Ventilation and Air Flow

Posted on January 18, 2006 by George Backhus

For anyone cruising that lovely band of the planet earth know simply as “the tropics,” the subject of keeping cool while trying to chill out is near and dear to the heart.

We’re fortunate to own a yacht which had been designed with good air flow and ventilation as a high priority. Our hatches and port lights are large and many, and with eleven dorade vents, every interior area has ventilation, even when we’re under way and the hatches are dogged. Eight interior fans keep air moving when the apparent wind goes away.

At anchor, we generally lie to the breeze, if there is any, and keeping some or all the hatches and port lights open will usually keep us comfortable in moderate tropical weather conditions, when we’re not too physically active, or the oven isn’t on for long periods of time. In many cases, there is less air circulation in a marina environment, so in some cases we may need to resort to aircon, especially in places like Singapore or summer in Australia, where the daytime temperatures exceed the mid 30’s Celsius/90’s Fahrenheit.

When we are underway, or it is raining, we must be more diligent about keeping the wet stuff on the outside of the boat, while still attempting to keep some airflow inside. On passage we have storm covers that protect all the hatches forward of the center cockpit. They are designed with zip-up side gussets that allow the hatches to be opened if conditions allow. All our hatches open facing aft, so even if there is the odd bit of spray or light rain, we can generally keep hatches open a bit as long as we’re not shipping green water. Our dinghy is stowed upside-down on the foredeck when we’re on passage or in a marina, so we can open the master stateroom hatch underneath even in a downpour, provided there’s not a strong cross breeze. This really helps keep us comfortable when we’re sleeping. Otherwise, a fan on low speed does the trick

On deck, we have a dodger/spray cover that easily covers four to six people, depending on sun angle. When we’re at anchor, we put up a bimini top over the aft cockpit and have a zip in awning between the dodger and bimini. The combination of the three shade nearly half the boat, and allow all the port lights and four aft hatches to remain open, even in a bit of rain.

Over the years, we’ve tried a number of fans, and our all time favorite is the Hella Turbo Fan, which is generally available world wide. It provides a good amount of air flow for the current draw and is very quiet. The white color blends into the décor (see photo). The only bad news is that it is more difficult to clean than some other models. The Cafrano is our second choice because it provides good air flow and is easy to clean. The bad news is that it is slightly noisier than the Hella, and has no guard so it is possible to get hair tangled in, or body parts nicked by the blades.

Aside from aircon, the Dorade vent has to be one of the greatest comfort inventions for boats since the mattress. To get the right air flow, one must experiment with aiming them in different wind conditions, because each boat’s airflow patterns are different. Otherwise, I would offer two pieces of advice if you happen to have Dorades that have the soft PVC cowls. First, I attach all of mine to the mounting ring with steel trace line used for fishing leaders (see photo). That way they stay on board if someone inadvertently knocks one off or it gets popped off by a sheet or other line. They also have a tendency to develop a very ugly brown sunburn due to UV exposure, so I have had mine all painted with linear polyurethane paint. In six years, all I’ve had to do is give them an occasional going over with a cleaner/wax combination and they still look pretty good. 

For those hot days on deck, we keep a fine mist spray bottle on deck full of water. An occasional misting of the body will help to cool you off between dips in the ocean.

Stay cool!

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Memoir of My First Ocean Passage

Posted on December 11, 2005 by George Backhus

“You know, this boat would be great to sail in the Pacific Cup” said Andy in his distinctive Swiss accent. It was a rare sunny day in February of ‘96 and we were out on San Francisco Bay on a “social sail” with him and his wife Cathy, who managed the Sausalito West Marine store. Since I had arrived from Fort Lauderdale with Moonshadow the month before, I had visited the store nearly every day. Cathy had been very helpful in tracking down hard to get parts, exchanging old worn out items that had a “lifetime guarantee” and giving me some “preferred customer” discounts. I owed her big time and a day on the Bay was just a small way of saying thanks. Andy had sailed in the Pacific Cup twice previously and kindly offered himself as crew if I decided to go.

After a few beers, it started to sound more and more like a good idea. I had sailed Moonhshadow more than six thousand miles but had never been out of sight of land for more than a couple of days-not exactly what I would call an “ocean passage.” I had been offshore for a few days at a time on celestial navigation and ocean passagemaking courses, but never as skipper and not on my own boat. For years I had been keen to do a transpacific race to Hawaii and it sounded like a good way to shakedown both the boat and the skipper before I headed off cruising. The hook was set!

I gave a thought to which of my sailing friends would be keen to do an ocean race and whom I felt I could spend a couple of weeks with cooped up on the boat. Andy Eggler was, of course already in. My good friend and crew from Florida to San Francisco, Wayne Goldman was on board the day we sailed on the bay. I knew he was dead keen. In fact, when I told him I’d made up my mind to go, he offered to do all the provisioning and cooking, stay on for a cruise of Hawaii after the race, and even do the dreaded “return trip” back to San Francisco. Jeff Erdmann, the “Deerfoot/Sundeer specialist” broker who sold Moonshadow to me, told me he had always wanted to do a passage on a Deerfoot, but never had the opportunity. I rang him and he was in. I talked to my old college buddy Mark Coleman who had introduced me to keelboat sailing on San Francisco Bay twenty years before. He was in. I called my good sailing buddy Cort DePeyster who I’d met in the Swan Rolex Cup Regatta in Sardinia in ’84 and got another thumbs up. At the time, I was working as a sailing instructor at Club Nautique, a sailing school and charter company. When I told my boss, Beth Bell about my plan, she offered to give me time off on the condition that I took her along too. Done!

Our start day was July 10, 1996 which gave me a little more than four months to prepare. I had a huge “to do” list that I had been steadily gnawing away at. Of course, we would also have to haul out and do a bottom job. My insurance didn’t cover the rig during races so I decided to pull out the mast and go through every piece of wire and hardware before we sailed-sort of my own form of rig insurance.

West Marine, who is the primary sponsor of the Pacific Cup, did an excellent job of preparing entrants for the race. They host a series of seminars on weather, boat and crew preparation, safety, race strategy, emergency procedures and health/first aid. I found this invaluable for us novices, and would imagine it’s a great refresher for the old salts as well.

The crew of Moonshadow held regular meetings and practice sails in preparation for the race. In addition to honing our sailing skills, we all bonded as a crew and had a lot of fun. As the crew became closer and more comfortable with each other, the practical jokes began. It all started with Andy, whom I assigned the position of navigator. Looking at the Nautical Almanac, he discovered that we would have little or no moon for most of the passage. Andy noted in his own inimitable way: “When you are sailing across the Pacific Ocean and there is no moon, it is very, very dark-dark like inside a cow.” What is supposedly a common Swiss expression was met with huge laughter and endless follow up jokes and jabs.

Fast forward to July 10, the day before our start. I’m frantically trying to finish last minute projects. All the crew are showing up with their gear and stowing it away. Wayne has been buying and stowing provisioning for days. We have enough food on board to feed seven people for 30 days, more than 600 meals, not to mention snacks. Moonshadow appears to be sitting an inch lower in the water. Our next door neighbor, Seeker is also going on the race. Norio Sugano, the owner, is a very successful venture capitalist from Silicon Valley. A week before the race, he threw a party for all race participants at his “villa” on 20 odd acres in the Portola Valley hills. He and his crew of eight will be eating pre-cooked and vacuum bagged French meals, and washing them down with fine French wine. The Pacific Cup is called the “fun race to Hawaii” and by golly, it looks like they are going to have fun.

I notice the big cooler that we keep in the cockpit is gone. I ask Wayne about it. “Don’t ask” he says. He’s on his knees in the galley, measuring the inside of the oven with a tape measure. I ask him what he’s doing. “Don’t ask” is the response once again. I’m too busy to press the issue so I get on to my tasks.

It’s finally July 10, race day. I’ve got a case of pre-passage jitters. I know in my heart that Moonshadow is completely prepared and seaworthy. The trip across the pond is benign this time of year-that’s why they call it “pacific,” isn’t it? But 2060 nautical miles of open ocean is still a bit intimidating to me. The weather report says were going to have a fresh breeze right on the nose for the first two days or so. Shit! I’m wondering how many of the crew will succumb to seasickness. Loads of friends come by the marina to wish us well. My head is spinning-there’s too much too much to think about and too much going on for me to handle it all. I’m wishing I had taken the boat out and anchored in Richardson Bay the night before. Wayne shows up with the cooler, taped shut with duct tape. I start to ask and am immediately interrupted with a firm “don’t ask!” I can’t wait to get out of the marina and start sailing.

