Saturday, March 26, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Marlin!
A week of rain has subsided and turned into azure skies and wonderful sunny days. Winds have been out of the North East at 15-20 knots pushing as nicely along our rum line to Grenada at 7.5 knots. A few days back, we were making 8.5-9.5 knots for several consecutive days. It's been glorious sailing and we've even been taking fish, which is a good thing as our supplies our getting low (that might be a little bit of an exaggeration-the chococalte bars ran out making late night watches very difficult). The moon has been a steady friend in the wee-hours and lights the sea up almost as if it were day. Dolphins come by to inspect our boat and ride the surfline and vanish in to the great blue. Right now we....(was about to finish the sentence with "are fishing for blue marlin." when a reel begins to scream and my two favorite fishing words: Fish On! resonate down to my writing table. The next hour is pandemonium as a blue marlin makes one screaning run that nearly spools a reel of 180 pound monofilament set at 25 lbs. We get other lines out of the water and drop sails and kick on the engine, while keeping an eye on the line teariong off the reel. Fishing from a sailboat is tough, landing a marlin almost unheard of. As soon as I could, I got to the rod and began playing the fish back. It didn't jump or tail-walk on the initial run, so the verdict was still out what type of fish it was, however, I suspected that our dream fish, the fish we had targetted was at the other end of the line. Then she jumped and her tell-tale stripes, glistening bill, a stream-lined body shown in the midday sun that we were hooked up to a blue Marlin. It wasn't the biggets marlin out there but sizeable for our first.
When Metzes fish, we aim to do battle, win, and probably eat our competition. Yeah, we do some catch and release, but when we have a few meals in the bench freezer, we put the rods and handlines to bed. But when the day calls for the lines to be put out and we do hook up, things get exciting very quickly on the boat. People whose feelings tend to get hurt if yelled at, best avoid the "Brown-eyed Girl" when it's a fishing day (and most are). We yell commands to keep everyone in tune with anyone else. After all, we are there to catch, not do the old quick-release.
The fish, I could tell, was tired and after its first run I wasn't surprised. It was still taking out line periodically but I could tell this fish had given his best with the first run to break off or spool us. I reeled and kept a bend in the rod. The excitement of having it near the boat was mounting. None of us could know what would happen then. People are often spiked by the bills as they handle the fish near the boat. To put it mildly, it can become a bad fishing trip in an instant. I saw a captain in Costa Rica who had been hit just below his left eye by the bill of a sailfish. His glasses helped to deflect the bill or he would have become a one-eyed Captain.
Soon the fish was up to the boat and Dad launched a gaff into the fish which promptly broke. I yelled for the spear gun and Captain "I-Don't Miss" placed a nice shot behind the pectoral fin. At the moment the spear hit, the lure popped out of its mouth, thus the only thing securing the fish was the nylon line of the spear gun. We needed to secure a tail-rope or two before we could call it a done deal. I climbed down the steps of the transom as the skip handed me a gaff and tail rope and the fish was secured. We added another to be safe. There she was, her beautiful blue-eyes looking up at us and stream-lined body of electric blues showed off in the wake of the boat. We estimated her weight at two-hundred pounds and decided it was a good fish to keep, not yet reproductive, and large enough to provide a lot of meals.
The Skip, Oisin, and I had done our jobs well and now it was time for laughs, photographs, and pats on the back. Dad had completed a 40 year dream in the bottom of the ninth as far as this trip is concerned. I'm glad we didn't give up on getting the marlin after losing the one near Niue. The shared experienced between father and son after many fruitless days, after such a long (often arduous, always surreal and sublime) journey made this win a little sweeter. We ate the fresh sashimi and it was really nice, not like I had heard. We will see how it cooks. The Lord was kind to us today, it's just that he was a little kinder to those aboard the s/v "Brown-Eyed Girl" (see or read "A River Runs Through It"). As always, love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce.
