My line swings into the current of the lagoon channel, heading for the sea. For a moment, it feels as though there is no resistance, like hooking a big leaf at the mercy of the current. Then it dives deep and fastens to the sand bottom, immobile as a cinderblock. It is no easy effort to pull free, then the weightless drifting again. As it nears the channel edge, it suctions to the steep drop of sand below the water; and again, a struggle to pull free. Then I see a disc flutter into the shallows. A wave recedes and it is exposed, tail thrashing wildly like an agitated snake in search of a target. A pair of eyes rivet on me as I pull it to beach.
I need to turn it over to remove the hook, but my approach sends the tail thrashing again, a barb looking dangerously sharp protruding halfway down the length of tail. Pressing the tail into the sand with my shoe, I hold it firm while I dislodge the hook and carry the trembling platter to the water’s edge. Turning to face me, it waits for the next wave and is soon swept back with the current where it careens into the stained lagoon water, disappearing to the depths.
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