Tortola to Leverick Bay, Virgin Gorda

The wind, rain and rough seas keep me awake for half the night (or so it seems anyway).  Almost immediately after breakfast we get ourselves ready and are away by 8.00 – anything to get out of the rock and roll of Sea Cows Bay.

We decide not to call in at Road Town for supplies and head straight for Virgin Gorda.  The wind is still strong and the boat is covered with salt spray almost immediately we set off but at least the sun puts in a partial appearance and we end up having a really good sail.

Just past the Dogs, off Virgin Gorda, the fishing rod makes its tell-tale whirring noise.  Our first bite!  Mike jumps to it and starts to haul it in but he realises at once that this is not a big one and indeed, might even be just a bit of seaweed.  But it turns out to be a fish, and a very lucky one at that.  Just as he is about to get it to the boat it manages to get itself off the hook.  Mike sets the line back out and minutes later a small squall develops and he has to adjust the sails.  Would you believe it, the darn line goes again so it is left to me to bring it in.  It’s not very hard work so we presume that it’s another small one.  This one stays hooked and on board it comes, straight into our cool box.  We have read all about pouring alcohol into its gills to put it out of its misery but and all we have is rum so Mike pours about 5 cocktails’ worth of Mount Gay – so now it is well and truly pickled on its way to meet its maker.

We consult the books, the internet and our little chart and think that it is a small tuna.  We photograph it, weigh it (1.6 kilos – only a tiddler) and I am very proud.  All fishermen have to start somewhere!

Photo:  Jean with her first catch – a tuna?

We anchor in Leverick Bay and consult the gutting information that Jo passed on to me.  I can’t make head nor tail of it now that I have a sharp knife in my hand and Mike takes over the gutting process.  What a lot of entrails for a small fish!  The flesh is definitely tuna coloured so we hope for the best.  Once it is gutted, I take over and start to fillet it.  I do a bad job but end up with 4 very good sized steaks and a bag of little bits (which go straight in the freezer for some sort of seafood stir fry).  When I have finished, I look like some sort of crazed murderer, blood practically up to my elbows, and the cockpit looks like a massacre has taken place.  Mike hoses it down while I scrub up, feeling like Lady Macbeth.  I almost utter “out damn spot” whilst trying to get the blood out from under my fingernails.

We put 2 fillets on the barbecue and they are delicious with a salad.  Then it’s time for our afternoon nap.