Roja, and Zocene came together to establish a larger fishermen's group called "Stalin’s Road” in Latvian. The collective farming approach was embraced as the Soviet regime emphasised the importance of socialist collective work over individual methods. In the early 1950s, the group was equipped with small boats. By the end of the decade, they had three trawlers that embarked on fishing expeditions to the Atlantic Ocean. The Stalin’s Road members were the first Latvian collective to embark on this adventure to distant Atlantic waters.
In 1962, Stalin’s Road merged with other collectives to form Banga, with a Kolka collective joining in 1974. Banga covered a large area from Valgalciems to Sikrags, encompassing some 13 fishing villages, with Roja at its centre. It fished in the Bay of Rīga and the Atlantic Ocean, and focused on fish processing and salmon farming. It became synonymous with canned fish during the Soviet period, when it was one of the region’s most renowned seafood producers.
In 1950, Stalin’s Road organised its first Sea Festival in Roja. People from all the nearby villages arrived by sea in decorated boats or by road in decorated trucks. The celebration honoured the fishing profession and included activities related to the sea, such as motorboat races, swimming, and other sports competitions. Later, a variety of concerts were performed, and a ball was held. As the collective Banga grew, the Sea Festival gained popularity. In 1982, a famous Russian singer, Alla Pugacova, and the much-loved Latvian composer, Raimonds Pauls, performed in Roja. The celebration started with morning sports activities where local work teams competed. A visit by the sea ruler Neptune became a tradition. During the Soviet occupation, the Sea Festival honoured and promoted the work of all fishermen, while recognising the best workers.
Banga is still one of Latvia’s most prominent and historic seafood processing companies, still located in the fishing village of Roja. After Latvia regained independence, Banga modernised its operations, updating facilities to meet European Union directives and attaining international food safety certifications. Today, Banga is a 100% Latvian-owned company and has developed into the leading producer of sterilised canned fish in the Baltic region. With more than 160 employees and state-of-the-art equipment, much of which is automated, the company handles the entire canning process, from the arrival of fresh and frozen fish to preparation, packaging, and delivery worldwide. Banga’s product range features more than 50 varieties, including herring, mackerel, sprats, salmon, tuna, and mussels. Their canned fish is exported to over 47 countries across five continents, serving both wholesale distributors and international supermarket chains. In 2024, the company posted record sales of nearly €16 million, a 23% increase from the previous year, with a further significant growth reported in 2025. Not bad for a former Soviet collective!
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Marģers Zariņš’s folk tale of the fisher ‘Old Taizelis’ who out-rowed a gale is a lovely story that was based on a real fisherman, Niks Freimanis, 1845-1908.
Picture the Baltic coast before sunrise, mist clinging to the pines, the only sound the slap of small waves on the hull. Old Taizelis sits hunched in his weathered rowboat, gnarled hands curled around the oars, eyes squinting to where the sea meets sky. Locals say Taizelis could smell a storm coming before gulls even circled low.
One morning, fishing nets tucked neatly at his feet, he rows out further than anyone else dares, a hunger for the sea in his bones. The wind begins to rise, first gently, then wildly. Clouds close over the sun. The other boats on the water turn back, but Taizelis keeps rowing, leaning into the chop, a stubborn silhouette against the gathering gloom.
The gale breaks, a roaring monster, hurling spray, tearing at his little boat. Legend says the waves rose high as houses, the kind that eat whole forests. But Old Taizelis never releases the oars. He rows on, grit gripped in every muscle. Some in the village later swore he sang through the worst of it, a rough melody to keep rhythm, or maybe to mock the sea itself.
Hours pass. The wind howls his name, rain lashes his back. At last, exhausted but unbeaten, he rides the swell, beaching his boat along the Mazirbe shore. Salt crusts his beard, but his catch is heavy and whole.
After that storm, everyone agreed: Old Taizelis wasn’t just a master fisherman; the sea itself respected him. They raised a monument in Mazirbe to honour not only the man, but the spirit: unyielding, stubborn, and fearless enough to out-row the Baltic’s worst furies. Even today, when gales howl and tourists hide indoors, you’ll see a lone figure walking the shore, muttering to the wind. Some say it’s just the memory of Old Taizelis, checking the surf, daring the storm to try again.
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“Smoke in the pines”
To keep fish fresh and tasty for longer, they are smoked. Smoking in hot or cold smoke is a local tradition that has been developed over centuries. Any fish can be smoked. The fish is cleaned, cured with salt, pepper, and dill, then strung on sticks and hung in a smokehouse —a shack. The fish are gently smoked until the desired thermal processing is achieved. Taste nuances are achieved by using smoke from different types of local trees, often the wood chips of birch or alder, or even pine cones.
Smoked fish offers a complex flavour that combines savoury and smoky notes. The primary taste is umami from the fish itself, complemented by the distinctive smokiness from the wood. The texture is tender with a firm bite, creating an enjoyable mouthfeel that contrasts nicely with the added seasonings.
