The best shift on the deck of my sailboat is the 4 a.m. to 7 a.m. shift. Watching the sun come up and feeling the warmth on the skin with a gentle breeze is a special sensation after a night at sea. We were 350 miles north of Antigua. The winds were light, and we had motored all night because the wind had died. At 5 a.m. though, a 12-knot breeze filled in from the east and I unfurled the jib and shook out the reef we had placed the evening before to take advantage of this gift from the weather gods. The calm seas had us doing 6 knots in perfect sailing conditions with the wind on our beam. This was the perfect way to begin a day. I glanced at the rising sun and couldn’t help but notice the pretty red sky. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, ran through my mind before I could block it. I was not going to let a silly sailor’s proverb put a damper on the beginning of another great day at sea.
It wasn’t long before we put up the code 0 sail, the massive light wind sail and we watched as our speed picked up to 8 knots. We would be 200 miles from here when the bad weather hit, so I scoffed at the heavens, feeling I had outsmarted them. As the winds picked up, we furled the Code 0 and launched our jib. We were discussing putting in a reef in our mainsail when I heard Will shout, “We caught a fish, we caught a fish!
Jeff came racing up the companionway with the bottle of Bacardi rum to pour in the gills once we landed the fish in the boat.
“She’s a fighter!” shouted Will as he struggled with pulling in the 330 lb test line. “The plan is to flip her onto the boat before she escapes. You all know what to do. Get in your positions!”
Our dinner landed on the deck, but was moving too much to get the rum flowing through the gills. Jeff immobilized the fish with one hand and poured the rum with the other. The fish stopped moving.
“What did we catch?” I asked. “And can we eat it?” Will, Jeff and I exchanged blank expressions. “I’ll post it on the Salty Dawg app.” Within seconds, we knew we were the proud owner of an Ahi Tuna dinner.
“Anyone have any ideas on how to cook this?” I asked. “It’s too big to go into our oven, or even freezer.” Again blank expressions. Will did a google search, and I called my brother, Neil. “Cut her into 11/2 inch steaks and sear on each side for 90 seconds. Serve with a little salt and pepper and a dash of lemon,” were the instructions.
Being the sole surgeon in the boat, I was tasked with cleaning the fish, then making it into tuna steaks. Within the next hour, I prepared the most delicious tuna I have ever tasted. It was tender and succulent. It melted in your mouth and had me craving for more. It was truly the most amazing gastronomic delight I have ever experienced.
As great as the dinner was, the weather was deteriorating. The vision of the red sky this morning flashed through my mind. The three of us quickly got on deck and placed 2 reefs in the mainsail. It did not go well. The winds were kicking up to 25 knots, and the boat was bouncing around like a cork over rapids. The ferocity of the winds was such that the reefing lines 2 and 3 were wrapped around each other like a monkey’s fist. Will was the hero, climbing up to the boom and untwisting the tangled lines, timing his unraveling maneuvers with the bounce of the boat. Jeff tightened the lines, and now they were safely in place. Less than an hour later, the decision to put in a 3rd reef was an easy one. The 3rd reefing line shortening our mainsail to less than half and we were now battling 30 knot winds.
The winds continued all night, along with the torrential downpours that soaked right through our foul weather gear. Rain pelted into our faces and heads like they were bullets coming at us horizontally. Letting go of our hand grips to protect our faces from the pain would have had us catapulted into the ocean by the waves flying into the cockpit. They would have swept us overboard held onto the boat only by our tethers….so we just bravely faced the elements. I felt this was my punishment for doubting the weather gods when they broadcast the red sky for us all to see. The big waves were coming from a different direction to the wind, so the boat was flying down a wave and then stopping as it plowed into a mountainous wall of water. The strong winds would twist the boat at unusual angles. It was pitch black and the twisting movement of the boat made it difficult to know what was up or down. The inside of the boat was like it had been through a blender, with dishes and plates strewn everywhere. Anything in the cabins that had been on a shelf was now all over the floor.
Then, the auto helm packed it in…..
The auto helm had it’s limits as well we all guessed. Perhaps it needed more power! With our thinking minds, we started the generator and the autohelm was back in action, plowing through the waves and taking us safely to our waypoint so we would miss driving onto the beaches of Barbuda. We congratulated ourselves with our quick thinking……..That is until the generator packed it in…..
Ah…. such is the life of a sailor. Just when you are smug about the weather, it flys back at you as a reminder of who really is in charge of everything. It certainly isn’t the sailors on S/V Ileana. For Jeff, Will and myself, we took this all in stride as just another experience to laugh about once we are in the safety of English Harbour, Antigua. In another 120 miles, or 18 hours we’ll be hanging out with the rest of the Salty Dawgs at the Antigua Yacht Club knocking back the rum laced drinks with little plastic umbrellas trying to outperform all the other stories from the sailors who had experienced the same nasty weather…..
YIKES! Nasty weather indeed!!