The next day dawned misty and cold, but not storming. Peter took the Gannetout in the early morning, dawn like crisp clear jewels against his face, on his cheeks, dusted with spray and salt and the whip of the wind and the joy of being out amid it all.
The Gannetflew through waves, and raced each crash, and danced with the elements. Peter’s coat and boots got damp, and the wind burned his cheeks, and he cast out a few nets for the sake of doing his proper job but really he just loved it. The sea, himself, his boat, and the sky.
He tried to be responsible about fisherman’s practices, kindness to the waters, not taking too much nor leaving anything unwelcome. His family had taught him that; all of Gull Skerrie had taught him that. Respect for the life they shared.