The mouth of the inlet was open, the tide running high. The ocean pushed against the outflow of the Cann river and the lagoon was full to its edges. Despite the cool, I was in my boat on sunrise, rowing out to the further reaches of the northern basin, where the waters were deep.
Away from the river flow, the water was glassy, my boat and oars upsetting the calm, sending off ripples. All was still in the bush that enclosed the inlet. Towards the inlet’s mouth, where the southern basin met giant sand dunes, there were granite slopes and rock platforms interspersed with brackish marsh. There was good fishing to be had down there, but not for an old woman in a small rowing boat. Not when the tide ran into the open mouth. Tides turn.
I reached the long tapering spit that separated the basins
