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The Raft in the Kelp
Hannah cut the outboard motor fifty yards outside the surf zone, letting the Pacific swell lift the aluminum skiff as dawn fog clung to the granite bluffs of Point Lobos. Through her salt-fogged binoculars, the undulating canopy of bull kelp appeared deserted, and for several agonizing minutes she feared the winter gales had driven the nursery raft into open water. At nine o'clock the following morning, the regional fisheries commission was scheduled to review the sanctuary boundaries; should her census fail to document nursing females within the cove, commercial crabbers would immediately secure permission to lay traps across the kelp beds.
Not until the swell dipped into a glassy trough did the first dark shape materialize among the amber fronds. What Hannah caught was the brief flash of a whiskered face, followed by the distinctive, metallic clinking of stone against shell.