Eel Of Fortune

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Eel Of Fortune

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Lawrence River to Lake Ontario. They corralled eels in stone weirs—some dating back 4, years—and speared them in shallow water, through ice holes in winter and from boats in summer.

Healers used eel to soothe the sick, applying oil to help with earaches, while craftspeople used eel skins to bind everything from sleds, moccasins, and clothing to spears and harpoons.

While eel is no longer a mainstream protein in North America, it was once prized by colonial settlers, particularly Acadians and Quebecois.

They copied Indigenous techniques, pushing their skiffs into the night and shining a torch in the water to spear or net eels in enormous quantities, often preferring the delicate, sweet meat pickled.

So he started leading spear-making workshops, teaching Paqtnkek youth where to find eels, and how to catch and cook them in an effort to preserve that knowledge.

Prosper sharpens the prongs of his spear during a break from his eel hunt. It was here, 24 years ago, where the arrest and eventual exoneration of Donald Marshall Jr.

He was charged by DFO with fishing without a license, selling eels without a license, and fishing during a closed season, and his equipment was seized.

It was a double injustice. Prosper navigates Pomquet Harbour with light from a lantern. By the mids, fishermen in the region were reporting shrinking catches, but it was nothing compared to what was happening to other eel species overseas.

The Japanese eel population, which had started sliding in the s, had collapsed. European eels were in free fall by the early s.

A SARA listing would automatically prohibit killing, harming, harassing, possessing, collecting, buying, selling, or trading American eel in Canada.

Within a year of listing, DFO would develop a recovery strategy, which could include permits or exemptions for commercial and recreational fishing, Indigenous or otherwise, and other activities affecting the fish.

Or—to the dread of commercial fishermen—no exceptions at all. Mitchell Feigenbaum sits at an old dinette table, a battered remnant of a country market and restaurant he recently bought on the outskirts of Port Elgin, New Brunswick, and sees the future.

Feigenbaum, a former lawyer with a shock of coarse white hair, is wearing jean shorts and a red-checkered button-up.

He recently bought this building, where he eventually hopes to welcome tour buses packed with Japanese tourists detoured from visiting the Anne of Green Gables house, and hopefully sell them—and any other interested customers—some eel.

Back in , a Philadelphia eel company owned by Feigenbaum and a friend acquired another eel company, this one based in New Brunswick.

It came with an experimental elver license. Within a decade, that license went from almost worthless to a major paycheck: in , responding to its own collapsing eel stocks, the European Union banned all exports and imports of elvers, and worldwide prices for elvers of any species soon skyrocketed.

Alder guides live eels into a weighing bucket at South Shore Trading. He and a group of four other elver license-holding businesses and individual fishermen, along with three other investors, are putting their money behind NovaEel, a new eel aquaculture business with its eyes on the real prize: unagi.

For the plan to succeed, NovaEel needs a steady supply of elvers—which hinges on the hotly anticipated federal SARA ruling.

The elver fishery has faced opposition since it started, especially from Indigenous groups and commercial fishermen reliant on adult eels.

Female American eels can grow up to a meter long, while males typically reach about half that size. User Ratings. External Reviews. Metacritic Reviews.

Photo Gallery. Trailers and Videos. Crazy Credits. Alternate Versions. SciJinks —. Rate This. Season 1 Episode 4. All Episodes 8.

Added to Watchlist. Everything That's New on Netflix in September. Photos Add Image Add an image Do you have any images for this title? Edit Cast Episode credited cast: Johnny Galecki Hades won't begrudge you a visit.

I'll make a statue of your friend if you like. He died bravely and deserves some recognition. Then maybe after, we'll talk about a proper shrine to his memory.

Another grave in his life, of a good and true friend. Hercules wanted to scream and break things and maybe even cry at the same time, but he did nothing of the sort.

Instead, he flung his arms wide open and called to the Lord of the Underworld, in a loud voice, "Hades, Hades, let me in". On past jaunts to the Underworld, he had to cross the river Styx and he still owed several coins to its ghastly boatman, Charon, but this time Hades apparently wanted to see him too, because Hercules found himself directly transferred into the somber but ornate palace of Hades.

