Grief and Forgiveness

Monday, May 12, was not a great day.

We sailed from Dewey at about 6 a.m., headed for the British Virgin Islands. We had decided to give St. Thomas a pass as even cruisers didn't have much to say for it. It's reported to be great if you need to shop, but very commercial. I thought the main city's name, Charlotte Amalie, was rather beautiful, but got over it when I heard a cruiser on the radio pronounce it like Charlotte O'Malley. So, we decided our next stop would be Jost Van Dyke where we'd clear customs and immigration into the BVI.

We had a fair wind and, as usual, a beautiful sunny day. I think the last time we'd had any real rain was back in the DR. The wind was blowing 18 to 20 kts, but only just allowed us to steer the course toward St. Thomas and, beyond it, Jost. We were making 7 kts which is what WW requires to fish, so over went our lure and a length of 65-lb test.

In this area, all the islands are so close you can see them from each other. We sailed up the east side of Culebra, past the many small offshore cays where snorkelling is said to be wonderful. We could see Sail Rock off our starboard side. It looks remarkably like...a sail. It's out in the middle of nowhere. One can only wonder.

The sail was going splendidly. We were slashing along. Then a fish struck. I looked back and saw the line fly through the air. I thought, "Uhoh, it's big if it can jump that high." Then I realized what a terrible thing had happened. We'd caught a bird. A big, brown, desperate, terrified seabird who had innocently gone after our lure. I will not go into details. We cut it free, but the odds are very much against its having survived.

With apologies for the language, it's epitaph, from me, was, "O God. It's fucked."

WW gave the Amen with, "Yes."

We were shocked, horrified. I can't describe the guilt, shame, and pain I felt. I banned fishing and WW agreed (for a time). The day remained light and bright, but I couldn't stop thinking about that poor bird. We didn't even know what kind it was. We'd seen laughing gulls, pelicans, brown boobies, terns, petrels...it was none of those.

We sailed on, the wind rising to over 20 kts as we started between Dutchman's Cap and Cockroach Cay. Suddenly, we were joined by about 10 birds, flying in our lee, getting a bit of respite from the blow. We looked at each other in something between horror and joy. They were the same type of bird as the one we had caught. Red-footed boobies in their brown phase (they also have a white phase). They soared around us, dove feet-first into our wake after whatever we'd churned up, zipped and zinged around our mast, tucked themselves in by the jib for a glide. My indispensable bird book says they are "abundant near remote roosting and nesting islands", of which Dutchman's Cap and Cockroach Cay are probably examples.They were, like those earlier swallows, almost close enough to touch. They stayed with us for several minutes, until we were too far from their roosting/nesting cays, I guess. It was really thrilling to share the wind with them for those few minutes.

I looked at WW and said, "It feels like a kind of forgiveness."

He agreed.