A trout shone into view. The evening sun inexplicably cast an iridescent glow on its scales. Pride came over it and the moment it started to bask itself into recognition, it was plucked out of its ecosystem. Into a small basket, where it lay with a few of its brethren.
Ivan watched this with awe. It was time he realized how man was able to control the most beautiful of things, how nature was almost completely within its grasp, how only the fittest survive.
Boris washed away the beads of sweat over his face. The eyes reflected a sea hardened with salt. The tough demeanor was enough to scare the strongest of goons. There was a story that all the town ladies wanted a man like him.
The Bering sea sun decided its time to bid goodbye. As it waved, it could see two men having a drink in a tiny fishing boat. Strange, it felt as only crazy humans tread these remote waters.
An hour passed. Silence. The cold cold winds were seemingly having a good time as they started from the west until they were clogged by a 50 meter unpolished piece of wood.
"How far from here?", mumbled Ivan warily.
"Scared, kid?", Boris thundered. With that came a huge burp and he cackled loudly into the eerie night.
"No", said Ivan defiantly. "Just tell me"
Boris ignored him. He spat, got up and turned on a small light on the deck. A rusty barbeque pan was carried out from inside the motor room. A sharp unwieldy knife, two trouts and a huge thud later - he returned back to his old chair. The fresh smell enveloped the air.
A small map and a compass confirmed Boris what he had always been thinking.
"Half an hour", he growled into nothingness.
For Ivan, the next few minutes were perhaps the most excruciating painful. First patience had overcome him and now it was fear. He nervously reached for his bag and felt the contents. The neatly packed food. The loaded revolver. And the photograph. The fear receded.
For Boris, the next 30 minutes passed in minutes. He wrapped the grilled trouts and tucked them into a backpack. A huge rifle was upholstered over the huge winter jacket.
The boat hit the soft shore. Boris found an old tree - the perfect anchor.
Five minutes later. Both waiting on the deck. For dawn. In two hours.