We cast off the dock lines and motored gently out of Schoonmaker Point Marina about noon. I put Vince Guaraldi’s Cast Your Fate to the Wind on the stereo as we motor down the channel out of Sausalito. It’s my pre-passage good luck song. The Bay is flat and there isn’t much breeze. It’s partly cloudy and warm. I’m a bit freaked out to thing that the next place I’ll step on land will be on the island of Oahu in Hawaii and I won’t even have to buy an airline ticket to get there.

We are in “D” division and the next to the last group of boats to start, one ahead of the racing sleds. Five divisions of smaller boats and double handers have started one to two days before us. Because of our length to displacement ratio, we are classified as an “ultra light displacement” boat and competing in a division with stripped out race boats capable of surfing at more than 20 knots. The rating committee seemed to ignore the fact that we are bringing along a washer, dryer, dive compressor, TV, microwave oven, 2 aircons, and other cruising gear and that our sail plan is the same size as the ultra light 45 footers. Ah hell, all we can do is go out, have fun, and not expect a podium finish.

At 2 pm we are on the start line with nine other boats. The starting gun is fired from the tower of the St. Francis Yacht Club, and a hundred adrenaline-fueled sailors are on their way to Hawaii, sailing hard on the wind. Within a few minutes we cross a large shadow in the water. We are gliding underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. We can hear the cars rushing by overhead, drowning out the sounds of the gulls. Hundreds of motorists above us are clueless as to what is going on a few hundred feet below. As we begin to feel the ocean swell, the unique smells of the San Francisco Bay, the intermingling of diesel fumes, guano, salt air, kelp with a touch of fish thrown in, all start to fade into plain salt air. As we sail past Point Bonita, friends are there, perched on rocks, waving wildly at us and taking photographs. The overcast thickens and soon the California coast fades away behind us. The Pacific ocean is a cool looking blue gray.

A few hours later, we can barely make out the Farallon Islands as we sail past. The wind begins to ease, we slow down, and by the time its dark we are barely moving. At various times during the night I see goose eggs (all zeroes) on the knot log and the only wind we have is created by the boat rocking from side to side. The sails hang limp, shapeless, and flog as we roll. It’s a horrible sound and feeling, especially when you know you can’t just turn on the motor and go. We are at the mercy of the currents for the time being. I think to myself that this could be a very long race. At least nobody is seasick. All night long, we see the flashing light of the Farallones.

During roll call the next day we learn that the boats ahead of us got a clean getaway with steady breeze. The sleds starting a day after us started in breeze and will likely catch up to us and join us in our “parking lot” in a matter of hours. Late in the day we start to see patches of ripple on the water and the breeze finally starts to fill in. We are barely ghosting along. After nearly 24 hours of calm, we are making a steady two knots of boat speed and it feels like we are hauling ass. The bad news is that we can once again see a faint outline of the coast of California behind us.

The breeze steadily builds and backs to the south. We set the asymmetrical spinnaker and start moving nicely. We’re two days out and starting to settle into a routine of eating, sleeping and watch keeping. Wayne is cranking out some incredible meals. Between meals there are freshly baked cookies or brownies. Nobody is going to loose any weight on this trip. Great music is steadily blasting out of the stereo for at least twelve hours a day. Between Wayne’s and my CD collection, we shouldn’t have any repeats for at least 12 or 13 days. We’re moving along at a slow but steady 5-6 knots in light airs, chatting and telling jokes, steering and trimming and having a blast in the east sailing conditions. The only question is when we will pop out of the coastal marine cloud layer and see some sun.

Andy was right. With no moonlight, and because of the overcast, no starlight, it is dark as the inside of a cow. At night we have to use flashlights to check sail trim. On one of my midnight watches I hear dolphins surfacing, spouting and then taking in another breath. Looking in the direction of the noise, it’s too dark for me to actually see the animals, but I do see the bioluminescent trails where their dorsal fins break the surface. They criss-cross paths with each other and circle the boat. I have never seen anything quite like it before, and it it’s truly a magical moment.

It doesn’t appear from weather faxes that there is significantly more breeze to the south of us, so we decide to sail the shorter route close to the rhumb line. About the third or fourth afternoon out, we get a call on the radio from (we thought) another boat in the fleet called Fast Company. They had been ten miles south and a bit behind us at last roll call but were claiming to be in better breeze and now ahead of us. We scratch our heads. We start wondering if we were doing the right thing.

We’re all enjoying the race. Sailing conditions are nearly perfect. It was overcast but getting steadily warmer as we sail out of the cool Humboldt Current along the west coast. We’re now down to shorts and t-shirts. Most of the crew is enjoying their daily ration of two beers and a cigar. The food and music are great, the breeze is starting to pick up a bit and life is good. We get another call from Fast Company. They ask if we had pancakes for breakfast. We confirm that we did and ask how they knew. They say they could smell them. This is all beginning to get a bit strange.

We start to have a few dramas with the spinnaker pole as the breeze picked up. The parrot beak on the outboard end keeps popping open, which means that we have to douse the kite and reset it every time this happens. We thought the trip line might have been catching on something, but after about four spontaneous releases, and subsequent Chinese fire drills, we give up and turn the pole upside down. This means that we can still fly the kite, but can no longer trip the beak open to jibe normally, and will have to douse and reset the kite every time we changed jibes. This will cost us an hour or two overall as we typically jibe once or twice a day. We decide to set a heavy air kite at night so that we don’t risk shredding the ¾ ounce spinnaker if we hit a nasty squall, which are normal as one gets closer to Hawaii. In their daily call, Fast Company seems to know all about pole issues. Could they somehow be intercepting our emails, or do we have a mole on board?

About one thousand miles from both San Francisco and Hawaii, we find ourselves on a collision course with Tranquilo another Pacific Cup racing boat. We chat with Ben, the skipper on the VHF radio, and decide to hold our respective courses till the last minute, so we can take some photos of each other. Since we are on a port jibe, we eventually steer up a bit to let her pass by. It always amazes me how one can be so far from land, yet be on a course that would have you occupying the exact same spot on the surface of ocean as another vessel.

We’re half way to Hawaii and still no sun. Every time we see a small hole in the overcast, we think, yeah, we’re finally breaking out of the marine layer and can start to bag some rays. Then it closes up again. Never mind, the weather is nice enough, and we’d covered nearly a thousand miles in seven days, one of which we were becalmed. The breeze is up and we should now average more than 200 miles a day.

Its day seven and Wayne peels the duct tape off the cooler. Inside is a 22 pound turkey-the largest that would fit in our little oven. He’d been saving it for the “half way party.” And a party it will be. In the middle of the day, I hear some loud banging in the galley, followed by yodeling. When I peek down the companionway to investigate, I see Andy with a large heap of bread dough. I ask what’s going on and he exclaims “I am beating the bread, lovingly!” Beth collected little gifts from all the guy’s wives or girlfriends before we left and hid them away. They are brought out at sundown. There are candies, bottles of rum and port, photos of the kids, clothing items and even a cardboard pin up of a Hawaiian girl. Fast Company radios us late in the afternoon for a chat. They had heard rumors that there was yodeling on board Moonshadow. This is too weird. How the hell do they know all this stuff??

The wind picks up to twenty plus knots, with occasional gusts to thirty knots. There’s a gentle following sea of 15 to 20 feet. We have a few dramas with the spinnaker that delays our half way feast a few hours. We finally sit down for dinner around nine o’clock. While we are enjoying an amazing turkey dinner with all the trimmings including Swiss holiday bread, Moonshadow is heading towards the island of Oahu with a bone in her teeth. We toast to a fun race and feel sorry for the poor buggers on the Moore 24’s who are eating stale peanut butter sandwiches for dinner.

We’re averaging 12-13 knots and surfing up in the 16’s. I can’t figure out why the forward head is always wet. Why don’t the crew wipe down after their showers?? Then I realize that it’s salt water. When we are surfing, the pressure is so great that sea water shoots up though the sink drain. On the “to do” list I make a note to install a valve. Otherwise life is very good on board.

After dinner when we’re sipping a glass of port in the cockpit, Wayne appears from below wearing this ridiculous looking cow costume. His face with seven days beard growth is popping out of this little head piece with pink ears and big cow eyes. He’s giving Andy grief about how dark it is inside, and offering the floppy rubber teats to the crew. We all just about pee ourselves laughing.

