The outer breakwater had been an empty corner of my chart for months. I could see it from the workshop, dark beyond the cranes, but there was always another repair to finish. On Friday I closed the doors while the sky still held some colour.
I took the first copper spoon I ever made. Its surface was almost smooth now, worn by water and several mistakes. From the end of the breakwater, I cast into the broad current beyond the harbour mouth.
A route beyond the familiar
The bass rose beneath the spoon like a lifting door. For an instant it seemed impossibly large against the open water. Then the line snapped tight, and there was no room left for estimates. I followed its run along the timber edge, boots slipping on the damp boards.
It shook free before I could reach the lower platform. The spoon came back with a fresh scratch down its middle. At home, I drew one small fish in the empty corner of the chart. There was no sensible way to show its size.
An unfinished map is a reason to go, not a reason to wait.
