So of the captains argued for returning to port, their voices heavy with gravity and concern.
In such severe weather conditions, pressing forward rashly would only put their crews in extre danger.
But another faction of captains was unwilling to give up the chance to tail the *River Beach*.
From the mont they decided to follow the *River Beach*, they had invested a great deal of ti, money, and resources.
Now that a payoff was finally in sight, how could they be willing to retreat just because of a storm?
They believed that as long as they could stick close to the *River Beach*, they might get a piece of the pie from the Emperor Crab haul.
The two sides were adamant, arguing endlessly. The atmosphere on the radio channel was tense and heated.
However, the sea wouldn’t give them endless ti to quarrel.
The gales began to howl, the piercing sound of the wind like a Demon’s roar, sending shivers down their spines.
The waves grew more turbulent, like a pack of crazed beasts relentlessly battering the ships.
The swells on the sea’s surface were like furious giants. Whipped up by the fierce winds, they churned and roared, kicking up colossal waves seven or eight ters high. They advanced on the Crabbing Boats like a range of moving mountains.
So of the more cautious captains, watching the weather worsen, felt their unease intensify. They made a decisive call and steered their Crabbing Boats out of the area.
But the stubborn captains held their ground.
Their eyes saw only the lure of Franklins. Driven by the pursuit of wealth, they had long since lost their reason.
They ignored the severe weather and the safety of their crews, singularly focused on tailing the *River Beach*, hoping to reap enormous profits from the Emperor Crab catch.
Ti ticked by, second by second, and the sea’s fury continued to escalate.
The arctic storm arrived even faster than the forecast had warned.
The wind blew more violently, and waves slamd into the hulls, causing the vessels to rock violently on the ocean’s surface.
The *River Beach* benefited from the outstanding design of the Dan Engineering Company.
Its hull structure was conceptually designed and ticulously crafted specifically to operate in the harsh environnts of the Sea of Okhotsk, the Bering Sea, and the North Atlantic Ocean.
In terms of wind resistance, it achieved a Class 1 standard, capable of easily withstanding Force 12 gales.
As for arctic currents, the *River Beach*’s performance was equally impressive, with an ice class rating of 2.
To put that in perspective, an ice class of 2 is defined for severe cold, with a temperature range of -30°C to -39.9°C.
This ice rating ant the *River Beach* could navigate freely through bone-chilling arctic currents, resisting the impact and pressure of solid ice.
Despite the *River Beach*’s superior, advanced hull design, sailing through the storm-tossed sea was still like riding a roller coaster. It pitched up and down on the waves, at tis thrown high as if to charge into the clouds, at others slamd down as if to plunge into the abyss.
The hull shook violently, letting out a groaning, creaking sound.
The crew clung tightly to anything bolted down, struggling to keep their balance, faint looks of tension on their faces.
Every so often, a surging wave would wash over the deck, scattering tools everywhere.
So tools were swept into the sea by the waves and vanished in an instant, making the crew’s hearts ache.
Amidst the monstrous wind and waves, the crew was powerless, able to do nothing but watch as the sea claid their tools.
As the gales arrived ahead of schedule, they were followed by a sudden arctic current, which descended like a cold phantom, rapidly spreading across the ocean.
Soon, solid ice began to spread with astonishing speed, encasing the gunwales bit by bit.
Even the seawater on the deck began to freeze rapidly. Before long, the *River Beach* was shrouded in a layer of white ice.
The weight of the ice deepened the *River Beach*’s waterline and noticeably slowed its speed, creating a huge problem for navigation.
Alvin had no choice but to pick up the intercom and order the First Mate to lead the deckhands in clearing the ice.
The crew, having received their orders, grabbed their tools. Secured by safety lines, they stumbled out onto the deck and began chipping away at the solid ice, the CLANG CLANG CLANG of their tools echoing as they worked to lighten the ship’s load.
Seeing this, Feng Mountain shrugged off his animal-hide coat, grabbed a fire axe hanging in the cabin, and joined the de-icing team.
Alvin could only watch in silence, concentrating on piloting the *River Beach*.
Through everyone’s continuous efforts, the ice on the gunwales and deck was cleared away. Although it would still freeze over in the arctic current, the crew didn’t slack off in the slightest.
It was a war of attrition against nature. The mont they relaxed, the ice would build up again. As long as the crew took turns de-icing and kept the deck relatively clean, the impact wouldn’t be too great.
As the *River Beach* cut a path through the turbulent waves, Alvin noticed on his navigational instrunts that they had entered the Emperor Crab fishing grounds.
He reached out and pressed the button to begin operations.
A red indicator light on deck began to flash. Regardless of how rough the seas were, the crew imdiately switched into work mode.
They opened the bait hold, hung the prepared bait bags inside the Crab Traps, and attached ropes and buoys.
Their movents were practiced and swift, every step thodical.
They started the crane and lifted a Crab Trap.
The roar of the crane was especially loud over the sound of the waves. The massive arm rose slowly, securely gripping the heavy Crab Trap.
A crewman carefully operated the crane, ensuring the Crab Trap could be accurately dropped in the designated spot.
The mont the magnetic lock disengaged, the Crab Trap went into freefall, plumting into the sea and disappearing beneath the churning waves.
What followed was repetitive, tedious work.
Pack the bait, attach the line, drop the trap.
The job was simple, but extrely dangerous. Whenever a large wave approached, a spotter on the upper deck would grab a bullhorn and shout a warning.
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