A foghorn sounded as a huge black trawler ploughed through the still waters of the Bering Sea. The eight crewmembers of the trawler, Phil, Max, Mathew, Alex, Jamie, Sig, Adam and John sat around a small round table in the lounge area. They whiled the night away with card games, frequent laughs and perhaps one too many drinks.

Philip, the deck hand, stood shakily and wove his wobbling way through the cramped cabin and out into the hallway. It was a long corridor that smelt of old rubber, rusting metal and oil. Mould grew along the walls and the floor was constantly damp. Small lanterns lit the way down the corridor creating dim pools of light every ten paces. Phil finally came to rest outside a small metal doorway with faded letters, WC. Phil pushed the door and it creaked slowly open letting out a pungent smell, a mixture of urine and cleaning fluid. Phil, of course, could not make out these smells, as he was too drunk so he waddled in and closed the door behind him.

From inside the dirty washroom, Phil could see small waves lapping the sides of the ship through a small portal that made everything outside look a dull shade of grey. The first signs of dawn were just beginning to creep up over the horizon. The sky began to brighten up and shades of yellow showed through the originally dark blue sky. Stars slowly faded and the moon continued to slide down towards the water.

A second foghorn sounded; the sign for the crew to begin the gruelling day ahead.

The cabin became a hurry of tired people rushing around and hoping to be the first in the shower room. Jamie, the cook, set off for the kitchens where he practically lived whilst the rest of the crew trooped up on deck and began their respective jobs. Phil, however, was still in the toilet.

A dull, distorted face looked back at Phil from the dirty and cracked mirror. Dark brown hair lay roughly on his head. He had blushed cheeks and a crooked nose. His dark brown eyes seemed to look right through you as if in another world. Some stubble grew on his sharp chin. A scruffy, stained shirt hung loosely on his small but strong shoulders. Phil snapped back to reality and quickly washed his face and hands before setting off down the corridor once again. He reached an old, rusted iron staircase and walked up it. As Phil stepped out onto the main deck he was blasted with the tang of sea air. Cold wind dotted with salty water whipped around him, making his loose clothes cling to him. As the morning wore onwards, seagulls increased in number around the favoured ship of the seas.

Phil and his co-worker Max had the hard job of preparing the pots to be dropped into the sea. The crane dropped a pot on the loading platform and they fitted the bait and rope onto it. As the pot slid into the vast expanse of water, Max threw a coil of rope overboard and the buoy soon followed. They had to do this same routine for all seventy pots held on that ship.

As the crew pushed onwards through the mountain of pots, slowly sending each one into the depths of the Bering Sea, the waves that were, before, gently lapping the sides of the boat now grew in size. Light drizzle quickly turned itself into a torrential downpour pouring down on the unprotected crew. Growing waves pushed the boat to and fro, throwing Phil and Max off balance as they continued their arduous task. Storm clouds gathered quickly overhead and the ships captain, Jack, struggled to keep the boat under his control.

Huge waves rolled effortlessly over the rim of the boat and swept past the feet of the crew. Very quickly everyone not in the safety of the hold below was soaked to the bone. And yet business continued and they bore it through the storm.

Howling winds whipped over the ship and the sound of the rain hitting the deck made it impossible to talk or communicate with anyone. Lightning flashed across the overcast sky, giving the only reliable light for the men to work in.

Max and Phil continued their job and they pushed onwards, just preparing the fiftieth pot. The deck was now covered in grease and water, which made it hard for them to keep their balance. As they were just about to drop the pot a giant wave crashed over the side of the boat. Max was swept off his feet and he tried to grab onto something to steady himself. The fist thing he grabbed was the buoy rope. It quickly uncoiled and he fell back onto the deck with a thump that was unheard over the sound of the storm.

Phil however had grabbed the pot and hadn’t been pushed off balance. He continued to send the pot down into the sea. As the pot sank rapidly the buoy and the rope was pulled quickly off the deck and into the water. Max felt a sudden jolt as the rope he held onto was yanked from his hand. But not before it had dragged it through the pulley system that eliminated any knots in the rope.

