It was a beautiful day but there was a strong cold wind, unfortunately coming from the wrong direction so we motor sailed up the west coast past Lisboa, Cascais, Sintra etc. The wind was a light northerly, on the nose, making the passage mildly uncomfortable, so to cheer myself up I christened Harold and cast him over the transom. At the time of writing he hadn’t caught anything yet but I had high hopes for this baby. He looked like a killer!
After stopping the engine to do an oil check the boat drifted around Berlinga Island and to my joy Harold had caught something! I couldn’t believe it! I started toying with the line, teasing it and coaxing it until the fish pulled hard. I wound the line in as best I could but it was putting up a proper fight. In fact it was pulling so hard it was almost like I’d caught a lobster pot or something. Yes! Just like a lobster pot. So much like a lobster pot, in fact, it WAS an effing lobster pot! As the boat drifted we desperately unravelled the line but it was too late. As Peter offered me the use of his knife the line snapped and Harold was lost forever.
The night watch made up for me chucking EU20 down the drain. The moon was orange and I watched it set behind a Scooby Doo cloud in the same place I’d watched the sun set nine hours earlier behind an identical cloud.