school’s out
Nausea clawed at my throat as I bounced like a ping-pong ball against the inflatable tube of the rubber duck. I was hunkering as close to the bow as I could to avoid the smell of diesel, my hands clutching the rope. The breakfast I’d so enjoyed earlier was now at sea in my stomach.
Our duck heaved skyward off the lip of each swell and descended just as rapidly. A cold front had swept over Port St Johns the previous night and there was a marked difference from the previous day’s calm.
Up, down, bam, bam, bam, we powered across the chop, chasing millions of bait fish that made the surface of the ocean shimmer as
