“WHAT’S that?”
“What’s what?”
Captain Hunk was in his dolphin pose, sleeping
with half his brain. “That,” he said, pointing. “At
one o’clock. Four boat lengths away.”
Something was f loating in Whig Channel.
Something pink, about half a metre long.
He roused himself and squinted at the water.
“It looks like a fish.”
Sea Guide continued to scoot along, leaving
the object bobbing in its wake.
“I think it is a fish.”
“Let’s go back.”
“OK let’s.”
We gybed Sea Guide and glided back towards
the f loating snapper. For that is what it indeed
was. And soon it would be our snapper.
When I say we gybed, I mean Capt.
Hunk gybed. Not being purists, we were
motorsailing into a gentle breeze. He wound
in the roller furler, sheeted the main in hard
and motored us around, in a semi-controlled
manner, while I gaped at his competence and
sat on my hands.
What little I know about handling a boat
would only have added to the chaos.
I picked up our landing net, leant over the side
and scooped, marvelling at the weight of the
fish in the net. It pulled me over the rail, almost
plunging me headfirst into the sea and baptising
me like Jesus. Capt. Hunk grabbed me by the
back of my shorts and f lip-f lopped me and the
fish onto the deck.
“That was a cunning stunt,” said my man.
I recovered my dignity and resisted the urge
to deck him.
The snapper lay still, but freshly dead, with
a chewing gum balloon blown out its mouth.
“I think someone must’ve hooked it, then lost
it,” said Capt. Hunk, “but look, its swim bladder67
HIGH SEAS
A good cook
keeps a good
lookout.
SUZY COOK PUTS HER NAUTICAL KNOWLEDGE TO THE TEST AND DISCOVERS
IT IS SPAT OUT LIKE THROUGH AN IMPELLER SO, ALTHOUGH SHE KNOWS
LITTLE, SHE FEELS PRETTY COOL.
Rules of the road at sea
SUZY COOK