the inopportune tuna

Florida to Belize (Day 3)

There’s a squall coming. A big one. I wake Ben to get the Code Zero furled. Click, click, click, click, click goes the fishing line. Of course, after 36 hours of having the fishing gear out, now we get our first bite. We prioritise furling the zero, then try to reel the fish in. It’s a big one, heavy. Halfway reeled in, we lose the fish. So there’s still no fish braai on the cards. The squall is close now. We finish dropping and lashing down the Code Zero as the heavens open.

Cue 30+ knots. We caught the front of it, so we will be riding it for a little while. We got the sail down just in the knick of time Amusingly the instruments claim it was 220 knots. A bit dramatic, B&G?

The sea state ramps up and it’s pelting down with rain.

The wind whirls around, taking us North back towards Florida, when we want to be heading South towards Cuba. We gybe and get back on track.

Soaked to the skin, I am grateful not to be too warm for once!

After the squall subsides, the wind all but vanishes, so we turn on the engine. We are still trying to outrun the tropical storm brewing in the West. It now has a name: Milton. We up the revs on the engine. Cuba is 80 nautical miles away. Motoring at 6 knots, it should take us about 13 hours.

Focus turns to the highest priority item on our snagging list: wiring in the ice machine. At last, cold drinks! This makes Ben in particular very happy.

At lunchtime, Ben starts making chilli con carne for our dinner, leaving it to simmer for hours. It smells incredible. But heat from the hob, combined with the engine and generator both running, makes it rather warm down below.

Hours pass and it feels like a slow day. Ben decides to spice things up with a tabata workout on the foredeck. Squats, sit-ups, and push-ups. The motion of the boat and the slippy decks make it that little more challenging. We are midway through our penultimate set of push-ups, when we hear click, click, click, click, clicks. Ben jumps up.

Ben: FISH!

Clearly the fish round here are rather good at selecting inopportune moments to get caught.

Ben reels the fish in. It’s a baby tuna, so we throw him back.

Not five minutes later, the fishing line goes mad again. Ben reels it in. It is the very same fish. Poor thing was rather eager to become sashimi, it seems. Once again, we throw him back.

After an insanely good chilli con carne for dinner, which leaves us all craving more, I clean up and head to bed. Just as I’m drifting off to sleep, I hear the engine revs decreasing, and decreasing again, and again. Is there now enough breeze to kill the engine? Is Ben being mindful of engine noise whilst the rest of us are sleeping? I crawl out of bed and go up on deck. It’s harder to hear the change in revs from up on deck. I ask Ben if he’s reduced the revs. I can hear Charles stirring now too. Ben says no. Then the engine cuts out altogether.

Charles tries to restart the engine, to no avail. We get the jib out. Perhaps the engine overheated? Will we make it to Cuba without an engine, before the wind dies? And right on cue, we hear that click, click, click, click, click. Ben catches a fish.

Charles tries the engine again. This time it works. But we now have wind and decent boat speed. So we decide to let the engine cool down for a little while. With the jib out, we are heading in the wrong direction: more East than we would like. So we gybe. I snooze on deck, until the breeze gets chilly and I move into the saloon.

I wake up for my 00.00-03.00 shift to see Charles on the helm in a rain jacket. It seems I slept through a squall. To our port side, we can now see the distant lights of Havana, Cuba.

It’s now Sunday. As I stand watch alone, I reminisce about lazy Sunday mornings back home, snuggled under a blanket, keeping the cold weather at bay. There’s no need for a blanket here, but I do miss that cosy feeling.

But out here, I hear the faint hum of what sounds like house music. I assume it’s the rumbling of a tanker engine. It sounds far in the distance, but I can’t quite place it. It’s disconcerting. Even in Florida, we encountered lots of boats without lights or AIS. I keep scanning the horizon, black sky upon black sea, expecting something to pop out of nowhere.

The wind veers in our favour, which now allows us to reach along the Cuban coastline. We are still on the jib. The wind drops, and we feel slow. I look forward to us hoisting the Code Zero at dawn. Nevertheless, Argonaut is thoroughly enjoyable to helm.

As I prepare to hand over the watch to Ben, the wind speed picks up, and once again we can hear water running whooshing over the hull.

I sleep soundly. By 08.00, it’s already very warm. I check the National Hurricane Center for an update on tropical storm Milton. The latest update indicates it could arrive a little earlier, with winds reaching Mexico on Monday and Cuba on Tuesday. Based on its predicted course, we should only get the edge of it. But there is still a 20-30% chance  of us experiencing tropical storm force winds. So tidying and stowing is on the cards for today.

We switch the jib and staysail for the Code Zero. The significant increase in boat speed is noticeable. But for some reason, on our instruments, boat speed is reading as a time. Not sure how that works, B&G?

We have passed Havana and continue to reach along the coast of Cuba. I see pretty mountains. Ben gives us a political history lesson on what’s happened in those mountains. Charles and I had been keen to stop in Cuba, but Ben wasn’t up for the additional hoops we would need to jump through if we ever wanted to visit the US in future. So, for now, we have to look on from afar. We will be hugging the Cuban coastline  for the rest of the day, then tomorrow we will slingshot across to Mexico.

Music is on. Sea is calm. View is pretty. I’m getting a chilled Sunday morning after all.

Leg: Key West, Florida to Havana, Cuba