It’s hard to know where to start. This trip was an open mind exercise to see if my future lay somewhere new. Not just a geographic exploration,             but a spiritual, economic, and I owe it to myself one.

It was a shot for nothing , a freebie if you like. The Virus set me free, it was time to live my childhood dream and sail.

Part of that dream included surviving on Fish, so a trip to the shop in Donnington has me set up with a rod and some lures to trail from the back           of the boat whilst sailing.

These lures look like small shiny fish, with sets of aggressive looking hooks at each end.

I hoped they would catch me some Dorade, as I had done as a teenager sailing the Biscay with my Uncle and family.

Some years on from my career in Fashion and Pop Culture,  quite a way into my second decade as a Chef, I was truly hoping to discover and                   rediscover the tastes and smells of France Portugal, and Spain.

I know I’m not alone in saying this, but Lockdown number 1 in Spring was a wonderful time. I had a good job that was extremely rewarding,                     coupled with a four days on four days off schedule. This facilitated many sunny day cycles around Chichester Harbour. The season was blessed             with fine weather, but there was an extraordinary explosion of life happening all around.

There were no boats moving, so the water settled, and its clarity and colour was a spectacle alone. Plants and trees seemed to have an extra                 foot of growth, and flotillas of Swans paraded majestically as if they were now in charge.

The clear Sky and Silence will probably never be experienced again.

Moving on to September, and things are looking a little different.

Having completed the Glut fest that was the “Eat out to help out”fiasco, I was more than ready for this new adventure.

My first sightings of this most misnamed bird were travelling along the Normandy coast.

Its flight so graceful, white with wing tips of brown, THE GANNET. Rhymes with Janet, or Prannit, oh why such an ugly name for such an elegant             creature.

Unlike other sea birds, their flight is so graceful, they swoop down to pass, with a fly by in groups of two or three. 

Then panic, also rhymes a bit, especially as they then demonstrate their skills in diving for fish.

Not a problem, if you are just observing, in an ornithological way. It is a problem however, if the fish they are diving for is the one on the end of             your rod.

The man in Donnington did not warn me of this peril.

OK, so I reeled that wish in so fast it catapulted out of the water and nearly took Eva’s eye out. My heart was racing as the impending                               catastrophe was avoided.

We kept catching mackerel on the hand line, so my dream was being fed.

Moving further along the time line, and we are now in Lockdown 2. This time it’s in France, and only a short swim from Spain.

If plans had one slightly more without incident, we could have found ourselves in Bilbao, but fortune was on side and all is without stress. A                   massive beach, and a solitary local “Carefour” Minimarket shop, have now, along with the beautiful bay of Chingudy, kept us remarkably sane.

What I have so far failed to mention, is that our passage had been halted by fears of a Killer Whale encounter. 

We first heard rumours from text messages, which I thought to be yet more ridiculous Conspiracy type of news that we have now all become so           familiar with.

But it turns out to be a real thing. I have read and watched footage over the last few weeks and have come to a very sad conclusion.

I think the the rogue Orca’s, three main ones in a pod of thirteen, have learnt that where there is a boat there is likely to be food. It’s not hard to           research about fish movements that correlate to the Whale appearances. The trouble is however, these intelligent creatures have learned that             the fishing methods used to catch Tuna, present them with a free meal.

So where there is a boat, there might be a meal. So thinks my Whale.

We are stuck anyhow, and watching way too much television.

Last night we watched a documentary on Netflix, about how the only way to beat the system was to become Vegan.  It had my mind racing.

Why did we have to discover that Brittany’s beaches are clogged with killer algae? Why indeed, through all my efforts, did we only catch                           Mackerel? 

The pollution from Agriculture is killing the beaches, the fish are no longer there, and the worst thing of all, I am reminded of something I hoped           would evaporate from my memory.

Soon after leaving La Rochelle, I replace the lure on my fishing rod to a smaller slimmer version, in light of a total failure with the previous one.

It flits about and I let out more line to help it sink further. Then without warning the wind picks up and we start to pile on the speed.

I lean in to check the navigation instruments, well iPad in our case, and we are over six knots.

Turning round in anticipation of winding in the tackle , bam, there it is. We caught a Seagull.

Horrified, and not sure what to do, we observe the flock trying to assist the struggling creature. I pick the rod up and the bird goes down,                         speechless,  watching not knowing what to do. A few minutes pass, and finally the line snaps, and the ordeal changes to what now?

Yes I thought to turn round, but there is no way we could have got hold of the creature, and eventually we decided we had killed the Seagull,                 and would have it on our consciences forever.

RIP DEAR SEAGULL, IM VERY SORRY, I SHOULD HAVE LEARNED FROM THE GANNET.