De Big Fish

Irie
Sat 10 May 2008 11:36
Position  12 00.04N 61 46.2W True Blue Bay Grenada
 
Thursday 8th May
Three nights in the Cays seemed to whistle by. The snorkelling was excellent, and we all spent half an hour swimming with four or five turtles who were gently grazing on the sea grass in a couple of metres of water. Saturday morning we tootled round to Saltwhistle Bay on Mayreau. The last time we passed here it was wall to wall with catamarans, and you could have hopped from side to side of the bay without any divine intervention - today we were the ONLY BOAT, at least for a while, and then there were a maximum of ten or so. The bay is a beautiful half moon, with a distant views to the Cays across a narrow, sandy, palm lined isthmus. We walked into the village in the heat, managed a couple of beers as a reward and booked to eat at James Alexanders place, where we'd last eaten together nearly six years ago. It's the end of the dry season, and Mayreau looked rather scrubby with dusty shrubs and a lot of casual burning and clearing. It's a good spot though, and the evening's walk and meal (curried conk) was excellent. Sunday morning we were awakened by the boat guy delivering our previously ordered banana bread - he said he'd be early, but six forty five - did he have no church to go to? From here it was short hop round to Chatham where a swim with masks was rewarded by a very pretty snake headed eel and a sort of large water spider. We dined on the sand with Seckie once more, and fell in with David and Ed, who are sailing south on David's Hallberg. Monday started early in order to complete the by now familiar routine of customs in Clifton, fuel and water in Petit Martinique and clearing in at Hillsborough. A night in Chatham, and it was time to head south for Grenada.
The anchor was broken out just after eight, and Irie set off south westish (OK, 237 degrees magnetic for the pedants) with Diamond Rock clearly in sight at about ten miles and the misty outline of Grenada a further ten or so beyond. It was perfect sailing; eighteen to twenty knots of wind, just aft of the beam and not a squall in sight. We'd trailed a fishing line over the previous few days, but with no success, and after a debate, decided to have another bash. We have a few lures with big hooks, but the only line is a braided French job that we've had for years, so this was wound onto a winch and the orangey squid lure duly skipped along several boat lengths astern. There was some general banter about fishing, till Val suddenly exclaimed 'we've got one'. Caustic comments about weed and plastic bags ensued, but a large flash of silver astern and the rapidly veering line said it all - a big one. We doused the genoa, and steadily Geoff wound the winch. Our prize came closer and closer, initially fighting hard, but then tiring. After twenty minutes or so, he was behind the boat, with the line triced to the derick for some extra lift. By now he looked very large, and had a mouth, plenty of  teeth and some fight. We have a gaff, but unfortunately it had been carefully stowed in a special place - what to do. Past descriptions from other fishers involved cheap rum in the gills, but as cheap booze we had none, the poor chap had to suffer a tot of Bushmills - well more like a quarter bottle. His reaction was to perk up for a minute, thrash around a bit and then go permanently quiet, which probably seems familiar behaviour to some. By now the sea was rather lumpy and dealing with the body rather risky, so Geoff threaded a stout line through his gills, though somewhat warily due to the teeth even though we were pretty sure he'd expired. He was then lovingly covered in a wet towel (the fish, not Geoff), and made the rest of the journey draped down the stern. Initially we thought it was a tuna, but as soon as he closed the boat, it was clear that the shape and colouring were wrong. The book illustration looked like a kingfish, but further inspection and some later advice confirmed that we had a wahoo that exceeded the capacity of out thirty pound scales by some margin and measured over four foot six - not bad for a first attempt. Around three, we turned into Prickly Bay on the south of the island, and anchored for what proved to be a rather rolly night. Geoff gutted the fish and and cut the flesh into steaks - twenty three of them averaging over a pound each. We kept six of the largest, and handed the rest on to some of the surrounding boats. Three of the steaks were later baked for dinner.I t's very good eating with heaps of meat and hardly any bone, although the flesh is a little fibrous and not as tasty as tuna. It was a high point to make such a catch with a very amateur approach, and virtually the whole fish went to the table. There's still though regret at the death of such a beautiful creature, underlining an inability to treat this in any way as a sport.
On Wednesday we had a leisurely trip to St Georges which has a wonderful location and various understated pieces of history to explore. The last cruise ship of the season left the day before, so it was just us and the locals. In the afternoon, the swell drove us round the headland and into the delightful True Blue Marina and hotel, though a couple of days earlier than planned. A few rays on Thursday morning, a final beer abd Geoff and Val were on their way. It's probably been the best time we've spent together on the boat - great locations, perfect weather and ... De Big Fish!
 
 
Some mackerel!