Its claim to fame is the fishing industry, and the hardy breed of men this spawns. I'd run out of road. Rupert was the end of the line. I began trolling the docks for work. The boat is a floating factory, and you are dressed in rubber from head to foot, constantly dealing with large fish and big hooks with the deck shifting and dipping beneath your feet.
Land is a distant memory, the waves are large and unrelenting, and the work is slimy and arduous.
This meant bearing the brunt of five fishermen's practical jokes and, most importantly, not getting seasick. As the catch started coming in, a couple of crew members popped freshly extracted, still-beating halibut hearts into their mouths and ate them with gusto. I was strongly encouraged to do the same, to be one of the boys, for luck and all. I did it, managed to keep it in, and with blood dribbling down my chin, passed the test. I couldn't stop until the job was done, as I would have been responsible for a huge tangle of line and hooks.