​It is known as the Capital of Cars, the Engine of Italy.    Born within a golden circle that surrounds the city of Modena, are the mythical brands whispered on the lips of car lovers the world over, along with the mega-rich, and boys of all ages. Maserati. De Tomaso.  Pagani.   The Italian sports car introduced the world to speed and luxury, the ultimate union of art and technology.   Defining this perfectly are the region’s two most famous sons:  Lamborghini, and Ferrari, vehicles that have transcended the circuits and bolts within them, commanding religious-like reverence from both drivers, and dreamers.
 
Few car enthusiasts know there would be no Lamborghini were it not for Ferrari.    Ferrucio Lamborghini was one of the wealthiest men in Italy, having made his fortune selling tractors and appliances.    An avid car enthusiast and collector, among Ferrucio’s favourites were several Ferraris, although he found them to be mechanically temperamental.   A recurring clutch issue led him to contact Enzo Ferrari, founder and namesake, a volatile character best described as being ferociously driven in the pursuit of automobile racing.   How different the vehicle landscape would be if Ferrari had taken his customer’s feedback seriously.  Instead, Enzo allowed the manufacture of Ferrari sports cars only as a means to fund his beloved racing initiatives.   Private customers had to put up with Enzo’s notoriously dismissive attitude, viewed as an unfortunate by-product for owning a vehicle of such outstanding quality.   Ferrucio was no different.  However, once informed that a tractor manufacturer had no right to criticize Ferrari’s cars, Lamborghini was compelled to repair his own models, and discovered that the mechanics of car and tractors had encouraging similarities.   If Ferrari would not improve their road models, Lamborghini had the knowledge and financial clout to do it for them. In 1963, Automobili Lamborghini was born.  With the help of hired ex-Ferrari engineers, his first model - a 350 GTV - was rolled out, built in a factory set up not far from Ferrari’s own.    Unlike Ferrari, Lamborghini would focus solely on sports cars, shying away from the racetrack.    Today, Lamborghini is a name synonymous with the Italian sports car, a better-looking thorn in the much bigger Ferrari landscape.   Did Enzo rue his decision to insult Ferrucio?   Probably not.  He was a man so focused on the chequered flag there was little time for Sunday afternoon drives in the countryside.  

​Just a few minutes across the municipal border into Bologna, you’ll find the headquarters and factory of Lamborghini.   The eponymous Bull logo, taken from Ferrucio’s Taurus star sign, appears boldly on the walls.   A parking lot holds dozens of Audis belonging to staff, now that the German manufacturer owns 100% of the Lamborghini brand.   Since the 1970’s, the company has endured bankruptcy, a sale to Chrysler (itself sold to Italian car giant Fiat), ownership by an Indonesian consortium headed by the son of the dictator Suharto, and sporadic years of economic uncertainty.   Yet it has continued to produce vehicles that have redefined design and car envy. Vehicles like the Aventador, Murciélago, the Diablo, and its predecessor, the Countach.   As a teenage boy, I had a mounted poster of a blue Countach in my bedroom, a rocket ship on earth, my ultimate dream car.   It was named after an Italian wolf whistle, for that is what it in inspired.   Subsequent generations of the Countach, along with one of a kind prototypes and concept cars, are on display in an on-site gallery, open daily to the public.     The Concept S has adjacent seat booths protected by individual windows, creating the distinct look of a jet fighter.  The LM002 looks much like a Hummer, an SUV built in the mid-1980’s, way before its time.   A green Countach sits so low on the ground it barely reaches my thigh.    On show is also a Lamborghini police car, one of two donated to the Italian police department, to be used for emergency organ transplants and blood deliveries.  It is the car you want to be arrested in.  

​Behind the gallery is the factory itself, where every Lamborghini created is carefully hand-assembled.   There are no giant robots drilling sparks into the air.  There is no loud industrial noise, or even a spot of grease on the floor.  Every 190 minutes, the cars move forward on a U-shaped production line to the next work station, where a team of white-gloved engineers set to work installing the electronics, the interior, the wheels and dashboard.  For factory engineers, they look young, healthy, and completely enthused by their job, paying attention to the finest detail, scribbling their efforts into a production book that will follow the vehicle for the remainder of its life.   Lamborghini does not keep stock.   Each model is made to order, customized according to the exact specification of the buyer.   From station to station, the car matures, until at the halfway point, a marriage takes place.   The engine, already assembled, is hoisted up and inserted into the chassis, the perfect metaphor for the soul entering the body.    At the final station, the electronics are tested, the lights flicker on, and spark plugs get their first ignition.  The birth roar of an engine is primal, like a dragon breathing fire, a lion owning the savannah.   190 minutes later, another customized model, black fly-wing doors open, will roar its approval. 
 
