To the east, the sea seems to stretch on forever. The whale's tail of the island makes a long, curving sandspit that most of Whale Island's fisherman refer to as the Fish Hook. Between the straight coast, and then the curve that could snag a fish's lip, it's easy to see why it's dubbed that. The veteran fisherman on the docks proclaim it's the best place to fish on the island— and Gon couldn't agree more. In the early morning, the fish are greedy and the bobber of your line is rarely visible for long. For this reason, before the sun comes up, he usually rigs a fishnet trap with the large sea rocks that line the cove while the fish are active.
Even though the water around here is shallow, schools of colorful fish often swim right off the sandspit— and watching them is one of Gon's favorite things to do. When they move into deeper waters, he likes to follow them to the underwater reef that is close to the entrance of the cove: where the seafloor bowls out and the water is deep. The reef teems with fish of all sizes and colors that drift serenely through coral and anemone. Sadly, when Gon comes closer, their fins frill outwards and they dart away. He easily can spend a whole day exploring the reef. Recently, he has spent his visits looking for pearls in clamshells, in hopes of making a necklace for Mito's birthday. Although, sometimes he does get sidetracked... It's mostly because of the beauty of the underwater world, and all the otherworldly colors that can rarely be found above the surface.
He comes so often that some fish recognize him and have become his friends. They rub their bodies against his legs and arms as a way of saying hello when he swims by. A particular manta ray, one that he named "Kite," often swoops by when it sees Gon, and twirls around him as if it's dancing with joy. Gon never gets tired of the feeling he gets from this place.
When the sun begins to sink, he checks the traps he set. With his pocket knife, he cuts one of the ropes, and with a fishmen's perfectly orchestrated plan, the fishnet is triggered and all the trapped fish are snared. Gon wades into the pool, the water coming up to his waist, the seagrass tickling against his shins as he, with some effort against the still wriggling, live fish, thrusts the fishing net onto the beach. The fish slap their tails in protest against the sand. It seems like a fish supper is in order.
From the nearby tree line, Gon collects some wood and dry brush for a fire, and collects some large sea rocks to situate in a ring for the pit. As he works, Gon thinks about nothing in particular, and instead hums a light tune to himself. He doesn't need to dwell on anything— this beach has a way of making outside problems meaningless for a time. It's almost like another world here: one where negativity seemingly doesn't exist. None of it matters right now, other than getting the fish cooked. In the nearby tide pool, he scales and guts the fish, leaving the guts he doesn't want to be swept out to sea by the waves. Moments after, he sees the threatening fins of sharks cut through the water. Not that is surprised Gon, as he basically dished them free horderves. After using some of the matches that he always keeps in his pack, the fire, like the sharks, begins to gnaw on the dry wood. It hasn't rained for a while, so all the kindling is dry and the fire grows until is large enough that the blaze is reflected in the ocean's surface. The reds and oranges from Gon's fire are caught in the reflections that dance on the water, joining the brilliant pinks from the sunset. As he stakes the fish's flesh to border the fire, he tries to absorb it all. When the fish is finished cooking, he chews on the sweet flesh and watches the sunset end.
Quickly, another day turns to night time. The rolling waves act as a backup chorus to the crickets that chirp from beyond where the forest meets the beach. The only light that makes the beach visible to Gon is from the supermoon that the fisherman were talking excitedly about on the docks. There's a lot you can talk about while waiting for a bite. Between assembling lures and weaving nets, talking about tonight's phenomena filled in the gaps of silence. More visibility at night makes it possible to catch the larger fish that move up from the ocean's depths at later hours— fish big enough to snap most lines. If one of these fish were caught, it would give any fisherman automatic bragging rights. However, Gon wasn't interested in that right now; he had done plenty of fishing earlier and instead was in the mood to take a stroll around the beach.
Gon rubs his hands up and down on his bare arms, trying to warm them slightly against the bite of the ocean breeze. Beneath his toes, the sand is chilly: maybe he shouldn't've put out his fire. Oh well, it couldn't be helped now. Besides, the nip in the air feels good in his lungs. It's refreshing, he tells himself. His stubborn thoughts alone makes him forget about his goosebumps. The night sky distracts him, too. It's so clear that the starlight is captured in the water's calmer surface. In the later hours, it becomes almost glassy, and it's as though Gon doesn't even need a telescope to see outer space. Seafoam bubbles around Gon's feet, looking a luminescent blue-green as the water creeps up onto the sand. It kind of looks like the bubbles in the sink when he and Mito wash dishes.
He pauses in his stroll to watch the Whale Island Lighthouse whirl and it casts its brilliant light into seemingly nowhere. Its light runs across the stretch of beach in front of him. A glint catches his gaze, looking amiss amongst the shimmering mica in the sand. By a miracle, Gon saw it. His eyes easily could have brushed past it in the dark. The cool water comes up to touch him again as he digs his fingers in the sand and pries it free.
It's a glass bottle, one small enough that the surf had covered most of it with sand. There's a classic cork that seals the lip of the bottle closed— like how they are illustrated in one of the children's books Mito used to read to him over and over when he was a kid. Wiping some pesky grains of sand from his hand on his shorts, he twists the cork off with an audible pop, and pours the contents into his palm, dropping the bottle into the sand. He expects some sort of note or something, but instead, all that's inside is a little pink scallop shell. He scrunches his nose, confused, and turns the little shell over and over between his fingers, the coolness of it soothing against the calluses formed from many years of weaving fishing nets.
Gon continues walking. Periodically, he smiles fondly at the little thing, wondering why this shell was important enough to be sent to someone else through the fate of the ocean. The tide comes in too fast, slides over his toes, and sprays against his shins. If nothing else, the shell is charming. As the early morning stretches on, Gon wallows into a tide pool, and lies back on a rock adorned with barnacles. The shell is now warm in his hand. As the tide pool swirls lazily, the sound of the water moving lulls him to sleep upon the rock with the periwinkles.
It's only a little while later that Gon twitches awake. A boy with eyes the color of an opaque, blue sea glass looks pale under the moonlight, his arm shiny with water outstretched for the shell Gon has held in his hand— even while he slept. His white hair is the color of the point where a wave crests and falls. It's plastered to his wet face. Pearly eyelashes flutter his eyes open a little wider when the boy notices Gon has woke up. It's only when the boy reacts does Gon see his fishlike tail, adorned with scales that shimmer with all colors of the rainbow. His fluke beats like a fish in shallow water in the tidepool, and the serene moment is cut short by the boy lunging for him, teeth sharp and gnashing towards Gon's throat in a carnivorous growl.