Early morning of the nineteenth day at sea our hope was restored. The wind had only calmed for some hours and then freshened again. I was still asleep when the engine was shut off. We were making very good speed with all the wind we'd hoped for. With the wind coming, all but one bird had left the boat, for whatever reason, and we were confident we might not see the remaining one for much longer.
I felt, it was a good time for some cleaning. Shortly after I'd commenced I could hear the fishing line take off. That was not the usual short pull or two, it was just taking off, the snare, usually giving a rattling noise, squeaking violently. I dropped the bucket and sponge immediately and race towards the fishing rod, seeing the reel spinning rapidly and the line running out quickly. A huge fish! I had to stop the line running out, before there was none left. I didn't even know, if and how the end of the line was fixed to the reel. I pulled the line break tighter, but there was no effect. To fully fasten the screw I did not dare, afraid to break the line and loose another one of the few remaining rapalas. Therefore, I used my fingers, which allowed stopping the line in a much more sensible fashion. With the reel still spinning wildly I almost burned my fingers in the attempt, but managed to stop the line from running out further. The rod was strongly bent and there was still a heavy pull on the line. We were way too fast to have any good chance of pulling in whatever had snatched the rapala and taken off in a mad retreat.
We were sailing in a good wind, making almost 6 knots, all sails set. But now we had a heavy fish dragging behind on a fishing line that had broken twice before with less weight hung upon it. My brother was at the wheel and turned the boat out of the wind so it slowed to below 3 knots. I could feel the pull on the line release a little, but not much. I was busy adjusting the line break while still holding the reel with my fingers to not loose any more line. Luckily, I found the perfect position, just so no line would run out, but very heavy pulls would give away just some so the line wouldn't break. It didn't allow me, yet, to reel any line back in.
The captain had felt the boat turning and slowing under deck and approached to have it back on course at full speed. Noone, including myself, believed I'd be able to land the fish. But I did have hope and wasn't ready to give it up, yet. As I started to manage to reel the first turns of line back in I bargained with my brother to try convince the captain to slow the boat back down, as it was already regaining its speed, being steered back on its original course. We were probably tiring the fish like this, but we'd loose any chance to land it. Remaining on course, my brother gained permission to slow by reducing the sails. It took him a short while until we came back to about 3 knots and I was able to turn the reel. Every pull on the line would permit a couple of turns, then waiting, another pull, some more turns. I was slowly regaining the line. It still hadn't broken and I was becoming more confident. Still, there was a good lot of line out to be retrieved and any mistake could end in the fish, the rapala and most of the line disappear into the ocean in an instant.
Reeling was tiring me. I was pulling in more and more line and got the fish closer and closer to the boat. It had retreated into deep water and even though now close by the boat, there was still thirty or fourty meters of line out. Unfortunately, the dinghy, tightened on the back of our boat was in the way and the line scrubbing against it. I took the rod out of its anchorange and started handling it by hand to keep the line away from the dinghy. The fish was still pulling hard and heavy, making it hard for me to raise the rod and reel in a meter or two of line as I let it down again. That way I was continually pulling the fish to the surface. I took a couple of breaks, resting my left arm I was pulling the rod with while reeling with my right hand. I did not only hope to not lose that fish, I was determined to at least catch a sight of what was pulling so hard, still wondering how we'd would be able to actually land it, with no hook on board besides a plastic boat hook. The side of the boat, not cranked very much was about a meter over the water and pulling a heavy fish like that in on the line was not possible.
