The Fishermen of Hon Tra

Seabee71.com

Net drying on the beach of Hin Tra, at the mouth of the Tra Bong River. Our Seabee camp on the beach to the right below the hills. Photo by David H. Lyman.

An excerpt from the Vietnamese chapter . . .

Eventually, the boys and I arrived at Hon Tra, a small fishing village right out of Jack London’s South Seas Tales. Palm trees swayed, the waves splashed down on the hard sand beach—lined with huts of bamboo poles, woven skirts of palm fronds, most with thatch rooves. There was little poverty, as there was ample fish and rice at hand, but Hon Tra, and nearby hamlets were still primitive by American standards: no communications, one electricity line, no sanitation facilities, no doctor, and a population of a few hundred living closed to the land and sea.

A fishing fleet of wooden log boats, lay at anchor, their sails wrapped around lateen booms. Boats made of woven reeds were pulled up on the beach and turned over as men painting the

bottoms with tar. Fishing nets were spread out to dry on the beach. A photograph I made of those nets (include above) hangs on my wall today.

Fishermen with weathered faces, tending their nets, give us a shy wave. Kids run around, old women hid in the shadows of the huts. It was rare to see a teenage girl, even a teenage boy. It seemed the Vietnamese were either pre-teen or over 50.

The Vietnamese I saw and photographed were a thin people, at least the people her in the countryside. The only overweight or plump Vietnamese I saw erere in Sagon. The girls, when we caught sight of one, were always pretty and shy. They dressed conservatively, in black slacks, a white flowing smock from neck to ankles, tied at the waist and slit on both side for ease of walking. They wore wooden sandals or flip-flops and a reed-woven sun bonnet. Everyone did.