At o-dark-hundred the next morning we are clobbered by a huge squall. The winds gust up to at least 40 knots, its dark as the inside of a cow and rain is coming down in buckets. Beth is on the helm and the rain renders her eyeglasses useless. She tries hard to steer in front of the shifty breeze, but we spin out in a gust. Moonshadow takes a 70-80 degree knockdown. I was asleep in the forward berth and didn’t have the lee cloth up. Stupid! I was thrown across the cabin into the starboard hull, spraining my right middle finger. It became very stiff. I later would jokingly remind Beth on a regular basis of her helming error by holding my middle finger up to her. Finally on the eighth day we break out from under the marine layer for good. It’s about time!

The wind continues to be very fresh. Two boats in the fleet reported broken rudders, and numerous others reported various gear failures and broken sails. Moonshadow logged her record run of 246 miles in a noon to noon run. At one point we have 20+ foot following seas. They are gentle rollers so we hardly notice much except the boat accelerating, vibrating a bit and then breaking loose and surfing. We put the Beach Boys on and listen to a few hours of surfing music as we glide down the big waves. We have a few more spinouts. I’ll never forget seeing Wayne, who was trimming the kite, sitting chest high in water as we rounded up. He almost dropped his cigar! Fast Company call and ask us about having farm animals on board. When we asked how they knew all this, all they would say is “strange things happen at sea.” This is really beginning to bug us.

Just after dinner, Cort notices a number of targets on the radar screen. Thinking that we have caught up some of the Pacific Cup fleet, he puts out a call on the radio to see who’s nearby. A very firm voice replies “This is Japanese warship Yamagiri. We are convoy of ten warships.” Yikes! We just hoped they weren’t out doing some target practice. They had us on radar and when they found out we were a sailboat racing, agreed to keep clear. Mark has brought Leilani, his cardboard Hawaiian girlfriend into the cockpit. He’s trying to make a video of him talking to her seated next to him. While he’s talking to her, the breeze keeps blowing her head into his lap.

Oahu is just over a hundred miles ahead of us. It is our last night at sea. The passage has been so much fun that it seems to have gone by in a flash. Its early evening and Fast Company call us on the radio. They ask to speak to the cook about all the great meals he’s been putting on. Wayne grabs the mike and has a chat. They ask about the cow costume. Wayne is mooing on the radio. They ask to speak to the yodeler. Andy comes on and gives them a couple of yodels. I’m thinking to myself that this is beginning to get just a little bit ridiculous. They as for the tactician. Beth gets on the radio and they grill her about her tactical choices. They ask to speak to the captain so I take the mike. The voice at the other end asks “what do you make of all this skipper?” I replied that I hadn’t a clue and that it was a bit weird. I happen to glance over at Jeff across the salon, who had his video camera trained on me. Hmmmm? Just then, Mark steps out of the aft head speaking into a hand held VHF. He says “Have you ever heard of Candid Camera?” I collapse on the floor with laughter. We all laugh so hard we have tears in our eyes.

Jeff and Mark had skillfully pulled off what I consider to be the best sailing practical jokes of all time. Jeff had gotten the idea from the previous owner of Moonshadow. The same joke was played on the crew when she sailed across the Atlantic Ocean in the first ARC Rally in 1986. And the great thing is the he got the whole thing on video.

We spot land at first light the next morning. All the crew is on deck wearing Hawaiian shirts. Over coffee we laugh about the radio joke, reflect on the great sailing and fun times. It’s all gone by seemingly in an instant. Someone suggests we sail across the finish line and then set a course south for Tahiti, because they don’t want it to end. We all feel the same way, and if it weren’t for jobs, family, etc. . . .

We crossed the finish line near Kaneohe Bay later that morning. Our elapsed time for the 2060 mile passage was 11 days, 21 hours and 15 minutes. We managed to average 7.22 knots on the course line even though we were parked for nearly 24 hours out by the Farallon Islands. We were the fifteenth boat to finish the race and corrected 48th out of 60.

As we motored through the narrow channel in the reef to the Kaneohe Yacht Club, we popped the cork on a couple bottles of champagne to celebrate our safe passage and great time. For most of us, it was our first real ocean passage, and a very satisfying one. I thought to myself that if this is what passaging is like, I can’t wait for more. But then again, I knew that it really couldn’t get much better than that.

The last thing I remember was tying up to the bulkhead at the yacht club. A photo was taken of the crew and we were greeted with leis and handed a tray of beers and tropical drinks. On the way to the bar, we all ended up in the club’s swimming pool, fully clothed. By the time we left the bar very late that night, we were completely dry-at least on the outside. As usual, we didn’t win the race, but surely didn’t lose the party.

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Langkawi and SailAsia Rally Week

Posted on December 7, 2005 by George Backhus

The cluster of 105 beautiful islands near the Malay-Thai border called Langkawi was the final destination of our rather loosely scheduled Southeast Asian “rally” that began in Darwin at the end of July. SailAsia, our sponsors, offered the entire rally fleet a week’s stay at the lovely Telaga Harbour Marina, gratis. As if that wasn’t enough, they organized parties, dinners, traditional dance performances, live music, island and shopping tours, and organized a trip up to the top of Gunnung (Mount) Machinchang on the Langkawi Tram. The week was called the SailAsia Rally Week and seemed to have a bit of everything with the exception of sailing. All of it was much appreciated, and it was great to be in one place again with so many cruising friends that we had made along the way.

Telaga Harbour Marina is invitingly fashioned after a Mediterranean seaside village, nestled in what was once a mangrove swamp where Langkawi’s lushly vegetated mountains meet the Andaman Sea. To give you an idea of the beauty of this area, part of the motion picture “Anna and the King” were filmed here and the set for the Summer Palace is still standing, albeit slightly Tsunami-damaged, on the white-sand beach a short walk from the marina.

From a yachtie’s perspective, as a marina facility, Telaga is fairly self-contained. There are, of course all the typical amenities one would expect from a modern marina, including a fuel dock. For yachts arriving or departing Malaysia, on site is a one-stop office for all the Customs and Immigration formalities. Only the yachties can fully appreciate how sweet a feature this is. There’s also a bank with ATM and foreign exchange, a well stocked convenience store and service station, a rental car/motorcycle office, a coffee shop and even a KFC, which appears to be more popular than McDonald’s in this part of the world.

For those looking for a bit of free entertainment, at various times during the day, a band of long-tailed macaques come down from the native bush across the road to the marina looking for handouts or anything left unattended that they can pinch. I even saw them on the docks once, and wondered if they ever went aboard any of the boats. This is yet another reason not to have bananas on board! Tourists who pull off the side of the road to feed them often found their cars covered with these cheeky little animals, screeching and fighting each other over an offering of a potato chip or piece of popcorn, while tugging and playing with the windshield wipers and radio aerial.

On the opposite side of the lagoon from the marina is “the strip.” This is the hub for fine dining and night life. Along the wide walkway, one can enjoy al fresco fine dining (when it’s not raining) while gazing upon the yachts quietly resting in the marina. There is a plethora of cuisines on offer including Chinese, Indian, Spanish Tapas, Italian, Russian and Brazilian Churrasca. If you’re up for a bit of a boogie, there’s usually live music and dancing under the stars till late. Nestled in the back are a convenience store, a boutique, a spa and a well stocked duty-free bottle shop. To make it fully complete, there is a small, and thankfully, very quiet mosque on site.

Telaga Harbour was an unfortunate victim of last year’s devastating tsunami. As we arrived, workers were just finishing the last of the repairs. To see the area today, and to talk to the local Malaysian people, one would hardly have a clue to what had taken place less than a year before.

During the SailAsia week, we joined in on a couple of the tours. We took advantage of the shopping tour to fill in a few holes in our provision lockers and to check out the main town of Kuah. We also hopped on the nearby tram for the ear-popping ride to the top of Gunnung Machinchang. From the summit at 708 meters (2300 feet), between the clouds, we could see most of the Langkawi Island Group, mainland Malaysia and Thailand, as well as some of the exotic and remote islands off the Thai coast that are all part of the Tarutao National Park.

After a week of celebration in Telaga, we were eager to strike out and enjoy some of the many picturesque and peaceful anchorages around Langkawi. For our first stop, we backtracked a bit south to Pulau (island) Dayang Bunting to the freshwater lake. Strolling through the forest to the lake from the boat landing, we encountered many playful macaques. At the lake, we hired a nice, quiet little solar powered paddle boat for a little cruise, and took a refreshing dip in the cool, fresh water.

