Leaving sucks. Whether from Bimini, Calgary, Chetwynd or Phuket. While I've lamented the
bittersweetness of returning to where you started it still stinks saying what is likely "see you never" amidst tears covered by sunglasses (a trick I learned entirely too late) to truly great friends.
Farewells wished with good intentions to stay in touch, I'm at stopover 1 on The Long Way Home in Davenport, Iowa where my younger sister goes to uni. I was truly impressed with the St. Paddy's show Kelly's down the road from her flat put on. Outdoors tents housed local bands playing covers, green beer flowed from the copious and well-placed stalls while the generations of green-clad party goers danced through it all.
Not unlike Red Deer, Davenport is a city. An offensive, loud, bright city filled with cars, SUVs, motorbikes and all manner of tards driving them. I long for motorbike-filled cities with no traffic lights, golf carts driven on the left side of the road, a skiff, a chicken or even Bimini's party bus.
No bullsharks for the Italian film crew, but a pod of pelicans was interested in our bait and the scraps from the cleaning table.
Shit Pit prep
Some Sharklab be(a)sties
A wee nurse caught gillnetting
Working her up
The skiffs
Chris swimming from our boat to the Twin Vee with bait
This is not a hammerhead but still a sizeable nurse
Jean preparing hammerhead bait
Sunset at the Beach Club
Leaving Morning sunrise
