A Transatlantic Trip Teeming With Life
We sailed onto the hook in Sainte Anne Bay — off the windward island of Martinique in the southern Caribbean’s Lesser Antilles — exactly 21 days, 6 hours, and 18 minutes after leaving Ilha Brava in the Cabo Verde chain last year. The sail, of course, was spectacular!
We had lost our upper spinnaker halyard block about a week before we set off, so the voyage was mostly under mainsail only as far downwind as she would go. This was no hardship, believe me, as we made landfall on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean almost exactly 48 hours ahead of our original estimation.
The sea was blue, steady, and immense.
Three days out, we saw a small pod of giant orcas consisting of two very large animals and one small one heading in the opposite direction from us. They were on the hunt, so they had no shits to give our way. Two days later, we saw a huge pod of false killer whales, about 18 strong, again on the hunt, only this time traveling in our direction. Let me tell you, when you’re completely surrounded by giants tearing up the water around you in the middle of nowhere, the word “insignificant” takes on a whole new meaning.
On my second dog watch (3-6 a.m.) of our 12th night out, I made an incredible discovery. I looked around us and noticed quite a bit of bioluminescent activity around the boat — I mean, a lot more than usual. It seemed as though the little lights were popping off like fireworks all around us. I grabbed the spotlight, shined it on the water, and discovered we were surrounded by thousands (no, really, thousands) of yellowfin tuna, all jockeying for position under the running lights forward.
I was freaking gobsmacked! There were so many of them that it looked like they could lift the boat right out of the ocean and carry us all the way to the Caribbean. They were with us every night until we got within 60 miles of Martinique. And then, suddenly, they were gone.
Then there was the magnificent frigatebird. This animal has a tiny body with a long split tail and a seven-and-a-half-foot wingspan. They mostly hunt flying fish, and they are fairly adept at that magnificent feat. But they also do this totally crazy thing where they tap on the backs of other birds’ heads to make them puke up their last meal; then they eat it like a great big fledgling. I know it sounds totally gross, but they do it so much that it actually appears as if they prefer it to chasing those pesky flying fish. (I know, ew, right?)