It takes the finest leather of five Austrian cows to furnish the interior of Lamborghini, dyed in lush colours and stitched by hand.  One upholsterer has large photos of his kids above his work desk.  My guide says “this is love, no?”, I am not sure if she’s talking about the kids, or the car. Valetino Balboni,  a 60 year-old test driver hired by Ferrucio Lamborghini himself, pulls up in a silver Gallardo LP 560-4 Spyder.    He’s been driving these cars longer than I have been alive, and he’s taking me into the countryside to demonstrate what all that marvellous production amounts to.     A car journalist might tell you that the Gallardo Spyder has a new 5.2 litre V10 engine with an output of 560 horsepower, a power to weight ratio of 2.77kg, an 18% reduction in fuel consumption and C02 emissions from previous models, and a top speed of 324 km/hr.    All I’ll say is that stepping into the Spyder for the first time made me giggle like a schoolgirl.   There is not a head on this planet (or any other for that matter) that would not swivel the second it sees this elegant creation.   No wonder that Jeremy Clarkson, presenter of Top Gear and the car man’s car man, replaced his Ford GT with a Gallardo Spyder.   Valentino presses a button, the Spyder growls to life, and we effortlessly pull into the road.   At the first intersection, I receive eight nods of envy and three photographs.  

We are but two men comfortably seated on expensive red leather with a powerful state of the art engine strapped to our backs.  Valentino shoots ahead, demonstrating the incredible power (0 to 100 km/hr in 3.9 seconds) and stop-on-a-penny all wheel drive braking. The sudden lurch of speed, as we taking sharp corners that could flip most cars, is not unlike being in a rollercoaster, catapulting forward but leaving my eyeballs trailing.   We find a quiet stretch and Valentino invites me to take the wheel.  With an advanced paddle shift transmission and various driving modes, he reassures me that I cannot make a mistake, as the car will automatically adjust itself as it needs.   Sweat is dripping from my forehead, and this low to the tarmac, heat is radiating from the ground. The temperate in the cockpit reads an incredible 50C under a relentless Italian summer sun.    I hesitantly pull forward, piloting a vehicle worth more than I could ever afford, well aware that I had signed a waiver holding me responsible for any mishaps.    Valentino was right.   The Spyder is beautifully forgiving, guiding my paddle presses, injecting fuel when needed, shifting solidly around corners.   It doesn’t take long before I have the confidence to induce G-force and make this silver bullet fly.   I drive back to the factory, pull up in front of a group of jealous tourists, and would have made a proud and gallant exit had my knees not buckled under the pure bliss of the experience.
 
It is a short drive from the Lamborghini factory to Maranello, where Enzo Ferrari relocated his factory after his original workshops in Modena were bombed during World War II.   Maranello is a mecca for racing and car enthusiasts, and is not so much a small town as a Ferrari theme park.  There are Ferrari stores and Ferrari schools, red-painted restaurants and hotels.  Images of the famous prancing horse - adopted as a logo by Enzo in 1923 from a famed Italian fighter pilot - are everywhere.  While Lamborghini and Ferrari are both Italian sports cars, it is immediately clear that Ferrari is the much larger enterprise -  a fast, bright red world unto itself. 
 
Enzo, who died in 1988, did not live to see Michael Schumacher dominate Formula 1 at the wheel of a Ferrari, but this was always his dream.  Enzo was born to race, and when he realized his own skill was not up to par with the best, he changed his destiny so that other drivers could fulfil theirs.   Originally working for Alfa Romeo, he left the company to start his own stable of race cars called Scuderia Ferrari, literally, Stable Ferrari.  Founded in 1947,  Ferrari’s impact on the world of motor racing was immediate if somewhat turbulent.  It appeared to have more success off the track, as Ferrari road cars became the sought after toys of wealthy car enthusiasts.   Yet Enzo viewed the consumer market as an afterthought.  Plugging millions into racing development, financial woes in the 1960’s forced him to sell a large stake in the company to Fiat, which today owns 90% of the company.     Yet Enzo’s tenacity, not to mention the raw power, stylish design and racing mentality of his cars, ensured not only the survival but also Ferrari’s growth into perhaps the world’s most sought after and recognized sport car brand.  Ferraris are vehicles of success, on and off the road. 