The following day, we took a short hop to an anchorage off the northwestern end of the same island, where we had heard there was a cave containing beautiful crystal rock formations. We weren’t exactly sure where the cave entrance was to be found, as there was no trail apparent. The only way through the dense rainforest was through a very mucky creek bed. After wandering around for awhile, we were put off by some rather intimidating looking monitor lizards, some nearly 2 meters (6 feet) long, which were quite fast on their feet as well as in the water. These are a smaller relative to the Komodo Dragons, but still didn’t appear to be anything to be messed with. Perhaps we’ll return next season, armed with some better shoes, protective clothes and a boat hook to fend off the lizards.

The next morning we made our way to the east end of Langkawi Island to the mouth of the Kilim River. Where the river meets the sea, there is just a narrow gap, probably not much more than a boat length wide, with sheer walls which appeared to be about ten stories high. This formation is appropriately called the “Hole in the Wall.” Once inside the hole, the river opens up to a long and fairly wide channel bordered by mangrove swamps. The geography of the area, along with the excellent protection, and shallow muddy bottom make this a superb anchorage.

It is here where we caught up with Beth and Al Liggett from Sunflower. They are also SetSail correspondents and it was great to finally meet them after reading their “sailor’s logs” and corresponding by email for the past few years. In addition to a warm reception, Beth and Al shared with us a tremendous amount of local knowledge (they’ve been in the area for seven years) and guided us on a dinghy tour of the Kilim River area, which included a passage through a cave and the opportunity to observe a flock of eagles feeding. We also enjoyed a few sundowners and a great meal at the excellent floating fish farm/seafood restaurant just a short dinghy ride from the anchorage.

From the Hole in the Wall anchorage, we took the dinghy a short ways upstream to the town of Kilim. From the jetty it was about a 15 minute walk to the Galleria Perdana. The Galleria Perdana is a very ornate and expansive museum complex that houses a collection of literally thousands of state gifts and awards presented to Dr. Mahathir Mohamed, the former Prime Minister of Malaysia. The collection ranges from art objects of every variety, clothing and paintings, to horse drawn carriages and motor vehicles, and is nothing short of incredible. It was a most impressive and enjoyable exhibit, but I couldn’t help but wonder, in some cases, how many families could have been fed for a year with the money spent by some very poor undeveloped countries on some of these incredibly lavish gifts, which were destined to end up on display in a museum, which by the way, charges admission.

After a couple of quiet and relaxing days in “the Hole,” we headed around to the south side of the island and Kuah Town. Here we made one last visit to the grocery store and did our check-out formalities from Malaysia. On our way out of Langkawi, we spent a quiet rainy evening anchored in Telaga Harbour, and the next day headed northwest about 30 miles to the Butang Island Group, which is part of the Tarutao Marine National Park in Thailand. We had finally come into clear water again and were keen to do some diving.

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Bali, Borneo, the Kumai River and the Orangutan Rehabilitation Camps

Posted on November 22, 2005 by George Backhus

We generally consider Jimmy Cornell’s World Cruising Routes (available on SetSail) to be the bible as it relates to planning our cruising routes. Heading north from Bali to Kalimantan and/or Singapore, Jimmy recommends heading back up the Lombok Strait, along the east coast of Bali. As expected, most of the yachts departing Bali before us reported pushing into strong currents most or all the way to the north end of the island. We’d had enough of the Lombok Channel on our first go, so decided to try a different route.

Departing Benoa, we turned right, and immediately picked up a knot of tail current as we made for the southern tip of Bali. Motor sailing along the south coast of Bali we took in some spectacular scenery; the colossal cliffs, posh homes and resorts perched high above the water, and the massive surf, courtesy of a huge southwest swell rolling in from the Indian Ocean. Once around the corner, we then headed northwest through the Bali Strait between Bali and Java, motorsailing in nearly flat calm seas, still getting bit of a push from the current.

 
Java volcano.

This current followed us nearly all the way till we reached the narrows between the islands of Java and Bali, where we began to encounter a strong southerly flow. We cut in to hug the coast of Bali on the 10-meter contour, and were able to minimize the current to about 2 knots, and made it easily to our intended anchorage just north of Gilimanuk Bay before sunset. The sea gods had been very kind to us, and after an easy 80-mile passage, we enjoyed sundowners as we watched the sun drop behind the massive volcanic peaks on the west end of Java.

The following day, we knocked off another 68 miles during daylight hours, ending up at a nondescript little island called Raas, which was home to a large fishing fleet. Anchorage was a bit rolly, so we were up early and made our way west about 80 miles and took overnight anchorage along the north shore of Madura Island. Again, anchorage was rolly, and we were awakened by the serenades of Mohammed Presley from the local mosque starting at 0430 the next morning. We weighed anchor, were under way at first light, and got to watch the sun rise.

 
Madura mosque.

The waters between Madura Island and Bawean Island, our next destination, are very active fishing grounds. We saw dozens of fishing boats enroute, and hundreds of fish traps. These traps consist of a clump of a dozen or so bamboo poles or sticks lashed together, floating on the surface, some up to 30 feet in length, and usually marked by a small flag or a clump of palm fronds to make them visible (ha-ha!) to mariners. The operative word here is usually. What amazes me is that we noted a number of huge ships regularly navigating these waters, and I can’t imagine how they manage to avoid these traps, particularly at night.

As we approached Bawean Island, eighty-odd miles from our starting point that morning, we were pleased that we had been able to dodge all the fish traps. Well, nearly all. Just after I had lowered the mainsail, we heard a thud, bang, and boom. I dove for the throttle but it was too late. Just astern of us, I could see the unmarked fish trap we had just run over. This one won the “triple crown.” It hit the bow, keel and rudder, and when I applied throttle again, there was some vibration in the prop shaft. Oh s–t, I thought, this is no place to try to make any boat repairs. We limped into the beautiful anchorage on the northeast corner of Bawean Island and dropped the hook.

Donning my mask and snorkel, I hopped in to the water to inspect the damage. Other than a few clean spots in the anti-fouling paint, the bottom was fine, as I had expected. The prop had managed to catch a small piece of polypropylene line, which I was able to easily unwind. No damage, thank goodness.

We enjoyed the beautiful, calm anchorage at Bawean so much, that we decided to take a break and spend another day. The only thing on the roster that day was cleaning Moonshadow’s bottom, which hadn’t been touched in four months and 5,000 nautical miles since we were in the Great Barrier Reef.

Departing Bawean Island early the next morning, we headed north-northwest across the Java Sea to the island of Borneo. We enjoyed a nice spinnaker run for about half the day, but then the wind faded, forcing us to motorsail the rest of the day. We passed Puting Point around midnight, and made our way to the anchorage in Kumai Bay in visibility severely hampered by smoke and haze, dodging numerous small fishing boats lighted only by small red flashing LED lights like the ones cyclists wear at night. This was pretty much an “instrument approach,” using the radar to pick up the shoreline, and the night vision monocular to pick up the flashing lights of the fishing boats through the haze, till we could get to a safe anchorage in 6 meters of water.

With good light, much improved visibility and a set of accurate waypoints from one of our predecessors, the next day we made our way over the bar and up the Kumai River to the township of Kumai. With its muddy brown water and densely rain-forested banks, the Kumai River could easily have been the Amazon. Kumai, a small port town, is a gateway to Indonesian Borneo’s gold mines and timber forests. It is also the best place to arrange a tour of the Tanjung Puting National Park and the orangutan rehabilitation centers. If you like monkeys and jungles, you’d be in heaven here.

 
  Kumai market.

When we approached the town reach of Kumai, we were approached by a small, sporty speedboat and greeted by Harry Roustaman, owner of Harry’s Yacht Service. With a big, friendly smile and gentle mannerism, he introduced himself and guided us to the best spot to anchor. Once we were anchored, Harry dropped a pamphlet outlining his services, which range from jungle tours, fuel delivery, laundry, to port clearances, just to name a few. We were so impressed with his friendly, polite and easy-going attitude that we immediately booked a tour to visit the Park and the orangutans.

That evening we went ashore in Kumai to have a walk and a meal out at one of the local eateries with a group of yachties. While Kumai doesn’t look much better or worse than any of the other small, out of the way Indonesian towns we’ve visited, we did notice that the vibe was definitely more warm and friendly. Almost everybody we passed either waved or gave us a warm “hello mista.”

