National Geographic : 1979 Jun
A soccer game from France fluttered incongruously from the television as I re moved my shoes to enter the Teikivaehos' bungalow. Dinner was poisson cru (raw fish marinated in lime juice), New Zealand corn beef, baked breadfruit, and bananas, all lumped into a bowl of salted coconut milk and eaten with the fingers. After dark we went fishing in Joseph's 50 horsepower launch. He stood in a cockpit in front, one hand on the controls, the other wielding a small net on a long bamboo pole. On his head he wore a helmet fitted with a searchlight, powered by a generator. Joseph scanned the lagoon with his beam as we skimmed over the water, waiting for a flying fish to break the surface. Now! A silver streak fluttered and Joseph wheeled his boat for the high-speed chase, scooping with uncanny accuracy into the foaming water, then dumping a frenzy of flapping, two-foot wingspans and nocturnal fish eyes into my lap. Suddenly the generator coughed and quit, snuffing out the beam. Joseph cut the en gine, and we were alone with the dark and the gentle swell of the lagoon. He muttered an oath; he had left his flashlight behind.