Solitude

October 14, 2012 § Leave a comment

Chopsticks & Flyrods

It was the kind of place men went to get away from their wives. A rusted out, abandoned fish farm. Its empty concrete tanks overlooked a remote bay on Jeopdo island. Accessible only by way of a country road, a concrete ribbon that snakes its way 5 Km along the spine of a ridge before dropping down switchbacks to the sea, the bay is well hidden.

Along the crescent shoreline are several small beaches. Separated by barnacle encrusted lava flow and linked by a forest trail, the beaches were mostly ignored by the men casting their lines into the water. They stood instead on the edge of a concrete slab below the fish farm, their beer coolers and bait tanks scattered across the ground.

I came to the little bay for reasons (I assume are) similar to those of the other men fishing. Namely to get the heck out of…

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