In my memory, that always silent man loved to sit on the ice all day long in winter, carrying a small stool.
" Cotton Candy."
Su Wei scooped up the little white ball of fur that was still drooling over the refrigerator door and tossed it back onto the sofa cushions. "Don't run around. If all goes well, we'll have extra food soon."
Cotton Candy tilted her head, seemingly not understanding, and snorted in dissatisfaction.
Su Wei ignored it, turned around and pushed open the heavy wooden door leading to the back storage room.
A chilling, old feeling instantly washed over me.
There's no heating here, so it's much colder than the living room.
The air was filled with a mixture of the smell of stale wood and dust.
The beam of the powerful flashlight pierced the darkness, illuminating the mountain of clutter.
A broken lawnmower, a rusty bicycle, boxes of old clothes, and all sorts of mechanical parts whose names I don't know.
Su Wei wrapped his down jacket tighter and rummaged through a pile of messy cardboard boxes.
Dust swirled in the beam of light, making my throat itch.
Soon, under an iron shelf against the wall, he found his target—a dark green hard plastic toolbox.
The box was covered in scratches and even had some dents at the edges, but that was exactly what he was looking for.
He reached out and pulled her out forcefully.
It's very heavy.
Su Zhuang didn't mind the dirt on the ground; he squatted down and pried open the somewhat rusty metal buckle.
Click.
A crisp metallic clang echoed in the deathly silent storage room as the box lid popped open.
The inside wasn't as messy as I'd imagined; in fact, it was quite tidy.
Various types of fish hooks were hung on foam boards in different categories, several rolls of fishing lines of different thicknesses and materials were neatly arranged, and there were even several boxes of artificial lures that were already shriveled but still brightly colored.
In the middle of the box lay two short ice fishing rods.
The cork at the handle has turned black, a mark left by countless grips, but the rod remains straight, proving it is still sturdy.
In the bottommost compartment, a hand-cranked ice drill bit lay quietly.
Su Wei took it out.
The spiral blade was a bit dull, and there were still some reddish rust spots in some places.
But with a little polishing, this massive, purely mechanical machine can easily handle ice layers several tens of centimeters thick.
This is the survival wisdom of the older generation of Alaska.
It has no fancy electronic components and requires no expensive maintenance; its main selling point is its robustness and durability, ensuring it will never fail in critical moments.
Su Wei picked up one of the fishing rods and swung it around in the air.
"Hoo €€€€"
The rod tip sliced through the air, and the feel was surprisingly stable.
Holding the fishing rod, the vague image of my father in my memory seemed to become clearer.
He didn't leave the original owner any money, but he did leave behind these tools that would help her survive in dire circumstances.
Thanks.
Su Wei said something in a low voice, which sounded somewhat weak in the empty room.
I closed the box, picked it up, and stood up.
With this, at least he can try ice fishing.
Next, we'll try our luck on the ice.
Su Wei looked outside, his eyes searching.
Ideally, you could also unlock a Fishing Module.
Chapter 40 Fishing Tackle Maintenance and the Possibilities of Snowmobiles
The wind and snow outside the window showed no signs of abating; in fact, they gradually intensified over time.
The wind whipped up snowflakes that slammed against the glass, making a rustling sound.
Everything outside was a blinding white, and you couldn't see anything beyond five meters.
Visibility was extremely low.
Going to carve holes in the ice in this weather is tantamount to suicide.
Su Wei withdrew his gaze and turned back to the sofa area by the fireplace.
He casually placed the dark green toolbox on the coffee table with a dull thud.
"Eek?"
Cotton Candy poked its head out from the cushion, twitched its nose, and seemed quite interested in the box that smelled of engine oil and rust.
It tentatively stretched out its claws, trying to scratch the latch on the side of the box.
"Don't move."
Su Wei reached out and pressed down on the restless white paw, tucking it back under the fox.
Since we can't get out, let's prepare the tools first.
This set of equipment has been in the warehouse for too long, and a thick layer of dust has accumulated on it.
If you use it without checking it first, and you happen to catch a big fish but it gets away because the line breaks or the hook is pulled straight, that would be a huge loss.
He sat cross-legged on the carpet and opened the box.
A pungent smell of dust hit me.
Su Wei first picked up the hand-cranked ice drill.
This thing is quite heavy, and it's made entirely of steel.
The spiral blade has some rust spots, and it feels rough and not sharp to the touch.
If the blade isn't sharp enough, drilling a hole in ice at sub-zero temperatures can be exhausting and kill a person.
He got up and went to the kitchen to find a fine whetstone and a bottle of cooking oil.
Back in the living room, he put a few drops of oil on the whetstone and attached the ice drill blade to it.
"Shh, shh, shh."
The sound of friction echoed repeatedly in the quiet wooden cabin.
Su Wei's hands were very steady; he maintained a fixed angle with each push and pull.
Rust mixed with oil turned into a black slurry that slid down the blade.
Ten minutes later, he wiped the blade clean with a rag.
The originally dull metallic edges revealed a silvery-white sharpness.
Su Wei casually tore off a piece of sticky note and slashed it across the blade.
The paper snapped in two instantly, the cut smooth.
That's enough.
Next are the fish hooks and fishing line.
Most of the fishhooks on the foam board were rusty.
Su Wei picked out several wide-mouthed crank hooks, carefully sanded them to remove rust, and checked the sharpness of the hook tips.
He threw away the hooks that were too rusty because they were easy to break.
As for fishing line.
Su Wei pulled out a piece of transparent nylon thread, wrapped it around his hands, and pulled hard.
"Snap."
The wire broke.
Sure enough, the nylon thread was severely aged and brittle, like dried noodles.
He frowned, rummaged through the bottom of the box, and finally found a roll of Dyneema braided yarn that was still unopened.
This type of thread is wear-resistant and has high tensile strength, but its disadvantage is that it easily freezes and hardens in very cold weather.
But when it comes to survival, feel is secondary.
He skillfully replaced the lines on the two ice fishing rods, tied on the sinkers and the polished hooks.
The knot was tied tightly, and the excess thread was trimmed with nail clippers.
With everything in order, Su Wei put the toolbox back on.
It was just past noon.