HORS SÉRIE – Partie de pêche en Atlantique

Battle at sea

Twelfth day of transatlantic 17° 49.472' N  31° 22.608' W

At Jybe, we decided to tell you everything and some stories are worth the detour. After the two articles about the crossing, we thought it would be interesting to come back to a particularly juicy anecdote. The following text was written by Leo on November 21. He tells his family about a fishing trip that marked all three of us.

“Je prenais mon quart de 17-20h quand d’un coup, j’entends le criquet de la canne sonner. Émilien était dans la cuisine et Lucas écrivait à Lauriane. Je reconnais immédiatement ce son. Là je regarde la canne ; elle est pliée en deux et le fil est tendu comme une arbalète.

Suddenly, I see him. He jumps up as if to greet me. A huge fish, jaillit de l’eau paisible, 40 m derrière le bateau. Coincé à tenir la barre, je crie à Émilien “ça mord !” il comprend immédiatement que c’est sérieux. Il se rue sur la canne et la libère de son support. À cet instant, la bête tire violemment et j’entends le moulinet qui s’emballe. Émilien a du mal à tenir la canne de ses deux mains.

Seeing that the situation is tense, I let go of the helm, taking the precaution of blocking it beforehand. I put myself with Emilien at the back of the boat and I start to help him; the fight is on. The rod looks like a comma and the line is as tight as a guitar string. Émilien also tells me that the reel is damaged. A screw (obviously important) has come loose from the assembly and has fallen into the sea. We manage to get some line back with four hands.

The fight is not unequal. The beast is unleashed and pulls on the thread as if to tear it off. We finally see her again. As we imagined what we had at the end of the line, it appeared. A coryphene dorado! I recognize it immediately. It must be said that this kind of fish is recognizable; its body is long and flat and its head bulging.

It's not a fish shaped like a bullet, but rather like a Soviet submarine from World War II. There are also these colors. The body is a sparkling green, bright, toned, almost acidic. Its fins are yellow and a beautiful gradation links the trunk of the extremities. This one is huge, around 5 ft, I am surprised by the size of the animal.

For several minutes now the fight has been going on. We hold on and take advantage of each drop in the animal's vivacity to regain ground. We go up centimeters by centimeters this monster of the oceans. It is not a simple task; with the reel broken, we had to turn the line spool by hand. Emilien and I are starting to get muscle spasms and Lucas helps us to give us some slack on the line.

Finally, we manage to bring the animal a few feet behind the boat. We see it, proud and snarling. With the surface of the water, we have the impression to see it in double. No, more like in triple. It is then that we realize that this mirage is not a mirage; the dorado is accompanied by its congeners. A small dozen fish followed and surrounded the boat. The show is beautiful and impressive.

These fish do not seem to be there for support, but rather to challenge us. Some of them jump out of the water horizontally and hit the waves with their tails when they fall back. They show us their strength and splendor. They remind us of the wild side of a nature that we try to tame.

Galvanized, I grabbed an underwater hunting harpoon. The fish are there, three feet behind the boat, Emilien is not sure to reel in our adversary and the desire to fish one of his monsters takes hold of me. We were already imagining the feasts to come.

With that thought, I cock the gun. I grasp the butt of the gun firmly and aim at a fish. For a short time i wonder if I can do it. Je place mon doigt sur la détente et le coup part. Manqué. Je réarme le fusil et je réitère l’essai. Manqué. Comme pour me narguer, une dorade vient faire mine de manger le bout du harpon. Je comprends que je n’en aurais pas comme ça. Les animaux se tiennent à distance sous l’eau et la diffraction rend la visée hasardeuse.

So we resume our traditional fishing. The dorado is always there, but does not weaken. It is now 10 feett behind the boat. We see the leader. We know that this moment is critical, because the shorter the line is, the more likely it is to break. Moreover, we don't know how to reel the beast in. Already, it would be impossible to lift it with the rod out of the water without breaking the line.