​At the Galleria Ferrari, many of the most famous Ferraris are on display for an adoring public.   From the original cars built by Enzo to the F1 triumphs of Michael Schumacher, the recreation of a pit stop inside the museum continues to emphasise the importance of the racetrack to the company.  It takes some time for me to realize that the display cars are not replicas, but the very models that dominated sport headlines around the world, having won 31 Formula 1 World Titles.   Upstairs are the sports cars, the famous Testa Rossa, the F40, the Enzo Ferrari, named in tribute.    A red 308GTS represents my personal introduction to Ferrari – the car driven by Tom Selleck in the 80’s series Magnum.  There is a marked difference from the sleekness and almost minimalistic lines I found inside Lamborghini’s showcase. These cars exude brute strength, more muscle than finesse. A special showcase houses a black 1957 250 Testa Rossa, an antique car that happens to be one of the most expensive vehicles ever sold at an auction.  It sold for a staggering US$12.1 million, and it doesn’t even have headlights.  
 
Just about every car in the Galleria Ferrari is bright red, a colour forever associated with Ferrari, even though all Italian sports cars have been painted red since a racing organization assigned it to the country in the 1920’s.   French blue, German white (later silver), British green.   Ferrari came to own the colour because it came to own the idea of Italian race cars.  Ironically, the 430 Scuderia waiting for me to test drive outside is a light metallic blue, with two silver racing stripes down the middle.    Launched by Michael Schumacher at the Frankfurt Auto Show in 2007, this model was created to complete with the Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera, offering a lighter body, more power, and faster speed.   508 horsepower at 8500 rpm, power to rate ratio of 2.5kk/hp, an F1-trac system and E-Diff stability control, and I’m not really sure what all that means other than this is a purebred racing machine built for speed.  0 – 100 km/hr in 3.5 seconds, and with a top speed of 320 km/hr, you’re always the pace car on the smooth Italian autostrade.  
 
My test driver’s name is Gabriel, and we both agree that a job requiring you to drive in a Ferrari all day is a job worth keeping.   Of all the Ferraris he has driven at the company, this is his favourite, because this model, he tells me, was built for racing, period.   The interior is somewhat basic, the seats practical, belts tellingly over the shoulder, like the jump seat in an aeroplane.  A metal footplate lets me support myself as Gabriel screams around the bend of a quiet country road, the engine snarling as he shifts the transmission with the paddles. We are tigers lurking in the concrete jungle of automobiles, ferociously hunting prey.   After screeching past a chicane, I ask Gabriel how fast he was going.  With a wry grin, he tells me he doesn’t know.   You’d have to have a Lamborghini police car to catch us anyway, and I happen to know they’re focused on other priorities.

​It is late afternoon when we drive back to the Galleria, and in the traffic of rush hour, it seems almost cruel for the 430 Scuderia to trot at 40 km/hr back to the stable.   A race car without a race is but an appetite without the means to feed it.   I thank my pilot, awkwardly exit the cockpit, and walk over to my rented blue Peugeot 107.  Like most cars in Italy, it is a tiny vehicle capable of squeezing through narrow cobblestone streets, slotting in miniscule parking spaces, but still exceeding the 130 km/hr speed limit on the highway.   It is half the size of a Ferrari or Lamborghini, but it got me to both factories safely, with room for my suitcase and a couple friends.    Comparing it in the same breath as these mighty Italian giants seems almost sacrilegious, and yet the realist might argue they are all machines of transport, on four rubber wheels, powered by an engine.   Is a supermodel a better person because she looks better than the average housewife?   Is a sportsman a better father because he has more strength and tanned, toned muscles?    This is logic, and certainly, this is folly.   Dream machines were not designed to carry groceries or pick up the kids.   Lamborghini and Ferrari are the golden chariots that shepherd our inspiration, our quest for power, speed and beauty, the desire to transcend practicality in the name of art and technology.   Placing a price tag on such an endeavour misses the point.  For the majority of us who can appreciate if not afford the result, there’s always a visit to the Engine of Italy.

