“Tuna!” The rip of his drag sounds like a kicked hornets’ nest as I pedal my kayak toward him. The sun breaks over the cloud-ringed mountains and casts a sapphire light across the bay — an Instagram sunrise, for sure. And in the center of it all is Clinton, an American expat and recovering drug addict, on his dirty 12-foot kayak, rod bent in half, a boss yellowfin taking line. Lance Clinton is the happiest man alive.