My brother was the first to catch a glimpse of what I was pulling up. It was big, but the dinghy still in the way so I could not see. I managed to pull it over to the side and saw the tired huge fish at the end of the line, swimming calmly on its side now. Even with the fight over and no more resistance from the fish, pulling its weight through the water was still hard work. As it came closer to the boat we could see the big yellow fin tuna soundly attached to the rapala, but still out of reach even right next to the boat. Since there was no gaffe hook on the boat we tried the plastic boat hook but couldn't get any hold with it on the fish. There was no other option than to try lifting it in directly with our hands. I handed the rod to my brother and leaned over the side as much as I could using one hand holding on to the boat as not to fall over board. It felt like one of those stupid movie scenes, where the protagonist is trying to reach something or someone, touching it with his fingertips, but not being able to get a hold of it. Ususally a scene like that can fill 30 seconds of a movie until the protagonist will gain a hold in a heroic strech or loose entirely. I was at full strech already, trying hard for a minute or two, but had no success. Even with the boat slightly going up and down in the waves I couldn't come any closer than to a slight touch with my fingertips. I changed the strategy and had my brother move the fish towards midships. The front and back of the boat appeared slightly higher above the waterline than the middle. With my next heroic stretch I got a hold of the tuna and started pulling up. With it halfway out of the water, I could go no futher. It was too heavy for me to pull it in with one hand, the other one still holding the boat. Hartmut instantly helped and with another hard pull we had the fish on the boat.
It was big, nearly 170cm long and fully restored my reputation as fisherman on board. Most the women I know are shorter. And less heavy. Tuna is a funny fish. While other fish will jump around in the boat vividly and bend and bounce, a tuna appears rather like a plastic imitation of a fish. It lay stiff and dead, but still breathing. It was giving a whole wrong impression now. It had been, common for tuna, a strong fighter just minutes ago. Tuna are, unlike other fish, almost as wide as high. They appear more like a cyllindric shape, like a torpedo. And they're all muscle-packed, with loads of meat to take. But once on deck they appear to be stiff, lifeless, and unflexible, somewhat like an inflated water toy. A fish this big provided even more meat than we could keep. We cut off as much as we were able to stow in the little fridge, plus the big steaks for lunch, some fish for dinner and several kilos of meat for drying. About a quarter of the meat went back over board for the sharks. We'd no fear of it being wasted, the ocean would recycle every bit of the carcasse.
I felt, it was a good time for some cleaning. Shortly after I'd commenced I could hear the fishing line take off. That was not the usual short pull or two, it was just taking off, the snare, usually giving a rattling noise, squeaking violently. I dropped the bucket and sponge immediately and race towards the fishing rod, seeing the reel spinning rapidly and the line running out quickly. A huge fish! I had to stop the line running out, before there was none left. I didn't even know, if and how the end of the line was fixed to the reel. I pulled the line break tighter, but there was no effect. To fully fasten the screw I did not dare, afraid to break the line and loose another one of the few remaining rapalas. Therefore, I used my fingers, which allowed stopping the line in a much more sensible fashion. With the reel still spinning wildly I almost burned my fingers in the attempt, but managed to stop the line from running out further. The rod was strongly bent and there was still a heavy pull on the line. We were way too fast to have any good chance of pulling in whatever had snatched the rapala and taken off in a mad retreat.
We were sailing in a good wind, making almost 6 knots, all sails set. But now we had a heavy fish dragging behind on a fishing line that had broken twice before with less weight hung upon it. My brother was at the wheel and turned the boat out of the wind so it slowed to below 3 knots. I could feel the pull on the line release a little, but not much. I was busy adjusting the line break while still holding the reel with my fingers to not loose any more line. Luckily, I found the perfect position, just so no line would run out, but very heavy pulls would give away just some so the line wouldn't break. It didn't allow me, yet, to reel any line back in.
The captain had felt the boat turning and slowing under deck and approached to have it back on course at full speed. Noone, including myself, believed I'd be able to land the fish. But I did have hope and wasn't ready to give it up, yet. As I started to manage to reel the first turns of line back in I bargained with my brother to try convince the captain to slow the boat back down, as it was already regaining its speed, being steered back on its original course. We were probably tiring the fish like this, but we'd loose any chance to land it. Remaining on course, my brother gained permission to slow by reducing the sails. It took him a short while until we came back to about 3 knots and I was able to turn the reel. Every pull on the line would permit a couple of turns, then waiting, another pull, some more turns. I was slowly regaining the line. It still hadn't broken and I was becoming more confident. Still, there was a good lot of line out to be retrieved and any mistake could end in the fish, the rapala and most of the line disappear into the ocean in an instant.
