by J. Burchett
Ben picked up his BUG and peeled off a small plastic earpiece from the side. “At least with our translators we can make sure that we understand everything we hear,” he said, putting it in his ear.
Zoe did the same and they turned on their BUGs’ translation mode.
Just then, Ben’s BUG vibrated.
“Message from Erika,” he reported. “Sailing dinghy hired. It’s down on the jetty.”
“I wonder how she’s getting on at her meeting with the fishermen,” said Zoe, tucking her flippers, mask and snorkel into her bag. “It’s lucky her Spanish is good. I wouldn’t like to try explaining how Uncle Stephen’s nets work!”
Erika had wasted no time. After breakfast, she’d set off for a large fishing village along the coast to start her campaign of persuading the fishermen to use the new nets.
Ben hoisted his backpack on to his shoulders. “Let’s see what we can find out about Fingal from the local people.”
“Good idea,” said Zoe, as they made their way down to reception.
“And while we’re in the village we could buy some food,” added Ben.
“You’ve only just had breakfast!” exclaimed Zoe. “You can’t still be hungry.
That hot chocolate and those spicy tortillas were very filling.”
“I’m just thinking about lunch,” said Ben.
Señor Rodriguez came out to take their key.
He looked at the children’s bulging backpacks. “Are you off on a long trip?”
“We’re going sailing,” said Zoe. “Our aunt’s hiring us a boat. The sea looks very clear here – not like back in England – and we want to see the underwater life.”
“My sister has always dreamed of seeing wild dolphins,” Ben explained. “She’d better be lucky or I’ll never hear the end of it!”
“You could be lucky,” said Señor Rodriguez. “The fishermen often see them from their boats. But listen, your aunt might not have to take you that far out. You might even see the dolphin from the old marine park.”
“How come?” asked Zoe.
Señor Rodriguez told them all about the closing of the marine park. Ben and Zoe pretended it was news to them. “The dolphin’s been popping up ever since. Only yesterday, Filiberto was telling me how it was pestering him when he was out with his rod and line. It was a nuisance, he said. It kept calling to him and banging against the side of the boat. Then it did a funny sort of backwards walk on its tail.”
“That does sound like a tame dolphin,” said Zoe.
“You be careful now,” he added. “Dolphins are one thing, but there are also sharks further out beyond the bay. So no swimming off the boat.”
“We’ll look out for sharks,” said Ben.
The children set off for the sea.
They walked along a rough, dusty road towards the centre of San Miguel, where houses were scattered around an old church. The morning sun shone warmly on their red tiled roofs.
Ben and Zoe rounded a corner and gasped in delight. Ahead of them lay the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, sparkling in the sunshine. A few guest houses and tourist shops overlooked the ocean, but there were no holidaymakers around. The bay was wide, with a wooden jetty and boats bobbing in the gentle swell, tethered to red buoys. Several fishing vessels were heading towards shore, bringing in their catches. The children could hear the distant drone of their engines. Far out to sea they could just make out a small island, scattered with palm trees.
“That’s a coral island,” Ben told his sister. “I read about it on the plane.”
Zoe trained her binoculars on the headland at the far end of the bay where a battered fence surrounded some shabby buildings. A tatty sign hung lopsidedly on its hinges.
“That’s Mundo Marino,” she said in disgust. “So that’s where poor Fingal was living.”
“We’ll soon have him in a much better place than that!” said Ben.
They made their way down the main street, past gift shops, a bar and several food stores.
Some of the shopkeepers were fixing wooden shutters over the windows. “Everywhere’s closing,” exclaimed Zoe in surprise.
A small supermarket was shuttered up like the others, but still had the door open.
“At least we can buy our food here,” said Ben, as he pushed open the door and breathed in the delicious smell of freshly baked bread and smoked meats.
“Hello,” Zoe said to the woman behind the counter, as Ben looked longingly at the filled pastries laid out in front of them. “Do you speak English?”
The woman nodded. “A little,” she answered.
