Theboywasbaowwiththesardinesawobaitsedinaneerandtheywentdowrailtotheskiff，feelingthepebbledsanduheirfeet，andliftedtheskiffandslidherintothewater.

“Goodluan.”

“Goodluck，”theoldmansaid.Hefittedtheropelashingsoftheoarsontothetholepinsand，leaningfainstthethrustofthebladesier，hebegantorowoutoftheharbourinthedark.Therewereotherboatsfromtheotherbeachesgoingouttoseaandtheoldmahedipandpushoftheiroarseventhoughhecouldhemnowthemoonwasbelowthehills.

Sometimessomeonewouldspeakinaboat.Butmostoftheboatsweresilentexceptforthedipoftheoars.Theyspreadapartaftertheywereoutofthemouthoftheharbourandeaeheadedforthepartoftheowherehehopedtofindfish.Theoldmanknewhewasgoingfaroutathesmellofthelandbehindandrowedoutintotheearlymsmelloftheo.HesawthephosphoresceoftheGulfweedierasherowedoverthepartoftheothatthefishermencalledthegreatwellbecausetherewasasuddendeepofsevenhuhomswhereallsortsoffishgregatedbecauseoftheswirlthecurrentmadeagainstthesteepwallsoftheflooroftheo.Herethereweretrationsofs
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