The fishing boats didn't go all that far from shore, perhaps a quarter of a mile, to a line where the sea turned from light to dark. A shelf, most likely, where the sea floor dropped off to greater depths. I sat on my knees on the paddleboard, paddling for all I was worth to get through the surf break without being toppled. In my back pocket I carried the hand line I'd rigged up; to a locking carabiner I had tied a 120lb fishing line about 20 feet long. To the end of the leader I tied a heavy duty hook, and on it I attached the only bait I could find in the van: a hunk of Swiss-style sausage.