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Fishing is not just a pastime or sport on our passages, it’s a major source of our protein. The fresh meat and chicken we left with from Florida are long gone; and, except for Panama, they are now too expensive even if one can find them. Canned tuna and chicken are held in reserve for that hypothetical scenario when we are adrift at sea with either no sail or no mast and must fend off starvation. So we (Jon and Stephen when he was with us) fish for food.
In the Bahamas, Stephen rediscovered his long lost passion for fishing and the thrill of the catch. In the Caribbean, he seemed to catch a fish within minutes of putting a line out. We have two poles off either hull’s stern. This was going to be easy. We grilled fish kabobs off the back of the stern, made fish curries, fish stews and Jon’s special recipe of baked fish with mayonnaise and onions.
On the way to the Galapagos, Stephen caught a Mahi Mahi that was over 5 feet. (We do not have a scale and any guess of weight probably would have to be discounted by the pride and ego of the fisherman.) Stephen and Jon were now inspired to go for even bigger fish.
But just as enthusiasm was at its height, our luck changed on the Pacific crossing. Ours became a tale of the ones that got away. The sound of the fishing reel spinning would alert us to a fish on the hook. Stephen would rush to reel it in while Jon would try to slow down the boat. It had to be a big one, given how much the rod was bending and how difficult it was to reel it in……and then the line would break free. He must have been so big that he broke our 100-pound line. He never jumped so we don’t know what he was. Maybe he was a really big tuna.
This story repeated itself so often that I lost count. Once we got our hook back, but it had been bent back so that it was straight. Maybe he was a shark. Stephen changed the drag on the lines. He played around with the lures. He used a small Mahi as bait. Fishing books were consulted. In the meantime, we were hearing from other boats about their really big fish. The Albatross and Malikalalou each caught a huge spearfish. The big fish were out there, they were even biting on our lines, but we could not bring one in to save our souls.
We lost lures and fishing line at a steady rate. I had bought an additional 400 feet of line when I made a home trip in March and we were well into that when a fish (must have been a really big fish) took all the line off the reel. We were down to one rod and reel when, during a brief sail maneuver that required the engine, we lost the last of our line to our portside propeller. No more fishing. While changing the propane tank on our grill, we even lost the gas attachment overboard, so no grilling the fish we had left in our freezer. A most dejected Stephen threw away the fish head he’d been saving in my refrigerator as bait for that really big but elusive fish.
[Aside: Jon got the fishing line cleared from the propeller several days later when the seas were calmer and he could dive with our hooka and air compressor. His reward was Kit Kats. His earlier blog about running out of Kit Kats was misinformed. He did not know about 2 additional stashes, one of which he’s now gone through. He has about 30 Kit Kats left and, if he plays it right, will have Kit Kats until we get to Tahiti, where he just might be able to replenish stocks.]
In Hiva Oa we bought more fishing line, but that was it for Stephen who was going home. Jon bought an 8-pound tuna from a local fisherman in case our luck didn’t improve. We stowed it in our small freezer and headed out to see the rest of the islands. Turns out it wasn’t necessary. Jon caught a 4-foot Mahi Mahi on our day sail from Tahuata to Ua Pou…..we gave some of that fish away. Though our freezer was near full, the fishing lines were again out on our sail to the Tuamotus. Jon caught yet another Mahi Mahi, not really big, but about five or six meals worth.
Though he complained of a sore back and hands from bringing in and cleaning that last Mahi Mahi, though I told him we didn’t need any more fish, and though our freezer is full of fish, two days later I see the fishing lines back out dragging behind the boat. Glare at him I did. Sure enough, just as Jon goes to sleep for some much needed rest and I sit down for a quiet watch, two fish are hooked on our lines. As I hold one line, Jon reels in the first fish and he promises me that if it’s a Mahi, he’ll release it. He caught two Big Eye Tuna.
Between catching the fish and eating the fish is the part of the story that is usually passed over. But this tale would be incomplete without it. Now that Stephen is back in California, I have a part to play, much to my chagrin, which is hypocritical I know. (I used to go fishing with my Dad, when my brother wasn’t available, but the deal was that I didn’t bait the hook, I didn’t take the fish off the line, and I certainly didn’t “clean” the fish, which means gutting it and cutting its head off.)
First, getting the fish into the boat often requires a gaff. Most of the fish we’ve caught, while not really big fish, are too big for our net. Thus, the gaff—a curved spear used to pierce the body of the fish. I’ll hold the fish on the rod while Jon does the deed. That is usually when I say my first, “Lord have mercy” in my retrievable Texas accent. We have a large plastic storage box that we put the fish in to kill it and clean it. Sometimes our not really big fish are too big for that and they flop all over the back of the boat. Yesterday’s tuna fit in the box, but he was so strong in his flopping that he cracked the plastic side. Let’s just say that quite a struggle occurs on the back of our boat after a fish is caught.
