"Hand lines," Rick said.
"That's good as anything. Now, I always say a man can't think proper in a mob like this. Too distracting. So let's go fishing and do some thinking. What say?"
Rick's glance met Scotty's. Cap'n Mike had his own way of doing things. They had nothing to lose by humoring him.
"Let's go," Scotty said.
As they passed the wreck, Rick stopped for a moment to look at it again. The air was even heavier than the night before with the reek of dead fish. They were scattered along the reef in shoals ten feet wide. By daylight he could see that the trawler was finished. She had broken her back and torn out a good part of her bottom. She must have been really making knots to hit like that.
"Cap'n, exactly what was the weather like when Tom Tyler hit?" Rick asked.
"Not bad. Visibility might have been less than real perfect, but it wouldn't have interfered with him seeing the light."
"Would it have interfered with him seeing the reef if the light had been out?"
"I reckon it would. Until he was right on it, anyway."
Rick turned the information over in his mind. "Were any other trawlers out last night?"