Chapter 2: The fury of the Arctic

February 1905

The storm came like a wolf in the night. One moment, the sea was restless but calm; the next, it rose in anger, waves crashing over the bow, the icy spray biting at exposed skin. The wind howled, tearing through the rigging, and the lantern swung wildly, casting fleeting shadows that danced like specters.

We fought the storm with every ounce of strength we had. Ropes slipped through frozen hands, nets threatened to tear loose, and the boat groaned as if alive, battling the sea’s fury. In moments like this, there is no time for fear—only action.

These storms have claimed many lives over the years. Stories of entire crews lost to the Arctic’s rage are etched into our memories, warnings passed down from father to son. Yet here we are, clinging to this fragile vessel, driven by the unyielding need to return home with a full hold.

When the storm finally eased, we counted ourselves lucky. The cod we hauled that night felt like more than fish; they were trophies wrested from the sea itself. The sea is a harsh teacher, but each lesson is a reminder of why we respect its power.