At the end of a long, hot day in stomach churning seas on an open skiff, with a malfunctioning dredge pump, all you want to do is have a shower, wolf down some fish tacos and a beer, and collapse into bed. But you can’t. Because there are scuba tanks to fill, gear to rinse and dry, photos to download, and, oh yeah, the clutch in the truck has self destructed. Someone needs to drive two hours to the nearest city to source parts, and then—in the dark, on the ground, in a gravel parking lot—fix it. By the time you do manage to find some food and lie down, it’s well past midnight. The anemic air conditioner is making a funny noise and blowing lukewarm, and a lone mosquito hums in your ear all night. A few hours later, the alarm goes off and you chug a Nescafé, load the truck, drive to the beach, haul tanks, push the boat into the surf, and do it all over again.
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