Must include fire, prisoner, and boat.
Usually, when you go ice fishing in North Greenland, it’s recommended that you bring a fishing rod. The only other way to catch the fish would be to go in with your bare hands, and you would be missing all your fingers by the time you caught a fish.
Pierre doubted his grandfather put his hands in the deathly cold waters without freezing his fingernails off, but everyone said old gramps Leon was a terrific ice fisher. It was true that he always came into the market with a large catch. Still, they hadn't brought any fishing rods.
"Grandpa, I don't understand how we're going to catch any fish at all," Pierre said. "We haven't any fishing rods."
The fisherman grunted. "There's no fun in fishing with a rod, boy."
"But—"
"No buts. It's time you learn the real way. And that's with no reels."
A cold swell pushed against the side of the boat, splashing the 12-year-old boy. He cried out in surprise.
"Get used to it, son," the old man said. "No mercy out here."
Shivering, Pierre looked at the hands of the experienced fisherman. One rested on the tiller of the small boat, while the other was clutching a mysterious, bulging sack. Both hands were missing at least one finger, and they were gnarled and seemed lifeless. Pierre removed his gloves and inspected his own pale and fragile hands. What would they look like before the trip was done? Pierre gulped.
***
The boat jolted onto the shore of the small island, waking Pierre. Startled, he sat up from his slouch. Surrounding them was mostly ice, except for a wide path of water, which the boat had travelled to get to the island. The fisherman grabbed the sack and slung it over his shoulder.
"Here."
Old man and boy got out of the boat and walked along the shore for a while. Eventually, all Pierre could see was ice, blanketing the vast ocean.
"Stay here a minute," the grandfather said. He stepped out on to the ice, and walked a few steps forward. Nodding his head, he beckoned his grandson to follow.
When the pair was far from the island, they stopped. Grandfather Leon reached into the sack, and removed a sawlike tool. Pierre looked at his grandpa questioningly.
"Auger doesn't work,” the old man explained. "Not for how we do it, at least."
After a while, a large hole was made in the ice. The grandfather stopped and looked at Pierre. It was time. The boy swallowed.
"Grandpa, will I have to put my hands in the water?" Pierre asked, expecting the worst.
"Put your hands in the water! Why would you want to do that? That's frostbite just waiting to happen."
"Well, I," the boy sputtered. "How did you lose your fingers?"
The grandfather chuckled. "I stuck my fingers in the engine of your uncle's truck at the wrong time. Hand bumped the belt when it was spinning. My whole tendon got sucked out." He slurped for added drama. Pierre laughed.
"Then Grandfather, how are we going to catch the fish?"
"That's the secret, boy. And today you find out."
The old man began to pull things from the sack. A long, tunnel-like, closed wall fabric. A small, sealed icebox. Large hooks. A small remote. Two hammers and two tennis rackets. A bag of dark, metal canisters.
"What is all this for?"
"Help me put these hooks around the opening. Space them evenly." Pierre helped his grandfather hammer the hooks in. When they had finished, the grandpa picked up one of the ends of the long, tunnel-like fabric. Was it a net? Just on the inside were three… machines. They appeared to be woven into the fabric. Pierre didn't know what to think. Grandpa Leon looked up.
"This shoots fire," the fisherman said, pointing to a nozzle on one of the machines. He then screwed a canister onto each. "These devices are about indestructible. Doesn't matter how hot, cold, wet, or dry. The elements can't break these babies." He nodded. "Your grandmother made them."
Pierre couldn't speak. What was his grandfather planning?
Leon lugged the net over to the hole and dropped it in. With some effort, he attached the net to the hooks and let it fall into the hole, the end with the devices going toward the bottom of the sea. The net sank like a rock, making a walled in area underwater.
"Bring me that icebox over there." Pierre did as he was told. "Plug your nose." Opening the box, a horrible smell wafted out. Despite his closed nostrils, the boy gagged. Even his grandfather made a face. Leon delicately lifted a mesh cage out of the box. Inside was a pile of raw squid.
"This is what gets them to come by the hundreds." The old fisherman tied the cage to one of the hooks and let it hang about 6 feet under the water. "Now we wait."
They didn't have to wait long. Fish began to appear under the surface, trying to get at the squid.
"What now, Grandpa?"
"Just wait a minute."
After a few minutes, tons of fish were in the net, having entered from the bottom. Pierre's grandfather grinned. "Go grab the tennis rackets and the remote. Don't press the button." Again, Pierre did as he was told. "Now keep one of the rackets and the remote. Stand ready. Good. Now, press the button."
Pierre nervously hit the button. Nothing happened. The boy looked at the man, dismayed.
"Be ready."
A fish jumped, and flopped back into the hole. The water began to bubble. A minute later, another fish jumped, slipping back into the sea. The boy stared at the hole, confused. The water continued to bubble, with increasing intensity. Suddenly, tons of fish leapt from the water.
"It's the fire-sprayers, boy! The fish won't go down toward the heat. They're prisoners now!" his grandpa roared. Clutching the tennis racket, old Leon swatted at the leaping fish, knocking them onto the ice. They flopped around helplessly. Pierre stared in dumbstruck amazement.
"What are you waiting for, son?" the fisherman took out two fish with one whack. "Stop staring and help this old man!"
After a moment, the boy gripped the racket and joined his grandfather in swatting the jumping fish.
"That's how you do it! Take that! Ha! How did you like that?" Pierre's grandfather was in his finest hour.
***
There's no fun in fishing with a rod.
Very unique, such a great story!
Great story!