Smoked fish pairs wonderfully with crusty bread, providing a delightful texture contrast. Traditional accompaniments include pickled vegetables and mustard, which enhance the fish's flavour. For drinks, a chilled beer or a crisp white wine complements the smoky profile beautifully.
Along the coast, you will see many signs for Zivis, Latvian for fish. Sold from shacks, mobile vans or people’s homes. Stop and try while you can. Because the European Union does not like the process of smoking fish. It passed a directive that banned it from June 2024. Latvia has agreed to a longer transition period for the use of smoke flavouring on fish and other products, extending until July 2029. During that time, companies will still be able to use traditional smoke flavourings. But these exemptions are now at risk. Latvia’s Ministry of Agriculture opposes an EU plan to remove such derogations, arguing that this move would weaken Latvia’s competitiveness in the European market for smoked fish and other products. The wood-smoke methods now at risk not only benefit producers in terms of cost, but they also create consumer demand for “traditionally smoked” products, which would suffer if that description could no longer be used on them. Latvia pointed out to the European Commission that it was not necessary to revise traditional smoking norms in respect of Latvian smoked produce “because consuming traditional smoked products does not harm human health”. Well said.
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A list of the most popular fish in Latvia. There are many others. When we stopped at a fish shop in Roja a few days ago, we bought smoked Flounder, Gudgeon (a small freshwater fish common in Latvian rivers and lakes), and Horthorn sculpin (sometimes known as the “sea bullhead”), a spiny-headed bottom-dwelling coastal fish found in the Baltic Sea. And Banga tinned mussels and sardines in oil. These are the most popular, though:
- Baltic herring, Reņģe in Latvian. This is quickly smoked and eaten hot, often as a roadside snack when travelling. Aromatic and cheap.
- European sprats, Brētliņa in Latvian. An iconic fish, packed in oil in a tin and known as Riga Sprats. First tinned in Latvia in 1884.
- Sea trout and salmon, Laša forele and Lasis in Latvian. A seasonal fish in Latvian waters, although it is easily found in supermarkets all year round.
- Pike-perch, Sandardis In Latvian. A lake and river fish. Not my favourite as it's too bony! Much prized by sports fishers.
- Perch, Līdaka in Latvian. This is the winter ice hole prize. More in a minute!
- Lamprey, Nēģis in Latvian. This fish has its own festival in Carnikava.
- Tench/rudd, Linis/Raudene in Latvian. This is a Lake Engure speciality. Pan-fried.
- Eel, Zuša in Latvian. Another Engure speciality. It gave the village its name in Livonian.
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A brief history of Latvian sprats, from Latvijas Šprotes.
Latvia has taken pride in its fishing industry since ancient times. People in coastal settlements have long smoked, salted and dried caught fish for their own consumption, while trade was strongly limited by the shelf life of such products. By the 1960s, the increasing urban population density had given rise to the need for an inexpensive product with an extended shelf life. According to historical evidence, the first canning factories began to appear in Rīga and Jelgava in the 1980s.
Production of canned fish in Riga started in 1884. The Gögginger partnership was the first factory, followed by the Mortensen, Blüfeld, Bargisen, and Danielsen factories. Initially, the Gögginger partnership produced only Norwegian sardines and “pickled sprats”, which were primarily supplied to Imperial Russia’s market under the “Reval Sprat” brand name and to the Scandinavian market under the “Anchovies” brand name.
A little later, Danielsen and Mortensen, merchants from Denmark and Norway, conceived the idea of preserving smoked sprats, similar to French sardines, by immersing them in oil. Until then, sprats had been consumed within a limited time frame after being prepared on the shore or in Rīga, where they were distributed through the central market.
The best olive oil from France was ordered, and Latvian sprats were cooked accordingly. However, the initial attempts proved unsuccessful. As it turned out, olive oil was not suitable for the cooking of smoked fish, including smoked sprats. The smoky flavour of the smoked sprat in olive oil, typical of herring, caused an unpleasant aftertaste, as a result of which people did not want to buy the product in bulk. Additionally, olive oil, once opened, deteriorates rapidly.
The Gögginger partnership and Carnikava Manor found a solution in sesame seed oil, which, when mixed with mustard oil, was recognised as the best oil for cooking smoked sprats. It thickened at a temperature of 15 degrees and ensured a long shelf life. Around 1890, at 76 Terbatas Street in Rīga, Mortensen began producing "Sprats in oil", a recipe similar to that of modern Latvian sprats.
The product was a success, while choosing its name was a hassle. The product, at first, was offered as "Russian sardines", causing bewilderment among merchants in Moscow because, having ordered "Russian sardines", they expected to get a product similar to French sardines. The merchants found that to be a cheap fake and forced out any agent daring to offer such a product to them. A different approach was necessary, as a good product could not be wasted. In the long run, “Russian sardines” were renamed into German “sprats” (Sprotten). Now, of course, known as Latvijas Šprotes, Latvian sprats!
