I remember as a child going to hear a traveling revival preacher who was speaking at our church. He told a story of a small farming community suffering from drought. Every night the farm families would gather at the church and pray for rain. Then one night the skies opened and only one person was able to leave the church and go home - the little girl who had brought an umbrella. Obviously it was the faith of this one child that had brought the rain. I wanted to be that little girl and this led to years of religious guilt because, if prayers didn't get answered, it was because I didn't have enough faith. But I'll leave the subject of religious guilt to someone else. My story is about fish and beer. Because the other message in that parable is one that every Boy Scout knows, "Be prepared."

When making the decision to sail to Mexico instead of looking for employment, we reassured ourselves that we would be able to live modestly on cheap beer and fish tacos, assuming that Bruce would provide the fish. On the sail down the Baja peninsula we caught a small tuna and a small dorado (mahi) which was perfect for the two of us. We had lots of beer in the reefer and fish was abundant. Everything was going as planned.

Then Bruce snagged a beautiful dorado about 40 inches long. And it was a fighter. Sometimes with dorado, they'll flip on their sides when reeling them in. Once on their sides they are helpless and it makes bringing them in easy. But not this guy. He dove and jumped and fought - a spectacular sight. Bruce worked him for what seemed like an hour while I held the boat at about 1 1/2 knots. But when Bruce finally brought the fish along side, there was no way to get it on board. We didn't have a gaff hook. When Bruce tried to lift him with the fishing pole, the line snapped.

We agreed that such a beautiful fish deserved to live but Bruce didn't want it to happen again. In Cabo San Lucas, the sport fishing capital of Mexico, we looked for a gaff at the local fishing supply store. They had beautiful gaffs at fancy prices. Instead, Bruce bought a large hook for $6.00. He lashed it to our boat hook which attaches to a telescoping aluminum pole.

As we were lazing along in light air towards La Paz, Bruce put out a lure. Remembering the parable about the umbrella, I suggest to Bruce that if he REALLY expects to get a fish, he might want to put his new gaff on deck and also a knife. This advice is ignored.

Another thing I should mention about fishing, it seems you always get a strike at the least opportune time. The first big fish hit when Bruce was on the foredeck hoisting the spinnaker, which he then had to douse and secure and rush aft before all our fishing line spun off the reel. By the time he started reeling in, the fish was about a mile behind the boat! This time, just as he started reeling in, the wind picked up and the wind direction changed. I needed to slow the boat down to about 2 knots and it was a struggle. The auto pilot was useless so I had my hands full steering and easing sails, which were flapping and adding to the noise and chaos. Bruce got the fish alongside and needed the gaff which was in two pieces and stored in two different locations! I scrambled to get it put together and brought it to him but every time I left the helm, the boat would go in irons or tack through the wind. I had no idea how Bruce was going to hold onto the rod and gaff the fish at the same time. The fish still had a lot of fight left and dove under the boat. Cursing, Bruce moved back to the stern. "I'm going to have to bring it in back here," he shouted. I went forward to retrieve the gaff and bring it aft as the boat again went wildly off course. Bruce climbed over the life lines and down onto the small transom. I imagined him falling overboard with the pole and the fish and the gaff and think how I'd really rather be a vegetarian. He gaffs the fish, pulls it up and the lower telescoping section releases. He pulls it in again, and the second telescoping section releases! Bruce finally manages to pull in the fish but there's no room for it on the transom. "Throw it into the cockpit" I shout as I step out of the cockpit and forward onto the settee, now steering with the wheel behind my back. I can hear and feel the fish flopping on the cockpit floor behind me, spraying blood everywhere. "I need a knife!", Bruce shouts. Well, I think to myself, the knife is in the galley where you left it, waiting to be sharpened. Bruce is trying to hold down the fish with his thumb through the poor creature's eye and trying to kill it with the gaff hook. I relent and leave the helm and run down below to fetch the knife. Bruce gets the fish out of the cockpit and alongside where he can cut off the head. He had thrown a bucket of seawater into the cockpit so it is now awash with blood and fish gore (the boat builder didn't put drains where they need to be when the boat is heeled over!). I want to get back on course but, with the wind shift, that would be off the wind and our jib sheet is led inside the shroud for sailing close hauled. I'm afraid that, even with the sail eased and flapping, it will be too much load on the shroud. Bruce is cleaning up his mess. "As soon as you're free, we need to roll up the jib!" I tell him. Turns out he secured the fish by tying it to the jib sheet. "Throw the fish into the galley sink", I suggest. Easier said than done. Bruce manages to get the headless fish into the galley without dribbling blood everywhere and ties it off to the faucet. We get the jib rolled up and are now sailing at 7 knots with only the mainsail. Aurora, a Hyliss 46 that we have been 'racing' all day, catches up to us and calls us on the radio to confirm that the reason for our slow-down was a fish and not an equipment or crew malfunction. "Yeah, it's been like a Chinese fire drill over here", Bruce tells them on the radio. I considered that comment an undeserved insult to the Chinese.

Meanwhile, we are down to our last two beers. "You said in Cabo that we didn't need to buy beer!" Bruce says. This one is my bad. It's my job to keep the boat provisioned. I didn't think we had consumed that much beer on this trip but it has been almost three weeks since we left San Diego and it looks like we're dry. I don't know what throws me into more of a panic - running out of garlic, onions, or beer. Thank goodness we still have lots of garlic and onions. We anchor the boat and I pull the last two beers out of the nether reaches of the reefer and find a bonus third beer.

"Well, that was exciting," says Bruce, now that we are relaxing in a clean cockpit. "Think what we would have missed if we hadn't caught that fish." "What we missed," I reply, "is the best sailing of the whole day - 17 knots of wind on a broad reach." "We should probably give half this fish to Aurora" Bruce says. Aurora lost three expensive lures on the trip down and never caught a dorado. The wives flew back to the States from Cabo so there are two guys 'batching it" on board. "Why don't we invite them over for dinner," I suggest, "and they can bring the beer!" So that's what we do. They bring a boat bag full of beer and a bottle of wine. I make a huge dinner of mahi, potatoes, and Greek salad. We drink the wine. They tell me to keep the beer but I send it back with them because cruisers don't depend on other cruisers for beer.

The anchorage is a bit rolly and we go to bed exhausted. Something is loose and knocking about on the boat. I ignore it and try to go to sleep but it's persistent a getting louder. I pinpoint the sound - it's coming from my closet. I turn on the light to see what's unsecured. "Bruce, guess what's making the noise!" It's a can of beer rolling back and forth across a half case of beer, stowed at the bottom of my clothes locker.

I'd like to end this posting with something we saw printed on a t-shirt in Cabo. "Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish and he'll hang out on boats and drink beer for the rest of his life!