It’s been a hot minute since my last trip to Belize, filming an episode of my TV series Word Travels.   Back then, we hit the jungle, some Mayan ruins, the wetlands, and a Mennonite community for good measure (you can stream that Belize episode free on Tubi).   Now I finally have the opportunity to see the beaches and coral reefs that I missed on the first trip, which concludes with the line: “If you do everything the first time, there’s less reason to return.” 

​Swapping out a TV crew for my go-go-go daughter - a razor sharped chip off the old block -  we’re following up our jungle adventure to Costa Rica with another foray into Central America.  Much like Costa Rica, Belize is smashing things on the eco-tourism front, but Costa Rica doesn’t have Mayan ruins or an English-speaking population, somehow sheltered from the general mayhem found in its neighbours Guatemala and Honduras.  Focusing on the beach and the world’s second largest barrier reef, my daughter showed impressive vim taking on the PADI Junior Open Water Certification, working hard on her e-learning, confined pools dives in Vancouver, and the four challenging ocean dives on the reef.   You can read more about that journey in my Canadian Geographic column.   What I didn’t mention was that singular moment – the bucket list moment – where all the travel and work and adventure coalesced. We were diving together through a canyon reef, which admittedly wasn’t the most spectacular dive in terms of marine life, but allowed us to explore a unique eco-system, and the weird sensation of scuba diving, together.   Just another unforgettable moment in a lifetime of many.  Wish there was a TV crew to capture it! 

Last night I discovered the word: Zugzwang.   What the hell kind of a word is Zugzwang?  A real English word, co-opted from German as it turns out.  Definition: a situation in which the obligation to make a move in one's turn is a serious, often decisive, disadvantage. One day, I’m going to use that word in conversation, and I can’t wait.

There must be a lot of Austrians Googling:  “Where to find a great schnitzel in Canada?” because my column about skiing in the fantastic Silverstar Ski Resort, and taking my Austrian brother-in-law to Gerni's Farmhouse outside of Vernon, totally blew up.  Gerni refers to the late Gernot Langes-Swarovski, founder of the Swarovski crystal empire, which owns the glitzy spa resort Sparkling Hill in the BC interior.  Gerni liked his authentic Austrian food served in an authentic Austrian environment, so had a 16th century Austrian farmhouse dismantled and shipped over to his resort British Columbia.   The menu and setting would make any Austrian traveller tear up with joy.  Once they’ve settled down, they can explain to me what’s in a Almdudler.  It’s a popular Austrian non-alcoholic soda, of a sort, that tasted like the innocence of childhood for no reason I can possibly explain.

I also took the opportunity to do my best sack of potato impression while flying down an ice chute at 94 km/hr.  A lot of people asked me why I felt compelled to do the public skeleton at the Whistler Bobsleigh Centre, and the answer is:  because tourists actually do this, and it is undoubtably something unique, memorable, attainable and hilarious.   Therefore:  something to add to the bucket list.  Jon Montgomery, who won skeleton gold in the skeleton at the 2010 Olympics, was a great sport for his quotes in my column, which pretty much captures the all-round absurdity of flying down a “frozen toilet chute.”

Unseasonably warm weather totally zugzwanged me when it came to a long-planned multi-day snowmobile trip in Algonquin Provincial Park.  We were watching snow reports during the worst winter season on record, and the trip was ultimately pulled just days before I was set to fly out to Ontario.  A bummer in every way, because snowmobiling without snow is no fun at all.  Climate change is going to wreak havoc on more and more travel plans, so purchasing a little travel insurance to fully recoup any upcoming flights in the case of unexpected chaos is no longer just another airline cash-grab, it’s a necessity.

​Finally, the second edition of The Great Western Canada Bucket List arrived at my doorstep and it looks fantastic.  Packed with inspiration, it’s slim enough to gift to those travelling with carry-ons, and my wish is for it to land on the radar of anyone greeting newcomers to BC and Alberta.  As you can tell on the companion site, there’s so much to explore and discover across a landscape that is both unique and diverse.  The book will officially launch nationwide in May 14, look for it wherever you find your reading material.

