So much has happened since we left the tranquil shores of La Cruz, Mexico for the Garden of Eden lushness of the Marquises Islands in French Polynesia. By sailing over three thousand miles in a span of twenty-four days, our concept of time has changed. March became April as we’ve crossed five and a half time zones, and we realized just how much we missed being able to order a pizza. Our days blurred into each other, but each one was memorable in its own right. Fish were hooked, fought, and broke off. Some were landed, printed using paints and manta cloth, and served as dinner. Both Abby and Luke were able to create an accurate memory of the fish that they each caught. Abby reeled in a nice size Black Skipjack while Luke retrieved one of several colorful Dorados we caught in one afternoon. The fish print is a way to remember the brilliant colors that each of these magnificent creatures displays before turning grey and dull once out of the water. It is almost sad to watch a fluorescent green and yellow fish with bright blue spots fade to grey as its life ends. But once you taste its delicious meat, you soon forget how they died. We’ve had sashimi so fresh that the fish was still breathing while I was fileting one side and tossing chucks of Blue Fin tuna in our mouths. I’ve tested the limits of our rod and reels by hooking some massive fish, some seen and others hidden. Once I had the spinnaker out, making 7.4 knots over ground from 10.2 kts of wind, listening to some Zeppelin, taking it all in, wondering how life could get better. Just blissfully aware in the moment, loving life. If I could just hear the click of the reel indicating a fish was fooled into eating a lump of plastic and feathers, hiding a huge hook. Wham! A rod got hit, clicking the buzzer that jump starts your heart with anticipation. I set the hook on the biggest feather jig I have and start reeling in. It spools all three hundred yards of mono and starts in on the spectra backer. I get a few yards back, but it turns deep and spools over six hundred yards of the spectra. Forty-five minutes of forearm busting cranking, I’ve earned all of it back sans two hundred feet of mono by raising it to the surface for a spectacular display of acrobatic maneuvers. Abby and Lisa are trying to slow the boat down and manage to backwind the spinnaker, forcing the boat to circle hard. The line goes under the boat, hits the non-spinning prop, and I feel the dreaded pop of the line going limp. I’ve lost it. It was a massive sailfish, swordfish, or marlin. It was too far away to distinguish the species. But, it has a red and white lip piercing now. Please be on the lookout for him if you are in the south Pacific waters. I want my jig back.