"Brown-eyed Girl" out
When Metzes fish, we aim to do battle, win, and probably eat our competition. Yeah, we do some catch and release, but when we have a few meals in the bench freezer, we put the rods and handlines to bed. But when the day calls for the lines to be put out and we do hook up, things get exciting very quickly on the boat. People whose feelings tend to get hurt if yelled at, best avoid the "Brown-eyed Girl" when it's a fishing day (and most are). We yell commands to keep everyone in tune with anyone else. After all, we are there to catch, not do the old quick-release.
The fish, I could tell, was tired and after its first run I wasn't surprised. It was still taking out line periodically but I could tell this fish had given his best with the first run to break off or spool us. I reeled and kept a bend in the rod. The excitement of having it near the boat was mounting. None of us could know what would happen then. People are often spiked by the bills as they handle the fish near the boat. To put it mildly, it can become a bad fishing trip in an instant. I saw a captain in Costa Rica who had been hit just below his left eye by the bill of a sailfish. His glasses helped to deflect the bill or he would have become a one-eyed Captain.
Soon the fish was up to the boat and Dad launched a gaff into the fish which promptly broke. I yelled for the spear gun and Captain "I-Don't Miss" placed a nice shot behind the pectoral fin. At the moment the spear hit, the lure popped out of its mouth, thus the only thing securing the fish was the nylon line of the spear gun. We needed to secure a tail-rope or two before we could call it a done deal. I climbed down the steps of the transom as the skip handed me a gaff and tail rope and the fish was secured. We added another to be safe. There she was, her beautiful blue-eyes looking up at us and stream-lined body of electric blues showed off in the wake of the boat. We estimated her weight at two-hundred pounds and decided it was a good fish to keep, not yet reproductive, and large enough to provide a lot of meals.
The Skip, Oisin, and I had done our jobs well and now it was time for laughs, photographs, and pats on the back. Dad had completed a 40 year dream in the bottom of the ninth as far as this trip is concerned. I'm glad we didn't give up on getting the marlin after losing the one near Niue. The shared experienced between father and son after many fruitless days, after such a long (often arduous, always surreal and sublime) journey made this win a little sweeter. We ate the fresh sashimi and it was really nice, not like I had heard. We will see how it cooks. The Lord was kind to us today, it's just that he was a little kinder to those aboard the s/v "Brown-Eyed Girl" (see or read "A River Runs Through It"). As always, love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce.
"Brown-eyed Girl" out
Sunday, March 20, 2011
On the way to Grenada....
As we are 1,000 miles (with memories of the lunacy of Carnaval still in our heads) into a 2,000 mile run from Recife, Brazil to Grenada and then a quick run to Saint Lucia to complete our 15 month circumnavigation, we find ourselves talking about the next adventures in our lives and recalling highlights of this venture around this blue and green marble. In less than a month, this trip around the world will be a mostly fond memory filled with happy stories of goals accomplished and adventures experienced. Yes, there have been low times I would never want to relive that have made me stronger for enduring but the good has far outweighed the bad so much that I constantly find myself smiling remembering a certain incident from a now distant locale shared with people I may never see again, but will certainly fondly remember. Will I ever go back to these places? Time will tell. My sailing days are almost over (for a while anyway). I embrace the next chapter of being with my one true love and finding gainful employment in my beloved Costa Rica. But this early dawn reminded us very severely that it is too early and too dangerous to take our minds off the task at hand, getting safely to Saint Lucia. Details are still being ascertained, but in the early morning hours, World Arc sailing vessel Basia was struck by a cargo ship and was taking on water from two holes punched through her hull, one by the boat and the other by Basia's rigging as she was dismasted. Fortunately, no one was injured minus a broken toe. World Arc Boats in the vicinity, in a great show of camaraderie I have witnessed time and time again on this voyage, scrambled to intercept her and help patch the holes and render any assistance as situation was assessed and plans were made to head to French Guyana.
