A quiet deck
The old boat creaked in a language Eli claimed to understand. He translated a long wooden sigh as a request for new paint. Nell thought it was asking them to go home. The moon made a bright path across the water, and for several minutes nothing interrupted it except the slow movement of the boat.
The second light
The bass rose beside the hull, carrying the moonlight across its flank. It seemed impossibly large in the dark, less like a fish than a silver door opening and closing. Water struck the rail. Eli stepped back, laughed and immediately insisted that he had expected it. Nell decided not to challenge this version until they reached shore.
What remained on deck
By morning, a few pale scales of dried water marked the paint. There was no photograph and no sensible estimate of size. Nell drew two circles in the log: one for the moon, one for the interruption. Eli added a third for the splash that had landed in his tea. It was the most precise part of either account.
The coastline, people and oversized bass in this dispatch are imagined. No real-world route or fishing guidance is intended.