Skid on Squid – We’re starting to see flying fish again. Usually they bust out of the sea and fly away from the boat, sometimes there are 5 and sometimes 500. Some are 3 inches long and some are 13. The speed of the boat seems to scare them up -- the faster the boat, the more flying fish. I used to sail a bit on a trimaran that had a large deck and was, of course, faster than Woodwind. Some mornings after an overnight sailing we’d have a dozen or so flying fish on deck. Seems at night they are just as likely to fly at the boat as away from it.

I recently heard about a lady who got stabbed at sea by a needlefish, sort of a giant flying fish. Dang thing flew right up on the boat and stuck it’s needle nose right between her ribs and punctured a lung. It’s not dangerous enough out here already? I have another friend who always goes below deck when he sails under a bridge, expecting to get brained by chunks of exhaust pipe or cement or whatever. No bridges out here, though.

Two days ago I found 15 to 20 small squid on deck. I stepped on one and went for a skid. More danger! As soon as the sun hits them they dry up, and by the end of the day all that’s left is something that looks like a small peace of inky Saran wrap. Some people eat them … and I’m not talkin’ about calamari from a fine restaurant like Bahama Breeze, I’m talking about a goofy bug-eyed mini-monster from the deep, that’s equivalent to the bugs smashed on your car’s grill after driving cross-country.

We knew some Canadian cruisers who ate everything! Deck squid, sea cucumber, sea urchin. I was happy to go over to their schooner for a beer, but I was not too quick to eat their experimental seafood. I’ll stick with a steamed filet of freshly caught fish … fish with one tail! Throw in some garlic and, bango, that’s good eatin’!

Speaking of eating freshly caught fish, we cooked up the flying fish a few times on the trimaran, but not on Woodwind. By the time she’s going fast enough to scare them onto the boat, there’s usually white water sweeping over the decks and washing them right off again.

Bruce

Special on Bananas Today, Ma’am -- Cruisers take provisioning so seriously they’ve turned it into a science. In any anchorage there is a grapevine oozing stories, tips, and insider information on where to get the best selection and best bargain on food that hopefully won’t have to be hauled too far. On our last stop in the U.S. before heading south we encountered the most frenetic shoppers. Many think they’ll never find American style cheese or peanut butter again, not to mention rice without weevils. They know American beer is a great trading tool in Mexico and a bottle of scotch can be a valuable payoff to unfriendly officials south of the border.

We’re not immune to this overzealous shopping frenzy. During September in San Diego, we rowed around the anchorage swapping discoveries with our new cruiser best friends, who in turn would swing by Woodwind after a foray into town with hot news-flashes about stores we just had to visit. On one of our last days, we boarded the local bus 6 times, visiting 7 stores in an effort to place the last layer of food on a boat already laden with provisions. We probably have enough on board to make the trip to Panama and back numerous times. It might sound like gluttony, but it’s simply insurance and safety.

The last time we made a long passage, from Costa Rica north to Washington State, we topped off our canned and packaged stores with an entire dinghy load of fresh fruit and veggies from the local outdoor market. Bunches of bananas, papaya, oranges, plantain, melon and roots galore kept us in fresh food all the way home. One day on that sail, I went on deck to grab some items for dinner and out flew a moth the size of my head. That food was indeed fresh from the jungle!

We have a dilemma today, though. Almost every fresh item we purchased in San Diego was ready to be eaten yesterday. We questioned buying produce that’s been kept in cold storage for long periods, since we don’t have any chilled storage onboard. It was a risk we took and a risk we’ll eat.

The bananas are the most ripe -- the ones I specifically hunted down in their green and starchy state. In their mushy but not yet rotten condition, we’ve turned them into faux milkshakes and pancake sauce and combined them with peanut butter to fill a sandwich. Dealing with ripe bananas isn’t new for us.

Almost 3 decades ago, when we began sailing together in the Caribbean aboard a 21-ft. engine-less island sloop, we frequented the island of Dominica. Back then, bananas ruled this small country and the Geest Company was king. Every once in a while a Geest ship would encounter a delay. The cases of bananas stacked sky high on shore couldn’t wait for the vessel to arrive, and knowing that a ship full of rotting bananas could bring rodents and insects, the workers would simply launch the cases into the sea. For those of us anchored off the island, we’d have our pick of boxes, as literally hundreds floated by.

But our favorite banana caper happened on the island of St. Barts (long before Gucci and Buffett discovered it.) Back then, island boats would sail into the inner harbor, tie stern to the tiny quay, and the ladies on board would sit onshore under a jumbo umbrella selling their gardens’ best. (St. Barts’ inner harbor is now totally surrounded by cement quays lined with mega-yachts; no island boats there, mon.)

Artist and sailor, Buck Smith, had just arrived from Dominica for the 4th annual St. Barths Sailing Regatta, organized by Lou Lou Magras, owner and proprietor of Lou Lou’s Marine Store. In Dominica, Buck and his wife, Becky, had experienced the floating banana crates and couldn’t take just one. They filled their boat inside and out and sailed to St. Barts as fast as they could, then offered their treasure to the Regatta, so every entrant would leave with a prize ... a case of bananas!

After the 3rd and final day of racing and consumption, Lou Lou stood on a platform outside his store next to the quay where several sailboats were moored. The cases of bananas were neatly stacked behind him. He was in the middle of a ceremony, honoring his many friends with jokes and jibes, when a Bertram-like stinkpot (a vessel with no sails) began noisily backing down toward the crowd, attempting to tie to the one empty spot left at the quay. The skipper and crew of the encroaching vessel seemed totally oblivious to the now riled crowd. Shouts of “Get outta here,” went unnoticed. Apparently, the skipper couldn’t hear the crowd over his engines and just kept coming closer and closer. It looked like trouble was about to erupt when it happened …

One lone banana flew from the stage area and hit the boat’s deck. In seconds, the air turned the most lovely shade of yellow, as a torrent of bananas flew at the Bertram, covering it with a thick layer of gooey smashed fruit. The crew on board tried shielding themselves from the onslaught until, finally, the captain shoved the engines into forward and shot the boat away from the pier and out to the harbor. The crowd, of course, went crazy. The bananas were gone, but the story still lives on.

Jan