Our watches are serious business. I recall traveling up Australia's eastern coast between the Great Barrier reef and the mainland in small shipping lanes and having boats pass by so closely that I could see the faces of the shrimpers at work. That's a head's up ball game. Just a few nights back, I found myself checking the radar and the sea in front of me as a monstrous tanker was bearing down on me, not diverting nor answering my radio calls. A boat like that hits you and its game over for you while the Captain of the tanker wonders in the dark why that slightly larger wave had to hit just then, spilling coffee on his new wool sweater. It's possible that Basia's offender was not aware of the strike to her. However, there was a response to the mayday call from outside the fleet. With all the technology being used by sailors and commercial operations alike, a boat will be found via time and location and researching company records. Some insurance inspector, in the days to come, will be gearing for battle to find the ship that hit Basia and in all probability he will succeed. An investigation will ensue as to whether there was any fault on either side and the insurance companies will battle it out. We are happy in the fact that no one was killed. That's the reality of sailing around the world. The seas may be big but the traffic at times almost seems bigger. Let your guard down, miss spotting a ship, have conditions of low visibility, or merely have one on an intersecting course as yours bearing at 20 knots and that makes for little time to react. That's when tragedy occurs. We limit any time not scanning our radar and doing a scan of the waters to no more than twenty minutes. It has worked thus far. Tonight, though, we will all be a lit more on edge I imagine. Our heartfelt regards to the crew of Basia. As I write this, I am listening to our nightly radio check-in, I hear that with the patch work done on the boat, Basia will continue on to Grenada. Tough sailors!
Looking back at Brazil, I found a vast difference in the two cities visited: Salvador and Recife. Salvador, our first stop, a place of squalor and street urchins (one actually stole a lit cigarette out of the hand of one of the sailors) was not much to see. The children beg you to buy them beer. We went on two tours of the city and the only thing remotely interesting was a cathedral adorned in gold leaf. Our marina stay was free and the small old-town was nice for as brief visit. Recife, though, had a charm to it. Though, it has 2.5 million residents and no sewage treatment and water was deplorable in the marina, fun nights were spent going to various restaurants including "Spettas", a swank Brazilian meat house where the waiters bring hot skewers of all cuts of beef and the sushi and sashimi bar was kept full even with me going after the escolar and salmon. At night, we would take a taxi to this restaurant (yes we went back). Other nights, we would walk 500 meters to another restaurant across a bridge from the marina. I never liked walking this area (even with my switchblade in pocket). It seemed a perfect ambush site for a robbery. My feelings were right. It proved to be a bad situation one night for Rosemary on "Crazy Horse" as a guy who had been following her and her group tore the bag off Rosemary's arm leaving bruises in the struggle and took off down the street. The guys gave pursuit but gave up quickly as he was a Brazilian version of Carl Lewis (and he wasn't even wearing any shoes). The great consolation was that the bag only contained a sweater and tube of lipstick. Good luck with those, thief.
Fishing report: slaying dorado 53''-56'' on handlines and fixing Jared's special carrot coconut curry sauce drizzled over sea-salt, pepper, and garlic fried dorado. Yum!
As far as Carnaval goes, the biggest party in the world, it was absolutely insane. 2 million whacked-out Brazilians fuelled on Schol beer were dressed in all sorts of garb dancing in streets so congested in 90 degree heat with music so loud I could shout in the ear of the person next to me and he/she wouldn't hear. At one point we were trapped in a throng of people that a wave of pushing began and we couldn't make way and started to get crushed. I started flinging elbows to make way, as well as Dad, who looked funny in his happy green party hair and a code-red "get-the-hell-out-of-my-way" face got busy busting through. Mom was crying as the next wave of people created a crushing sensation and a man began to fumble through her purse. I'm glad I survived it as it was an interesting happening but after Mom had her camera stolen, we were ready to go back to the marina and hang pool-side. Been there, done that, not going back again. Looking forward to some peaceful diving in the Grenandines. This fish has been out of the water too long. I need a nice spiny lobster dinner. As always love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce.
"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...