Dinner at the eatery was OK and nobody got “Bali Belly.” Of the food on offer, most we were unable or afraid to identify. It was smorgasbord style, and they charged more or less by the morsel, but for the two of us the whole meal came to about $4.50 US. Among the offerings we could actually identify were curried tripe, liver of some sort, beef heart, and of course chicken and fish prepared a variety of different ways. The chicken is always a safe bet, I say. The next day we spent relaxing, catching up on a few chores, and getting ready for the jungle tour.

Our guides picked us up at 0700 sharp in a small speedboat. A young man remained on one of the boats in the anchorage to keep a watchful eye on our unattended boats – no extra charge. Harry maintained that while Kumai wasn’t a particularly dodgy area, he wanted to insure that there wasn’t any hanky panky with his customer’s yachts.

We hopped into the back of the speedboat behind driver and guide, and shot down the Kumai River a couple of miles, turning left into a tributary that marked the entrance into the Tanjung Puting National Park. As the river narrowed, the flora became thicker and more beautiful. Everywhere was the lovely scent of pandanus flowers. We occasionally spotted gibbons and macaques sitting in the trees high above the river. Along the river were a few small villages consisting of a cluster of elevated huts and small blocks of land cleared for rice farming. The river was littered with jungle debris, which our driver skillfully attempted to negotiate his way around, but we were never to go more than five or ten minutes without having to stop and clear some sort of plant material from the leg of the outboard motor.

Our first stop was Tanjung Harapan Orangutan Rehabilitation Camp. The purpose of these camps is to provide a safe sanctuary for this endangered species, while studying their behavior in their natural habitat. Because the orangutans have been reduced by the destruction of their habitat to such small numbers, they have become more or less dependent on humans, so the camps provide a regular feeding for those animals that need it.

 
  Rollin’ on the river.

We arrived well in time for the morning feeding. Walking nearly a mile into the dense rain forest, much of it on an elevated boardwalk, we reached the designated feeding area. In addition to the camp guide, Harry provided us with our own guide, a very knowledgeable young man named Dansa who had worked in the rehabilitation camps for two years, studying and documenting the behavior of the orangutans. He seemed to know all of them by sight, which ones were gentle, which were aggressive and potentially dangerous, which were the offspring of which, and loads of information about their social habits, most of it from personal observation.

At the feeding area, the guides called out to the orangutans and laid out bananas and tubs of milk on a raised platform. Orangutans move with incredible ease and feel safe high up in the trees, so are loath to come down to ground level for food, unless they are very accustomed to being around humans. Within a few minutes, we started to see some of the trees swaying, hear small branches breaking, and began to see dark, furry figures moving through the treetops. Within a half hour, there were at least half a dozen orangutans in sight, some feeding, some just sitting and watching the action from a safe distance, or avoiding getting too close to the dominant male of the area. A couple of the more “humanized” orangutans came right down to where we were at ground level to collect more food. Some of the larger animals were quite intimidating, having absolutely no fear of us. This is not entirely surprising as they weigh as much, if not more than us, and have 4-5 times the body strength of the average human. Orangutans have been known to literally pick up a human standing in their way and toss them over their head. We were happy to keep our distance.

We spent well over an hour and a half observing the orangutans, observing their unique habits and social behavior, and enjoying the cool of the rain forest under the dense canopy. Being in close company with these apes in their natural habitat is a fascinating and indescribable experience.

 
  Camp Leaky wildlife.

We returned to the speedboat and went further up the river. As we made our way further into the park, the river narrowed to the point of being mostly covered in canopy, the water cleared, and the flora and fauna became more prolific. We encountered numerous exotic birds, a couple of fresh water crocodiles, and even a group of five wild boars swimming in line across the river just ahead of us. Pulling off in a wide spot in the river, we enjoyed a box lunch while taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the jungle, interrupted only by the sounds of a couple of “African Queen” type boats making their way up the river. After lunch, we headed upstream a short ways further to Camp Leakey.

Camp Leakey is the largest and oldest orangutan rehabilitation camp in the park. It has more buildings, more staff and even a small visitor’s center/museum containing lots of interesting artifacts, photographs and information about the orangutans. There were also a number of very tame orangutans milling about the camp, as well as a wild boar, a domestic cat and a few gibbons keeping an eye on things from some nearby trees. None of the animals seemed to pay too much attention to each other.

Nonetheless, we trekked a mile or so into the jungle once again in order to observe the afternoon feeding. Once more we were very fortunate to be visited by so many orangutans. Our guide explained that the feedings were so well attended because at this particular time of the season, there were fewer new leaves and flowers available, which are their preferred sources of food. Again we spent nearly two hours just hanging out and watching the orangutans while they dined on pineapples and milk, and curiously watched us. I was beginning to wonder who was entertaining whom out there.

We returned back to the speedboat for the one-hour-plus ride back to Kumai. It was approaching dusk, and the monkeys were out in force along the river. We saw literally hundreds of long-tailed macaques, gibbons and proboscis monkeys. The dominant male of the proboscis species have a schnoz that Jimmy Durante would have been jealous of. As we passed below on the river at high speed, some of the monkeys would become irritated by the noise, run out on a tree branch and begin shaking it wildly, and in some cases throw bits of food or plant material at us. We were definitely in their turf, disturbing their evening meal, and they weren’t happy about it!

 
Moonshadow at Carimata.  

Back on Moonshadow, over sundowners that evening, we toasted to our best day yet in Indonesia. The beautiful rain forest, the monkeys, and our excellent guides will all be indelibly marked in our memories. Harry popped by that evening to check up on us. From the copies of our passports that we provided for entry permits into the park, he discovered that Merima had just had a birthday a couple days before, and presented her with a small gift.

Considering that some parts of Indonesia rely heavily on the tourism dollar, or in this case rupiah, we couldn’t understand why our visas granted us just 60 days to stay. The process of extending visas is expensive, and requires interface with the Indonesian officialdom, which means delays, endless amounts of paperwork and, in some cases, baksheesh (bribery). We were loath to deal with this any more, so we decided to check out of the country at Kumai. Harry organized our clearance for just US$25. This meant that technically, we were meant to proceed directly to our next port of call, which was Singapore, so we would have to be in stealth mode for the rest of the time we were island hopping in Indonesian waters.

The following day we took on a bit of fuel, got some washing done, picked up a few provisions, did some email, said our goodbyes to the friends we had made in Kumai, and prepared for the last stretch of our Indonesian tour, the 600-mile island hop to Singapore. We had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves in Kumai and it was the first place in Indonesia that we were truly sad to leave.

The following morning, we easily retraced our track down the Kumai River with the tide ebbing, and took a long 115-mile leg to Pulau Mangkut. Typical of sailing and flying, the leg was hours of total boredom punctuated by a few moments of sheer terror. As we approached the small islet, we were motor sailing in light air, following the 10 meter contour. All of a sudden, I noticed a strong current on the nose, the seas started stacking up and the bottom was coming up fast. The last thing that I wanted was to crest one of these waves and then be dropped on the bottom, pushing the keel through the hull of the boat. I dashed to the helm, switched off the autopilot and threw the helm hard to port, where there were no standing waves and the chart showed deeper water. Within 30 seconds both the bottom and my heartbeat had receded substantially – and we had not even kissed the bottom. An hour later at around midnight, with a good moon, we made our way into a safe but rather rolly anchorage for the night in the lee of a small, rocky islet.

 
  Bathing at the spring.

We were underway early the next morning, and sailed most of the day with the spinnaker. It was another long day sail, but this time the destination was much more to our liking. We arrived late that evening at a lovely bay on the north side of Serutu Island, and were guided to a safe anchorage by some yachties already at anchor. After two long sailing days, we took a day’s rest and enjoyed the beauty and quiet of this uninhabited bay.

From Serutu, we made a short 15-mile hop over to Carimata Island, and again relaxed in a beautiful anchorage in the lee of the lush, green island. Just ashore from our anchorage was a natural spring where the water was led down to the water’s edge in a pipe fashioned from some lengths of bamboo. In the absence of rain, this was apparently the only source of water for two fishing villages on neighboring islands, as there were endless streams of boats and people coming to bathe, wash clothes, and haul away jugs of the beautiful spring water. Unfortunately some of them took the opportunity to make noisy close passes to us, or stop and ask for (and in some cases actually demand) food and clothing. We found a break in the action and went over to check out the water source, having a bath in the spring water. Unfortunately, the anchorage was so infested with flies that it made cooking and eating a bit unpleasant. After a day and a half there, we decided to take the hop across the South China Sea.