A searing pain shot up his right arm as his whole hand was crushed in the wheels and cogs. He instantly screamed out in pain. Luckily for him there was a short lull in the torrential storm and he was only just heard by Phil who reacted on instinct and pulled out his penknife to cut the rope.

But the damage was done and Max clutched his shredded hand in agony. Another huge wave smashed over the deck and sent yet another wave of pain through Max’s body as the salty water washed over his hand.

He screamed again and clenched his teeth, desperate for the pain to end. Soon Jamie was up on deck with a bandage. He quickly grabbed hold of Max and pulled him down into the dryness below deck. Max’s hand dripped blood onto the fresh bandage, which was soon stained deep red. He sat down in the small and grubby medical room whilst Jamie searched the cupboards for the first aid kit. Max was still in intense pain. Three of his fingers had been stripped down to bare flesh, the rest of his hand wasn’t much better off; he had gashes all over his palm and thumb. A small piece of shredded skin hung limply from his middle finger and red blood oozed out of the many cuts.

The storm continued to batter the ship to and fro, sending waves of water rushing over the deck. Jack resisted letting the ship go and somehow managed to keep control of the ship as it was continuously battered by the raging sea and howling winds.

Yet more lightning ripped the sky apart.

Phil now had to take over the work of his ex co-worker who was still being treated. As he struggled and fought against the elements the storm welled and increased in force, sending even larger waves rolling towards the seemingly small boat. The wind grew louder and faster and the rain became so thick it was almost impossible to see further than two metres.

The ship violently rocked from side to side, threatening to capsize. A wave almost twice the height of the ship itself swiftly crashed over the side, sending everyone on the ship careering across the deck. Several windows shattered under the immense force and some of the remaining pots were knocked loose. The water rushed off the steeply leaning deck and pulled the crew across the greasy floor. Bright flashes of light acted like a strobe light on the scene of panic and confusion. One of the top most pots balanced on the edge of the pile, swaying and creaking in the wind and rain.

The crew lay helpless on the floor, unable to get up due to the wind and rain. As the boat rocked to one side, Phil slipped down the deck and hit the pots. This final impact was enough to send the rocking pot tumbling over the edge on a certain collision course with Phil’s helpless and scared body. 1 tonne of metal dropped like a stone to the deck floor. Just before it made deadly contact the crane swung wildly through the air and smashed into the side of the pot, sending it smashing in to the metal deck just to the left of Phil. The vibrations shook the whole deck and the sound was heard even above the torrential storm.

Below deck Phil could hear distant screams as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Sliding into the pots had hurt his head and he was in a state of shock. He thought the screams must be his own and felt sure he must be feeling pain, even though he was numb from head to toe. As he struggled to stay awake he managed to force himself to turn his head to the right. The blurred image he saw was one of panic. The remaining crew were frantically trying to create order in the confusion. The crane arm was still spinning around wildly and they pulled hard to calm it, unabated by the many waves that crashed down on top of them. Once they finally had the dangerous crane in their control two of the crew rushed carefully over to Phil.

He could hear vague voices and mumbling. Henry and Joe picked him up between them and lugged him all the way over the slippery and dangerous deck to the metal stairs and down the dark hallway. The lights where flickering, threatening to go out all together. Phil was laid down gently on the couch in the main cabin. Henry stayed by his side and kept talking encouragement to him. Phil could not make sense of the words. All he heard was a mumble of blurriness. His eyes flickered and his brain slowed down. Slowly he fell in to a deep and much needed sleep.

* * *

Dawn and the usual flock of seagulls flew in from the horizon; quick to find the ship, even in the expanse of water that surrounded it. Gentle waves lapped against the side of the ship and a light breeze flowed around the ship. The storm of yesterday had left the deck in a mess. Several pots were strewn across it with rope trailing behind them. One of the barrels of bait had toppled in the wind and waves, which had spread stinking fish flying across the deck, creating a sheen of grease. Coils of rope had unwound and now lay in heaps that were sure to have many knots in them.

