We left out of Black Point for Georgetown with Savage Son and My Destiny at 0630, having said our goodbyes to Veranda the prior evening. Once out of Dotham Cut (pronounced Dot-ham, for those not quite in the know), we all set out our lines, hoping for fresh fish for dinner. We travelled about a few yards before Bev yelled out: “Fish on Savage Son”; it turned out to be a small blue fish. Less than a half hour later, another blue, larger this time, was taken by them.
We, of course, had our lines out, but never expected to get anything. We are determined, but not stupid. We fish. We don’t catch. We know this.
Greg reported that Judy had just lost the largest fish she had ever hooked. Wow, what fishing cohorts we have.
Then, a hit on First Edition! You know you have a hit when a clothespin that you have attached to the life line and the thingie you dangle in the water with a lure on it pops off. Usually you are in the midst of some sailing maneuver, or like today, heeled over in 17 knots on a beat, with almonds roasting in the oven. Peter ran, stumbling, to the aft deck and I saw him reeling in the line, very effortlessly, so I imagined we had a false clothespin pop. Well, we did, but the sucker who triggered the excitement took off our brand new $15 lure and left no trace of himself behind.
Minutes later, Savage Son announces mahi aboard. I am convinced they will find our lure once they open his mouth. He is a whopper, 40 inches!
Then, another hit on First Edition! This time, the line isn’t so easy to pull in, the almonds are falling off the pan in the oven because of our significant heel, no one is at the helm, and of course, there is no towel, bucket, gaff, alcohol killing goop, cutting board, filet knives, or common sense readily available. I start to hyperventilate worrying that we will lose our catch, or I will lose Peter, or my almonds will burn; then I see the fish breaking the water showing off its yellow, green, and blue markings. We have mahi! We have mahi!
After sustaining life threatening injuries (see picture)
I attempt to assist in the retrieval of all of this missing items necessary to haul in and deal with Mr. Fish. Of course, most are located underneath other things in various drawers and lockers. We really don’t know what you are supposed to do with the gaff, we try snagging Mr. Fish, and are successful, but insufficiently to haul what we now realize is Very Big Mr. Fish aboard, 39 ½”. So with brute force, we muscle the fella on board, throw the towel over him (Peter thinks this will kill him), and I insist upon the alcohol killing goop because I, personally, would rather go this way than be suffocated with an old towel. Mr. Very Big Fish gives up the ghost, with a smile on his face.
We consult with Savage Son and My Destiny on what to do now with Very Big Mr. Fish , and attempt to follow intricate step-by-step instructions given by a surgeon who has done this all of his life and who obviously doesn’t understand he is talking to a bankruptcy lawyer who doesn’t even eat fish.
So, it has been a good start to this year’s fishing season. Sometimes even a blind squirrel finds a nut.