Hades was with his wife, Persephone, the beautiful Goddess of Spring, who greeted Hercules solemnly and then ran forward to him, her eyes alight with concern.

That certainly explained why the soft landing and easy entry. Persephone always brought out Hades' best side. He did offer himself as a sacrifice to the She-Beast.

He came very close to my husband's realm, but he didn't die. He's alive somewhere and badly wounded, but that's all we know. Why isn't he trying to find me?

Hades stepped forward and looked even more grim, "The bite of the She-Beast kills memory, Hercules. Iolaus probably doesn't know who he is or remember you.

The She-Beast was the demigoddess Amnesia before she was punished by Zeus, and still retained a portion of her ability even in that form.

She drank a lot of his blood. Most men would have died. He and Amnesia have traveled to another land entirely. Hades looked sadly at his wife.

That's all I know. Since he's no longer in danger that's as far as I could pinpoint. He took Persephone's hand again and looked at Hades. I owe you one.

Hephaestus took good care of you, but you're still weak. Hades gave him a rare grin of amusement. Hercules decided to surrender and flung up his hands, "all right," he said, smiling now at this kindness.

The dismal seaside town in the kingdom of Myopia that he sent Hercules to did nothing to allay the hero's fears.

It was obviously part of the route that slavers used to transport their wares. He learned that galleys powered by the muscle and sweat of unwilling bodies left this area regularly.

Upon arrival at their destinations, the rowers and the cargo were sold, and the ships sailed back to pick up other merchandise. Gangs of slavers and other malcontents wandered the town and Hercules could see it was dangerous to get drunk here.

It would be a sure ticket to waking up in manacles with a lash across the back. To his surprise and disdain he also learned that the Kingdom of Myopia had restrictive laws about slavery.

You could not just free a branded slave - you had to pay for the right and if you busted up a group of slavers and freed the slaves, you could be imprisoned for stealing valuable property and fined recovery costs.

The more he found out, the more concerned he grew. Iolaus, wounded and without a memory would be a ripe plum ready for the slaver's plucking.

Hercules had already been attacked twice on this journey. He realized that he missed Iolaus' company in a fight, and that villagers in this region traveled in large groups from village to village or not at all.

Even the few merchants carrying non-living wares had horses, armed guards and traveled in caravans. Hercules decided he should check all the slave markets first, a depressing prospect.

The slave's memory remained a distant and almost unimportant mystery. It was not necessary to have a name, "Hey you", "Shorty", or "Blondy" and a finger pointed in one's direction was sufficient.

All that was necessary, if one wished to survive, was to row. Learning to eat what scraps were tossed in one's direction was a close second.

Basic knowledge of Greek and two strong arms were all the requirements to be a living slave on this ship. He rowed steadily, concentrating on hoarding his store of strength until he occasionally reached a dreamy sort of state where nothing existed but the pain of rowing, the motion of the oar, and the cry of sea birds overhead.

On some days, a wind would come up and rowing was no longer necessary. Then new lessons in slavery were brutally thrust into his consciousness.

One did not talk to fellow slaves, one did not talk to masters. One did not talk. And one did not defy the masters' will. He learned that the day they threw his oar mate overboard as useless.

He had been making up the slack for Doulos, hoping against hope that it wouldn't be noticed. He owed his oar mate, Doulos, his life for the help given him on that first day and he paid the debt gladly with his own sweat, but apparently his efforts had been detected by the Shipmaster.

Doulos was struggling to even look like he was rowing. His face was beaded with sweat and he gave the short man a hopeless look.

The slave smiled at him encouragingly, never for a moment missing the beat of the drum that ruled their lives.

Suddenly a massive hand grasped Doulos' shoulder and they both flinched in reaction. The shorter slave put his hands over Doulos' own struggling ones, "Please Master, I can row for him.

If you'd just let him rest, he'll get better. He could hear Doulos thrashing and screaming in the water.

Isn't that just precious? While the slave was struggling away from more blows, he heard Doulos give a blood curdling shriek that died away to ominous silence.

Laughing coarsely, with cruel hands they tied him to a stained post and whipped him till the roar of his life's blood sang a rank lullaby.

