The Sargasso Sea and the Frenchman's Fish

People frequently ask the question, “Didn’t you ever get bored sailing for weeks on end across the ocean?”

I may appear simple when I answer in the negative, but I can honestly say that I cannot recall one moment of boredom. Maybe it’s because at sea I have no expectations of being entertained by someone else’s idea of entertainment.

Lure me to a fireworks display and after four or five of the things have exploded in the sky, I’m ready to go home. Perhaps because I can pretty much understand how it all works. The world we live in is different—it baffles me a great deal.

A lot of movies and the bulk of television bore me. But nature never has. Even as a kid I could sit and watch waves crashing on rocks for hours on end with my mind conjuring up all kinds of pictures and stories.

Nature is something that tends to free my imagination rather than tying it to some other person’s thoughts and ideas.

Judy

Judy (first wife) and I were drifting through the Sargasso Sea aboard our twenty-six foot Westerly Centaur. Our only routine once we arrived in calmish waters was to perform half an hour of exercise of a morning. These contortions were none too formal though—more of a laugh than anything else.

As we were well out of any shipping lanes, we kept no formal watches. Ocean-going ships adhere strictly to the lanes in the interest of fuel economy. The days were warm and sunny and neither of us had bothered with a stitch of clothing for over a week.

One day, while I was below decks enjoying an afternoon nap, Judy shook me awake. “There’s a sailboat coming toward us,” she announced.

“You’re seeing things,” I replied. “There’s no one out here but us.”

That got her. She had to poke her head out the hatch to check with the binoculars. “It is another boat,” she exclaimed.

And sure enough, something of around our size was heading directly toward us. Amazingly, if we hadn’t seen each other in that vast ocean, our bows would have clunked together. There was little wind so no damage would have resulted, but it would obviously have been quite a surprise.

As it would have been grossly improper to attend a mid-Atlantic meeting in the buff, I pulled on a pair of shorts while Judy donned a bikini and busied herself in front of a mirror with lipstick and other stuff.

A lone Frenchman was aboard the other vessel. We both dropped our sails and he plunged into the water and swam over to us bearing a full bottle of Johnnie Walker Red. Needless to say, we made him most welcome.

Judy cooked up some lunch and we spent a wonderful afternoon downing the scotch and swapping yarns. Every now and again I’d pop my head out through the hatch to see where his boat was and if it had drifted too far I’d motor closer to it.

As darkness descended, a light breeze came up. The grog was finished so we decided to go our separate ways—he toward France, Judy and I toward Canada.

For most of this voyage we had also enjoyed the company of three little blue fish swimming just in front of our bow. They were fascinating little guys and obviously had boundless energy as they held their position day and night regardless of our speed. I’ve no idea what they ate but it must have been the marine equivalent of fast-food taken on the fly.

They became our pets and we’d check up on them at regular intervals to make sure they were okay. After our mid-Atlantic meeting, we had five fish—the extra two obviously purloined from the Frenchman.

Some two months later we received a postcard from our mid-Atlantic friend. It was gratifying to note that he'd survived the remainder of his voyage, despite the loss of his fish.

(Guest editor Davina Chapman)