Sunshine, Cocktails, and Our Dubious Fishing Expedition.

We took a shuttle out to the eastern coast today. That's me, Ranih, both sets of parents, and James and Jean. It’s about 500km from the colony, but there’s a purpose‑built coastal retreat there so residents can visit without accidentally being eaten, stung, dissolved, or otherwise inconvenienced by the local wildlife. Always reassuring.

The moment we arrived, the four of us, my father, my future father‑in‑law, James, and me, hired a small boat and a local guide for a fishing trip. The guide is essential, mostly because there are a few species in these waters that look like they were designed by someone who thought “shark” was too subtle. If we accidentally hook one, we’ll need someone who knows which end is safe to point at the sky.

With any luck, we’ll catch something edible,  ideally something that doesn’t fight back, glow ominously, or require a hazard permit to cook.

While we head out for our grand masculine adventure (four men and a boat, what could possibly go wrong), the ladies are staying ashore, stretched out on the beach with cocktails, sunshine, and a selection of nibbles. They seemed very content with this arrangement. Suspiciously content, actually. I suspect they’re expecting us to return with a story involving at least one near‑death encounter and a ruined pair of boots.

A perfectly balanced day, really. Everyone getting exactly the kind of relaxation they enjoy, even if ours may involve slightly more yelling. 

Image from unsplash by Mink Mingle