Under Tom Ugly’s

Guest post by Fiona Lark

We’d drive off from the ramp, run around the bay and he’d pick a spot to fish.

We would climb over the back and swim around the boat talking to the sea creatures, mainly the jellyfish. The boat would mock; we’d hang on with our arms outstretched up high on to the rails, then we’d let go and swim around the boat again. He would just fish.

Then he’d call come on we’re going and we’d climb back in the boat. Our towels were wetter than ourselves.  The sun dried salt on our skin; was saltier than open sea sand.

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