Posted from Majuro 6 months later Fish of the day August 31, 2015 Janet "We got a fish, we got a fish!" David high-fived me for the fifth time in a row. The drought was broken. Ten minutes earlier, David idly pulled the fishing line in. Just to have a look. Just in case. This line that we had towed for thousands of luckless miles. "We've got a fish! Get me the gaff!" he yelled. I fumbled in the cockpit locker and eventually got the right one. David drove the hook into the fish and hefted it into the cockpit. What a beast, a beautiful beast. 1.2 metres of thrashing muscle and tail. David deftly stuck a knife in its head to slow it down, blood spurting over the walls and floor of the cockpit. He quickly transformed the fish into steaks, reserving the head to freeze and to give to someone at the next village. The heads are savoured here. Butchering complete, it took several bucket loads of seawater to sluice the cockpit free of blood and guts. For the next few miles I planned the menu; Kokoda (Fijian marinated fish) for an entree, and walu steaks for mains that night. Then fish soup the next day, made extra special with Simon Gault fish stock, accompanied by an aioli flavoured with anchovy and parmesan. *** Earlier that morning we'd left Musket Cove on Malolo Island, in the Mamanucas, heading towards the Yasawas, with Lynnis on board. Lynnis is a friend from Kerikeri, veteran of two Pacific crossings and several smaller sojourns. We met Lynnis and husband Neil in a marina in Samoa in 2010. An adventurous soul, at 71 she recently circumnavigated Durville Island (top of Marlborough Sounds) in a kayak. After a few futile attempts to sail we resigned ourselves to motoring, weaving in and out of the coral reefs. We were curious about a vivid white shape, a crescent moon floating in the distance. David climbed the mast and identified it as a sandy cay. Back in the cockpit he asked, "Fancy snorkeling on that?" "Yes please" we chorused. I slowly took the boat over towards where the tip of the moon disappeared into the sea. We expected a gradual shallowing of the bottom. David was on the bow preparing to drop the anchor. "21 metres," I called to David. And then it happened. Here's David's description from the bow: Motoring slowly up to a sandy cay to swim and explore, I prepared to drop the anchor. Below the bow I saw corals, purple and pink tipped staghorns, huge spirals of yellow green tabletop, turquoise parrotfish lazing in the fissured canyons, yellow and black striped angelfish hanging motionless and tiny electric blue fish darting about. All right there. "REVERSE REVERSE REVERSE REVERSE REVERSE REVERSE FUCKING REVERSE!!!" I yelled. The prop desperately gripped the sea. The boat slowed, kissed the coral, and backed into deep blue water. We're missing a square inch of antifouling from the bottom of the keel and several years off our lives. *** Janet We were clear. I felt pretty shaky. This was our first grounding on coral. We'd joined what they call the HTC club around here (Hit The Coral). It's got a big membership. The received wisdom is that its not whether you will hit the coral but when you hit the coral. Little did we know we had more to come. We motored back out and Lynnis and I donned our fins and snorkels and swam in to the cay, David keeping Navire a safe distance off. We swam through the deep blue till suddenly a sheer coral wall appeared before us. No wonder the depth sounder didn't see it coming. After a long swim across the coral shelf we waded onto a tiny mound of sand, such a bright white I could barely see when I took my mask off. We left the first footprints on the unsullied sand. I was idly thinking about what it would be like for a shipwrecked sailor there when two jet skis turned up with tourists from a nearby resort. So much for having to survive for months on reef fish. We slid back into the water exploring bright coral, pinks, yellows, blues, and the shimmering soft corals Fiji is famous for, littered with swarms of tropical fish. Then the long swim out to Navire. *** That night we anchored at a bay between Vanua Levu (not the big island) and Navadra. I repaired to the galley and started chopping and squeezing. First course Kokoda. After marinating the fish in lemon juice for half an hour I squeezed it dry and added freshly made coconut cream, red onion, chilli, cucumber and tomato. Just divine. For the next course I fried the thick steaks David had carved off the mighty walu. Sweet and succulent. After a rolly night on anchor we continued heading north-west to Kuata, the southernmost island of the Yasawas. Another rolly night was had there and we continued on to the north end of Naviti, anchoring off Somosomo Village. *** I keep peering into the bucket at my feet as I sit here and type in the cockpit. Yes they are still there in all their painted glory. I'm in heaven. An hour ago David called us up to the cockpit. "Look what these guys have got," he said. A local boat, a fibre as they are called around here, packed with ten Fijian men, had pulled alongside. One of them held up two crayfish, still kicking. "$50 for two" he said. We got them for $35FJD and a packet of biscuits. I have plans for these babies which involve roasting them and serving with fresh aoli. *** We motored into the village at Somosomo and did sevusevu with the 90 year-old female chief. Ande was one of the liveliest nonagerians I'd ever met. She spoke no English yet her eyes sparkled and she engaged with us. Her granddaughter translated for us. Lynnis hatched the idea of paying for a boat to take us the south end of the island and swim with the manta rays. Up early the next morning to catch the high tide, our fibre (local long-boat) pulled up alongside and we piled in with our snorkeling gear. The ride down was scintillating with the longboat and its 40 horsepower engine flying over the arrestingly shallow coral. The coral to which we hd given a wide berth on our way up. As we came around the bottom corner of the island the pass was littered with boats, and dozens of people in the water with masks and snorkels on. We were in the right place. Snorkeling gear on, we fell over the side into the melee. Our boat man pointed into the depths at a ray. I was disappointed. I thought, "Huh, I see these all the time in the Sounds, what's the big deal?" But as I swam further along with the crowd I looked down and there, two meters below me, was a huge black thing that resembled a 747. No, more like a stealth bomber, with its wide black wings, nodules sticking out of its forehead and long skinny tail. Then there were three of them. Floating right under me. It was pretty special. *** Lynnis cooked that night. I do like guests who cook and do dishes. And she not only cooked but it was a completely a locally sourced meal - breadfruit chips to go with our pina coladas, then mashed breadfruit with coconut cream, grated and squeezed by David, raw pumpkin salad, and more fish steaks. Delicious.