The Catch

Post from guest blogger, Second Mate

'If life gives you lemons, then make lemonade'...one more day without a fish and we probably would have done, we've got so many of the darn things. They were bought with such gay abandon they're now the only fruit left on board. Apples, oranges and bananas were all cast aside. The tsunami of fresh fish, we thought, will need a lot of lemon. Even when we did catch a fish in the first week the lemons were strictly rationed, so concerned was the Quartermaster that we wouldn't have enough for the riches to come. But the only riches that followed came out of a can.

Putting the lines out at 6am had become a depressing routine - a daily reminder of our failures rather than an act of the hopeful. Yet still we persisted, like suckers for punishment and this morning was no different. We'd even stopped the "imagine if we caught..." game such was our resignation. But just as the morning moan had ended, complaining of the lack of edible fruit, I glimpsed a sudden jolt on the line. We've been here before I thought. Was it weed? Or plastic netting? One glance up confirmed it wasn't. A furrow of water was being churned up in our wake. It was definitely a fish. And it was definitely big.

As I reached for the line, I had visions of Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea - a colossal tug-of-war that would end without victor or vanquished. Thankfully the only visions the Cabin Boy had were of lunch, dashing down to grab the fish gaff at a speed I've witnessed only once before. It was at the farewell party on the eve of our departure. Clearly fearing a fortnight of just pasta and pulses, Jim flitted so fast between the tables of tapas the kitchen could barely keep up. Calamari in one hand, croquette in the other, it was a sight to behold.

And so it proved this morning. As I reeled the beast in, and Deckhand whispered his usual barbs of encouragement, Cabin-Boy-turned-hunter-gatherer delivered the killer blow. A dorado, 6-8kg, our beautiful bounty from beneath.

Never one normally to lunch before 3pm, Cabin Boy didn't stop there, serving up a round of pan-seared steaks with galley-baked bread barely 3 hours after bringing it in.

As Napoleon once said, an army marches on its stomach. So it seems with Follyfin, and after the wine we had to celebrate our catch, half the crew is now sleeping on it too.