No fish again today.
Despite some serious attention to the reel, which, since I don't know the layman's term for it, I will describe in engineering terms as being slightly buggered, we again failed to catch a fish. And this was after fixing the reel, changing the lure, and doing all the other things that successful fishermen are meant to do. We miss Will Brooks here - he only had to put the line out over the stern for a few minutes and the Dorado would be queuing up to take their turn on the line. It's a funny old business, this fishing. We were chatting to our friends on Quasar V the other day on the radio, and it became clear that Barry, their tame Paddy, was a bit of a dab hand at the fishing, though it quickly became clear that he was not as good at identification as he was at pulling and scoring. Cutting out the detail of the chit-chat that inevitably accompanies a call to Quasar, during the conversation it was established that Barry had landed a magnificent 4-foot long fish, but had no idea what he'd caught. Being a Rally, we all help each-other out. JB, Quasar's *Radio Operator Class 1*, had cannily spotted one day that Cleone had a fish identification card in our loo, a bit like the card with pictures of Jerry and Martin and the boys, that I and my mates used to carry in the old days. So Quasar had stooped to seek a bit of practical help from us. After ten minutes or so of tossing the questions between us, and trying to get down to the facts, I finally worked out that the Quasar team wanted me to go and get the said fish-card and help determine whether or not they could eat this fish they'd caught. Well, now we were on to something that I felt I could contribute positively to. Barry had convinced himself that the choice lay between a Barracuda and a Wahoo, but he could not decide which. And the rest of Quasar's crew had convinced themselves that whilst Wahoo was good eating, no way could they face up to grilled (or in their case, microwaved) Barracuda (and I sympathise; people do eat Barracuda, apparently without dying afterwards, but it's one of the ugliest and must be one of the bonyest fish around). And since Barry was duty cook as well as duty angler, he'd planted himself a bit of a facer - nothing else on the boat had been thawed out and the big tin-opener was awol and the spare was broken. I digress; with the aid of a few pertinent questions I soon enabled them to convince themselves that Barry had in fact caught a Wahoo, and soon the frying pan was sizzling contently as it browned off a few Wahoo steaks peppered with garlic and cayenne, and sprinked with fennel and garnished, finally, with lemon juice a moment after being served. Whilst I am not sure what he served it with (probably a few new potatoes coated with butter and parsley, fresh garden peas (slightly minty) and glazed baby carrots, accompanied by hot hollandaise sauce and a few glasses of chilled hock and a glass or two of vintage Port with the Stilton after the Baked Alaska desert), I understand that the whole meal was delicious in sharp contrast to Cleone's meagre fare of boiled salt mutton (again) and weevily hard-tack, served with a pint of raw spirits barely diluted with a few drops of our remaining brackish water. Such is Rally life - the difference between the front and the back of the fleet is stark, and not just one of physical distance.
On the sailing side, all has been well, and more great progress has been made. We've tried to convince ourselves that we are half-way there, but in truth we are slightly under; we've just over 1400 miles to go. The wind has backed round slightly, to East by South, but has remained at betwen 15 and 20 knots in strength (a great sailing breeze), and we are now sailing with a poled-out Genoa and reefed main, which is one of Cleone's most used points of sail. In a couple of days' time, we will be moving our Ship's clock back another hour, to bring us 8 hours behind GMT, with another half-hour to lose when we arrive in Hiva Oa (yes, that's right, that part of French Polynesia really is 8½ hours behind UK). But we are also starting to think what we will do in the few weeks between our arrival at Hiva Oa and getting to Tahiti - all suggestions gratefully received; we are daily scouring the Lonely Planets for Tahiti and French Polynesia for ideas of our own.
And just to report that our hitch-hiker is still with us. He's not a grateful or generous lodger - Elizabeth has cleaned his "room" (ie the foredeck) for him every morning, but he is still incapable of going through the night without an accident; she thinks he does it deliberately. But for a booby, he's a canny traveller - he will have saved himself a great deal of flying by the time we get to the Marquesas, and from his point of view, the fishing has been great. Why doesn't he bring something back for us?
We are all well and happy, and hope that you are to, shivvering in your woolly underwear and fleeces huddled over the central heating and smoky coal-fires, and stuffing newspapers into the cracks around the windows!
Best wishes,
James, Chris & Elizabeth
Yacht Cleone
At sea
07.53S 115.13W
*Radio Operator Class 1* = Top of the Class - best in School, and Golden Microphone Award!