Creepy Crawlers of the Sea

Anatoliy Russo · 01-24-2012, 05:55 PM

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The Russo chuckled at her exclamation, remember his own childhood experiences with the art of fishing. Then, though, his aunt had taken him out on her boat and forced a rod into his hands and told to him to sit. He managed to nail an Atlantic cod, which the two dead specimens before him were as well. His aunt, pleased that her nephew was a fisherman at heart, sent him to pull in the nets for a crab harvest and had to rescue her half-grown kin from falling headfirst into subarctic waters. The event had not traumatized the young Russo and he had felt an invigorating rush from it all. He had loved shelling the crabs that day and eating them roasted and buttered at home with the rest of his family. They had all laughed at the story of his near plunge, and though he had burned in embarrassment, he had liked the pats on the back he received from the other men. Since then, he had done all sorts of fishing and still loved it.

"Zhis line is not some string. Is specially voven and coated to be strong vith strong fish attached. I don't use many hooks vhen I fish like zhis, but it is handy for quick food." He folded up the entire line, a rather long one as cod were more deep-sea fish, and folded the hooks into oiled leather to keep them from poking through. The fish were still dripping blood, though it had gone down quite a bit. He pinched their upper backs, and was satisfied in their quality. Anatoliy smiled broadly at the girl. "Salmon is very nice, especially soft and vith butter. Ve used to have all kinds of fish soups back in Russia. Now is more red meat, though fish is still lovely to have."

Eying the girl, Anatoliy had noted she was not squeamish about the cutting and gutting, and he approved. There was nothing about it. Some were disgusted by the sight of guts, even though there were plenty of feral relatives out there still chewing down on steaming kill in the snow. "Zhat vould be nice," he said simply, carefully storing his hooks and line, and pulling the trap frames to his back. "Anatoliy Russo," he said pleasantly, nodding at the younger woman. "If you could bring zhem, I'll take zhese." The two of them headed off the dock and to the beach, man carrying his gear and the young woman with the pair of dead fish.

Anatoliy set his things down and silently went into the nearby tree line. Quickly, he managed to snap a few dead tree branches within reach and returned to the beach. He dumped them on the sand unceremoniously and went back for another small load. Returning with that, he laid the sticks on the other small pile. First, though, he selected two stiff thin sticks and put them to the side. They would do for roasting the fish.

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