Below deck the scene was silent and crewmembers rested in their sleeping quarters. Phil lay messily on his bed, his clothes still on. His hair stuck out at odd angles and he had several cuts and bruises on his arms, face and legs. A small alarm on the bedside table gave a piercing ring and before long Phil was up, showered and dressed and ready to start on the day ahead.

Several of the crew were already up on deck clearing the mess and untangling the rope. It would take some time to clear up the mess and return the ship to working order and this would set them back in their efforts to clear the ship of all its pots before the day was done. By midday the deck was clean and ready to be worked on. Max came back with a bandage on one hand and helped out in some of the easier jobs. Soon they were working as usual and they slowly made their way through the many pots remaining. The bright sun slid slowly downwards towards the flat horizon. Winding the hours along as the crew grew more and more weary and tired again.

Finally came the sound of the last pot being dropped into the Bering Sea. A cheer rose from the ship as the crew rejoiced at having completed the hardest and most gruelling part of the voyage. As the day at last ended the crew of the trawler set off to the lounge area below deck.

In the control room Jack sent a final message through the Intercom.

“Congratulations! I think a special celebration is in need!” And with that he set off to the lounge area as well, grabbing two six-packs on the way.

Phil and Max talked cheerily as they made their way down to the lounge, fully in the mood for an all-night game of poker. The lounge seemed cosier and more welcoming with seven optimistic people crowded around the small table. Ten chairs were positioned around the table, leaving one spare as Phil and Max sat down. Mathew pulled out a well-used pack of cards and slipped them out of their case. He showed excellent dealing skills as he spread the cards across the table and flipped them up into his hands with elegant grace, and then, effortlessly, he riffled the cards together and flicked them across to all eight of his crewmates.

Soon all of them were fully engrossed in play and froth lined their empty glasses. As Phil poured himself a second beer a sharp jolt shook the ship. A terrible screeching sound resonated through the ship. Silence hung over the cabin before Jack finally broke it.

“What the hell was that!” he exclaimed in horror as he jumped up.

“Oh man! We hit something!”

People started reacting to the scene unfolding around them. Jack took control of the situation, ordering everyone to grab a life suits and get up on deck as quickly as possible. Up on deck, the huge impact had sent many of the pots tumbling across the deck and now three of them blocked the way up in to the control room. Jack arrived and saw the blockage. Without access to the control room Jack had no way of sending for help. Soon the rest of the crew clambered on to the deck and they all saw the blockage.

“Right, we have to get into the control room. One of you will have to climb up there.” Jack ordered.

Sig jumped up and began climbing the rickety pots whilst the rest of the crew began struggling into their life suits. Sig appeared to be a natural climber and was soon at the very top of the pots. To get in to the cabin from here Sig had to smash one of the windows and crawl through. As he swung at the glass, the pots underneath him shifted and he lost his balance. Sig grabbed wildly at the air in front of him the pots creaked and swayed. Suddenly they gave way and almost 3 three tonnes of steel grate collapsed on to the deck. In the middle of the wreckage was the mangled body of Sig Hansen. The crew jumped back in fear of being crushed. There was no time to feel sad; they had to get help in some way or another.

Water was pouring in through a huge gash in the side of the trawler and it was now sinking fast. The corridor now had water sloshing around about ten inches deep and steadily rising. Jack swayed through the freezing water and made his way to the storage hold where the secondary radio was held.

