March 24 - April 14, 2002
Twenty-One Days at Sea
Passage to the Marquesas
by Lois Joy                     

This section encompasses a collection of stories and passage notes written while underway during the first leg of Voyage Two of Pacific Bliss, the 3252 nautical mile passage from San Diego, California to Atuona Harbor in the island of Hiva Oa, Marquesas, French Polynesia.
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April 4, 2002, 1400
9º 49' N, 128º 25' W
Wind from the NE at Force 6, 23 Knots True, 16 Apparent
The One that Got Away

It is a beautiful sailing day. Pacific Bliss is gliding along comfortably at 8 to 9 knots, one reef in the main and one in the jib, gently rolling to the NE swells. Specs of sunlight dance upon the churning whitecaps as puffs of sheep's wool gently crown the top of the swaying mast. The salt crystals left behind on the net by the giant Pacific swells glimmer like a million miniature prisms.

There is life out here today. Fearful schools of flying fish dash frantically from the crest of one wave to another, pursued by weaving pairs of blue-and-yellow bonito, streaking alongside the hulls at a furious pace. The four of us stood on deck for a long time, braced against the dagger boards, watching the live marine show through polarized sunglasses. Pacific Bliss has become a debris-station, flying on the vast Pacific, over a thousand miles from the nearest land. We wonder when the next predator in the food chain will arrive, attracted by all the commotion.

It didn't take long. Just as we took a break for lunch, the whirl of the reel announced a fish on our line. Doug rushed to the rod mounted on the rail behind the port helm. As the rod bowed with the strain, the force was too heavy for him the lift it out of the rod holder. By the time he cried, "Slow down the boat!" the line broke and the fish swam free. "Could have been a tuna. Had to have been over forty pounds," Doug said. "This monster pulled harder than anything I've ever felt in my life." Now, with a new line and lure, we are patiently awaiting the next strike.
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April 6, 2002

The Second One that Got Away

Today, I was awakened from an afternoon doze to hear commotion topside and went up to investigate. "Lot of birds, dolphins," Doug said, "and where there's dolphins there's fi-i-sh…" Hmmm, the reel whirred, as Doug rushed to the holder at the port helm, picked up the rod and began to play the fish.

"Slow her down!"

Gunter took the starboard helm. "How? We're sailing," he replied.

"Yah, I know, at 8 knots. Turn into the wind, quick," Doug can barely hold onto the rod.

"I'll backwind the main and go into irons! Lois, start the engines."

"Both of them?" I ask.

"No, just the starboard. I don't want the line to be tangled up in the prop."

I started the engine. Doug held on as the fish swam out with the line, forcing him to walk to the port bow.

"We need more control," Gunter yells. "Help me pull in the jib." I rush to help.

"Now, we can start the port engine with Doug upfront with the fish." I start the port. The mainsail is still way over to starboard; we had been on a broad reach, but we let it be and push directly into the wind. "She's down to two knots now," says Gunter.

"Good," says Doug, gritting his teeth. He walks the fish back to the port helm so that he can brace against the seat. Armin fastens on the waistbelt to provide Doug with some leverage to play the fish. This is the first time we have put the apparatus to use.

"I understand why this is mostly a masculine sport," I think to myself, as the rod protrudes from the holder, like an extension. Doug alternately lowers the rod, reels furiously, raises the rod, grimacing as he pulls. His forearms are tensed, upper arm muscles bulging.

"I know it's over forty pounds, could be double that. It's the largest one I've ever played." The monster pulls the line underneath the shade of the dinghy hanging on the davits at the stern.

"Don't let him go under the boat," says Gunter, still seated at the starboard helm.

"I'm trying to prevent that," Doug calls out. It's been well over 20 minutes. Doug is playing out, but the fish is still going strong.

He hands the rod to Armin. "Here, take it awhile." The fish plays out the line again, now directly in the back of the swim ladder behind the port helm.

"Keep the line tight or he'll take the opportunity to run," Doug instructs.

Armin gets the hang of it: lower the rod, reel like mad, lift the rod, pull back. He is all concentration--determined, focused. "He's really big," he turns to me, grimacing.

Doug takes the gear back. He is hard at it again; there's no time for the typical, wide Doug-smile, he's taken on a very determined look.

"I see him," Gunter says, "he's behind the dinghy."

"A giant yellow fin," Doug answers. Armin unhooks the stanchion to the swim ladder. Doug steps down.

"Don't let him take you into the drink with him," I caution, worried that the monster will take our valued crew member as his revenge. I try to get closer with the camera to have a record, in any event!

Snap.

"Oh no," Doug groans. The monster, being pulled toward the swim ladder, gathered all his strength, making one final dash for freedom. The lure broke right at the last fastener, or perhaps he bit it there.

"Well, at least were learning how to do it," says Gunter. "I didn't know anything about stopping the boat, going into the wind, and all that, just for a fish."

"Now you know. It's a big deal, catching a fish from a sailboat," says Doug.

"I guess so. Next time, couldn't we just drag him behind the boat on the cleat till he gives up?"

"We could."

Sometimes the fish just has to win.

Photos: click on the thumbnail to see a larger version..

 

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Armin and Doug Work Out a Strategy


Play that Fish, Doug



Easy Does It!


Pull Back, Way Back

Armin Gives it a Try

Next Section: Ray Goes Blind!

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