“Why is everything closing?” Zoe went on, pointing to the shutters.
“Hurricane,” said the woman, with an apologetic smile.
Zoe turned to Ben. “This is really bad news,” she whispered in alarm. “Fingal isn’t used to being in the sea, let alone in hurricane conditions!”
CHAPTER FOUR
“We’ve got to get Fingal to the centre before the hurricane arrives,” muttered Ben. “If he stays near the shoreline he’ll find it hard to swim in the strong waves – and there’s always bits of wood and rubbish that get stirred up in storms. He could get hurt.”
“Let’s hope there’s time,” answered Zoe. “First we need to know when it’s going to hit. Hurry up and pick what you want. Then we’ll ask.”
She quickly found fruit, crisps and bottles of water, while Ben pointed to the biggest pastries on display. They were stuffed with chicken and cream cheese.
“Pastelitos,” said the shop owner, as she wrapped them up. “Very good.”
“When is the hurricane coming?” asked Zoe, as she paid.
“Hurricane…it…is…” The woman gave up her attempt at English. She led them to the door and nodded towards a nearby café. There was a terrace outside but all the tables and chairs had been cleared away.
“Good English!” she said, pointing at the café owner, who was putting up a last shutter. “He say.”
They thanked her and made for the café. The trees were swaying a little in the breeze, but the sky was blue.
“There’s no sign of a storm,” said Ben.
The café owner smiled as they approached. He was a friendly-looking man with brown eyes that sparkled above an impressive moustache.
“Can you help us?” said Zoe. “We’ve heard there’s a hurricane coming. Surely it can’t be. The weather looks so calm.”
“We have a report from the National Hurricane Centre. We might be at the edge of one,” he told them. “So we take precautions. The report said it passes close by this afternoon, but we make sure we are ready in good time.”
“That’s a relief,” said Zoe. “We should be able to get some sailing in this morning then.”
“You don’t seem too worried about the storm,” said Ben to the café owner.
The man gave a shrug. “We are used to it. The storm comes, we pack away. The storm goes, we open up again. What else can we do?”
At that moment, a man in fisherman’s overalls stuck his head round the door and called out to him in Spanish. Ben and Zoe’s BUGs translated the words. “News just in, Enrico. The hurricane’s heading north. It’s giving us a miss this time.”
Enrico told Ben and Zoe the news. “You will be able to enjoy your sailing,” he said. He began to take down the shutters from the window. “And if you see some strange dead fish, do not worry. There is nothing wrong with the water – they were, how do you say, thrown out from Mundo Marino.”
“We’ve heard about that,” said Ben.
“But be careful of the tame dolphin,” Enrico warned them. “It could upset a small boat. The fishermen are cross with it.”
“They won’t hurt it, will they?” said Zoe.
The café owner shrugged. “They have a living to earn and that is hard enough here.”
He picked up a table and carried it outside.
“Poor Fingal,” said Zoe. “All he’s trying to do is get food.”
“And that’
s all the fishermen are trying to do,” Ben answered.
“Graçias,” Zoe called to the café owner. “Thanks for your help.”
The children raced along the rough bay road towards the wooden jetty stretching out from the beach.
“I really wish I’d done those sailing courses with you,” panted Ben, as they ran. “Football seemed like more fun at the time.”
“Don’t worry,” Zoe told him. “Just do as I say and it’ll be fine. You can be my cabin boy.”
“Great!” groaned Ben. “That’s just an excuse to boss me about!”
There was a worn sign in English and Spanish saying “boats for hire”, with an arrow pointing along the jetty.
A small single-masted sailing boat was moored at the end. Its green paintwork was peeling and two narrow benches ran along the inside. A dark-haired woman in shorts and a bright top gave Ben and Zoe a wave, as they walked down the jetty.
“That must be our boat,” said Ben. “La Gaviota.”
“Looks a bit basic, but she’s just the right size for the two of us,” said Zoe.
“Boat for Bohn?” the woman said in halting English. “One day’s hire?”
