Later that night was when I first set out to take in the stars
Opening the trunk of the car for the fishing gear
I looked up
And the sight of the lights in the sky
Was enough boost to shake off post-dinner lethargy
A long wooden pathway with incandescent lights
That's how most of the small jetties seem to be set up
The one we were on was commercial
For the business of loading and unloading
And it's partly creepy with the unknown
When, where the orange brightness stops
Unable to penetrate the darkness
Creating a sphere of light
The shot below tinted with two tones
Yonder barrier of rocks catching the light
Invisible to my eyes, but not the camera's
>>
I admit, a hyperactive imagination prevents me from venturing the far end of the jetty which barely catches illumination. A fine tendril, the beginning of a tentacle, snaking around my unsuspecting ankle, waiting to pull me down to watery depths, dinner and death.
An irrational fear.
Yet that was my first thought as I left my tripod on the edge, my wife calling out to all of us excitedly from the start of the jetty. I popped the memory card out and into my pocket, damn if 'you' take my camera, but I want the photos. Irrational indeed. Amusing now on recall.
In her possession, my semi-powerful LED torch. As she had no interest in dipping a line into dark freezing waters, she patrolled the jetty, swinging the light into the water, peering in, her best imitation of a security guard.
I raced back down upon her hurried cries, and the sight that stopped me in my tracks ranks as one of the most wondrous thrills I've experienced on this trip:
In the bluish white beam of her torchlight, shone a massive ray, I reckon a 3 foot wide disk, silently gliding beside the jetty, not more than 5 meters from the shore.
Those eyes, they seem almost human.
And we watched transfixed as it moved by, our legs propelling us step by step to follow. Finally a gentle lift of it's right wing tip, disappearing into the darkness.
