Day of King Yaito

DATELINE: Barrier Isle, Stratum XIII.

  Aliyah Bernal, Master Stoddard, and the Geordie set sail from Bahia Mar on the fishing vessel Flamingo, heading for open sea. Settling near a proven bottom under a noonday blue sky, the trio rigged up and dropped lines under the casual eye of Cap’n Al.
  “The best thing ‘bout deep sea fishing is that y’never know what you’ll hook on the end of your line,” quipped the captain. All the passengers nodded in agreement — for this was exactly the reason why they were there.
  And indeed, quite the variety of sea life was pulled aboard — Croakers, a squid, small Jacks — even a beautiful but venomous Lionfish.
  At the prow Stoddard struggled with something on his line that was definitely putting up a fight. After ten or so minutes he finally hauled the fish aboard. Cap’n Al pointed and said, “People call that a Bonito but it’s really a Little Tunny.”
  Semi-exhausted but still running on a fisherman’s rush, Stoddard dropped another line. In no time he was again struggling with a catch and eventually reeled in an identical Tunny — at least 70 cm and weighing eight or nine kilograms.
  “Do you want those cleaned and filleted to take with you?” asked Cap’n Al, watching nearby.
  The offer gave Stoddard pause. He glanced over at Bernal and the Geordie, who were eyeing his take.
  “No, but thanks. You can throw them back.” The three had been crashing at the econo apartment Mr Burr was occupying during his stint teaching at the local college.
  Mr Burr wouldn’t be too impressed with them bringing back a certain amount of raw fish to his place just to make a mess of his kitchenette, as none had any notable culinary skills at the time.

  With the day’s angling achievements accomplished, Stoddard sat back and relaxed on a bench on the starboard bow. Scanning the horizon, he noticed a disturbance in the water about a kilometre off the port bow. A column of sea spray seemed to be slowly rising from the ocean’s surface. His eyes followed the mist skyward to see a white snaking cloud descending to meet the spray vortex.
  “Captain,” Stoddard pointed with growing concern, “Look.”
  “Just a waterspout,” he nonchalantly replied. “It’ll be gone in ten minutes.”
  And it was. An everyday phenomenon to the experienced seaman, but an exceptional meteorological event for the present landlubbers to witness.

  In all, a memorable day at sea for the three that capped off an extended weekend that all began with a mere Pyramid Cavort.