The tides are right and the corvina are close to shore. This kind of 'croaker' is delicious, running up to 20 pounds. We go to the beach at dawn and dusk, bobbing in waves up to our armpits, casting our lures, immersed in the transitional times of day, when its not so hot.

By the third day of good fishing the word was out; four people fishing became a party of 45. Some fish got caught, some really big ones broke away. Our friend Becca, farmer extraordinaire, made world class fish tacos—with her exceptional “Becca’s Hot Sauces,” and I mocked up a magazine cover (above) based on exploits with the core fishing squad: Karl, Becca, Carlos and Antonio. I sent it to the only paparazzo I know, Jean Pigozzi, who loved it. Might one day wake up employable; but as the days go on that seems increasingly unlikely. The outer world has grown distant. For now I’m just hiding from the sun in the middle of the day.

On the trail to dinner at Derek's house, with Catherine walking directly behind me, I came within a stride of being struck by a four-foot-long fer de lance that was coiled in the leaf litter — these swift, aggressive and highly camouflaged vipers damage and kill many in Central and South America every year.

Adrenaline rushing, I kept my flashlight on it while Catherine hailed Carlos the caretaker, who grabbed the five foot snake tongs. After dodging a couple strikes he clamped the snake with the tongs and then crushed its skull; machete-ing off the head creates opportunities to be bitten by a dead snake, so one doesn't do that. These snakes have a small range and are territorial, there's really no choice but to kill them when they're so close to the buildings. We're always practicing heightened awareness, thinking about pattern recognition, that's the way it is here. Shit, that was close.

CORRECTION: A typo in yesterday's post has been corrected so that the first line now reads:
In the brief span of less than a decade, Francesca Woodman (1958-1981) produced a complete body of work in photography
-PR

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