Tropical Storm Barry was well north of us and we could have left Bayside a day earlier. We opted to stay put for one more day. The Velcro of Miamarina had a firm hold on us. In the wake of the tropical storm the weather took a turn for beautiful, and the allure of sitting in our sport-seats, listening to the live music playing across the way at Bayside, was too great to resist. The morning of departure day came in gently. We left the marina early, determined to pass through the inlet on something other than full ebb. When we got to the Government Cut inlet we thought, “What’s this? No raging 10’ rapids?” What a difference leaving at the right time, in the right conditions can make. LaLeLu drifted effortlessly out into the Atlantic, which was equally as docile. We headed out in search of the Gulf Stream – hoping for a nice push northward.
We may not have realized we were in the stream had it not been for the fact that we were traveling at an amazing 9.4 knots and our depth finder was simply reading “deep.” The mighty stream was lying down as flat as a lake – a beautiful, calm, indescribably indigo blue, lake. It took just about all of our will power not to hang a sharp right and head for the Bahamas. Bummer! These were the conditions you dream of in anticipation of a crossing. Heavy sigh! Hard to be depressed for too long, though, as we were flying along at speeds unfamiliar to our hull and soaking in every second of it.
We put out two fishing lines: one set up with a Mackerel lure, the other rigged for Dorado. Whizzzzzzzz! The Mackerel line got a hit first. “FISH ON.” Chris started reeling in, but our 50 lb test line snapped like it was old dental floss. Don’t know what it was, but it must have been big. Not more than fifteen minutes later, the reel on the Dorado pole was spinning. This pole is rigged for big fish, with much heavier line. We were so excited that we forgot to slow the boat down. Chris was fighting the reel while the boat steamed full speed ahead. (We were motor-sailing as there was only 5-7 knots of wind). I let him sweat it out a bit before it occurred to me put the boat in neutral. Twenty or so yards off our stern we saw the green and blue flash of scales jumping from the water, confirming that we did indeed have a Dorado on line. After fumbling around in our inexperience, trying to get a good spot for the poke, we gaffed her, pulled her onboard, and gave her a long, stiff shot of Vodka. Apparently the Vodka drowns the fish quick and lessons its suffering.
Neither Chris nor I possess good hunter/killer skills, and I apologized profusely to the beautiful fish. It was a small female – about 3’ in length. (That’s small for a Dorado). The Vodka took longer than I hoped, and she looked up at me with huge, yellow, marble-like eyes, and flared her gills a few last times before becoming still. I almost suggested putting her back and trying to pretend it never happened. I bit my lip, tried not to cry and mustered up a bit of macho from somewhere deep. Chris had obviously paid close attention to the pre-departure instructions given by our D-Dock neighbors - He quickly filleted the fish by making two long slices, starting behind each gill and exiting at the tail. No guts, no skinning – just two perfect filets. Before I knew it, the fish carcass was slipping back into the blue water. As I released the carcass overboard I thought about how happy we just made the predator fish who would stumble upon such an easy snack. I imagined it would likely be a shark.
The filets went into the fridge and we took our lines out of the water. No more fishing today – the two good-sized filets would feed us for a few meals. Time for a new diversion – Ahhh, yes, the Spinnaker.
Our spinnaker has lived under the forward pullman berth since we purchased the boat more than a year ago. Conditions must be just right to fly it. The wind must be less than 10 knots and no more than fifteen degrees port or starboard of dead down wind. On this day we had a l m o s t just-right conditions and, with just a minor adjustment to our heading, we thought we could fly it.
Mind you, this pretty sail has only seen the light of day one time previously on our watch, while we were firmly tied to the dock, just to see if we could figure out how to attach all the things that need to be attached. Taking it out for the second time, in the middle of the stream and actually trying to make the boat move with it, was an all together differant experience. After a bit of fumbling around, tying-untying-retying knots, and moving around blocks and shackles, we were sailing along under spinnaker. LaLeLu was proudly being carried along by our big, colorful and billowing sheet of nylon. I burned that moment into my permanent memory banks. Everything after that was gravy – but it didn’t stop there. The ocean continued to be beautiful and gentle, and our speed continued to be impressive. Entry into Lake Worth Inlet was as easy as our exit from Governor’s Cut and the fried Dorado we ate for dinner was tasty and went down well with a rum/coke, while watching the sun set from the cockpit. As close to a perfect day as I have ever experienced.