We departed Carimata in the morning, and reckoned that we would be able to make Kentar Island before happy hour the following day. This would put us in range of Singapore with just a couple of easy day hops.

 

Soon after we cleared the small and picturesque islands lying off Carimata, the breeze filled in and we had the spinnaker up, making good speed. This lasted most of the day, but eased to almost nothing by nightfall, so we had to drop the kite in favor of the cast aluminum spinnaker. At about 1230 hours the following day, we crossed the equator. For an instant the GPS showed just goose eggs for the latitude, and the N (for north) was superimposed over the S (for South), indicating the hemisphere we were in. Then, after a magic moment, Moonshadow was back in the northern hemisphere for the first time in eight years. Since Merima hadn’t sailed across the line before, she has officially graduated from a “furback” to a “shellback.” Since she was the only crew on board, and fearing a mutiny, King Neptune was unusually easy on her. We arrived later that afternoon and took anchorage in the lee of Kentar Island.

We relaxed the next day, anchored off of a small fishing village built on stilts at the water’s edge. We were visited by a few very nice and friendly locals. We experienced something completely new to us in Indonesia. Instead of coming up to the boat and asking or demanding something, they brought us a gift. Mind you, it was just a coconut – but we appreciated the lovely green “drinking nut” and the charming gesture. We were so pleasantly surprised that we gave them some clothes and lollies for the kids. They were so appreciative, they gave us another coconut!

 
  New shellback.

Two easy day hops found us within eyeshot of Singapore. Anchored off a small, primitive fishing village built on stilts over the water, it was difficult to fathom that from our third world anchorage, we were gazing across the Singapore Strait at the lighted skyscrapers one of the most modern and cosmopolitan cities in Asia, if not the world.

Although we’ve sailed more than 60,000 miles since we left Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, nearly eleven years ago, this spot roughly marks the half-way point of our circumnavigation. We’re hoping the second half is just half as good as the first half!

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The Straits of Malacca to the Andaman Sea

Posted on November 17, 2005 by George Backhus

Mention the Straits of Malacca to most any sailor and the first thing they are likely to say is “pirates!” This busy shipping lane certainly has a long-standing reputation as one of the world’s piracy hot-spots, and rightfully so. But in recent years, apparently due to increased police patrols resulting from the cooperation of the governments bordering the Straits, the number of reported incidents is down significantly. The few attacks that take place nowadays seem to be almost exclusively on commercial shipping, so the risk to cruising yachties is almost nil.

In fact, the Malay Peninsula has become quite cruiser friendly, and it doesn’t take too long to see why. The weather is pretty good all year round, there are no tropical cyclones, there is a “nautical stairway” of excellent marinas and anchorages a day’s sail apart all along the coastline, the scenery is gorgeous, provisioning is easy, and something that is near and dear to most all cruisers, the prices are low. And did I mention that the people are very nice? This area is sort of like the Mexico of the Eastern Hemisphere. The biggest challenges when navigating these waters seem to be the continuous stream of commercial shipping traffic in the channel offshore and the ever present fish (boat?) traps in the shallower waters closer to shore. In order to avoid the risk of collision in the shipping lanes, the risk of fouling an unlighted fish trap, we opted to make the trip to Langkawi, situated just on the border between Malaysia and Thailand, in a series of day sails, close to shore out of the shipping lanes during the daylight hours.

We were a bit soft after a thoroughly enjoyable month in Singapore with Moonshadow resting in Raffles Marina. Heading out the Johor Strait and turning to the northwest, we were immediately assaulted by 15 knot noserlies accompanied by a short choppy swell. After a few hours, we either found our sea legs or the swell abated, I’m not sure which. We had purposely planned for the first day out of Singapore to be an easy one, which was a short 31-miler to Pulau (that’s Malay for island) Pusang, where we anchored for the evening. Our second day out was another non-eventful motor sail in gentle breezes and flat waters, to an anchorage in the lee of the Water Islands, 68 miles northward.

On our third day out, we finally got our first few hours of genuine motor-off sailing in more than a month. It sure felt nice to hear nothing but the wind in the rig and the water lapping up against the hull for awhile, but unfortunately the breeze turned fickle and dropped away as we approached Port Dickson. The marina there, 40 miles from the Water Islands was our port of entry into Malaysia. We arranged a berth for a couple days at the Admiral Marina and Leisure Club, an attractive new marina/residential complex a few miles to the south of the actual town of Port Dickson. Formalities were a breeze, because for 50 Malaysian Ringgit, about US$13, the very professional and efficient Veronica Chee at the marina office completely organized our Malaysian Customs and Immigration check-in and our port clearances in and out. Needless to say we were already beginning to like Malaysia.

We spent the next day in the town of Port Dickson doing all the things we normally do when upon arrival to a new country: score some local currency at an ATM, purchase a local SIM card for the mobile phone, wander around and check out the vibe, see what kind of foods are available at the supermarket and of course, sample some of the local cuisine. Port Dickson is a small and fairly non-descript town, but with at least four ATM’s, a decent café, dozens of mobile phone stores, and an excellent supermarket, it more than met our basic needs.

We were eager to get north so departed Port Dickson the next day and made our way to Port Klang, about 60 miles up the coast. Port Klang is the busiest port in Malaysia and is ostensibly the sea port for Kuala Lumpur, the capital and largest city in Malaysia, which is located a short ways inland. We anchored for the night in an arm off the main shipping channel and left at first light in rain showers the next morning.

The next stopover anchorage that appeared to offer reasonable protection from the westerly wind and swell was the resort island of Pangkor, about 90 miles to the north. With relatively flat waters and a light breeze, we burnt up dinosaur juice all day long. We experienced a north setting current which added a knot to our groundspeed for most of the day, so we easily made it to the anchorage on the southwest corner of the island in time for sundowners. Starting at first light again the following morning, we arrived in Penang, 75 miles to the north by happy hour. Since we were fortunate enough to have no bad weather lay days, we were a bit ahead of schedule, so we decided to spend a few days there and chill out a bit before pressing on to Langkawi.

Penang is a large and beautiful island connected to mainland Malaysia by a 13 kilometer long suspension bridge. Its landscape is a mixture of hills covered in native rain forest, high rise apartment, office and hotel towers, numerous ornate temples and mosques, and in the original city of Georgetown, a mix of British colonial buildings and old Chinese shop houses. We berthed in the Tanjong City Marina, adjacent to Georgetown, which is the main city on the island.

The Tanjong City Marina is brand new, and had only been open a couple of weeks when we arrived, so they were still working out a few of the bugs. The marina is very attractive and is very handy to Georgetown, and most of the issues were quite minor and will likely get sorted out over time.

There are two real screw-ups on the part of the developers/builders that may require some substantial investment to fix. First, the northern most finger has berthing for vessels up to 100 feet in length. The pens are about half again as wide as the average vessel of that length (excepting multihulls) but only wide enough for two vessels half that length. I suppose it really doesn’t matter at the moment, as there is only about 2 meters (6 feet) of water at low tide, so nothing much over 50’ multihulls could get in anyway. Two yachts in the fifty foot range that arrived after us got stuck in the putty when they arrived. Not a very good look. The other problem is that there is no breakwater or wave attenuator on the perimeter of the marina, which is exposed to the shipping channel and is right next door to a very busy ferry terminal. When a large ship steams up the channel or a ferry arrives at the terminal, all hell breaks loose. We witnessed a couple of 40+ footers rolling at least 30 degrees side to side while tied up, spilling cocktails, flinging gear all over the place, and tossing occupants out of their berths. Putting two yachts side by side in one of those pens without staggering the masts could prove calamitous. We chafed through the casing of a dock line in five days. Another cruiser friend of ours snapped a dock line late one evening and pulled one of the cleats right out of the dock the next morning. Also not a good look. In any event the rates were very inexpensive, and it will suffice as a short stopover marina till improvements are made.

If the marina was not quite right, the city of Penang proved to be an absolute delight. The Colonial District, Chinatown and Little India were all just a few minutes walk from the marina. The streets were very colorful and buzzing with activity day and night. The locals we came in contact with were friendly and helpful. There were plenty of shops selling a variety of interesting goods, and plenty of cafes and restaurants. Most of the sights in Georgetown can be easily reached by foot from the marina. If your feet get tired, you can always hail an awaiting trishaw to give you a lift to your destination. If it starts to rain, the driver pulls up the convertible top and tosses a tarp over your legs to keep you dry. It’s not exactly the fastest way to get around, but it is inexpensive, fun and refreshing to have the breeze on your face.

