Race 9 - Day 4
Crew Diary - Race 9, Day 4
13 March

I had thought about writing about how dynamics change when we have a crew change but my ability to write about it is lacking and someone with better writing skill and experience will surely be better (Jacqueline).

But instead, I can write about the complexities of flying fish. (We have been told that conversations will be much harder in the next race, due to being so cold, wet and covered up)

We were having a chat about the life of a flying fish, and were wondering whether these fish ever wonder what goes on above their watery world.

As we sail along, we evidently disturb these fish and in a flurry of frenetic energy they leap out the water and fly/skim across the surface of the sea with great skill. I got to wondering how much they actually see - clearly they can see enough to avoid and dodge the next wave. Some end up on deck… maybe their eye-sight is poor?

And so began the conversation. Below is an excerpt of questions we raised and thoughts we had.

How do the fish learn to fly? As all teenagers do, they get taken out to the closest parking lot, put on some L-plates and bunny hop until they get the handle of it all?

Do they leap out the water to see what is going on - is the grass/seaweed greener on the other side?

Have they been told fables from other flying fish of what it is like to live in a city of humans, with fancy cars and cities the size of the Great Barrier Reef?

But most of all - what are they thinking when they decide to arrive on deck? Are they bored with normal life below the sea, and want to get a first hand experience? Is it a form of flying fish extreme sport?

The other night I was sound asleep in my little bunk, when shrieking erupted on deck. I could also hear a rhythmic beating, thrashing sound. The first response is always one of danger? Has someone hurt themselves? As the rush of cortisol, adrenaline and whatever else clears the fog of sleep, I slowly realise we have been visited by the flying fish. The shrieking is then usually followed by laughing, as the rest of the crew revel in the victims panic and surprise.

Following this, said victim is then told to pick it up and dispose of Mr Fish. And so the standoff starts. The standoff is between the now thrashing fish, the victim/closest person and other crew. The closest person wants the fish gone, but doesn't want to touch the smelly, slippery thing. The fish - well it has probably realised the errors of its ways, and would very much like to go back to a quiet existence in the ocean. And the rest of the crew want entertainment, but more importantly need the fish gone, while doing no work to see the departure of the fish.

On our racing yacht we have now rigged beside our sail ties a fish flipper. This has the express role of getting rid of fish.

Generally, the standoff is somewhat resolved by the fish flipper being handed to the victim. The victim kind of approaches the general vicinity of where the fish might be, with their ineffective red light. They scurry around on all fours, fish flipper extended at maximum range, like a wand to defend against Voldemort.

Hands shaking they reach the maximum range and gently try to slide the flipper below the fish. The fish doesn't like this invasion of space and a new thrashing session begins. This sudden movement scares the bejeebers out of the victim and they recoil into a safe spot. The crew howl. This is what they paid to see in the Colosseum Ha Long Bay.

The victim moves within range again, spatula shaking slightly less, and a bit more purpose in action. The spatula is then thrust under the fish! "Huuuuurrrraaaah". The fish parries with another thrashing session and sure enough the fish ends up back on deck. Again the crowd erupt with guffaws.

The victims patience is running out. Further failed attempts are usually made.

"Just pick it up!" the crowd wail. The victim now has a dilemma - face the scorn of the crew or face the fears of a 2 ounce, 10cm monster of the deep.

Without the wand of defence, the hands are now extended at maximum possible range, and attempt to pick up a slippery moving object. Like a live bar of soap.

Four attempts later, the fish is thrown at maximum velocity out to sea, as the victim vainly attempts to assert dominance over the situation.

The fish has now gone back to the briney deep. To contemplate it's life choices and to go back to a life spent watching the telly, and working a nine to five job. It has now seen the world from a new perspective, and is content in finding a partner, and having a white picket fence house and some sprogs to teach them how to fly.

No one has yet been able to answer what does go on in the brain of a flying fish. Scientists are all too busy doing spurious things like the coronavirus vaccines to worry about such things.. Do they get their flying license? Do they fly for fun? What do they do for recreation?

Tune in next time to find out the next topic of conversation. The spatula is ready to do battle again tonight.

Tim

P.S. Jacqueline has told me she is a Pulitzer Prize winner for her writings, so expect some good stuff coming your way.