Most mornings, I hear the sound of men fishing outside my window.
A simple dugout canoe is launched off the beach at West Point and drops hand-mended nets in a semicircle until it reaches our part of the beach. Young men wade in, pick up the end of the net--the start is anchored on the West Point beach with a similar crew--and start pulling the rope in with their hands. Meanwhile, the man in the boat beats the side of his wood vessel with a wooden oar or slaps the water. The sound takes a moment to travel and you hear the knock a split-second after you see him splash.
Early, I like to peek out the window and watch them.