Penang is particularly known throughout the region for its excellent cuisine. We sampled Malaysian, Indian and Chinese meals and were thoroughly impressed with the flavors and surprised by the low prices. We also visited the stately Eastern and Oriental Hotel and had one of their famous weekend buffet meals. The E & O’s Sarky’s Corner put on a fantastic smorgasbord of excellent food of all types, free flowing beer and wine, wandering musicians and a great early 1900’s atmosphere. All this for less than $20 US per person. We recommend you go very hungry and thirsty. After a big night at the E & O, we hired a trishaw to take us home. The driver didn’t speak a word of English, but through a translator we managed to convey to him where we were going, and after we got underway, he switched on his boom box and pedaled us home to the beat of disco music.

During our stay we took in the Penang Museum in the Colonial District and found it to be very interesting and the exhibits well presented. We also caught the tram up to the top of Penang Hill (I think its more like a small mountain) and along with cooler air, we enjoyed some spectacular views of Georgetown, the rest of Penang Island, the Andaman Sea and mainland Malaysia. We enjoyed a casual lunch on the terrace of the Belle View Hotel on the top of the hill with a great view of Georgetown spread out below us. Above us in the arbor, we spotted a couple of beautiful green pit vipers snoozing on a branch. Apparently they are deadly poisonous, but they seemed to be very uninterested in us or our meals.

After lunch we decided to get a bit of exercise and walk down to the bottom of the hill and avoid the slow, cramped and sweaty tram ride. Kitted out in just shorts and thongs, we were expecting a nice stroll down the paved footpath. Needless to say, were not exactly prepared for the hand over hand rope climbing we encountered in a few spots along the way. It was a very scenic walk, and we made it without much more than a few scrapes and scratches, but not wanting to push our luck, we hopped on the tram for the last leg down to sea level.

We were keen to stretch our legs again the next day, so we taxied to the botanical garden and got in a good walk through its circuit. During a brief downpour, we took a trail through a heavily canopied rain forest section and hardly felt a drop. As far as botanical gardens go, it was pretty average, but the walk was enjoyable nonetheless.

At the end of the walk, near the entrance, we came upon a band of very cheeky long-tailed macaques (monkeys) that had come down out of the trees to feed. I tried to get close enough to one of them to take a few close-up photos, but I apparently invaded her space. It must have been a sight to watch-one of these little buggers, no more than a foot high and carrying an infant no less, coming at me hissing and growling, and me, six feet tall, back pedaling as fast as my feet would go. And I was worried about pirates in Malaysia?

We sailed out of Penang promising to ourselves to come back again next season to enjoy a bit more of this vibrant, fun and friendly city. Our last hop in Malaysia was Langkawi, a cluster of 99 to105 islands (depending on which publication you read) lying less than 50 miles north west of Penang, and just offshore from the Malaysia/Thailand border.

In that short distance the transformation is incredible. The water gradually changed from very murky brown to a much clearer blue-green. The profile of the islands shifted from rolling hills to the dramatic, steep rock sided haystack-shapes with dense green vegetation on top just like you see in all those travel posters of Thailand. Stunning! We had one day before we were meant to check in to the Telaga Marina for the SailAsia Rally Week so we dropped the pick one last time in a spectacular anchorage known simply as “S” in the Andaman Sea Pilot, next to a small islet called Pulau Gabang Darat.

While relaxing over a sundowner we were passed by numerous small open boats, mostly full of children, apparently on their way home from school. These were the first “long tail” style boats that we had encountered. A long tail is an open boat propelled by a small engine mounted on a fully articulating boom. The tiller is in line with a propeller shaft that extends out about half again the length of the boat. The tiller moves the engine from side to side (for steering) and up and down (depending on water depth), and the propeller throws up a huge spray of water. Of course, they have no mufflers so the decibel level is higher than front row seating at a heavy metal rock concert.

The next morning, after watching the sun rise over the beautiful rock-faced islands surrounding us, we made a leisurely two hour trip up to the Telaga Harbour Marina, where we to be treated to a week’s stay and festivities, courtesy of the SailAsia Rally.

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Singapore

Posted on November 11, 2005 by George Backhus

The twenty mile trip across the Singapore Strait was a welcomed culture shock for us. Indonesia to the south, where we had spent the past two months, is about as third world as it gets, beautiful but impossible. Singapore, on the other hand, is the complete opposite, up to the minute and the epitome of first world Asia. Modern, clean, attractive, cosmopolitan and vibrant are just of few of the long list of adjectives that I would use to describe this island/nation/city of four million people.

The Singapore Strait is one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. We motor sailed across, weaving our way through a steady stream of shipping traffic, dodging a few intimidating lightening squalls, unexpectedly adjusting our heading around some recently reclaimed and uncharted land that had blocked our course line, and, as usual avoiding a myriad of fish traps set in the main channel of the Johor Strait. After three hours of exhausting vigilance we parked up in the renowned Raffles Marina after more than two months of living on the hook.

Raffles is a first class marina in every sense of the word. Upon our arrival two smartly uniformed dock attendants were on station to catch our lines as we eased into the two-fingered slip. Phil Blake, the marina manager and a distant relation of the late Sir Peter Blake, personally greeted us shortly after we were tied up. In addition to all the usual amenities one would expect from a marina, in Raffles’ country club-like complex are a well stocked chandlery, a full-service shipyard, a dry stack boat shed, two fuel docks, two excellent restaurants, a bar, a resort-style pool with swim-up eating and drinking, guest rooms for those wishing to get off the boat for a bit, a gym, a spa and even a rock climbing wall. Chauffer driven golf carts or “buggies” are available upon request to help you move people, gear and provisions to or from your boat to anywhere on the site. A fresh copy of the Straits Times newspaper is delivered to your companionway each morning, gratis. Wireless broadband Internet (WiFi) is available for on-board surfing. Raffles provide regular free shuttle bus service to the nearest shopping mall and the connection point to Singapore’s excellent public transit system. All of this for about the same as you would pay for an average marina in Mexico. In our opinion, the only negative to Raffles Marina is its location. Situated on the Johor Strait on the northwest side of Singapore just across from Malaysia, it is a half hour by taxi and an hour by public transit to get to all the action in Singapore Central.

The evening we arrived, we were greeted by good mates and former MooCrew Guy Cross and Eric Strasser, both of whom now live and work in Singapore. It was great to catch up with some old mates, half way around the world over a few “Strassritas,” which are Eric’s own special version of the classic Mexican cocktail. It was also cool to have lots of great “local knowledge,” a place to stay downtown, the use of a car for running errands, and some great nights on the town during our month’s stay. Thanks guys!!

The entry formalities for Singapore were painless. Immigration met us at the marina the day we arrived and their part of the check-in took us about ten minutes in the comfort of the harbormaster’s office. We made a trip downtown the following morning to handle Customs and Port Clearances at the One Stop Center near the main shipping port. Imagine having Customs, Immigration, Quarantine and the Port Captain all in one office and being able to do all of the clearances by interfacing with only one person. What a concept! We were in and out in less than ten minutes, which is truly amazing considering the amount of shipping traffic that comes through this one little country. No mordida, no baksheesh, no stupid boat searches, no bullshit-the way things ought to be and just one of many examples of the user friendliness of Singapore.

Singapore is situated just slightly north of the equator so the weather hot. There are just two seasons here, winter which is hot and humid, and summer which is hot, humid and rainy with thunder and lightning. We arrived on the cusp of the two seasons, so got to enjoy the best of both seasons. Step outdoors on a sunny day and any exposed skin will feel like it’s been touched with a branding iron. The only thing that makes Singapore bearable is air conditioning. I read somewhere that aircon accounts for the majority of Singapore’s electrical consumption. Ours certainly saw plenty of service while we were there.

During the previous six months, we had been almost constantly on the move and almost never had the luxury of shopping at the same grocery store twice in a row. In Singapore we had planned to spend a full month to chill out, be “dock potatoes,” catch up on a bit of boat maintenance, and of course take in a few of the many attractions.

One of Singapore’s main attractions is shopping. With more than a hundred malls, Singapore is a shopper’s heaven. Orchard Road is Asia’s version of Rodeo Drive, with dozens of glitzy multi-story mall complexes lining both sides of the road for more than a mile. For the technophiles, there are not one, but two six-story shopping complexes in the city that sell nothing but consumer electronics. These malls are literal candy stores of personal computers, digital cameras, cell phones, flat screen televisions, home theaters, iPods, video games and other assorted electronic goodies. Tempted by the huge selection and low duty and tax free prices, we couldn’t help but make a few minor upgrades.