Get over Jaws.  Sharks rarely attack humans, are vital to the marine eco-system, and as any diver will tell you, a thrill to meet in their natural habitat.   With rampant shark finning, the entire species is at risk.   Encounter them underwater, and you’ll quickly realize just how beautiful, and harmless sharks really are.  ​

Mossel Bay, South Africa, Great White
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The coast of South Africa’s Eastern Cape is full of Great White Sharks, the most feared predator in the ocean.  Cage diving is popular and while thrilling, is completely safe.   Years later, I can still see that Great White coming towards me, literally rattling my cage. ​

Malapascua Island, Philippines, Threshers
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A stunning tropical island, Malapascua is the only place where you can dive with thresher sharks every day, due to “cleaning stations” that attract the sharks in nearby Monad Shoal.  Shy around divers, threshers are known for their distinctive tail. ​

Shark Reef, Fiji
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For those looking for variety, Fiji’s Shark Reef Marine Reserve has a regular shark population of 8 different species: Whitetip Reef, Blacktip Reef,  Grey Reef, Tawny Nurse, Sicklefin Lemon, Silvertip, Bull and Tiger sharks are all found in the reserve. ​

Galapagos Islands,, Hammerheads
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During the December to May season, divers on live-aboards yachts around Darwin and Wolf Islands can find themselves in the water with thousands of hammerheads. Aggressive predators for marine life , hammerheads do not attack humans unless provoked. ​

Palau – Reef sharks
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With 50 metre plus visibility clear Palau is renowned as one of the best diving locations in the world. Since establishing the world’s first shark sanctuary in 2001, it’s also one of the best places to dive with sharks. ​

After so many miles, misadventures and meat pies, I'm delighted to be launching my 9th book, The Great Australian Bucket List , available October 9th online and in bookshops throughout Australia and New Zealand.   It's been a very long and very wild ride, packing in years of travel into six crazy months, and years of writing into the same. As for bringing along my family, two kids under five can only make the intense travel and writing easier right?   Right. ​

As with my previous books, I believe that essay-style stories inspire, and are best read on a printed page illustrated with beautiful photography.  But I believe that practical information is important too, best accessed online where it can be easily and frequently updated.   The Great Australian Bucket List follows this successful formula:  a stunning, inspiring book supported by an extensive companion website - www.aussiebucketlist.com 
With any luck, both will have the same impact in Australia as the The Great Canadian Bucket List had in Canada: inspiring millions of locals and visitors to explore unique, one-of-a-kind destinations and activities around the nation (and becoming a smash bestseller as a result).    From jungle surfing in the world's oldest rainforest to swimming with giant tuna, chasing ghosts in haunted prison cells to hiking the remote outback, Australia has buckets of amazing stuff to explore.  ​

Here's a quick peek at what I got up to: ​

The book is published by Affirm Press, the fastest growing publisher in Australia, driven by passionate readers who believe in stories as much as I do.  I have to give a shout out to my amazing sponsors and partners:   Presenting Partner Ford Motors Australia, Oaks Hotels and Resorts, Jetstar Airways, World Expeditions, Journey Beyond, Discovery Holiday Parks, Move Yourself, Sunshades Eyewear, Tourism Tasmania and Queensland Tourism and Events.  Thank you!  ​

Check out The Great Australian Bucket List videos on Youtube! ​

The family travel project was an entirely different trip altogether.  You can check it out at the online trip journal we custom-designed to record the adventure:  www.esrockingkids.com.  Along with our partners above, special thanks to Valco Baby, Keen, Footwear, Britax and Victorinox. ​

I met so many wonderful people on my journey, and as always, the people I met (and the family I travelled with) shaped my experience.  I learned so much about Australia, and myself.  This is what travel does:  new places stoke new emotions, new people stoke new ideas, new landscapes inspire new life stories.  ​

There's no word as yet if/when The Great Australian Bucket List will be available on shelves outside of Australia and New Zealand.  I'd love nothing more than my Canadian, Global and Australian books to find their way to stores worldwide, but that's up to the gods, agents, and the publishing industry.    In the meantime,  you can buy it online anywhere through Book Depository (with free shipping worldwide) and in Australia online through Booktopia,  Dymocks, Collins, Big W, KMart, Newslink, QBD or fine indie bookstores.  As always, it's the perfect gift for everyone from kids to grandparents, and will appeal to all ages and interests. ​