“That’s right,” said Zoe eagerly. “We’ll be taking a trip up the coast.”
“Your aunt said you can sail.” The woman looked at them doubtfully and muttered in her own language. “So young.”
Ben gulped.
“I have done exams,” Zoe told her truthfully.
“That is good.” The woman handed over two life jackets. “You wear these always. That is the rule.”
Ben and Zoe slipped on the orange jackets.
“Thank you,” said Zoe. She bent down, pulled in the mooring rope and held the pointed prow of the boat firmly. She dropped their two backpacks into the bottom of the boat and nodded to her brother. “Go on, Ben. Climb aboard.”
The boat owner folded her arms and watched grimly. It was clear that she was going to make sure her craft was safe in the hands of two children. Trying to look as if he knew what he was doing, Ben clambered on to the dinghy, which rocked violently.
“Whoa!” Arms flailing, he made a grab for the mast and clung to it in desperation.
“My brother likes to joke!” Zoe said quickly, as Ben threw himself on to one of the benches and gave a sheepish grin. She noticed that the woman didn’t smile.
But before she could say anything, Zoe swiftly untied the rope and boarded the boat. First she rigged the sails, then she climbed to the stern and took hold of the tiller. As the sails caught the wind, she headed the boat out into the middle of the bay.
“Got away with it so far!” said Ben, looking back. “But she’s still staring. What can I do to show her how expert I am?”
“Take that sheet and control the jib,” Zoe told him, nodding towards the small triangular sail at the prow.
“Sheet?” Ben reached forward and grabbed the bottom of the front sail. “I’m not sure I can hold on for long,” he said, as he wrestled with the flapping canvas. “It’s pulling away.”
Zoe burst out laughing. “The sheet is the rope that controls a sail. It’s down there, secured to the side. Release it from its cleat – that’s clip to landlubbers like you.”
“Just testing!” Ben freed the rope and grinned at her. “And I’d like to see you explain the offside rule! Anyway, time for business. We’ve got to scour this bay for Fingal.”
“We’ll start around those fishing boats moored over there,” said Zoe. “Get ready to go about. That means letting go of your rope when I tell you and moving to the other side of the dinghy. Oh, and mind the big wooden thing that swings across.”
“The boom, you mean?” said Ben. “I do know that one!” His feet kicked something under the seat and he pulled it out. It was a pail, attached to a long piece of rope which was tied to a hook. “A bucket?” he asked. “Is that in case we’re seasick?”
“It’s for bailing out water, silly,” said Zoe. “Fix our backpacks to that hook, too. Everything has to be battened down.” She looked ahead. “OK, ready about? Lee ho.”
“Show off,” said Ben.
“All right then.” Zoe grinned. “Look out, we’re turning.”
Zoe pushed the tiller away from her. The boom moved over the boat, and the children clambered across and took up the sheets on the other side.
Taken by the gentle wind, the dinghy moved among the rocking fishing boats that were moored to buoys in the water. Ben slipped his BUG out of his backpack, scrolled through the animal identification menu and set it to pick up dolphin calls. Then he peeled the limpet from his BUG, reached over the side of the boat and stuck it to the hull beneath the waterline.
“Nothing yet,” Ben said, peering at the BUG screen.
“Let’s get further out and try again,” said Zoe, adjusting the mainsail to catch the light breeze.
As they reached the last buoy before open sea, a message appeared on his screen.
“The limpet’s picked something up,” he exclaimed. “It’s a dolphin and it’s close!”
CHAPTER FIVE
They peered eagerly out across the water. Just a few metres away, the surface erupted and a sleek grey dolphin leapt up in an elegant arc and plunged back into the waves. They could see it streaking through the clear water close to the boat.
“Could that be Fingal?” gasped Zoe in excitement.
“It looks like an adult,” said Ben doubtfully.
As he spoke, more fully-grown dolphins burst to the surface.
“It’s a pod,” gasped Zoe. “Of course, now we’ve come further out we’re going to pick up all the dolphins in the area.”