That lesson was not to care. It was one he learned only partially. He found he cared nothing for the masters, but he couldn't help fighting back for his fellow slaves.

So the lesson would be readministered without his being whipped to death or fed to the sharks for the simple reason he was good at rowing.

Then came the day they docked, their voyage over. The surviving slaves were taken in manacles to a dark place that stank with human fear and pain. There they were looked over by a priest of Hera, who asked questions about each slave, to determine if they were worth his interest on behalf of the queen of the Gods.

And there he learned the most bitter lesson on all. When his turn came, he came forward quickly and bowed humbly before the priest.

The Shipmaster answered respectfully, "He's a criminal, master. A murderer who was supposed to be executed. Somehow he managed to live through his sentence without memory of his past crimes.

So he was given to us as a slave. Now that the voyage is over, he is no longer useful. No one knows his name.

He's in the master's hands. He was a murderer? Someone like the men, the masters on the ships who killed slaves so casually? The priest considered and made a dismissive motion, "Then he's not worthy to slave for the great queen.

Sell him in the market, Shipmaster, and good riddance. Stunned, the slave followed a guard down a flight of stairs to a great black door.

It was opened with a horrendous shriek on its hinges to reveal a dark cell, crammed with other slaves. It was dank and smelled of the unwashed bodies.

The guard gave him a shove and slammed the door shut. He fell and was helped into a scant corner by anonymous hands. Voices asked him his name and he remained dumb, unable to speak.

It is one thing to know your suffering was from the Fates and a whole different thing to learn that you deserved the torment you were receiving.

The last particles of rebellion residing in the helpless man died a cold death in that hour. If he had known this on the ship, he might not have fought so well for life, for suddenly death seemed a friend offering release from self-knowledge.

But, he thought numbly, I'll end up tortured in Tarturus for sure. They say those die suffering win some respite in the underworld - maybe that's all that I can hope for.

He spent the night in a darkness much deeper than that of the dreadful cell and never remembered if he slept or not, only that all his nightmares were real.

A whip cracked and a short half-naked blond man picked up his pack and came to stand on the auction block.

It was not Iolaus. Hercules stood watching and shook his head, "No - not what I'm looking for," he said to the slaver. Are you sure you wouldn't like a nice brunette?

Pretending to be in the market for a slave had seemed like such a good idea - and it did speed up the process, but the pitiful wretches they trotted out filled him with anger and compassion.

He found himself wanting to buy them all, but his funds were limited and he needed them to free Iolaus, if he had indeed been enslaved.

The sun beat down on the slave market. Well, that was another town off his list. He'd have to head to the next horrible hole in the wall and hope against hope he'd find Iolaus there.

At least no one had recognized him. All he needed was to draw Hera's unwelcome attention. He found the mine by accident.

He had left the trail to avoid a large armed group of horsemen. Tired of fighting off slavers, he decided not to risk a confrontation and stumbled across a barely concealed trail.

Now why would anyone have to hide a trail around here? Cautiously and silently, he went down the trail. A pair of rusty manacles caught his attention.

The big guard in a decrepit uniform and rusty helmet never saw him. Well, well - what are you guarding? Maybe even Iolaus.

It was as good a place to try as any. The guard was not doing a very good job, Hercules decided. The man was concentrating on sneaking sips from a wineskin at his belt more than watching for outsiders.

This was going to be easy. Stealthily, he came from behind the surreptitiously tippling guard. Looking around quickly, he reached forward and thumped the man's helmet hard with a distinct thunk.

The man forgot all about wine, and Hercules dragged the unresisting guard into the bushes and changed his clothing for the guard's.

Then he gagged and bound the still limp man with his undershirt and leggings and hid his prisoner in a bush.

Well, he thought, considerably cheered, that was easy. He picked up the man's lance and sword, sheathed the blade, and then sauntered down the trail.

Pretty soon, another guard came into view. This one looked a little more alert. Hercules smiled as he tied up this guard and gagged him with his uniform.

He hadn't had this much fun since the last time he and Iolaus had cleared out a bar. He hoped sincerely he'd have a chance to tell Iolaus about this and hear the short man's delighted laugh.

