Morning, Hanalei

There were seven of them, two women, five guys, total. They poured out of the big white pickup truck and ran down the beach. The guys were all wearing those funny fishing socks, the ones with the toes in them, and some of them were carrying masks and snorkels. One of the guys had a giant bundle of fishing nets, the early morning sun sparkled off it so it looked like it was made of silver wire.

I could see them from my balcony. I went to refill my coffee cup and then, I heard the noise.  Four of the guys were slapping the water, shouting, splashing. “Oh, they’re scaring the fish!” I thought. I looked away, just for a moment, and when I looked back, they were all back on the beach and I could see  silhouettes of the guys plucking big silvery fish out of the tangled strands of the net. A pile of fish flopped on the sand. One of the guys held up The Big One, a flounder shaped fish the length of my forearm, no, longer.

It was as if they’d run to the store. “You guys, let’s go get some fish, I want some for lunch.” They plucked them out of the ocean with what seemed like the same degree of ease that I’d run to the market to get a carton of milk.

The women sat on the beach, just up the slope from the guys. Then, they were gone, the lot of them.

I’m a grateful guest of the Kaua’i Visitor’s Bureau. Lord knows why these people keep inviting me back, but a big mahalo for their ho’okipa (hospitality).