The Breton Sound Marina is dark — really dark — before the sun rises. Sitting in the truck, we’re thankful that the fishing gods have gifted us with a rainless, almost dead-still morning. Once the dawn patrol coffees are finished and the empty cups carefully delegated to their proper place on the floorboards underneath the car seats, the truck doors open and pre-shoot gear assembly begins. Although the weather is a dramatic improvement over the previous day, the lack of wind has made for clouds of the meanest and tiniest biting gnats ever encountered that instantly locate any exposed skin the in Parish. Not expecting the clouds of fanged flying beasts, we were severely under prepared for the insect ambush. They bite through your shirt, they crawl through your beard to gnaw on your face, and locate your ears, nose and mouth with military precision. It also doesn’t help that assembling and balancing a Steadicam and prepping sound booms and mics occupies both hands and leaves little defense against the insects.