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.
_____________________________________________________________
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.
________________________________________________________________________
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..
.
Armin and Doug Work Out a Strategy
Play
that Fish, Doug
Easy Does It!
Pull Back, Way Back
Armin Gives it a Try
journal60.html
|