We sputtered away from shore as the sweet light of twilight called for the early joggers and shooed the night owls away. Looking back to shore every shape was etched in the shadowless light. The night fishermen had extinguished their high beams and were heading for the river. The compressor divers were heading out for another hunt and this valiant crew in our questionable tub were in search of fishies and adventure.
There were few store bought items amongst the gear on this expedition. Jamaicans are masters of recycling. From the soda bottle floats to the halved concrete block anchor, they make do with what they have. A braided piece of re-bar became a grappling hook. A hand carved piece of 2x4 became the emergency paddle. An empty ice cream container was for baling the great amounts of water that seeped into the boat. There was not one length of rope or line that did not have a least one repair or splice. The boat just cracked. MyCaptain pretended it didn't. If I had any God in me, I would pray..now.