Which just earns a low, scoffing noise from low in the back of her throat as she slowly reels her line back in a second time. And a sidelong glance that follows the line of his shoulder and the twitch of his wrist as he casts his own line. Ellie slows the reel to watch his line sail out, sun catching and glittering briefly off the synthetic before it arcs down somewhere almost too far to really see.

"Uh, that's kind of cheating," she says, carefully flicking the end of her line up over the side of the boat. She catches it again, fingers dancing around the sharp points of the hook as she steadies the pole. The next cast isn't perfect, but it's passable: punctuated by a light, easy flick of the wrist.

"How the hell d'you get yours out so far?"