The sun is barely awake.

After a hotel continental breakfast of crackers, ham and cheese slices for a sandwich, cookies, tang, three cups of instant coffee, some fruit, it is expedition time.

My feet head for water.

The beaches on this marina side of the peninsula are non existent. The shores are lined with rocks that create tide pools where multi-colored birds are hunting critters caught in the shallow water. Some of the docked boats are big, sleek, expensive and geared up for long ocean voyages. Others are less well taken care of and are used for transport, fishing, or other work by working class owners. It is early, but, on a few yachts, deck hands are bustling about while their Captain is below deck nursing his hangover with a bloody Mary.

Near the biggest pier in the city, fishermen lock their cars in a big parking lot and line up to board charter fishing trips.

The fishing grounds here are, according to multiple guidebooks, some of the best in the world.

Cooking under a hot sun, floating  between ocean and sky, baiting your hooks with shrimp or cut bait and watching your neighbor catch a fish before you is some people’s idea of paradise.

Walking wears better than fishing this morning.

My experience with fishing is that it is hard to get the smell of cut bait off your fingers and you don’t always come home with fish.

All the fishermen I pass are smiling though, leaving terra firma for a peaceful ocean with nothing but sky, blue deep waters, a pole and tackle box, and great hopes.

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