The first sign of trouble came when Thuy realized his rod was missing after deploying his pots. That meant no mackerel fishing for him tonight, which was disappointing since he had been really looking forward to it. Things got worse when his kayak’s rudder line snapped while we were fishing in the dark. With no way to steer, his kayak began drifting dangerously close to the harbor’s rock wall. I could hear the unease in his voice as he struggled to maintain control. In the pitch-black night, we scrambled to find a solution and get him back on course before things took a more dangerous turn.

We did our best to stay calm and set things straight. Lady Luck was still somewhat on our side as the lobsters began to crawl, and slowly but surely, we started pulling them in. Soon, Thuy had over four lobsters in his net, and I had five, including a particularly large one!

But the drama didn’t end there…

When I removed my dive bag, I discovered that the line had snapped, leaving my lobsters somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. At this point, “defeated” felt like an understatement. I called Thuy and said, “Let’s call it a night. We still have some lobsters, so let’s cut our losses.”

Unfortunately, the night wasn’t done with us yet.

As I packed up my gear, I realized I couldn’t find my last pot. I frantically scanned the water. “It was right here! I marked it on my fish finder.” Did someone steal it? I wondered.

Then, in the distance, I spotted a small float that looked like my pot, far from where I had marked it. Things didn’t look good, and they weren’t. As I pulled it up, my worst fear was confirmed—a small skiff had sliced my buoy line clean off with its motor, and my net was gone, lost in the depths of the ocean. Frustration and anger washed over me. What is wrong with these people? Why couldn’t they take some precautions and avoid running over others’ traps? Instead, they had placed their pots over ours and carelessly cut our lines with their motors.

At this point, anger felt entirely justified.