That’s when the second, “Oh, Lord have mercy,” is uttered as Jon knocks the fish senseless so it’ll cooperate in its own beheading and gutting. As he proceeds to “clean” the fish, I’m getting buckets of sea water to wash the blood off the boat, uttering even more, “Lord have mercies,” and trying not to look nor throw up.
Jon does the rest. He can filet a fish down to the bone and he deals with the rest of the mess. I just get the plastic zip lock bags ready.
This story repeated itself so often that I lost count. Once we got our hook back, but it had been bent back so that it was straight. Maybe he was a shark. Stephen changed the drag on the lines. He played around with the lures. He used a small Mahi as bait. Fishing books were consulted. In the meantime, we were hearing from other boats about their really big fish. The Albatross and Malikalalou each caught a huge spearfish. The big fish were out there, they were even biting on our lines, but we could not bring one in to save our souls.We lost lures and fishing line at a steady rate. I had bought an additional 400 feet of line when I made a home trip in March and we were well into that when a fish (must have been a really big fish) took all the line off the reel. We were down to one rod and reel when, during a brief sail maneuver that required the engine, we lost the last of our line to our portside propeller. No more fishing. While changing the propane tank on our grill, we even lost the gas attachment overboard, so no grilling the fish we had left in our freezer. A most dejected Stephen threw away the fish head he’d been saving in my refrigerator as bait for that really big but elusive fish.
[Aside: Jon got the fishing line cleared from the propeller several days later when the seas were calmer and he could dive with our hooka and air compressor. His reward was Kit Kats. His earlier blog about running out of Kit Kats was misinformed. He did not know about 2 additional stashes, one of which he’s now gone through. He has about 30 Kit Kats left and, if he plays it right, will have Kit Kats until we get to Tahiti, where he just might be able to replenish stocks.]
In Hiva Oa we bought more fishing line, but that was it for Stephen who was going home. Jon bought an 8-pound tuna from a local fisherman in case our luck didn’t improve. We stowed it in our small freezer and headed out to see the rest of the islands. Turns out it wasn’t necessary. Jon caught a 4-foot Mahi Mahi on our day sail from Tahuata to Ua Pou…..we gave some of that fish away. Though our freezer was near full, the fishing lines were again out on our sail to the Tuamotus. Jon caught yet another Mahi Mahi, not really big, but about five or six meals worth.
Though he complained of a sore back and hands from bringing in and cleaning that last Mahi Mahi, though I told him we didn’t need any more fish, and though our freezer is full of fish, two days later I see the fishing lines back out dragging behind the boat. Glare at him I did. Sure enough, just as Jon goes to sleep for some much needed rest and I sit down for a quiet watch, two fish are hooked on our lines. As I hold one line, Jon reels in the first fish and he promises me that if it’s a Mahi, he’ll release it. He caught two Big Eye Tuna.Between catching the fish and eating the fish is the part of the story that is usually passed over. But this tale would be incomplete without it. Now that Stephen is back in California, I have a part to play, much to my chagrin, which is hypocritical I know. (I used to go fishing with my Dad, when my brother wasn’t available, but the deal was that I didn’t bait the hook, I didn’t take the fish off the line, and I certainly didn’t “clean” the fish, which means gutting it and cutting its head off.)
First, getting the fish into the boat often requires a gaff. Most of the fish we’ve caught, while not really big fish, are too big for our net. Thus, the gaff—a curved spear used to pierce the body of the fish. I’ll hold the fish on the rod while Jon does the deed. That is usually when I say my first, “Lord have mercy” in my retrievable Texas accent. We have a large plastic storage box that we put the fish in to kill it and clean it. Sometimes our not really big fish are too big for that and they flop all over the back of the boat. Yesterday’s tuna fit in the box, but he was so strong in his flopping that he cracked the plastic side. Let’s just say that quite a struggle occurs on the back of our boat after a fish is caught.
That’s when the second, “Oh, Lord have mercy,” is uttered as Jon knocks the fish senseless so it’ll cooperate in its own beheading and gutting. As he proceeds to “clean” the fish, I’m getting buckets of sea water to wash the blood off the boat, uttering even more, “Lord have mercies,” and trying not to look nor throw up.Jon does the rest. He can filet a fish down to the bone and he deals with the rest of the mess. I just get the plastic zip lock bags ready.
We now have a freezer really full of fish. We even are experimenting with drying fish. 
We are in feast, and our famine (at least our bad luck) has passed. Jon is forbidden to put the lines out until we’ve reduced our stockpile significantly. Honestly, I don’t know what we’d do with a really big fish if we ever caught one. We will share our catch with others and others have shared with us. I hope that when Jon and Stephen are old men, they will have fond memories of their fishing exploits in the Pacific. And I hope I make it through this three-year circumnavigation without having to “clean” a fish. Lord have mercy.
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