Our watches are serious business. I recall traveling up Australia's eastern coast between the Great Barrier reef and the mainland in small shipping lanes and having boats pass by so closely that I could see the faces of the shrimpers at work. That's a head's up ball game. Just a few nights back, I found myself checking the radar and the sea in front of me as a monstrous tanker was bearing down on me, not diverting nor answering my radio calls. A boat like that hits you and its game over for you while the Captain of the tanker wonders in the dark why that slightly larger wave had to hit just then, spilling coffee on his new wool sweater. It's possible that Basia's offender was not aware of the strike to her. However, there was a response to the mayday call from outside the fleet. With all the technology being used by sailors and commercial operations alike, a boat will be found via time and location and researching company records. Some insurance inspector, in the days to come, will be gearing for battle to find the ship that hit Basia and in all probability he will succeed. An investigation will ensue as to whether there was any fault on either side and the insurance companies will battle it out. We are happy in the fact that no one was killed. That's the reality of sailing around the world. The seas may be big but the traffic at times almost seems bigger. Let your guard down, miss spotting a ship, have conditions of low visibility, or merely have one on an intersecting course as yours bearing at 20 knots and that makes for little time to react. That's when tragedy occurs. We limit any time not scanning our radar and doing a scan of the waters to no more than twenty minutes. It has worked thus far. Tonight, though, we will all be a lit more on edge I imagine. Our heartfelt regards to the crew of Basia. As I write this, I am listening to our nightly radio check-in, I hear that with the patch work done on the boat, Basia will continue on to Grenada. Tough sailors!
Looking back at Brazil, I found a vast difference in the two cities visited: Salvador and Recife. Salvador, our first stop, a place of squalor and street urchins (one actually stole a lit cigarette out of the hand of one of the sailors) was not much to see. The children beg you to buy them beer. We went on two tours of the city and the only thing remotely interesting was a cathedral adorned in gold leaf. Our marina stay was free and the small old-town was nice for as brief visit. Recife, though, had a charm to it. Though, it has 2.5 million residents and no sewage treatment and water was deplorable in the marina, fun nights were spent going to various restaurants including "Spettas", a swank Brazilian meat house where the waiters bring hot skewers of all cuts of beef and the sushi and sashimi bar was kept full even with me going after the escolar and salmon. At night, we would take a taxi to this restaurant (yes we went back). Other nights, we would walk 500 meters to another restaurant across a bridge from the marina. I never liked walking this area (even with my switchblade in pocket). It seemed a perfect ambush site for a robbery. My feelings were right. It proved to be a bad situation one night for Rosemary on "Crazy Horse" as a guy who had been following her and her group tore the bag off Rosemary's arm leaving bruises in the struggle and took off down the street. The guys gave pursuit but gave up quickly as he was a Brazilian version of Carl Lewis (and he wasn't even wearing any shoes). The great consolation was that the bag only contained a sweater and tube of lipstick. Good luck with those, thief.
Fishing report: slaying dorado 53''-56'' on handlines and fixing Jared's special carrot coconut curry sauce drizzled over sea-salt, pepper, and garlic fried dorado. Yum!
As far as Carnaval goes, the biggest party in the world, it was absolutely insane. 2 million whacked-out Brazilians fuelled on Schol beer were dressed in all sorts of garb dancing in streets so congested in 90 degree heat with music so loud I could shout in the ear of the person next to me and he/she wouldn't hear. At one point we were trapped in a throng of people that a wave of pushing began and we couldn't make way and started to get crushed. I started flinging elbows to make way, as well as Dad, who looked funny in his happy green party hair and a code-red "get-the-hell-out-of-my-way" face got busy busting through. Mom was crying as the next wave of people created a crushing sensation and a man began to fumble through her purse. I'm glad I survived it as it was an interesting happening but after Mom had her camera stolen, we were ready to go back to the marina and hang pool-side. Been there, done that, not going back again. Looking forward to some peaceful diving in the Grenandines. This fish has been out of the water too long. I need a nice spiny lobster dinner. As always love and miss you all. Te amo, Merce.
"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...
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