Breton Adventure...

The port of Victoria

The capital of the island state of the Seychelles (North East of Madagascar) located on Mahe Island, has a population of about 70,000 people who speak creole, French, and English. Cobrecaf of Concarneau began mooring its ships at the docks in Victoria between 1981 and 1982.
Land at last! After about ten hours of flight. On the ground at this minuscule airport. Even so, thirty people exit the aeroplane. I am already calculating the waiting time, but, surprise. Despite the nonchalance of the customs agents, the formalities are completed rapidly. "Thank God! To the Fishing port!" - That is 100 rupees" (approximately 115 francs). One hundred rupees for some 10 kilometres! Too expensive!

Port of Victoria, January 24, 3:00 pm

The man henceforth nicknamed Dédé would experience the beginning of a great era, that of tropical tuna fishing off the African coast. Since then, Dédé knocked about the world: thirty-five years of fishing, including seventeen as captain. As for the history of this fishery, it has moved to the other side of the African continent, being written in the Indian Ocean since the start of the 1980s. While waiting, my presence on the bridge is intriguing. I give away my identity as I come and go, and become known to the crew. Composed of twenty hardy men, each as solid as the others, eight of whom are Bretons. Everyone works. We "fill up".

Full of diesel, as well as supplies, water, and salt. The fishing trip will last fifty to sixty days. Serge, the head mechanic. Jean-Pierre his first mate, and Morgan, the refrigerationist, will spend part of the night replacing a motor bearing.

Réveille en fanfare.

The Bayota's foghorn sounds for all it is worth to recall the slow ones to the reason they were taken on. Set sail for the Indian Ocean! The ship puts out to sea, leaving behind it the bustle of the port and the idyllic postcard landscapes. In less than one hour, water extends as far as one can see, imposing its pleasant coolness and the ocean's own rhythm. Little by little, life on board settles in. Roles have been defined, allocated, a schedule of watches has been established. Each must respect the flight plan. Not easy to find one's bearings and melt into the universe of the Bavota. Joël, the quartermaster, dissects the news from an old Télégramme de Brest. Joël is the archetypical Breton sailor.

The Bayota, January 30, around noon

But on board, even though tuna fishing is more sporting, no one would neglect fishing by flotsam: we have seen more than 250 tons of tuna pulled from under a "floating thing" like that. This time it was useless to wait. A few minutes spent with the sonar were enough to detect various species of fish under the minuscule shadow produced by the tube, but no tuna in any sufficient quantity. We drew a blank; we start over. The watch starts over, but the morale of the troops is intact. They "know the drill well". While waiting for the patron saint of fishing to smile upon the crew of the Bavoro, I read the news from Nevez, Trégunc, Concarneau, Lorient... They listen attentively to me. it has now been more than one hundred days since these Bretons left their country!

The Bayota, at the helm, January 31, 6:30 am.

Sunrise on the Indian Ocean is incredible. The majesty of the infinite, the smallness of our lives tossed around on the immensity of the sea. Sometimes, an island appears... on the en-route radar. Radar, it is the key instrument at the helm. With a fertile imagination, one can compare the information on the screen with a vast battlefield. From the identity of boats in their positions, the companies they represent - competitors or friends - to the locations they have chosen, beacons that you left on your own artificial flotsam... nothing escapes it.

The Bayota, February 1, 10:00 am

Still nothing. Not even the slightest quivering in the water that might reveal the presence of a school. Only the ocean and the sounds of a crew on the watch. At dinner, the entire crew hail me. They question me. Will I write about problems with fishing? The training of new quartermasters, the agreements between competing captains, the drop in fish prices... In the middle of the Indian Ocean, as on the docks in Concarneau, the subject preoccupies the men.

Patrick Bottineau. He is the key man, the link between Concarneau and Victoria. Coordinator for Cobrecaf, the entire Concarneau fleet in the Seychelles is under his responsibility.

The Bayota has 16 freezer holds with a volume of 1250 cubic metres, enough to store more than 800 tons of tuna.

David also comes up short after a few tries. Our legs are too short to catch this damn matte. At the helm, the captain is disappointed. But this constant uncertainty makes tuna fishing exciting. "Once. I had to follow a matte from 8 o'clock in the morning until 6 o'clock in the evening, I often wanted to give up, the race being sometimes too fast, but I was contradicted by Joël's obstinacy: at 6 o'clock in the evening, the haul brought in 100 fat rolls!

Under the tropical heat...

The operation takes about an hour, the purse seine winch slowly brings in the catch. Everyone works. On the bridge, Joël, accompanied by 10 other sailors, brings in the net. The sailors are perched, balanced on the mountain of fish. Jacques and Dédé supervise the operations from the control desk. The pocket in the net is small enough to use a landing net. We get ready to dump the 30 tons of fish into a collector to move them to the freezer holds. Half of the crew is in the holds to sort the fish.

Le Bayota, January 31, 9:00 pm.

Since then the evening meal has been more animated. To everyone, it was only a little 30 ton net, but it was the first. For several days, the hauls would continue to fill the Bayota's holds. We are a day's sail from the port. Soon we will return to solid ground. The bridge resembles an anthill where everyone attends to the most pressing matters first.  After fifty days at sea, that's the way it is, there would be no respite.