War's End

The modern Icelander is a chip off the old Norse. He believes that his tiny nation of 172,000 people can exist in equal partnership with great powers-while supporting itself almost entirely on fish. Last week the Icelander proved his premise by winning a curious ocean war against the proudest maritime nation on earth: Great Britain.

At stake in the war was the codfish--an ugly inhabitant of the North Atlantic that lingers lazily at the bottom of the ocean, spawns furiously and brings Iceland $59.3 million a year. Until June 1958, the schools of cod that lurked in the open sea more than four miles from Iceland's rocky coast were fair game for anyone. Every year British trawlers hovered off Iceland's coast outside the four-mile limit, scooping up enough cod to make up 50% of their distant-water catch.

Then Iceland announced that it would enforce a new fisheries limit: twelve miles. British trawler captains who disregarded the Icelandic ultimatum and penetrated within the twelve-mile limit found themselves accosted by the belligerent Icelandic coast guard. The British navy steamed to the rescue, provided frigate escorts for the invading fishermen. Tempers flared, the NATO alliance (to which both belong) was endangered and shots were fired-although mostly blanks.

Last week, from both London and Reykjavik, came announcements that the 2 1/2-year feud had ended. The terms: Iceland gets its twelve-mile limit, but British fishermen are permitted a three-year period of grace, during which they may fish-at certain times, at certain locations --within six miles of Iceland's coast. If Iceland's fishermen catch the fish that the British have been getting, the pact eventually should mean an additional $28 million a year for its one-crop economy.

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