I had spent three evenings persuading the skiff to sit properly in the water. When it finally did, the harbour was almost dark. I could have left the launch until morning. Instead, I put a lantern on the bow and pushed away from dock fourteen.
The copper spoon was cut from a scrap left over after a roof repair. It swung badly in the air but moved beautifully below the surface, flashing once each time I turned the handle. Along the harbour wall, a heavy shadow detached itself from the weed.
A copper offcut earns its place
The bass hit hard enough to turn the boat. I reached for an oar, missed it and caught the seat instead. For a moment, the entire evening depended on a knot I had tied while listening to somebody complain about a hinge.
The knot held. The fish came alongside, broad and bronze in the lantern light, and left with a flick that soaked my newly varnished rail. Back at the dock, the skiff still floated level. I marked the launch complete and left the varnish for tomorrow.
Some inspections are best carried out by the water.
