Most Extreme Winter Weather | Deadliest Catch | Discovery

This is hundreds and thousands of pounds of ice we’re beating off the bow.
Yeah, we don’t like to do it, but if we don’t, the boat can roll over, and we’ll all die.
So, I’d rather beat ice than die any day of the week.

Oh my God.

Coming up, this trip has been a battle since the minute we got out here, and we’re just getting started.
We need to find better fishing. We’re not going to put in close to 400,000 pounds here, that’s for sure.

Captain Keith stacks on the last of his gear in the intensifying storm.
“The weather sucks,” Keith says. “This northerly wind is throwing swells at us now, like that one.”
It’s going to be a cold night for those guys out there working.

Right now, it’s a serious hazard.

“Lines are popping—watch your feet!” Keith yells.

Break it! Break it!

The tide’s really screaming. It snapped the whole thing right out of the block as Deckhand Roger Schl threaded the line through the wheel.
The tide ripped it out, jeopardizing the pot and Roger’s safety.

Lock’s not accepting some of our trailer line and slipped on that last one.
Roger’s okay but shaken. Keith tells the crew, “All right, let’s figure out a way to get through this string without any more shenanigans, hijinks, or bizarre stuff.”

As tension builds, Keith’s concern grows. “Who turned the block off? How’s your hand, Roger? You okay?”
Roger nods, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Your tenacity is impressive, Roger,” Keith admits.
But in truth, Roger’s hand is probably numb. He just slammed it hard.
The line slipped out again, and this time, his hand got caught between the block and the force of the 800-pound crab pot.

“Roger might have sprained something—or worse.” Keith sighs. “Man, Roger’s just been getting pounded this entire string. It’s almost eerie.”

Despite Keith’s warnings, Roger can’t seem to catch a break.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Roger?” Keith asks again.

“I think so,” Roger replies.

Keith steps in with a stern command: “Do me a favor—stay away from the rail. I appreciate your endurance and tenacity, but this string isn’t your luck. Someone else gets to the rail. I’m serious.”

Roger nods, though he looks defeated.
“Not a good start to the day,” Keith mutters. “But we just gotta work through it.”

Banged up, beaten down, the crew presses on. But then, another crisis erupts.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Get off, get off!

Roger is hit again—this time by a pot that flew out of the rack and smashed him between the table and the icy deck.
Keith rushes over, horrified. “He could have literally broken his back just now,” he says. “Easily.”

Despite Keith pulling him off the rail earlier, Roger can’t seem to escape the chaos on deck.

“It’s been a really creepy string,” Keith says. “Sometimes, the stars just don’t line up.”

Roger grimaces, trying to shake it off.
“The pot hit me in the back,” he explains, “right in the middle of my butt cheeks and above the old dingus.”

Keith smirks but keeps a professional tone. “How’s that bone there? Got a hell of a charley horse?”

Roger nods, adding, “My left testicle is a little sore, my hand’s tender, but I’m good.”

Keith sighs with relief. “Way to battle through that, Roger. But seriously—this is the last PT for you today.”

The crew dodged a huge bullet. It could have been much worse.

“Let’s just get onto the crab,” Keith says.