During the four-day lockdown during Hurricane Helene, I went fishing — prison style. Hurricane or not, “fishing” is a way of life and a survival skill in a maximum security prison, where we are locked in our cells for 22 hours of the day. If you need something from someone, fishing is the only way to get it.
It was just after lunch on the second day of the lockdown. My commissary locker was depleted, and I was trapped in my cell with no electricity, running water or access to the canteen. The grand prize was two bags of Snyder’s pretzel pieces, each worth their weight in gold.
My friend, Angell, a notorious food hoarder who sleeps directly across the block from me, offered the pretzel pieces if I could somehow retrieve them. This would be no easy task. We both sleep on the second tier, separated by a 40-foot gap.
Determined, I tied a battery onto the end of my dental floss fishing line, stuck my arm out the food tray slot and slung the battery across. The first three attempts landed in the middle of the dayroom. But on the fourth throw the line sailed across the block, over the two handrails, and landed directly under Angell’s cell door. Hook, line and sinker. As I carefully reeled in my line and the two bags of pretzel pieces, the whole block cheered me on. I proudly held them up like any professional angler would with a prized catch.
