Sharks, conches and shipmates
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Sun 22 May 2011 01:38
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There's just a single explanation for the state in
which we found Summer Song when we returned after lunch. And that explanation
boils down to a single word.
Shark.
Let me explain: After I'd finished casting for fish
yesterday morning, I returned to the dinghy to find, somewhat symbolically, I
thought, a small, dead grunt floating belly up in the water. I popped him in the
bucket thinking he'd make good bait for trolling later on.
We had anchored up here, off Norman Island, before
I thought of him again. I decided to rig the fish with a line running through it
to a hook hidden in its belly. Then I hung it off the fishing reel on the stern
with a lead weight attached to keep it under the water and away from the
marauding gulls... Then I forgot about it for the night. I checked the
line this morning, just before we set off in the dinghy for lunch. All was
in order, and my bait was darting in the strong tidal current about a metre off
the bottom, directly under the boat.
After a leisurely conch-based luncheon in the
little beach bar on shore, we explored a tiny desert island halfway back to
Summer Song. Pushing off in the dinghy, Alex spotted a black fin protruding
from the water in the shallows. Despite misgivings at being protected only by a
small rubber boat full of air, we buzzed over to have a look. The shark, for
that is indeed what it was, became quite agitated when we gave chase, so after
few twists and turns, we let it swim away. Debate still rages as to whether it
was a harmless nurse shark, or something more sinister. Edmund (who, like all
small boys, is obsessed with sharks) would have been agog, and I think his
snorkelling gear would never have seen use in Cuba if we'd been able to tell
this story a month ago.
Back onboard a few minutes later, I immediately
noticed that the fishing line was stretched awkwardly round from the reel on the
stern of the boat and down the port side. At almost the same moment, I saw that
the line had dug deeply into one of the foam life preservers mounted on either
side of the cockpit. With growing excitement, I checked the reel and saw it had
been completely run out - about 400m of line fully unravelled despite the brake
being engaged. As I set about an elaborate routine to wind the line back in, I
imagined the beast responsible being dragged unwillingly from its underwater
lair at the other end. In my mind's eye, I could see a huge dark form erupting
furiously from the water, all teeth and pointed fins.
The line ran twice around both anchor rodes before
disappearing out towards the deep water, but all that came in was 50m of nylon
with a tattered end and no clue as to what had happened. It must have been
something big, though. It couldn't have been a boat snaring the line in its
propellor, because the bait was just two metres from the boat, weighted down.
And a propellor would have sheared straight through the nylon fishing line, not
pulled it out fully. It is unlikely to have been one of the gigantic rays we've
seen flapping about because they stay glued to the sea bottom. I suppose it
could have been a large barracuda. But if it wasn't a shark, it must have been
something hefty. Either way, it's going down as a near miss - perhaps a lucky
escape. With her battered life preserver, Summer Song will always bear the scar
of the encounter. And I doubt I'll leave another fishing line unattended - at
least in shark infested waters.
In the meantime, more placid fishing has been had
with the capture of a large conch (pronounced 'conk' in these parts). Following
the instructions in the excellent Cruiser's Handbook of Fishing, I managed to
extract the animal by first holing the shell near the tip to relieve the vacuum,
then severing its strong 'hide in my shell' muscle. Preparing them to eat is
quite a job, involving peeling off a thick leathery skin. This reveals a
quantity of excellent white meat which can be eaten raw in the sashimi style,
stewed, fried or boiled. We're going for conch ceviche, cured in lemon juice,
and mixed with diced cucumber and tomato.
In other news, it looks as if Graham is going to be
joining us next weekend for the long 750-mile passage to the Chesapeake. It's
going to be super to have an old shipmate and veteran of the trans-Atlantic run
aboard again. We just need to get William over (any chance of a week off?)
to complete the gathering. Graham actually lives on one of the rivers that flows
into Chesapeake Bay, so he'll be able to pilot us through sandbanks, customs
officers and the American navy to a cosy berth in view of his house, or so we
hope. Of course, we'll have to 'immigrate' first, which entails a one-to-one
interview with someone from the State Department and an expensive session with
the harbourmaster buying permits and stickers.
Well, live for the moment, as I told Alex not a
second ago as she began another sentence with the words 'when we're back in
London...' We've got another six days of glorious cruising around these
beautiful islands. Tomorrow we head to Staniel Cay, where they filmed the
underwater scenes of Thunderball - notably those in SPECTRE's secret cave. There
are also rumours of swimming pigs begging scraps from anchored boats. Watch this
space...
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