We may not have realized we were in the stream had it not been for the fact that we were traveling at an amazing 9.4 knots and our depth finder was simply reading “deep.” The mighty stream was lying down as flat as a lake – a beautiful, calm, indescribably indigo blue, lake. It took just about all of our will power not to hang a sharp right and head for the Bahamas. Bummer! These were the conditions you dream of in anticipation of a crossing. Heavy sigh! Hard to be depressed for too long, though, as we were flying along at speeds unfamiliar to our hull and soaking in every second of it.
We put out two fishing lines: one set up with a Mackerel lure, the other rigged for Dorado. Whizzzzzzzz! The Mackerel line got a hit first. “FISH ON.” Chris started reeling in, but our 50 lb test line snapped like it was old dental floss. Don’t know what it was, but it must have been big. Not more than fifteen minutes later, the reel on the Dorado pole was spinning. This pole is rigged for big fish, with much heavier line. We were so excited that we forgot to slow the boat down. Chris was fighting the reel while the boat steamed full speed ahead. (We were motor-sailing as there was only 5-7 knots of wind). I let him sweat it out a bit before it occurred to me put the boat in neutral. Twenty or so yards off our stern we saw the green and blue flash of scales jumping from the water, confirming that we did indeed have a Dorado on line. After fumbling around in our inexperience, trying to get a good spot for the poke, we gaffed her, pulled her onboard, and gave her a long, stiff shot of Vodka. Apparently the Vodka drowns the fish quick and lessons its suffering.
Neither Chris nor I possess good hunter/killer skills, and I apologized profusely to the beautiful fish. It was a small female – about 3’ in length. (That’s small for a Dorado). The Vodka took longer than I hoped, and she looked up at me with huge, yellow, marble-like eyes, and flared her gills a few last times before becoming still. I almost suggested putting her back and trying to pretend it never happened. I bit my lip, tried not to cry and mustered up a bit of macho from somewhere deep. Chris had obviously paid close attention to the pre-departure instructions given by our D-Dock neighbors - He quickly filleted the fish by making two long slices, starting behind each gill and exiting at the tail. No guts, no skinning – just two perfect filets. Before I knew it, the fish carcass was slipping back into the blue water. As I released the carcass overboard I thought about how happy we just made the predator fish who would stumble upon such an easy snack. I imagined it would likely be a shark.
The filets went into the fridge and we took our lines out of the water. No more fishing today – the two good-sized filets would feed us for a few meals. Time for a new diversion – Ahhh, yes, the Spinnaker.
Our spinnaker has lived under the forward pullman berth since we purchased the boat more than a year ago. Conditions must be just right to fly it. The wind must be less than 10 knots and no more than fifteen degrees port or starboard of dead down wind. On this day we had a l m o s t just-right conditions and, with just a minor adjustment to our heading, we thought we could fly it.
Mind you, this pretty sail has only seen the light of day one time previously on our watch, while we were firmly tied to the dock, just to see if we could figure out how to attach all the things that need to be attached. Taking it out for the second time, in the middle of the stream and actually trying to make the boat move with it, was an all together differant experience. After a bit of fumbling around, tying-untying-retying knots, and moving around blocks and shackles, we were sailing along under spinnaker. LaLeLu was proudly being carried along by our big, colorful and billowing sheet of nylon. I burned that moment into my permanent memory banks. Everything after that was gravy – but it didn’t stop there. The ocean continued to be beautiful and gentle, and our speed continued to be impressive. Entry into Lake Worth Inlet was as easy as our exit from Governor’s Cut and the fried Dorado we ate for dinner was tasty and went down well with a rum/coke, while watching the sun set from the cockpit. As close to a perfect day as I have ever experienced.
1 comment:
Wow! 9.9 K? You guys were flying! I believed you; even without the proof! :-)
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