Welcome to Port Clovis
"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to Port Clovis, off the American Gulf. Here, the living is off the sea. Here, the sea is everything, or at least something bigger than tourism. This whole town is defined and built upon the water in ways to make Venice, Italy, jealouser than jealous. And yes, I mean that, when I say that. Our focus today, is a man who has invited us into the controversial and enigmatic world of hunting upon the sea."
. . . . .
"Haul it up now, boy," groaned the older heavy-set man in his coveralls. "He's a heavy, so use your legs not jus' yer back. Use all them muscles."
The younger, red-headed man hoisted up a groaning Great White into the boat alongside the Captain of the vessel.
"Meanwhile… aboard the Cajun Queen, Pierre Leblanc," commentated the narrator, who may have also been the camera man, "also know unto friends as 'Scaly Pete'."
The man had what appeared to be a permanent red stain in this white beard, staining it crimson almost around his jaw and chin. The truth was that the red was that natural color of his hair, but the white was creeping in and his head was a bald globe, permanently hidden beneath his hat. "Daddy hunted sharks," commented the Captain and shark hunter without any flinching or concern. "I hunt sharks. It's in da blood. If there was somebody better'n me at this, you'd be followin' dem yah?"
"People… eh, people got all kinda funny things to say 'bout shark huntin'. Science talk about how we gotta 'coexist'. Now how you gonna do dat with a shark?" He held up three gloved fingers. "Shark gonna do only three things with you: kill you, eat you, and **** you out."
He was silent for a space of time. "What I do," he continued staring in contemplation towards the roof of the steering room, "I consider to be a sacred honor. Kill 'em all if I could. Too bad ain't but twenty-four hours in a day."
Suddenly Pete tensed and thrust his hand out silencing any further questions. The radio. "Shark spotted in Fawtick Bayou. Several deaths reported. Can be identified by rusty harpoon in flank."
"Get the **** out of my way," Pete growled barreling past the camera towards the wheel and controls. "Got a job to do." The boat rumbled to life. "Hold on back 'dere boy! And forget the carcess! Got a new hunt on the way!"