Three hundred miles from land.
10 hours of fuel and ten fish.

A thunderstorm rocks the boat violently.
The boats metal groans a deeps ominous tone.

The boat climbs the mountain like waves up and down.
A menacing waterspout fades in and out of existence with every clap of thunder.

White ice cakes the stern and bow of the ship.
Fish on deck slowly freeze stiff with ever weaker breaths and flaps.

Crabs occasionally surface in their larger metallic tombs.
Ice and the cold dominate all but the fisher man.

Twenty-two turbulent and tiresome hours later the ships hold is filled to the brim with sealife
Three tones of squirming and pinching crab emerges from the hull for markets across the world.

A cold aura of ice desperately tries to conquer the fishermans beard.
Ice crackles as if it is in pain from being snapped of the beard and ship.

Warmth the enemy of ice greats the fisherman when he enters the bar to relax.