As there is plenty of wind the trip from St Martin to Aruba ends up taking just three and a bit days.
We ease Christophe into it on the first day, flying only the genoa and taking it nice and slow, trailing the fishing lure behind the boat. We get plenty of strikes: the first two barracuda, and then a Little Tunny. The tunny is not quite big enough for dinner for all of us, so we throw in the lure again, and soon a huge mahi mahi bites. I slow the boat down, David starts reeling in the fish, and Christophe is perched on the back step with a big net and a gaffe, ready to land it. The net is too small for the fish, so they decide to try to grab the line and just throw it into the cockpit, because mahi mahi are famous for jumping off a gaffe unless it is embedded in just the right spot. But the fish is strong, and the line is sharp, cutting their fingers to shreds. After a long struggle the fish manages to leap off the hook and swims away. Bitter disappointment is followed by a long discussion about what we can do to actually land a fish that size next time: net handlers should wear gloves, hit the fish hard with the gaffe, or just grab the line and throw the fish into the cockpit.
Luckily we still have the tunny, so there is still fish for dinner. It doesn’t taste great, but we dutifully eat it whilst discussing the one that got away. The taste is not improved by the lack of lemon – the boys used all our limes on T-punch the first night, leaving none for fish.
The next day, Christophe announces that he had a vision during the night, and that he now knows how to land the giant fish that we will surely catch. All day we troll, and about three o’clock I give in and make a beef stew. Just as I’m putting on the potatoes for the mash, excited shouts greet me from the cockpit – another fish! This one is huge, and we stuff around for most of an hour trying to slow the boat down and keep the direction in the 3 metre waves, reeling it in bit by bit, until it is finally close enough for us to make out that it is some sort of spearfish, huge, jumping out of the water.
All the excitement of fishing is a bit much for Matias, who bursts into tears as we’re reeling the fish in, worried as he is that the fish will win and pull Daddy or Christophe over the side. He helpfully goes inside to fetch the scissors so that we can cut the line if we have to. We are all pretty convinced that we won’t be able to land it, but Christophe is calm and confident, having practiced the moves in his dreams. And sure enough he gaffes it, and David pours half a bottle of rum into its gills, killing it instantly. At about 20 kg it is an impressive fish, which will feed us for days.
On the third day, the wind comes up, the sea is big, and the sailing becomes exhilarating. Always a racer, David tries to improve our top speed on the log and gets up to an impressive 12 knots, before he puts it back on autopilot. The autopilot takes up the challenge, and effortlessly hits 12.4 knots on my night watch. Not one to be beaten by a machine, David gets it up to 12.7 shortly after sunrise. As the wind comes up the autopilot trumps him with 13.5, after which he takes the helm again and reaches 13.7, surfing down a huge wave. At this stage I insist on a third reef in the main, and we lower the speed to something more sensible.
As always, the boys are amazing. They handle the passage well, not frustrated by the lack of land, but rather excited to play endless card games with a patient Christophe. We are all seasick the first couple of days, and spend all our wakeful hours outside, but by day three they are well enough to do some home schooling, most of which we do as part of our card games. On the fourth morning they are playing inside and seem to have fully adjusted.
Our night watches are aided by a lovely full moon illuminating the sky so much that we don’t even bother running the radar; we’ll easily be able to spot any ships passing. But there are no ships; on the whole trip we only spot two, both container ships.
Because the wind is up and the sea big, David only really catnaps, waking up to check that Christophe and I are doing alright on our watches throughout the night. Being the skipper is a bit like having a baby – lots of responsibility, no sleep, and nobody to lean on because others can’t really breastfeed in your stead. The precious few moments he gets to lay down during the day it is often too hot to sleep, so when we arrive in Aruba he is seriously sleep deprived. Now we just have to watch out for post passage depression….
SV Bob The Cat 