The streamlined shapes shot along next to the dinghy, launching themselves out of the water and diving back with barely a splash.
“It looks as if they’re racing us!” exclaimed Ben.
“Well, we don’t stand a chance,” replied Zoe, with a grin.
The dolphins criss-crossed in the air in front of the boat and then, as suddenly as they had come, they were gone.
Zoe stared after them. “What a display. They didn’t need whistles and rewards like captive dolphins. They were sooo beautiful.”
Ben grinned and rolled his eyes. “Off to Gooey City!” he groaned. “Although I have to agree they were amazing.”
“Wouldn’t it be great if Fingal could be part of a group like that one day,” sighed Zoe.
“We’d better wait a bit before we try and listen for him,” said Ben. “We’ll just pick up that lot again.”
“I’ll head towards the bay,” said Zoe. “He must be there somewhere.”
They sailed up and down between the buoys, but no light appeared on the BUG screen.
“I think we’re in the wrong place,” said Ben at last. “We’ve been searching for over an hour and there’s no sign of Fingal.”
Suddenly, they heard a distant shout from across the water. They looked up to see a small boat out beyond the bay. They could hear the chug of its engine.
“Fishing boat,” remarked Zoe. “It must be coming back with its catch.”
Then there was silence as someone turned the power off.
“Looks like they’ve got a problem with their net,” said Ben.
Two of the crew were desperately trying to pull up a bright green fishing net, while a third was calling instructions and trying to keep the lurching vessel balanced.
Ben and Zoe could make out a few words, translated by the BUG.
“Something’s caught.”
“It’s big.”
“It’s struggling. It’ll pull us over.”
Ben got out his binoculars. “Can’t see what they’ve picked up,” he reported anxiously, “but it’s certainly in trouble.” He glanced down at his BUG screen. “I should have checked sooner. It’s saying ‘dolphin’!”
“It could be Fingal,” cried Zoe. “Watch out for the boom!” The boat swung round and Zoe edged it towards the struggling fishermen.
“The BUG’s identified it
as a distress cry,” Ben told her. “Even if it’s not Fingal, we’ve got to get in there and do something.”
He pressed some buttons. “I’m saving that call just in case. All dolphins have a different signature call and if this is Fingal, we’ll be able to identify him later.”
Zoe steered the dinghy toward the buoys in the bay. Lowering the sails, she secured the boat to the nearest one, while Ben got out their GILS and flippers.
“If only I had my sailing knife with me,” said Zoe. “We could use it to cut the net.”
“I’ve got something even better,” said Ben. “My diver’s knife.” He produced a sheathed knife from the backpack and strapped it to his belt.
“Remember what Señor Rodriguez told us,” said Zoe. “Keep an eye out for sharks.”
Ben nodded and ripped off his life jacket and clothes. “Sorry, Mrs Boat Owner,” he muttered, as he pulled the mask on and adjusted the snorkel, “but there are times when you have to break the rules.”
He fixed his BUG to his diving belt with a safety cord. Zoe did the same.
“Don’t forget you’ve only got ten minutes’ air,” Zoe warned him.
Ben made a circle with his thumb and forefinger – the diver’s sign for OK – and plunged into the water.
The water rushed into his ears as he sank into the clear sea. Bubbles streamed up in front of his face, and when they cleared he spotted the long, dark shape of the fishing boat in the water ahead. With the GILS, he found he was able to breathe as if he had an oxygen tank.
The water was very clear, so Ben made sure that he kept on the side of the boat away from the fishermen so they wouldn’t spot him. But now he had a good view of the net. It was swollen with fish, and thrashing violently. As he came closer he could just see the terrified eye of a dolphin in the middle of the catch.
As he saw Zoe approaching, Ben jerked a thumb up, and they swam for the surface, making sure to stay out of sight of the fishermen.
“The dolphin’s badly tangled in the fishing net,” he told his sister, as they trod water side by side. “The more it tries to free itself the worse it gets. There’s no way it can escape on its own.”