Reeling was tiring me. I was pulling in more and more line and got the fish closer and closer to the boat. It had retreated into deep water and even though now close by the boat, there was still thirty or fourty meters of line out. Unfortunately, the dinghy, tightened on the back of our boat was in the way and the line scrubbing against it. I took the rod out of its anchorange and started handling it by hand to keep the line away from the dinghy. The fish was still pulling hard and heavy, making it hard for me to raise the rod and reel in a meter or two of line as I let it down again. That way I was continually pulling the fish to the surface. I took a couple of breaks, resting my left arm I was pulling the rod with while reeling with my right hand. I did not only hope to not lose that fish, I was determined to at least catch a sight of what was pulling so hard, still wondering how we'd would be able to actually land it, with no hook on board besides a plastic boat hook. The side of the boat, not cranked very much was about a meter over the water and pulling a heavy fish like that in on the line was not possible.
My brother was the first to catch a glimpse of what I was pulling up. It was big, but the dinghy still in the way so I could not see. I managed to pull it over to the side and saw the tired huge fish at the end of the line, swimming calmly on its side now. Even with the fight over and no more resistance from the fish, pulling its weight through the water was still hard work. As it came closer to the boat we could see the big yellow fin tuna soundly attached to the rapala, but still out of reach even right next to the boat. Since there was no gaffe hook on the boat we tried the plastic boat hook but couldn't get any hold with it on the fish. There was no other option than to try lifting it in directly with our hands. I handed the rod to my brother and leaned over the side as much as I could using one hand holding on to the boat as not to fall over board. It felt like one of those stupid movie scenes, where the protagonist is trying to reach something or someone, touching it with his fingertips, but not being able to get a hold of it. Ususally a scene like that can fill 30 seconds of a movie until the protagonist will gain a hold in a heroic strech or loose entirely. I was at full strech already, trying hard for a minute or two, but had no success. Even with the boat slightly going up and down in the waves I couldn't come any closer than to a slight touch with my fingertips. I changed the strategy and had my brother move the fish towards midships. The front and back of the boat appeared slightly higher above the waterline than the middle. With my next heroic stretch I got a hold of the tuna and started pulling up. With it halfway out of the water, I could go no futher. It was too heavy for me to pull it in with one hand, the other one still holding the boat. Hartmut instantly helped and with another hard pull we had the fish on the boat.
It was big, nearly 170cm long and fully restored my reputation as fisherman on board. Most the women I know are shorter. And less heavy. Tuna is a funny fish. While other fish will jump around in the boat vividly and bend and bounce, a tuna appears rather like a plastic imitation of a fish. It lay stiff and dead, but still breathing. It was giving a whole wrong impression now. It had been, common for tuna, a strong fighter just minutes ago. Tuna are, unlike other fish, almost as wide as high. They appear more like a cyllindric shape, like a torpedo. And they're all muscle-packed, with loads of meat to take. But once on deck they appear to be stiff, lifeless, and unflexible, somewhat like an inflated water toy. A fish this big provided even more meat than we could keep. We cut off as much as we were able to stow in the little fridge, plus the big steaks for lunch, some fish for dinner and several kilos of meat for drying. About a quarter of the meat went back over board for the sharks. We'd no fear of it being wasted, the ocean would recycle every bit of the carcasse.
With enough fish for more than a week and the fishing gear safely stowed away, we put all sails back in place and continued our way enjoying again the silence with no engine running and only the splashing of the sea as the ship cut through the low waves. That didn't last long, as the wind started to shift and slow around noon and the engine roared to life once again. The remainder of the day was routine, besides the many adjustments to the sails due to shifting winds.
captains log:
0340 offE
TUNA(yellow fin) 168cm with tail
stop fishing, need salt!
E=305,74h
1000 S0°45 E69°49
1200 start E, MIR, MIZ,Genoa
2200 2nd reef in main
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