The White Whale swims off San Vito Lo Capo
Over there, where dreams are immersed in the sea and this merges with the sky, swims Leviathan.
Huge, quiet, fast, it appears and disappears. Distant mirage, Neverland, marmaid. The White Whale of all fishermen. Chased but never hated. Certainly desired.
A new frontier has opened to sea lovers who take the boat to San Vito lo Capo, quiet and safe harbor in summer and winter: trawling.
Here, off of Mount Monaco, in the autumn pass phantasmagoric dorado that local fishermen call capuna which the kings Minoans four thousand years ago knew well enough to commission the painting to an anonymous painter of the time; fun to catch with fake colorful octopus, excellent on the table cooked in every possible way, boiled with oil and lemon, fried, baked, grilled, and so on ...
The capuna (but the scientific name is Coriphoena hippurus) from late August to December pass in herds of thousands of individuals off the coast, where fishermen tend their floating traps calling cannizzi knowing that this fish will stop in everything that creates shadow; up to two thousand years ago the sailors were looking for wrecks carried by currents beneath which catch dorado,it was when they invented the trick to stop the migration of fish and anchored to the bottom branches of shady palms or woven reeds.
From primitive few meters from the shore today cannizzi reaching 15, 20 miles from the coast, sometimes even further away, where only the powerful trawlers today can get. But there's also the deep-sea speedboats along with capuna undermine the great sea dwellers that Hemingway was honored in his masterpiece "The Old Man and the Sea".
Five, ten, twenty, thirty miles with the bow launched towards the sea becomes the sky and with that become tiny lighthouse behind the stern ... the lines that follow the boat, the gap left by the ephemeral and white propellers that the sea covers after a while ', the gulls curious about the lures that jump on the wave. Cobalt blue sea everywhere, stained by the fog that clouds the sun. Sea turtles who dive to move the boat. Dolphin playing with a mustache of water lifted from the bow. Every so often a rod flexes, the clutch of the reel croaks, thirty meters from the stern a fish trying to free the hook that has pierced the mouth, on the boat a man recovers every meter of the line to bring on board the fish. Once wins the one, once the other. Free fish will return immediately to hunt small fish, the man disappointed resume ensnare. It happens that in a Lampuga a kilogram and another pound hook bite the majestic king of the seas, the Tuna, or Aguglia relative of Marlin, and then the competition to see who is better than you exciting. You fight to be the best. Raises his cane, lowers the barrel, the lever rotates the reel recovers, spring wire, recovers again ... the fish jumping out of water, the fisherman will not assist in efforts to break the line. The whole world stops, the mist hides the Monte Monaco, just around the sea, the gulls hovering silently over the water speckled tail of Leviathan ...
No matter how this ends the challenge, maybe the thread will break, maybe the fish will come in and then the board will decide whether Fisherman sfregiarlo with the gaff and hoist it on the boat or cut the line and return it to the sea. Whatever happens, the White Whale will continue to swim in this sea where the land is an abstract idea and the sky an unattainable goal. The navigation is no longer the means to conquer the prey dreamed, but itself becomes the materialisation of the dream. And so, at dawn, he sets sail from the port of San Vito toward that shadow that cleaves the sea over there, where the clouds seem islands, the place where the soul no matter what on capturing, but just be gone.