After the comfortable flight into Brisbane via Auckland on Air New Zealand, well deserved of airlineratings.com Airline of the Year Award, I breathe the warm, tropical coastal air of northern Queensland on my patio at the Thala Beach Resort.  Humidity hugs me as I gaze out over the forest canopy and picturesque bay, listening to the songs of birds and frogs.  Parrots flutter about in the trees adjacent to the windowless dining room, with the natural assets of tropical north Queensland on full display.   My first introduction to the Great Barrier Reef is on Quicksilver’s wave-piercing catamaran, which delivers tourists to a permanent pontoon on the outer barrier reef.   Beyond snorkelling, I soak up the time in a semi-submersible boat ride, an underwater observatory, in the skies with a helicopter ride (the view is extraordinary)  and my personal highlight - on an underwater platform with a fish-bowl like helmet on my head, petting a friendly and unnervingly large Maori wrasse.  Well, that’s one way to experience the reef.  Another is by sea kayak, launched the following day from Thala Beach in the early morning hours.  Sea turtles pop their heads out the water to see what the fuss is about,  but I’m more distracted by the lush costal mountains framing the coastline. ​

My right ear is rotten. Broken.  Unusable.   A dozen operations and surgical reconstructions have left it scarred and barely functional.  Various prosthetics failed, and hearing aids makes everything sound tinny and robotic.  I can only dream of stereo.    My affliction means I cannot dive, much less put my head underwater, for fear of infections, and water leaking into my brain (OK, that’s not exactly true, but my dirty thoughts could use the rinse).  After my last reconstruction in 2006, doctors told me I should be able to swim underwater, although a chronic ear infection, the result of a water fight in an elephant-shit infused river in Thailand, left me with doubts.   Diving seemed a bridge too far, and then I discovered a fantastic little product called Doc’s Pro Plugs. ​

I'm here with the Scuba Diving Girls.   Technically just Margo and Stephanie are the Scuba Diving Girls – a dive shop/online dive cult they run out of San Diego, but we're accompanied by some other girls as well, and SDG is a state of mind.  We've come to PNG, as the cool kids call it, to explore Tufi and Walindi, two renowned diving spots.    Tufi, with its views of the fjord and its world-class crescent-shaped house reef, was a perfect place to take my PADI Open Water Course.   It's located in a small region on the eastern coast of PNG, almost comically remote, where locals and kids gather at the airstrip for the weekly highlight, a plane load of ghosts emerging from the loud sky bird.   OK, it’s not the 1930’s, when the Leahy brothers discovered one million people living in the country’s highlands, previously unknown to man.   We’re not white spirits returning with ancestors from the dead.   We’re dive tourists.   We’re coming from high, and we’re heading on low. ​

The resort itself is homely and small, all wood and leafy plants.  Nothing at all like Club Med, more like a modest house.  Some hotels have dogs to make their guests feel at home.   We had a wallaby named Stu with his large drooping scrotum, and a hopping hornbill named Coco, prone to nipping toes under the dinner table, screeching, and pooping fruit on the hardwood floors.     I hit the books, crash coursing PADI’s five beginner classes, learning about decompression sickness and buoyancy, regulators and nitrogen levels. My classroom was the house reef, rife with lionfish and coral, and two sunken boats at the bottom.  My instructor’s name was Glen, who, like most of the villagers in Tufi, walked barefoot with large, callused feet,  and chewed betelnut until his teeth and lips were stained blood-red.    I’ve been so keen to dive all these years that I jumped in the deep end, acing my course exams and underwater trials. ​

Underwater, I felt I could fly in an alien planet crammed with alien life forms.  Sluggish, but free to float in any direction.   The deep sound of my breath added an aural otherworldliness, bubbles floating to the surface, larger and larger, like jellyfish.    The girls were the ultimate cheerleaders, offering tips, helping me calculate my pressure groups (although computers do all the work these days).  Everyone got in the spirit, like watching a younger brother walking for the first time.  Margo and Stephanie, with their blonde braids and branded tank tops, recorded my education for their website and Facebook followers, which you can see below. They filmed the process from my first discovery dive to my first qualified dive, swimming through the air hoops Glen would blow upside down.  Another dream realized.  Scuba diving (tick) in Papua New Guinea (tick).   They tell me I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch.  I won't tell them they're wrong. ​

​Bronwen took this great shot of barracuda in Kimbe Bay