Iolaus always threw himself into anything wholeheartedly, even laughter. That was one of the things Hercules appreciated about his missing friend.

Well, he thought, I might as well give it another try. It must be my day for brainless guards. Once again he ambled up the path.

This time there were two guards playing dice along the trail. The bearded one looked up at Hercules. Can I take a turn? He hurriedly dragged them both into the bushes and began to wonder what all these idiots were supposedly protecting.

Maybe not slaves. Or maybe more than slaves. This time he strolled along the path and found an open palisade of logs nestled by a hill with a huge cave entrance.

Shackled men, women and children were struggling to haul loaded buckets out of the cave's black maw. All were thin and pale, while the guards looked well fed.

A rough smelter set-up confirmed his suspicion. This was some kind of mine, maybe copper. He leaned against a log post and surveyed the situation.

The lone guard didn't go into the mine, but only stood cautiously at the entrance to shout orders. So it must not be safe.

The whole operation looked shoddy, so the slavers might not even own the mine. They were just stealing enough ore and possibly gems to make it worth their while.

Then they'd force the slaves to carry their booty with them and sell everything, including the human beasts of burden, at a huge profit. Hercules smiled innocently, "Sure there is.

How else would I be here? The two guards were joined by the guard from the mine's entrance. The two now drew their swords and advanced shoulder to shoulder on Hercules, while the third remained behind them.

Hercules pointed at their feet, "Your sandals are untied. Hercules leaped in the air and each of his feet connected with a slaver's head, sending them and their helmets flying helter-skelter.

He was wrong about the stupidity quotient. The remaining guard stood before Hercules with his feet spread and his sword at the ready.

I'd love to slice you to ribbons. Glancing excitedly past the slaver's left shoulder, Hercules exclaimed, "Get him, Xena! They just weren't making guards like they used to.

He breathed a sigh of relief and looked around. The slaves were staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment.

When he turned, they cringed away and began to slink into the shadows. I'm here to set you free. Then they began to emerge into the light from the cavern mouth and various other hiding places.

Humbly, they surrounded him, mothers grasping children to their breasts, young men in obvious states of exhaustion looking at him with a dawning hope.

They all were starved. Hercules began to get angry. He tied up the three guards he had just despatched, being much rougher in his movements now that he'd had a closer look at the victims.

He found a set of keys at the last guard's belt and began freeing the people from their chains. A child began to cry, and frightened at this outburst, his mother hushed it.

Hercules smiled at the woman, and took the little boy in his arms. The woman looked anxious at first but then gave him a hesitant smile.

The boy was too young to be working in a blasted mine. He was almost the same age as his own sons had been. This line of thought just stoked the flame of rage in his heart.

The little boy stopped crying and regarded him solemnly while Hercules found himself hugging him, his arms lonely for two other little boys.

He counted twenty people, including the children. He was almost happy that Iolaus wasn't among them - they all were so ill-used. The obvious first thing to do was to feed everyone.

He put the boy down and he and the now excited mother began distributing chunks of bread and hard cheese. Some jerked meat came to light and caused a real stir.

The little boy began to laugh. Well, this was obviously not a situation he could just leave immediately. He'd have to put off his search until he got these people home.

Fortunately none of them had been branded yet, so he wouldn't have to worry about the King's idiotic law. Its not really that far, maybe a day's walk or so.

I got all the ones on the trail. Zooey answered him. The slavers practically run this area. Everyone's afraid to walk out alone.

They actually attacked our village in broad daylight. The people who escaped must be really worried. The village was silent. Zorba, the Headman, was the only visible human occupant today.

He sat in the shade of his small whitewashed house and bleakly contemplated their future. Taxes had gone up, people had left the village and the resulting lack of population had drawn the slave raiders to the area.

The slavers had a silent understanding with the King's advisors - no burning of villages or crops, but this particular village had been reduced to the size of a fief and was apparently no longer an asset.

They had been raided half a moon ago and many villagers had been lost to the raiders, including his beloved cousin and family.

Each remaining villager now carried a weapon constantly, whether in the fields or in the village itself.

All their spirits were low. The only good news was that Hera's temple had stopped bothering them for tithes, probably because the priests didn't feel it would be worth the expense anymore.

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