Today, we were supposed to rent jetskis and go fishing.... We got a late start. That made jetskiing out-of-the-question. So, Nate excitedly arranged for a fishing trip. I had no idea my brother liked fishing so much. When the "fishing boat" arrived, I decided the trip would go on with out me .. if i could help it. This so-called fishing boat was nothing more than a wooden dingy with a outboard motor. I am adventurous gal, but the thought of sitting in the sun getting tossed around on the water in my current physical condition was not a welcome one. Despite claims that it would only be a 2-3 trip, I resisted and stayed on terra firma. What the boys failed to realize that in Jamaica any amount of time need to be mulitple by 2. "I'll pick you up in 15 minutes" translates to "I'll pick you up in 30 minutes". This would make the trip 4-6 hours... no way on God's green earth I was going to do that... So, I bid the boys "goodbye" and continued my day. What exciting things did I do? Nothing... absolutely...nothing. It was beautiful.
My day went as follows:
1.) Read book
2.) Nap in hammock for 2.5 hours
3.) Swim in water
4.) Walk along the beach where I had a gaggle of vendors try to sell me everything from a boat ride to fresh coconuts.
5.) Shower
6.) Nap in air-conditioned bedroom
It was blissful and exactly what I needed. It was the kind of day you imagine when you think of going on a tropical vacation. The boys had an entirely different day...
They went on the quintessential "two-hour" tour. They were gone for what felt like forever... which I did not mind at all. Because the boys are the most convoluted storytellers, all I could get from the three of them was..."out in boat for a while"... "drank beers"... "captain could steer boat and roll spliff at the same time".... "didn't catch anything at first".... "caught shark".... WAIT! Caught shark?! That part of the story caught my attention.
The undramatized version of the story is that they hooked the shark. It tired itself out. They brought it onboard. At which point, they clubbed it to death. They then proceeded to pass it off as "marlin" so as not to scare other tourists. They sold some of the meat to some old hippie that lives on the other side of Negril. The captain kept the jaws and teeth and the guys brought home some steaks and the fins. In short, they got to get in touch with their inner hunters. I wish I had taken a photo of their looks of satisfaction....
On a separate note, clubbed to death shark does not taste very good.
Here's the Boys' Adventure as told in photos by Rob
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