Walking toward the coast, the spray from the breaking waves and the turmoil of the channel make a hazy mist that glows in the late afternoon sun. I noticed the sun's rays scattering behind Greg here as we left the cacti and scrub to navigate the sharper rocks.
The spray is so fine that you don't notice it until you taste the salt that settles on your lips as dust left over from the evaporating water droplets.
Me wearing sunscreen & red!
Towards the end of the hike, we came across what appeared to be the aptly named 'Junk's hole.' This is the spot where 'junk' from here to Africa washes ashore, due to the local currents and reefs. Amongst the coral, sponges and sea fans were plastic bottles, fishing nets, sandals, and all sorts of floating man-made debris. The garbage was definitely the exception to the rule on this all-but-uninhabited end of the island, but it was still a reminder of the everlasting nature of our actions and carelessness.It was an odd cross-section of typical garbage, and I started thinking about what wasn't washing up, and why. Then I realized that all the aluminum cans, plastic bags, and batteries probably go straight to the bottom of the water where they cause far more damage.
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