Onboard, it's a whole different story. Even on the nicest of days, improbable things happen* –– usually quite rapidly.
*This makes reasonable scientific sense: it's a law of physics that things tend to become more random.
Going downwind, I usually nip back to the stern and give the rudder a quick wipe, in case we are trailing seaweed or we've picked up some other slow debris. Sliding my hand along the slab of metal in the water, I really was not expecting to feel a live, swimming, wiggling fish. A remora.
*(Full Disclosure: all Flying Scots are rotund)
Though I grabbed the fish –– knowing it would be the Best Sailing Story EVER if I could land the nightmarish creature with my bare hands –– it wiggled free and re-attached its creepy suction-cup head to the boat.
Whether because of the yanking on its slippery hind-parts or by virtue of my powerfully girlish shrieking, the fish came loose and swam away after while...one hopes it found a more peaceable commensal partner.
A fish that can suction its bony head-plate onto boats (or sharks or humans) in roughly the manner of a party-goer applying an Solo cup to her chin? Okay. But it finds our boat? During the selected 25 minutes of that race when we were going downwind?
The universe may tend toward randomness, but maybe there's a far shore of random that looks like order, or perhaps intention. Or not.