Tenerife to Cape Verde

I arrived back to Tenerife in the late morning after my long 24-hour mission to Amsterdam and back. The day before departure is always chaotic on a Yacht, there is a list of things that were left for the last day and new things pile up before you can even tackle the ones you planned on finalising.

 By the time I got to the boat the fueling process had already started, there was plenty of time for me to jump in and help considering she has a capacity of 24,000 litres in the main tanks and we have flexible bladders holding another 3,000 litres. The day was long and arduous, there is something about that last day that keeps the time ticking slowly, a force that pulls us and the boat to the comfort of shore. It’s a subconscious attachment to the ‘have we forgotten anything’ problem, obviously augmented when considering the length of time we will spend floating about in the beautiful oblivion of the Atlantic. Once you make that final call and cast off, then you really feel the trip has started. This is it boys and girls, we’re outta here.

Tenerife was an interesting place, none of us expected the level of development and organisation it boasted, that said it also felt eerily deserted. The natural beauty of the volcanic island paired with its Latino melange of residents intrigued me. My most recent memories of the Canaries were dockwalking in Gran Canaria with my cousin Tom looking for a crossing to Antigua 10 years ago, no money and still managing to chase tail in the grotty city of Las Palmas.

We left our berth at the crack of dawn, the plan was to shoot south to get ahead of a low pressure system and catch some winds off a high between Brazil and Sierra Leone. A day into the journey and Mike calls it to head for Cape Verde to squeeze in an extra 4,000 litres into the tanks. The 4-day 900 mile stretch down to the islands was the direction we would have been sailing in either way, taking on the extra diesel means that we would have enough to cruise at 10kts for 10,000 miles, the distance to cover from Cape Verde to Chile was just over 5,000 nautical miles. Happy days.

Once again our adventuring spirits were made to suppress the settling in to the idea  of spending 25 days surrounded only by the ocean, we had another pit stop to complete. The weather was fine, fishing lures out and daily chores to fill the gaps between watches. Mike and Rich are both professional game fishermen, back in New Zealand they each have a game fishing boat piled with the best gear and take people out on fishing charters, having them teaching us about real sport fishing made me realise just how different sport fishing is to the hobby version we are used to on our boats. A well timed epiphany considering what came up three days in to our sail.

We had an average of two bites on the rod every day, Rich is so vigilant on the rods, as soon as there is a nibble he runs to it to tease out the lure and reel it in, a tactic that angers the fish and makes it hook on properly when it goes for the final bite, you can watch the marlin stalking the lure before the last thrash and bite, a phenomena I had never before witnessed. After reeling in and releasing the first two marlin, Rich wanted someone else to take the next fight, Rory jumped to be first in line. On day two the now familiar buzzing of the line had everyone running to the stern and Rory strapping in for his fight, he gallantly challenged the marlin for a minute but the fish got away, no more bites on that day.

 In the late morning of day three I was making my coffee in the galley after a slow morning watch, “WHO’S ON THE ROD, RORY, MARC, SOMEONE COME NOW!!!” shouts Rich from the stern. Stairs were cleared and I damn near teleported from the bows to the cockpit. I clipped on the harness and Rich handed over the rod which was whistling away, Mike slowed the boat as quickly as he could, not a simple task considering we are pushing 209 Tons through the water at 12 knots. Once the fish stopped pulling against the level of drag we had set on the reel, I started the fight. The excitement started to build as every noticed the telling indicators that the fish was not a small beast, 200 metres from the boat we see a big splash and a sword piercing through the water, he was definitely hooked on well. I would reel in 20 metres and he pulls back 18, to and fro we continued fighting and pulling and thrashing. After thirty minutes of this my arm was searing with pain and I was covered in sweat, everyone cheering me on and giving courage to win, Rich had to hold on to the harness as every pull from this behemoth had me on my toes. Coming up to an hour, the tracer (piece of line between the lure and the swivel) breaks the surface, everyone is tired by this point but the excitement is still high, I was completely exhausted but fought on, and this was the final push. When my adversary finally lay on his side and let me bring him to the transom a slew of profanities ensued.. he was a monster marlin; a 350kg, 3.5 metre, 15 year old gargantuan fish, he even had a shark bite in his side. No one could believe it and we were all clucking around trying to get some footage, needless to say none of the footage did his size justice. Seeing him there after the fight, I felt so connected to him, a deep respect for the most immense fish I have ever seen, one that I had been feeling and fighting for an hour. Once we got him close, Mike tagged him with a research tag, something that we can track him with and use for research into growth rates etc. he follows with “that is a once in a lifetime fish”.  I jumped into the water just as Mike managed to get the hook out, I gave the marlin a hug as he casually swam away, down down into the deep blue Atlantic void. What an experience.