The Fishing Trip

A rickety old boat limped out to sea. The solemn-faced crew of fishermen were venturing into the unknown waters. The gang of fisherman were all from the fjords of Iceland. They needed to be careful because the cod wars were on, and they could have their nets cut by the British.

They were very quiet. Their motto appeared to be, "why use a word when none would do." They followed this strictly. The boat had faded and barely legible letters on the side saying Icelandic Heron. The metal rim was rusted and looked like it was going to crack soon. The drainage holes were in the same dilapidated state as the rim.

Alec was in charge of the nets of the ship. He was also in charge of a long scythe to cut other nets. He needed to make sure that his net didn't get cut. His bright blue eyes scanned the ever-vacant horizon for ships.

As Alec started the winch, you could see a flash of his pale skin beneath his yellow draping raincoat. The raincoat swamped his face, except for his eyes, shining like beacons. His eyes darted in the direction of a rumble, from the ever-worsening storm.

The waves started to get rough, and everyone went inside except Alec. He made sure that the net was impossible to cut from another boat. The wind suddenly stopped.

The waves towered over Alec. He ran, the hood flipping off the raincoat to expose his wild blonde hair. He was covered by the wave and swept towards the rim. On contact, the rusty worn section of rim broke with a deafening clang.

Alec's strong fingers grabbed the bollard, which he nearly hit, and held on for dear life. The wave receded, and Alec pulled himself up. By this time, the net was safely reeled in so Alec stumbled inside.

The next day, at the first hint of bad weather, Alec would head back inside to do some minor task, which could wait until much later. The horizon remained bleak and vacant. No ships...
yet.

Late at night, Alec was just winching the net out for one last netful when he saw a light on the horizon. A British ship. And the net was out. He stabbed at the button to bring the net back, but it was unresponsive. He would have to defend until the end of the fishing timer.

The British netman struck first, aiming to cleanly slice the net. Alec stuck his scythe under the blade, blocking it. The readout said one minute left. A lunge on the scythe from the British netman nearly left Alec weaponless, if it wasn't for quick reflexes.

Alec sliced through the other net just as the sound of the winch behind him started. The Brit lunged, but Alec knocked the weapon out of his hand. Alec had won. When the net finished winching up, he went back inside.

Alec, usually not a big eater, was enjoying his hard fought dinner with gusto. So much so, that his fellow crew members were very worried. Ignoring their motto, they asked him what had happened.

Alec told them about the wave nearly washing him overboard, and the close call with the British ship. All of the crew clapped and cheered for Alec's bravery, and agreed to fix the rim when they docked at shore.

The next day was entirely uneventful, no big waves, no ships, just another netcutting fight to be seen on the horizon. Ten entire netfuls of cod were brought in. There would be a huge feast that night.

The next day was not uneventful at all. On the first netload they brought up, there was a torpedo along with the cod. A real, active, torpedo.

Instantly, everyone started exclaiming, "Throw the net back!" or "Make sure we keep it!" Alec stepped up and announced that they should keep the torpedo, so that no other trawlers could be harmed by the possible explosion. There was some grumbling, but mostly sincere agreement.

 For all of the homebound voyage, there would be constant fear of the torpedo blowing up, and sinking the ship. The torpedo lay in a padded container, hurriedly made to contain the evil, dangerous menace.

The torpedo itself was made out of black steel, and slightly rusted from lying on the seabed for a while. The case's padding was thin, being made out of old clothes and the case was made from bits of wood and metal, bound together with rope.

Everyone had a hard time sleeping that night, in fear of the demonic torpedo. It invaded their dreams, so eventually someone went down to the hold, to keep watch over the torpedo, so nothing could blow it up.

The next day, there were no torpedos. On the third netful, however, there were only a few fish...and a massive boulder! The boulder was too heavy to pull out, and it wouldn't fall out of the net.

The net would have to be cut, which would cost a mass of money to fix, or they could go back and hire a crane to get it out. Alec, as the netmaster, got the final decision, and he said to go back and get a crane.

The boulder was a rounded piece of rock, with many nooks, crannies and ridges. It was basically like a huge wrinkled grey ball. It lay in the net, occasionally hitting the side of the boat with a loud THUNK. This section of rim had very many dents.

Everyone had to go relatively hungry, because the only food left was the diminished amount in the hold, and that was constantly depleting. No-one liked the cod and nothing but cod diet, but they put up with it, with some reluctance.

A storm brewed, and everyone went inside, but Alec was the quickest. As the waves got rougher and rougher, a nervous crew member went to the hold, so the torpedo couldn't blow up in their faces, sinking the ship for good. When the storm passed, the rock battered section of rim looked like a breath of wind could break it. A glint of metal caught Alec's eye. On top of the boulder were some splinters of wood, and the blade of a scythe. Someone had tried to attack during the storm.

From then on, Alec placed some tarpaulin over the net, so that no British could cut the net while they were inside. It was a rushed job, but Alec hoped it would work.

The next time a storm broke, Alec stood with the captain in the wheelhouse, to keep watch over the net, to make sure that no one cut the net while they were inside. Luckily no one came. During that time, the captain set up an alert system, which warned him about incoming ships.

That night, an alarm woke everyone up. There was a ship approaching. The captain rushed to the wheelhouse. The other ship was not responding to communication, and definitely knew they were there. Alec stepped outside to pick up the scythe.

As the boat drew closer, a bow with the name Pride of Iceland written on it appeared. Alec shouted, "hello!" and he heard a reply. Both boats were Icelandic. They were allied.

The other boat was headed back to the capital Reykjavik as well, so they travelled together, the other boat helping providing food for the Icelandic Heron, a much needed relief.

Alec told the netmaster of the other ship how he had (barely) fought off a British netmaster, without his net being cut. The British had become fiercer over the years, seeking to cut as many nets as possible in revenge.

Iceland was continually making its point, and the wrong British were backing down. Also, more British nets were cut than Icelandic nets, giving Iceland an advantage.

The shortwave radio chatter could be picked up from their location, but the port's radio could be picked up from miles away, which could mean that it was very far off, or just over the horizon.

The next day, there was still no sign of the ever elusive port, and the Icelandic Heron was running out of fuel. It would break down soon. The next morning, standing out in front of the sunrise, was a jagged line on the horizon. The port. Everyone was celebrating inside the dining room, and all seemed well. But they had forgotten something in the hold...

The jagged line on the horizon grew ever larger as the fuel line dropped. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and Alec even went out without his raincoat! The raincoat appeared glued to him when he was outside.

There was barely a wave on the smooth ocean surface. It was so nice to be outside, that they had to take shifts captaining the boat! Meanwhile, the other boat could have been in its own little thunderstorm, it was so solemn.

The port was only 1km away. Just out of their grasp. It was so tantalisingly out of their reach, someone started running around the deck like a lunatic. A crunch drew their attention as the section rim under constant rock bombardment snapped, falling into the water.

As they rushed into dock, they forgot about the torpedo. As they bumped against the concrete after tying the ropes, BOOM! The torpedo had blown up. The only things holding the ship from sinking, were the ropes.

The gangplank was rammed onto the dock in a flash, and the crew ran off as best they could at an angle. A minute after they were all off, the rope snapped.

The ship plunged into the few metres of space before the bottom of the harbour. The Icelandic Heron was officially out of service.

As a crane lifted the wreckage onto a truck, the boulder fell out of the net. It split open to reveal a massive amethyst, and a few bits of diamond. The trawlers had struck it rich, totally unknowingly.