De Big Fish
Irie
Sat 10 May 2008 11:36
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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!
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