Things that happen when you trumpet on the beach

Friday morning, the last day of my first course. Late start – just admin today. Take the trumpet out for a morning blast. Two distant lines of men either side of me, attached to a rope arcing out into the sea, slowly working their way closer; their boat left to drift ashore on the incoming tide. I keep edging away from the nearer line until they’re both equidistant. Some of the men give me smiles as they work. It’s slow work. No-one’s exerting themselves, they’re all just edging and letting the current do the work. 

I stroll home to get breakfast and come back with my bowl to watch as both lines shift closer together and further along the beach. When they get within fifty metres of each other the birds start appearing. Lots of birds; pelicans and frigate birds for the most part. They’re pulling in an audience of locals too, people waiting for the catch. Old ladies and mothers and wives of the men. Friends and neighbours pull up on bicycles and sit on driftwood watching. The sun is the hottest it’s felt this early in the day. Most of the men wear long sleeves in the surf, some hoods and headwraps. 

The men pull up the rope and the netting, coiling it in zigzags along the shore as they tighten the noose. More birds. As they get to within fifteen metres the pelicans start swooping into the water along the edges of the nets where the fish are ensnared or trying to break free. A couple of the men run out into the deeper surf to scare them off. But now there’s dozens and dozens attacking the water in groups and gorging. The nets keep coiling. The spectators get involved; the older women pulling free the baby silver flashes on the wet sand; the men hauling; the birds thrashing; the surf white with activity. 

The field of play shrinks until the birds are forced out and the men pull in their catch with smiles and laughter. The pelicans skulking close by for any slips or escapees. 

The frigates overhead give it up and allow themselves to be carried away on rising thermals. As I walk home along the beach I’m passed by bicycles laden with carrier bags of fish.

Time to go to work.

***

Things that happen 2:

After sunset I wander out into the low-tide surf to toot my horn. After ten minutes the landscape behind me is dark but the sea still reflects the last of the sky, an opalescent pewter. I am aware there is a figure immediately behind my right shoulder. I turn half-way through my rendition of 'Summertime'. The man is in darkness but offers his hand. He goes on to explain that he is Colombian and on a round-the-Americas trip, and that it's his girlfriend's birthday tomorrow - can I help him out. 

Entonces... wouldn't you?