Day 3 - 6 October 2024 (04h45)

Location - S 15d 54 E 42d 02

Distance Traveled last 24 hours (COG)- 156nm

Total Distance Traveled 484nm

Distance Remaining - 370nm

Average Speed last 24hours - 6.8knots

Moon - Still no moon :-(

Fishing - 1 x Big Fish :-)

Good morning everyone from the most stunning ocean morning! If the sea were like this every day, everyone would be a sailor. Well, maybe not, because the little wind there is happens to be blowing from the wrong direction. Here’s a certainty I can share with all the non-sailors: A sailor is never happy with the wind—it's either too strong, too light, from the wrong direction, or blowing at the wrong time. That's a fact!

Today started like any normal day at sea. We had been sailing since around 2 a.m., when Delphine and I raised the mainsail to take advantage of a 180-degree wind shift. We sailed on a close reach for most of the morning, gliding along at 8 knots in a pleasant 12-14 knots of wind. The sea was relatively calm, with a little cloud cover but otherwise perfect conditions. Most of my crew enjoys sleeping in the mornings (from 3 a.m. to 9 a.m.), so it was just me, savoring the peace and beauty of the day.

But my solitude was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of my reel singing. At around 5:30 a.m., I decided to put out my fishing lines, thinking this could be a good morning since we were approaching an oceanic mountain. Now, you might ask, what is that? In this part of the Indian Ocean, the depth is typically around 2,500 meters—plenty deep for sailing without worry of running aground. But by 8 a.m., we would cross over an underwater mountain rising up to 200 meters. It’s not the highest mountain in the world, but underwater, it's teeming with life—and I was right.

As soon as I heard the reel’s zzzzzz, I looked back and saw one of the most thrilling sights for any fisherman: a massive Blue Marlin tail-walking across the ocean, leaping from the water, shaking its head to throw the hook from its mouth—over and over. I scrambled to find my phone, desperate to capture the moment like a Gen Z TikToker. But I was so mesmerized by the sight of this incredible creature that I almost forgot a few critical steps.

Step one: Stop the boat. This is no easy task when you're under full sail, and my crew was still fast asleep. Here’s how it all unfolded:

1. I whistled loudly to wake the crew.
2. We furled the headsail.
3. Arabella took the helm, engines on, turning us into the wind to stop the boat.
4. Apple grabbed my rod bucket (the thing you wear around your waist to protect, well, important parts).
5. Alex stationed himself on the back of the flybridge, directing Arabella with hand signals since she couldn’t see me fighting the fish at the stern.
6. Delphine pitched in wherever needed, all while trying to capture the moment on camera.

I, meanwhile, grabbed the rod, trying to slow the fish’s run because if the Marlin kept taking line at that speed, we’d lose it. The battle was on—an epic, gladiatorial contest, with odds heavily in favor of the Marlin. Most yachts never land a Marlin, and I knew we had our work cut out for us.

Ironically, I hadn’t set out to catch a Marlin. If I had, I would’ve used a much larger lure and hook. I fully expected the fish to throw the hook, especially in those first critical moments when it's stronger than my line, rod, and tackle. Patience is key here—if you try to stop the line too quickly, it’ll snap. So, while my crew turned the boat around, we started to recover some of the line. This requires experience, and after four years at sea, I’m proud to say we’ve got it. I’d even go so far as to claim we’re among the most experienced fishing cruisers I know.

Sorry, I digress. We had the fish hooked, the boat turned, and the battle was on. But the wind had picked up to 15-18 knots, and we still had the full mainsail up. Every time the wind caught it, the boat started sailing again, pulling the line dangerously close to the rudders and propellers. After an hour, I asked my crew to drop the mainsail. Normally, I’d help with this, but today it was up to Alex (11 years old) and Delphine, with Arabella still at the helm. They did an outstanding job, and once the sail was down, we finally gained the upper hand in the fight.

The Marlin fought to the very end, but just as we got the gaff into it, the line broke. I was left holding the fish by the gaff on the stern of our surging yacht. In the end, we landed the beauty—a 235 cm long, 125 kg fish. It’s the smallest of the four Marlins we’ve caught over the years, but that was a blessing since our freezer is already packed. Surprisingly, we didn’t have any fish in the freezer before this catch—my wife had mentioned it just the day before, a rare occurrence in our sailing life. That comment didn’t age well!

Catching a Marlin always brings mixed emotions. We all feel some sadness for the beautiful creature, but when Meimei starts digging into the sashimi, we remember that this is what we eat, and we appreciate it. The only downside? I won’t be allowed to fish for a while!

After the two-hour battle came four hours of processing. This included an excellent biology lesson, as larger fish offer a great opportunity to study their anatomy. We cut steaks from the tail section (perfect for the braai later), filleted the rest, and made a huge pot of fish soup from parts of the head and dorsal fin. We then vacuum-sealed the remaining fillets and packed them away. Nothing was wasted—a tribute to my late stepfather, who taught me the right way to fillet a fish.

I’m writing this at sunrise the next day, and we haven’t hung the biltong yet because the sea got a bit rough yesterday afternoon, but I’ll share pics in tomorrow’s update.

After catching the Marlin, we raised the sails again and continued west until around 3 p.m., when we dropped sails and pointed into the wind for our 24-hour motor south. This was part of our plan, given the forecast, but we had hoped for no wind during this leg. Instead, we still had 12-14 knots, and the sea state was quite rough as we navigated a 3-knot southerly current and opposing wind. It was exciting watching Arabella rise and fall over 3+ meter swells, though it’s not something a person prone to seasickness would enjoy!

Right now, the conditions are much better—the current and wind have shifted slightly, and the sea is calm. As I sit here, watching my girls sleep on the flybridge, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll miss this life when we finish sailing.