In order to save space, the staircases on board are generally very steep, and the clearance height of the rooms is only two ters, with pipelines, cables, and insulation materials laid across the top.
Once the bed, cabinets, table, and chairs are arranged, the room is basically cramd full.
Bi Fang made his way between the seats and wooden table and sat on the edge of the bed, which was a standard single bed and yet a bit narrower.
The narrowness of the bed wasn’t without reason; at sea, it’s best for the bed to be just narrow enough to snugly encase one’s body.
Experienced sailors would stuff pillows and blankets at the head of the bed early on, so that when a storm hits, they could grasp the sides of the bed with their hands and push against the wall at the foot of the bed with their feet, to avoid being thrown onto the floor.
Outside the room, the corridor on the ship barely t the international convention’s minimum standard—0.7 ters.
When two people t in the corridor, one had to turn sideways and press against the wall for the other to pass.
As for entertainnt, there were practically no public spaces other than the dining room.
No wonder the fare for a cruise ship like this was so cheap.
Bi Fang sighed inwardly, a fishing boat turned cruise ship could only offer such conditions.
If it were before, the crew would have to spend a whole two or three-year stint in such an environnt, but turning into a cruise was much simpler, and it offered a relatively more stable inco.
Most people’s idea of life at sea is a lengthy holiday: eating sashimi, feeling the sea breeze, sunbathing, as if they’re in Hawaii every day.
The first few points were indeed true and also the biggest selling point of this "cruise," as it retained so of the fishing functions from its conversion.
In the Arctic Ocean, with virtually no industrial pollution, you could catch fresh seafood and taste the finest sashimi without any seasoning, which felt tender and sweet.
Not long after boarding, Bi Fang experienced an unprecedentedly huge haul—a 120-pound catch.
He had never eaten such delicious Arctic shrimp sashimi that simply lted in his mouth with a sweet and chewy texture.
But once all your als every day beco like this and continue for years...
Thinking about it that way, the captain who had decided to convert the ship really had courage; as a cruise, all that’s left to enjoy are the good things.
Bi Fang took his backpack out, pulled out two docunts from the innermost compartnt, and looked them over again and again.
He had taken out two docunts.
One was allotnt proof for hunting polar bears, and the other was a permit for seal hunting.
It was given to him by the research staff at Yellow River Station.
Bi Fang recalled the previous night when the hotel’s front desk suddenly called him, saying soone was looking for him, and he had been curious about who would co to such a remote city to find him.
It turned out to be a compatriot from Yellow River Station.
The purpose of their visit was to deliver the two permits he was now examining.
At face value, the aning is very straightforward; Bi Fang could now hunt polar bears and seals, and it was through a legitimate, legal way.
Greenland is also one of the polar bear’s bases, and it’s highly possible for Bi Fang to encounter them. They are animals with a quite strong curiosity, especially in autumn when they try to accumulate fat.
Nobody can predict how a conflict would turn out once it erupts.
The sa goes for seals; at a critical mont, a seal might save a person’s life. Whether it’s their warm fur or the fat-filled seal at, the heat and aid they provide are imnsely substantial.
Don’t underestimate the determination of humans to protect both poles; it is so firm that it even shocks people.
There’s such a regulation in the Antarctic Treaty.
"If you hadn’t obtained a ’seal hunting permit’ before heading to Antarctica and you were about to starve to death after a disaster, would you be allowed to kill a seal to stave off hunger?"
The answer—sure to surprise everyone—was, "You cannot kill a seal to stave off hunger."
Incredible, isn’t it?
Yes, anyone would find it unbelievable.
Are the regulations so ticulous that one could still think that human commitnt to protecting the Antarctic ecosystem is a joke?
If you find these concepts as vacuous as advice from a distant planet, maybe it’s because your world hasn’t expanded to the ends of the Earth.
Of course, that’s the Antarctic Treaty, and Bi Fang was headed to the Arctic, where, even though an Arctic Treaty was in the works, there weren’t such strict regulations yet—only prohibitions against ordinary people hunting.
Apart from Canada, the only ones who could obtain hunting permits were various research centers and the local indigenous Inuit people.
Hunting polar bears and seals is a ans of survival for the Inuit people, a natural part of the food chain, just as it is natural for a polar bear to hunt seals. No one would stop them, and even so, the quota for each year was fixed.
No matter how the polar bear died, it would count against the quota.
This ti, it was Yellow River Station that donated a quota of one polar bear and three seals to Bi Fang, giving him a helping hand.
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All in all, it was a huge favor.
Bi Fang solemnly placed the two permit certificates into a compartnt in his backpack. It was a major favor, and although he might not need to use it, he rembered it gratefully.
Indeed, when you’re out in the world, it’s still best to rely on your own people.
Over the next few days, Bi Fang remained on the ship, getting closer to Greenland.
After the initial excitent wore off, the tourists on the ship began to treat Bi Fang’s few hours of live broadcasting each day as a regular entertainnt program.
As the ti approached, they would all appear on deck together, listening to Bi Fang explain cultural history and share intriguing anecdotes about past Arctic explorers.
Everybody felt as though they were back in a classroom from their youth, only this lesson was more interesting and more beautiful.
On the ship, what affected Bi Fang the most was probably going to the bathroom.
Walking into the restroom, a sway of the ship made it impossible to squat steadily.
In the end, Bi Fang concluded that one should choose calm days to use the restroom, or else they might very well end up constipated.
Passing through the Fram Strait, the warming effects of the North Atlantic current were almost negligible, with temperatures dropping every day—not because winter was approaching, but simply due to the change in geographical location.
From around zero degrees on Svalbard to minus twenty degrees in the strait, and now down to minus thirty degrees.
Bi Fang had no doubt that, upon landing, the temperature could drop below minus thirty-five degrees, and during the period of polar night, it could even potentially reach sub-sixty-degree frigid temperatures.
After several days of sailing, that morning, the captain sent a sailor to knock on Bi Fang’s door to inform him.
The northernmost tip of Greenland had been reached.
Bi Fang stood up and looked out at the pitch-black porthole.
Although it was technically morning, the sky was still dark, dotted with a mysterious ribbon of aquamarine light that drifted slowly, like the shimr of a soap bubble.
It was the aurora borealis.
Today was a great day for the aurora to appear. It would be another two hours before dawn, but the silent icebergs of the night had already welcod the first touch of natural light, turning the entire sky into an indissoluble hue of aquamarine.
"Looks like it’s a good day to land on the island."
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