Thar she blows!!
Tillymint.fortescue
Sun 20 Sep 2009 16:58
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30:02:377N 012:44:924W
Wild celebrations on deck as we break through the
100-mile left barrier.We're 500 miles down and should be in Lanzerote at sunrise
tomorrow. We may even sight the high land before nightfall. But first, I want to
tell you a story...
The wind had got up a little over a sun-drenched
lunch. We were buzzing along at 9kts with upwards of 25kts true wind from dead
astern. Conversation was idle; beers were being drunk slowly; and sun lotion
applied vigorously. We had turned to the topic of supper, where it was pointed
out that an egg-rich carbonara (very, very far from my favourite food, dear
readers) was the only viable option. "Unless you catch a fish or two," said one
wag. This same joke, repeated at almost hourly intervals, was beginning to wear
thin in view of our meagre haul of seafood: three suicidal squid, a sunbaked
garfish, a sprat, live dolphins and a beady-eyed turtle.
I was preparing a similarly witty response when
there was a tentative creak from the fishing rod - we thought nothing of it, as
the rod had been creaking for much of the day. Then, suddenly, it twitched and
with a furious squeal, line started clicking off the reel. All three of us
jumped up as if electrocuted. Faster and faster ran the line. A fish! At
last!!!
The Skipper was lolling closest to the starboard
pushpit, where the rod is fixed, when it erupted. Consequently, he was the first
on the scene, seizing the dancing rod and bracing his legs as if
against a mighty force. To begin with it was
impossible to stop the line spooling out, let alone start to haul in. But
quickly the beast appeared to tire and it was possible to reel in. Start...
stop... start... stop... clickclickclick. The Skipper had his features fixed in
a warlike aspect as we searched among the rollers out behind the boat for signs
of hooked sealife. Sure enough, a silvery shape leapt clear of the water 80
yards astern before landing awkwardly and disappearing. A fish!!
In, in, in came the line and as the fish was hauled
closer, we got a clearer view of it. It looked like a yellow fin tunny:
shimmering yellow down its sides, with a deep royal blue fin gleaming all along
its back and part of the belly. But instead of a pointy tunalike head, its
features were completely rounded off. "I think that's called a dolphin," said
the Skipper, still battling to land the mighty fish. Eyebrows were raised among
the crew; clearly this was no dolphin, we thought - perhaps the cap'n had
been in the sun too long. "also known as a wahu," he added sagely. "A fish, not
a mammal," he concluded.
Well, wahu or no, 'wahoo' was certainly the noise
we all made as we landed it on the stern, struggling like mad. "Pass the voddy,"
said the Skipper. Fair enough, I thought - we're all in the mood for a
celebration. But no, the vodka was poured on the fish's gills, sedating it
instantly after a few fierce flicks of its pointed tail. Therein lies a lesson,
I thought to myself.
We got the line out again immediately and inside a
minute, the line was being hauled off the spool by another beast. This time your
correspondent was brandishing the rod, and the fish came meekly. It was
afterwards opined that, these being animals that mate for life, the second fish
was the first's wife and more likely to be a case of heartbroken suicide
than a proper catch. Well, it's all fish to me!
Next came the fun bit: gutting and cleaning. The
Skipper displayed his wild side by practically ripping off a chunk of raw flesh
with his teeth, 'to see whether it made good sushi or not'. The chunk being
small and the action not repeated, we all concluded that, no, still-warm wahu
does not make top notch sushi.
Following in the footsteps of the illustrious Dr
Steven Maturin, I performed a careful dissection of one fish and discovered a
small, alomst whole mackerel in its tummy. Technically, I'm counting this a
double score: wahu and macker at the same time, on just one hook. It was bloody
work, but identical in principle to gutting a mackerel. Skipper and first mate
Stuart watched on, willing me not to spill a drop on the deck - something we
broadly achieved.
The only decision now is whether to grill, roast or
bake the beasts. As they came over the stern, they probably measured about 15
inches, weighing a couple of pounds apiece, so they'll easily do supper for
three. Good thing we've got some hollandaise left. Tonight, after eating, we'll no doubt drink some celebratory grog and
do the dance of the fish hunters. As for proof, well, you'll just have to wait
until we're back home to see the pictures!
PS By way of explanation for my mention of
Mauritania yesterday, a typo in our lat and long had us positioned halfway to
Timbuctoo.
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