My training as a sea-hunter began when I was young with games to stretch my limbs, to help me sit in my kayak and throw a harpoon. My godfather sang a song while I sat, legs out, knees down, and gently pulled my throwing arm over my shoulder. My uncle sat me on a box with my heels resting on a second box while he sang and pressed my knees and I flexed my feet to his rhythm. * Throwing darts at a wooden whale, keeping a gull on a string, hanging and falling from the rafters, grandpa squeezing my fingers to make them as warm as his. Instructions were never shouted. Always encouraged, never criticized, as a boy, I could do no wrong, and if misfortune arrived my godfather would always defend me.