The small wooden boat was going fast with the 9.9 engine just repaired.

On summer mornings when Battista was free, he wanted to leave before dawn.

We had already passed Sa Voghitta when the first ship entered the harbor.

We were more than a mile from the river.

The sun had just risen behind the lighthouse when we dropped anchor in the sands of the Boschetto.

It was time to enter the water, we still had a few hours of low tide to venture further out.

I was cold, but not enough to overcome the fear of contradicting my grandfather.

First the hook, then the small bag, and finally me, down.

Half a meter of freezing water, up to my belly button.

There were plenty of clams, and with my custom hook, I managed to dig into the sand at the mouth of the river.

The saurrazzu from Sa Pagliaia was too heavy for my arms, in fact, he never took me there, except to see the wrecks of old ships.

The sun was starting to scorch us, and by ten-thirty we were back on board, he had to pull me up, the side of the boat was too high for me.

In four hours, I could also collect two kilos of clams, at thirteen thousand lire per kilo, that was good money for a child.

The second stop was at the beach to collect firewood, it had to dry for the winter.

Big whitish logs brought by the river.

Before returning, I had to check the trap nearby.

The rope was torn, the trap was gone.

The ferry's stream had carried it away, again.