1993

FISHING

So it’s ’93, I’m still a self-confessed “NEWBIE”, I’ve triumphed over the challenging Erie Barge Canal, faced down the Hudson River, successfully challenged Chesapeake Bay, etc. Now Thalia and I are in Georgetown, Exumas, Bahamas, fondly referred to as “Chicken Harbor.” My brother and his wife are flying in to join us for a week in the sun and safely free from the vileness of a Toronto winter, Georgetown is perfect, good airport and coincidentally the visit will give them the last 3 days of the Family Island Regatta, a week of partying and watching the Bahamian smack races. They’re interesting boats, loosely based on 25’ traditional fishing craft that epitomize the term “low aspect main,” with the main down there’s a boom crutch, a rather elegant term for something that is typically a forked stick in the absolute stern and the boom still usually projects another 3’ or so. It’s a blast to watch teams of up to 6 sail these boats hard with as many as 4 big lads out on hiking boards known not surprisingly as “bum boards.” The racing is done to repeated entreaties of “Scrape da boat man, scrape da boat” meaning bail her out, they are pushing wooden work boats for all they are worth and they leak furiously, I lost track of how many masts I saw come down.

Into this paradisiacal setting arrive Rob and Diane, I figured maybe 3 days in Georgetown so they could get a feel for the Bahamas and then we’d sail out to a gorgeous deserted beach where they could reconsumate their marriage in the surf, Calabash Bay on Long Island is just what we need a day sail away and it’s an easy reach there and back, deep water and far enough away that we’ll be out of sight of land for a long enough while for it to feel like an adventure. We set out early and discover a beautiful day waiting for us, clear skies and 15 kts of breeze, flat seas, prayer couldn’t have delivered a nicer day. Rob is at the wheel, having eschewed the autopilot in a maximum experience effort and we’re towing 2 fishing handlines in an attempt to provide a fresh fish dining memory. One of the fishing lines goes off and I say “Rob we’ve got a fish on” He almost wets himself with excitement, first he’s blue water sailing and now he’s deep sea fishing. “Diane get the camera” he roars, “We’re going to need a picture of this” Pretty soon he’s got the gloves on and he’s winding in what appears to be a 3’ barracuda normally a fine eating fish, if you can past the smell of the slime that coats them, but the meat is seriously good fine, firm, with a light taste as opposed to a fishy taste. However this is a Bahamiqan ‘cuda and here they are lethal with high concentrations of a naturally occurring coral toxin which concentrates as you go up the food chain, ‘cudas occupy the top spot on the reefs, don’t even think about eating them here, ciguatera poisoning is a serious issue. Some friends of mine were cruising in French Polynesia and had an imperfect idea of what ciguatera is, they had to restart Sonya’s heart 3 times that night, fortunately there’s a hospital in Nuku Hiva where they bottom fished the red snapper. Rob now has the ‘cuda about 25’ behind Thalia, now as you undoubtedly know ‘cudas are not a remarkable game fish, they hit hard enough, but quickly give up and surf on their side, open mouthed, possibly so one and all can see what really is an impressive display of dentition. I’m pretty sure Robe had noticed the oncoming teeth when he asked, “So what do we have here, Skipper?” “Well, Gilligan it looks just like a 3’ barracuda” Now Toronto is not the sailing capital of Canada, being on a fresh water lake and all, but everyone know what a ‘cuda is, even if they were too young for Sea Hunt, with Bubbles Bridges. I went on to explain the ciguatera problem, so while tasty we have to release it. “How exactly are we going to do that, he’o longer winding up the handline and is eyeing the ‘cuda with distrust verging on disgust. “We’ll pick it up and hang it from the lifeline by a gill cover, unhook it and kick it loose.” I say as calmly as possible, after all I’m not trying to rattle him, that’s already happened. He states very calmly, “Why don’t we just cut the line?” trying to sound as reasonable as possible. “Because that’s a $7 spoon in his mouth” is shake my head as I say it. “I’ll give you $7” says my brother the sportsman. The ‘cuda, I believe, went on to a successful career at the top of the food chain. While we dined on fresh caught Mahi Mahi and cero mackerel. The fishing in the Bahamas really is awfully good.

If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’, attributed