Maggie, his wife, was below. It was her turn at kitchen duty, and hopefully something close to edible would be served soon. He looked over his shoulder; his two sons were out in the dingy being dragged a few dozen feet behind. Though they were around fifty miles out from Mendocino, the kids still managed to pick up enough reception to keep their noses buried in their phones or iboxes, or whatever they called them.

Even now in the dinghy, he saw they were crowded around a small flat screen, faces lit by the blue glow of something or other that was riveting them. He hated to think what.

Maggie had demanded the boys be in by six, and he’d tried to talk them into coming back onboard with the setting sun. But the looks they had thrown him bordered on disbelief and downright disdain. Gotta love teenagers.

Anyway, the tether line was inch-thick marine rope, and he guessed they could tow Neptune himself before it would break. Besides, there was barely a ripple right now, and he didn’t really want the grief.

“Ten more minutes, boys,” he yelled over his shoulder. He decided he didn’t want grief from Maggie either. He turned back to the wheel. They had miles yet before they reached San Francisco Harbor, but he guessed they’d be in before midnight. Waking up in San Fran would be the real start of their holidays.

The sun was now a huge orange, wavering ball on the horizon. Harris leant down to towards the galley. “How’s that dinner going, Maggie? Something sure smells good.”

He straightened, grinning. No it didn’t, not at all. But he’d do his bit for solidarity, and eat whatever she managed to put together for them.

“Nearly done… I think.” Her voice sounded frustrated – not a good sign. He grimaced and smacked his lips. He’d love a beer, but he wouldn’t dare ask her for one.

The sun went down and the dark settled over them as suddenly as if someone flicked a switch. Almost immediately, his fish finder started to ping at him.

“Huh?” Harris looked down at the small screen. It was supposed to show him a rough approximation of the sea bottom, and anything that moved above it – schools of fish showed up as green smudges, the bottom black, and snags as red blobs, or at least that what he was told. He had never used it before, as he’d never been fishing in his life, let alone on the boat.

Regardless, there was a big school of something down there. “Mackerel, I bet,” he said, naming the first fish that came to mind.