I put myself on the back platform with the intention of catching it. The maneuver seems impossible because the animal is so big and it struggles so much. I will have to be quick and grab it with all my strength. While struggling, the dorado will probably give me blows. If it has any, maybe its backbones will stick in my arms and in my chest. we won't let go. Not after such a long fight.

This is the moment. I grab the line to pull the animal towards me. The maneuver is tricky and the fish seemed to know it. With a deft flipping of the fin, it goes from starboard aft to port aft. At this point, I'm across the line and trying to move it from one side to the other, but what had to happen happened: the line broke. Emilien screams with rage and I am left stunned to watch the animal go away victorious. The line is broken, the link between the animal and us has been broken, the fight is over.

Our hope is always present. We are still surrounded by the school of dorados and Emilien has not forgotten it. Compulsively, he opens the tackle box and takes out a new bait and a new leader. We reel in our line in less than a minute and a half. Motivated, we put the bait back in the water ; tonight we will eat fish.

It didn't take long before a new fight started. The fish were jumping out of the water at the sight of the lure. The reel being in a bad state, we let go a lot of line when the dorado bites. It is not serious. Based on our previous experience, we decide to change our strategy and to tire the fish.

Just like its fellow creatures, the animal is lively. It jumps, dives and struggles like a demon. On our side, excitement is combined with caution. We go up slowly and with difficulty every inch of line. The fight will be long and to help us, Lucas puts skilful strokes with the heelm to slacken the line when we bring it up.

After many efforts, the animal is at about ten meters from us. The sun starts to be low and the changing light allows us to rediscover the colors of the animal. It swims on the surface and lets its bright yellow caudal fin protrude, which contrasts with the deep blue of the ocean. The animal is tired. We move up the line and it is only six feet behind us. The dorado seems to be dead, but we know that it is a subterfuge: as soon as I get close to it, it will fight and break the line.

At that moment an idea came to us; what if we used a sail bag as a net? These bags are big enough to fit a five-foot fish in and are made of fabric and mesh, which will let the water out. With the animal tired on the surface, I would slide the bag underneath and pull up to trap it. The idea sounded good.

I grabbed a bag and placed myself on the platform. I throw the bag into the water holding it firmly and there, surprise, the animal which was obviously not dead moves away from the bag. Nothing really surprising. I try to sink the bag to pass it under the fish, in vain. The dorado, clever as a monkey, slips under the bag. The taut line rubs on the zipper and like in a bad movie, breaks.

All this happened in less than five seconds. This time I'm the one screaming with rage. I don't even see the fish leaving. I don't see any more fish around the boat. Our hopes for fresh fish seem to have vanished as quickly as they arrived. A dorado jumps away as if to taunt us. We reel in yet another line and in a last ditch effort let the bait go.

A few moments later, it was a strong remorse. Very strong. Si fort que l’hameçon se décroche et s’envole. Il monte au ciel et fuse à toute allure en notre direction. Il passe au-dessus de nos têtes et se prend dans un hauban. En une seconde, le poisson en plastique lesté d’environ 250 grammes venait de voler une trentaine de mètre pour nous revenir sur le pont. C’en était trop ; nature was stronger than the three of us. It was not our day and this last event showed us that.

We were depressed, but excited about what had just happened to us. We untied the line and put it back in the water because "you never know" but without much conviction. The rod was put back on its support and I returned to the bar. We ate the meal prepared by Emilien, imagining what we would have done with so much fish. Strangely, we did not have the bitter taste of defeat, but rather that of excitement and revenge. We will have our revenge. Sure of that, we imagine other strategies to get the animal out of the water. It is on this vision that we went to bed.”

Since this adventure, we have equipped ourselves with more adequate fishing equipment. We received a new cane from Nathanael's family and we even got a gaff as a gift that will allow us to bring the fish on board more easily. Apparently, the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean are full of fish; we look forward to checking it out.