As Jack continued down the hallway the ship tilted downwards and the water rose beneath him suddenly. He reached a rusted old metal door with a faded sign on it reading “Store”. He hastily unlocked and opened the door.  Inside was a dark store cupboard. Not like any you might find in a domestic home. On the many shelves were various old and rusted contraptions that seemed like they had no life left in them. After a quick check, Jack soon found what he was after; a small brown box with a moulding pair of leather headphones lying on top. He bundled it into his arms and stumbled off again. The ship sank lower on one end again making Jack slip and fall into the freezing cold water. As the radio hit the water, blue sparks flew of it and the air buzzed for a few seconds. Jack quickly pulled himself up and rushed off carefully.

Jack stumbled onto the deck and laid the radio down. He then ran over to his life suit and struggled into it as he shouted orders to the crew.

“Someone get the life raft ready. John, we’re going to need you to get that radio working.” Shouted Jack.

Several people bustled off and John sat down by the radio and got work. As he cranked the old radio up, all he got was sparks of electricity and static in the headphones. Jack came over to inspect the little progress that had been made.

“We have to get help or else we’ll never survive out here in the cold.”

“I’ve tried radioing, but all I get back is static. Let’s just hope our message gets through in time.” John said grimly as he staggered to his feet on the sharply leaning boat.

“We’d better abandon ship now, before it’s too late.”

Jack walked unsteadily down to the rest of the crew who were all helping sort out the life raft. Soon they had it in the water and they each climbed down into it. They pushed off from the side of the sinking ship. It seemed strange to see the ship from below as it sank into the dark and unknown depths of the Bering Sea.

Inside the inflatable raft the crew was silent. They all huddled together to keep warm but still they shivered. The wind buffeted the sides of the tent like raft as it bobbed up and down in the undulating waves. A solemn mood hung over them all as they pictured in their minds the final screams and pictures of Sig Hansen. But that was not the only loss. They had lost their ship, which had become a second home to many of them.

As the hours wore on the crew’s breathing became less rapid and several of them fell into deep sleeps in the warming conditions. Soon all that could be heard was the wind blowing around them and the occasional wave slapping against the sides of their inflatable raft.

* * *

A chill breeze whipped across a barren landscape of snow and withered trees. As it wound through the nothingness it reached a small tent-like structure washed up on the rocky beach. The plastic of the structure flapped in the wind. It was dawn and the seals were just beginning to wake up. Their morning call was the only sound in the desolate scene. Sound travelled far in the vast open plains of white.

Phil was just beginning to stir from his sleep, finally awoken by the incessant noises coming from outside. His eyes blinked open and he groaned. The rocky ground separated from him only by a thin plastic canvas was very uncomfortable and he had stiff legs and back. He slowly leant up on his elbows and blearily looked at his surroundings. The whole place was lit with an eerie orange light from the sun glowing through the plastic canvas roof. He lay on the floor with eight other bodies. Clouds of mist wafted away from him as he breathed, still to weak to do much more.

A body next to him stirred and rolled over, revealing the face of a worn out Adam. His lips moved silently and mouthed the word “Phil”. He too sat up and looked around. Sudden memories flooded through his brain, sudden and horrific memories: The horrible sound, Sig’s mangled body, terror, fear and, ultimately, a strange calm.

Adam shook his head in disbelievement, if all that had happened, then he must be in the life raft. But this was not at sea. This was on a pebble beach. A cold, pebble beach. They must’ve run aground.

Adam got up sharply and stretched himself out. Still half in a daze he went to the opening of the inflatable life raft and looked out. He stumbled back in shock and raised a shaking finger at the opening. Phil glanced up and saw Adam, he was quickly on his feet and looking out the opening. Outside he saw a sea of white with just occasional tufts of green grass. On the pebble beach they were on were several hundred seals of all sizes.

They had soon woken two more crew members who had both looked outside. Jack was stunned and he tried to wake the last four of the crew. They didn’t seem to budge or even react. Jamie knelt down and checked each of their pulses. All of them had died in the incredibly freezing conditions.

* * *

The last four surviving crew members of the trawler were stranded on a frozen island in the north of the Bering Sea, several thousand miles from the nearest civilization and with no rescue available. All hope seemed lost.

Another old piece of prose extended from a school project.