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“Drilling the silence”
Winter ice fishing on Ķīšezers, on the outskirts of Rīga, is a cherished ritual: part Latvian endurance, part quiet meditation. Picture the scene: snow muffles the city beyond the trees, a white desert dotted with bundled anglers huddled over holes they’ve just drilled through a thick, frozen lake.
To join the anglers at Ķīšezers, you’ll need more than a warm hat and hope. First, you need an ice auger. This is a sharp drill for boring holes, typically 130–150mm in diameter. Hand-powered augers are standard, but some use auger attachments for power tools. Next, you need a short ice fishing rod. Unlike summer rods, these are compact—about 30–60cm—for easy jigging over a small hole. You will also need tough, cold-resistant line with a light reel plus bait. You are sitting on a stool, practically motionless for hours. You will need multiple layers of thermal clothing.
The sport, I think that is what it is called, can be dangerous. The ice floes may break off and sail away. Or you will crash through thin ice. Therefore, some safety equipment, such as ice picks and a throw rope, a life jacket or flotation suit, plus a phone in a waterproof pouch, is important. And think about your sustenance. A flask of coffee or tea, along with some snacks, can help sustain long hours spent sitting on ice.
Despite its peaceful aura, winter fishing on Ķīšezers carries real risks. The ice must be at least 10cm (4 inches) thick to support a person safely. Even then, check thickness with an auger as you move: Ķīšezers can have uneven patches, especially near inlets, outlets, or reeds. Thawing weather, snow cover, or moving water can weaken ice. Hypothermia and frostbite are also real risks. Every year, between 2 and 17 anglers die fishing on ice. Approximately 200 are rescued each year.
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Road trip along the coast.
Start from the western end of Jūrmala and head along the Bay of Rīga coast road north-westwards towards Kolka. The villages are picturesque, and the initial drive is slow due to the speed restrictions. I like to head to Engure first. This village was first mentioned in historical documents in 1567. Linguists believe the name of the village to be derived from the Livonian language and to be translated as "eel", because the nearby Engures Lake had many eels. During the time of the Courland Duchy, Engure was a popular textile centre, and in the 19th century, it was renowned for its nautical school. Today, Engure is a parish centre and is particularly busy during the summer season when holidaymakers arrive to sunbathe and swim, enjoy the locally caught and smoked fish, and engage in active water sports - sailing, kiting, and paddleboarding. If you are hungry, I can recommend either the Bread and Beer bakery, with its take-away cakes and baked goods, or you can eat there at the few tables and drink its craft beer. Alternatively, you can visit the restaurant Kapteinis and Grants. Excellent food.
Continue northwards to Roja. This village has a lovely fishing museum. You can learn about the Banga collective, see how a captain lived, and how villagers lived. There is a good fish shop in the village with a wide selection of smoked varieties and tinned Banga products. However, you will see signs for Zivis - fish - all along the drive.
I can also recommend the cafe Rēderi, located just before Roja. We had very affordable but well-prepared Courland cuisine there.
Then travel to the tip of Latvia at Kolka. The car park area is somewhat commercialised in a Soviet sort of way, but walk to the tip and look out at the waves. They are coming towards each other in two directions! One side flows from the Baltic Sea, the other from the Bay of Riga. Kolka was once a Russian military outpost until the Russian army departed after Latvia regained its independence. I recall the slow withdrawal of troops from my time as a diplomat in Latvia in the second half of the 1990s.
After Kolka, head southwest towards Ventspils, following the Baltic Sea coastline. After about a 20-minute drive, turn right to Mazirbe. This is the remaining heart of the Livonian culture. Park near the Livonian culture house. Great pizza there in the summer! Walk towards the beach, about a ten-minute stroll. Just before the sand dunes turn right into the woodland and find the fishing boat graves. There is a signpost. Years ago, many of these boat cemeteries were built along the coast of the Baltic Sea in Soviet-occupied countries. But nowadays, this graveyard is the only one remaining. The boats have been here since the 1960s and '70s, when discarded vessels were abandoned in the woods after the Soviets stopped locals from fishing and restricted their activities near the shoreline. Sadly, their time appears to be running short, as the wooded graveyard is expected to be lost in about 10 years as nature continues to reclaim the site.
Then it is a pleasant 2.5-hour drive back to Rīga or Jūrmala after a full day on my fish tour. Don’t forget to buy some smoked fish to take back!
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Latvia’s fish stories are more than statistics. They rise with alder smoke above roadside shacks, whisper from rusting hulls swallowed by pines, and echo across silent, frozen lakes.
The centuries-old tradition of smoking fish is under attack. By the EU this time, not Soviet collectivism. This culinary tradition, which provides a livelihood to many people living in coastal communities, needs to be praised, not deleted on spurious health grounds. You can help, wherever you live. Buy some Banga products or Riga sprats, or if you are in Latvia, do the tour and enjoy the fish cuisine!
[Illustration of smoked fish by An Englishman in Latvia. Music by Oleksii Kalyna from Pixabay. Sound Effect from Pixabay]
