We are on our way south, more or less, slowly making our way towards Ile De Pins.
At Baie De La Torture, some friendly Aussies popped over to torture us with their accents. They had spotted us out by a reef where Michelle was sunbathing on the dinghy and I was spearfishing. “Did yeer keel anything?” they asked. We shook our heads and conceded we hadnt speared a thing. These Aussies, however, were fair dinkum killers, so we agreed that we would head over to their place for a feed of Billaroo aboard The Cray Trout… no, wait, it was a feed of cray and trout aboard Billaroo!
The Killers suggested that we come along with them the next morning, to a spot a few miles away, where we could dive the reef with the experts and fill our freezer with sea bounty. We made a plan to leave at 8am or 9am or talk in the morning on channel 16 or channel 72 or… something.
At around 8.30, the killers upd anchor and putted away. We discussed this for the next hour and half and wondered if we had made some inappropriate joke, or just missed the departure call, or what? Maybe they had decided to have a quiet killing session all by their lonesome? Maybe they tried to call before we turned on the VHF? Maybe the Sheila had gotten itchy and killed the geezer in the night and was making a run for it? Our wild hypothesise were finally interrupted by a call on the radio.. “Are you guys having a big sleep in, or do you have some kind of problem?”
OK, we clearly missed something. We whipped up our anchor and headed out of the anchorage towards the reef. Only a hundred meters out from the protected bay, the wind picked up so we cut the engines and sailed along at 5 knots with only the headsail. With only a couple of miles to travel, I decided this was my perfect opportunity to try out Paddle Ski Sail Boarding! I grabbed a rope, threw a paddle on to the board (just in case), and made a spectacular running start. 5 knots is less than 10kph, but when youre bouncing around on the waves and trying to step from a boat to a paddle board, its a bit entertaining. However, I made it over and was soon enjoying the views from my giant inflatable single ski. It was great fun and my technique was improving. I was carving it up and then the just-in-case paddle left the board. My brain froze for a moment, but I had to let go of the rope and stay near the paddle or it would be lost forever! I yelled something to Michelle, let go of the rope, and watched as the boat sailed away. Now I was too far from the paddle to reach it and the boat was sailing away at a fair ole clip! Michelle was prepared for this and pulled the boat into the wind, furled away the head sail and started the engines. I made some half-hearted attempts at a surfer style paddle towards my floating stick, but I was rapidly being blown downwind and my mind had created a school of hungry sharks that were waiting just below the surface to devour my limbs. So, I bravely crossed my legs and sat on the paddle board and yelled confusing instructions across the water at my rescuer. “Come and get me!”, “Keep an eye on the paddle!”, “Im over here!”… What ever would she do without my helpful guidance? Libertalia was now somewhere near the lost paddle, but her skipper was demanding rescue, so Michelle dutifully left it floating and came to pluck me from the hungry jaws of my imagination. In my defence, the sharks were reaaally hungry, and I figured that two crew on board was going to make everything a lot easier and safer for part 2 of the rescue.
Fifteen minutes later, I radioed the killers and told them of a rare and wild carbon paddle fish that could be caught in these waters. This was enough to lure them to our aid and four people aboard two boats spent the best part of the next hour hunting this elusive creature. We zigged and zagged, prayed and peered and beat back the demons that wanted to steal our hope and play the blame game. Eagle Eyes was clinging to the mast and scouting from atop the boom. I forced myself to keep some kind of search pattern and scouted with binoculars. We raced downwind to some playing dolphins and asked if they had our paddle,, but they were playing their own game and had nothing useful to contribute. The killers suggested we go back to the scene of the crime so we headed back upwind toward a spec of sea that looked just like all the rest. Our GPS guided us and we slowly drove the boat straight towards a waypoint that would later be renamed to “Davy Jones Paddle”. Billaroo was weaving some strange aboriginal trail behind us and leaving great S trails in their wake. They mostly avoided our track, figuring there was not much point in covering exactly the same patch of water.
Then the radio squealed something… I played the noise back in my head… wait, I think that was a Sheila… what did she say? I played it in my head again… “Eeets hee-ar!”… I rolled the sound around in my head again… “Its here!”. You have got to be kidding me!? They found it!? I spun my head and it looked like the killers had slowed down. They were not far off our starboard stern and I played the sound over one more time to be sure before calling out to the admiral “Theyve found it!”.
We stood on the foredeck, clapped and cheered as our paddle was plucked from the sea and brought safely aboard. The needle had been found! The haystack was no match for the diligence of our new friends. We must have passed by the paddle only 40-50 meters away.
This is why we have AIS PLBs inside our lifejackets. If a person goes overboard at sea without one, there is little hope of even finding them, let alone saving them. The first rule of ocean sailing is “Stay on the boat”, but if you ever do break the rule, I hope you have every bit of technology and know-how you can muster, working to keep you alive. I pray I never have to search the sea for anything more precious than a paddle!

With our paddle safely in their possession, The Killers decided we would need to prove ourselves worthy before any transfer could take place. A vague destination was agreed, the sails were hoisted, and we danced for 12 nautical miles. Of course, we were just having a relaxed cruise, but the sails were trimmed just right and there was no time for idle banter. The lead changed hands numerous times and we jostled for position. Libertalia took a longer course, looking for more wind out further from land. It paid dividends, but then we got distracted and lost our wind at a critical juncture. We were neck and neck going into the final few miles and we made another move that cost us boat lengths. Their bigger boat accelerated past 9 knots, reaching in the higher winds. We were pointing high and fighting to keep in the game as our courses converged. The end was in sight and Billaroo was barely ahead as we entered the long Bonne Anse inlet. We were accelerating again and only the exact placement of the finish line would determine who would collect the honours.
…but of course, we were just having a relaxed cruise, so we meandered into Anse Majic, dropped our sails and prepared our boats for the evening.
We had proven ourselves worthy and Davy Jones Paddle could come home with his paddle-head held high.