The Anchor, the Boat Hook and the Knife
Worthy Sailing Mojo
Paul Worthington
Wed 25 Oct 2023 15:03
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32:48.87N 9:55.22W
The sailors farewell is to fair winds and tides.
I am writing this to you in the southern Atlantic, 30 odd miles from the
Moroccan coast and increasing. Fair weather we have, tides as such we have none
but wind .. the fickle mistress eludes us: she shows herself briefly,
flourishing an attractive 8 or 9 knots off our port bow before, pirouetting and
then appearing on our starboard bow. She is never where we want her and less
where we need her, which would be abeam, or just past the beam, that is to say
from the side where she would be most useful to us. It seems she is off flirting
with other bemused sailors right now because there is precious little evidence
of her presence here. We are motor sailing, making just around 6 knotts but on
course and approaching half distance. We do however have fair weather, as I
write the crew are lounging, sleeping or in the skippers case, twining hooks for
fishing (for we ate our beauty bonitto this afternoon and we have the taste for
it)
Night sailing can be relaxing. The moon casts a splendid
light, the stars bewitch us with their old, elegant light and we muse over the
activities of vessels spotted first on the radar and then from afar as they pass
us going hither and thither. I have seen the most incredible shooting stars,
last night one seemed to burn right out in front of me leaving a momentary tail
of molten red before blinking out. Then there is the parts of the
night shift where it goes dark, the moon and stars hide their faces and
mischief happens, like the drenching squall, so loud, sudden and violent that
it's 5 minute passage woke the skipper from his bunk (Hannah declined to offer
support, snuggling deeper into the duvet) Matt and I had managed to quickly get
the jib down and after a short exchange agreed our lefts and rights (left hand
down Matt,, more left hand down, No! not like that, like this ... oh that's your
right hand, sorry!!)
This morning I tendered my resignation as first mate and
while it was not accepted the events of last night still make me shudder, so
they do. Aware as we were of the dangers of fishing nets, Hannah and I were
keeping a cautious watch and on the occasion, ... THE occasion clearly we did
not afford enough respect to the fishing buoys and their warnings of hidden
lines because as we noted with satisfaction leaving the flashing pole to
our starboard, we then noted with horror that it was now following us. We were
snared.
Some sailing vessels have long or fin keels that may
attract and flirt with lines but will ultimately let them pass over and away;
the good ship MOJO has a bulb keel, excellent for changing course, holding and
stability, very poor indeed at letting fishing lines escape their grasp. Very
aware of the dangers of lines in the propeller, Hannah and I, with the transom
(the bathing bit that lowers from the back of the boat) down (Hannah suggesting
quietly that I might clip in (attaching myself securely to the boat, lest I make
the situation even more challenging with a potential man over board) we removed
one line from the rudder and then realising in horror that the buoys still
followed us knew that it was time to for the unthinkable ... wake the
skipper from his bunk!
Paul assessed the situation and set about
it brandishing a knife, muttering about trouble, snagged propellers, angry
Moroccan fishermen and having to go in with a rope tied around himself.
Ultimately it came down to the fact that a loop was caught, beyond the reach of
our outstretched arm and boat hook, it was this loop that was dragging half the
African fish haul behind us. What shall we do, asked the skipper ... I was mute,
Hannah standing slightly behind me, equally mute ... Paul threw himself
urgently into a locker, throwing out lines and ropes before emerging
meaningfully with a spare anchor and declares that we must lower it, chain and
all into the water, snag the offending line and bring it to the justice of the
knife.
That was how, just before we fled the scene, Paul,
Hannah and I could have been seen, huddled by the starboard rail, bathed in
moonlight with an anchor, a boat hook and a knife finally cutting through and
severing some poor African fisherman's nets.
Tonight I shall be praying for fair winds and tides, no
squalls and definitely no nets. Onwards!
First Mate Adey.
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