9/11/91

Low tide was 9AM, so we hung around the camp until then. With the low tide, we picked our way around the point to a shady pool beneath a rocky overhang and swam in the cool, waist-deep water. 

The sun was pouring down upon the shallow waters inside the reef, throwing the black bodies of the fisherman into stark relief against the glare of the sea and the sky.

We walked out to the edge of the reef and turned south along it’s margins, exploring the pools and crevices for small fish, crustaceans and other life. In places the reef was hollow, and the in- and out-draft of the sea forced air out of small holes in its surface, producing a sound like the lungs of an old man. It was as if the reef was a breathing, living thing, and the air rasping and gurgling from the holes was hot, like the breath of a dragon.

It took us about an hour to reach the next set of beach houses, and we sat in the bar there drinking beer. By the time we had walked back up the coast to our camp it was very hot and we were both quite sunburnt.

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