Fortunately there is a lot more in Singapore to keep one entertained. The ethnic neighborhoods of Little India, Arab Street and China Town all bring their own flavors to this city and offer some great opportunities for strolling, shopping, dining and experiencing the respective cultures.

Singapore is a culinary city. On offer is virtually every type of cuisine in the world. We enjoyed an array of food from superb Italian cuisine accompanied by California wine, to Indian curries served on a place mat sized piece of banana leaf and eaten with the hand (the right one, of course) while attempting to cool down our overheated palates with Tiger Beer, the local brew. For those into cheap eats, there is an entire culture built around the food courts or “hawkers” stands as they are known. Clusters of these tiny food stands can be found all over the city. The variety of dishes on offer is endless and the quality ranges from pretty good to downright incredible. You can tell which ones have the best food because they usually have a queue during peak lunch and dinner hours. We visited them frequently and most of the food was very good, if not excellent and the average price for a meal was about 2-3 US dollars per person. The government rates them with an A, B or C based on their cleanliness and their ratings must be clearly posted. We couldn’t afford to eat at home as well for as cheap and it was fun to sample a variety of new dishes.

Our all time favorite meal was a local favorite called pepper crab. The crab itself looks and tastes somewhat similar to a Dungeness crab, only with a thinner shell. It comes drowned in a steaming hot black pepper sauce that makes the dish look as if was put under the oil pan of a car and the plug was opened. The large back plate part of the shell comes with it, and inside it is usually the tastiest part, the roe. When the crab is all gone everyone mopped up every last drop of the pepper sauce with bits of bread.

Between meals, we managed to take in a few of the sights. Singapore is a very easy city to get around in. The public transportation system is easy, safe, clean, comfortable, efficient and inexpensive. The streets are impeccably clean and safe so walking is a joy. You’ll never step in chewing gum here because selling it is illegal. There is wide variety of architecture ranging from British Colonial to Chinese shop houses to ultra modern skyscrapers and everything in between. There are plenty of parks and green spaces and all sorts of interesting sculptures dotting the cityscape.

Thanks to our good mate Eric, we had the use of a car for a couple of weeks and found driving in Singapore pretty easy. The roads are excellent, well marked and there is surprisingly little traffic due to the astronomical taxes placed on automobiles, which add about a third again to the base price. There are also special tolls for driving during peak hours. Road tolls and public parking charges are deducted automatically from a prepay card that is in an electronic device mounted on the car’s dash, so one doesn’t have to fumble with change or queue up at toll booths. The only challenge with driving is navigation in some of the suburbs. There seems to be a shortage of street names as many names are used over and over. We saw Tuas Road 1, Tuas Road 2, and so on up to number six, all running parallel to each other in one neighborhood. I had to pick up a part for the outboard at the local Yamaha distributor on Joo Koon Way. To get there I had to get off the motorway at Joo Koon Road, cross Joo Koon Street, hang a left on Joo Koon Crescent, bear right on Joo Koon Avenue, follow it down to the end to Joo Koon Circle and then take it around to Joo Koon Way. Try this with a road map that doesn’t show about half the streets!

Outside of the city are the Singapore Zoo and Night Safari. The Zoo is by far the finest I’ve ever visited. The grounds are beautiful and the cages and barriers are so well designed and camouflaged that, in many cases, it feels as if there is nothing between the animals and the people. The animals appeared to be very healthy, happy and active, even the polar bears and penguins, which were slightly out of their usual environs. Now I visited the Singapore Zoo while I was on a business trip there 15 years ago and will never forget the ginormous crocodile that I got nose to nose with (through two inches of tempered glass). Well, I think the same one is still there and even bigger now. After dark, the Zoo closes and next door the Night Safari opens to offer a peek at the nocturnal hunting and feeding animals, when they are most active. In some cases, as with the giant fruit bats and flying squirrels, we had to duck to avoid them as they flew just inches away from us. This is no place for the twitchy!

While there is no such thing as a Utopian society, Singapore would certainly come much closer than most places we’ve visited. We found numerous cultures living together in extremely high density, but in apparent harmony. Virtually everyone we came in contact with was friendly, helpful, pleasant and gracious. We saw no evidence of homelessness, very little evidence of real poverty and, in general a relatively healthy looking population. High “sin taxes” on alcohol, tobacco and automobiles seem to prevent the proliferation of their use. Stiff penalties for crime, including mandatory death penalty for murder and drug trafficking, appear to keep crime low and the streets safe. You can call it a “good vibe” or just a happy place, but we thoroughly enjoyed our time in “Sing” and can’t wait to visit again.

A month passed in a snap and after an easy check-out, we headed north up the infamous Straits of Malacca towards Malaysia.

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Bali to Borneo and Singapore

Posted on October 16, 2005 by George Backhus

We generally consider Jimmy Cornell’s “World Cruising Routes” to be the bible as it relates to planning our cruising routes. Heading north from Bali to Kalimantan and/or Singapore, Jimmy recommends heading back up the Lombok Strait, along the east coast of Bali. As expected, most of the yachts departing Bali before us reported pushing into strong currents most or all the way to the north end of the island. We’d had enough of the Lombok Channel on our first go, so decided to try a different route.

Departing Benoa, we turned right, and immediately picked up a knot of tail current as we made for the southern tip of Bali. Motor sailing along the south coast of Bali we took in some spectacular scenery; the colossal cliffs, posh homes and resorts perched high above the water, and the massive surf, courtesy of a huge southwest swell rolling in from the Indian Ocean. Once around the corner, we then headed northwest through the Bali Strait between Bali and Java, motor sailing in nearly flat calm seas, still getting bit of a push from the current.

This current followed us nearly all the way till we reached the narrows between the islands of Java and Bali, where we began to encounter a strong southerly flow. We cut in to hug the coast of Bali on the ten meter contour, and were able to minimize the current to about two knots, and made it easily to our intended anchorage just north of Gilimanuk Bay before sunset. The sea Gods had been very kind to us, and after an easy 80-mile passage, we enjoyed sundowners as we watched the sun drop behind the massive volcanic peaks on the west end of Java.

The following day, we knocked off another 68 miles during daylight hours, ending up at a non-descript little island called Raas, which was home to a large fishing fleet. Anchorage was a bit rolly, so we were up early and made our way west about 80 miles and took overnight anchorage along the north shore of Madura Island. Again, anchorage was rolly, and we were rudely awakened by the serenades of Mohammed Presley from the local mosque starting at 0430 the next morning. We weighed anchor and were under way at first light and got to watch the sun rise.

The waters between Madura Island, and Bawean Island, our next destination, are very active fishing grounds. We saw dozens of fishing boats enroute, and hundreds of fish traps. These traps consist of a clump of a dozen or so bamboo poles or sticks lashed together, floating on the surface, some up to 30 feet in length, and usually marked by a small flag or a clump of palm fronds to make them visible (ha-ha!) to mariners. The operative word here is usually. What amazes me is that we noted a number of huge ships regularly navigating these waters, and I can’t imagine how they manage to avoid these traps, particularly at night.

As we approached Bawean Island, eighty-odd miles from our starting point that morning, we were pleased that we had been able to dodge all the fish traps. Well, nearly all. Just after I had lowered the mainsail, we heard a thud, bang, and boom. I dove for the throttle but it was too late. Just astern of us, I could see the unmarked fish trap we had just run over. This one won the “triple crown.” It hit the bow, keel and rudder, and when I applied throttle again, there was some vibration in the prop shaft. Oh s—t, I thought, this is no place to try to make any boat repairs. We limped into the beautiful anchorage on the northeast corner of Bawean Island and dropped the hook.

Donning my mask and snorkel, I hopped in to the water to inspect the damage. Other than a few clean spots in the anti-fouling paint, the bottom was fine, as I had expected. The prop had managed to catch a small piece of polypropylene line, which I was able to easily unwind. No damage, thank goodness.

We enjoyed the beautiful, calm anchorage at Bawean so much, that we decided to take a break and spend another day. The only thing on the roster that day was cleaning Moonshadow’s bottom, which hadn’t been touched in four months and 5,000 nautical miles since we were in the Great Barrier Reef.

Departing Bawean Island early the next morning, we headed north-northwest across the Java Sea to the island of Borneo. We enjoyed a nice spinnaker run for about half the day, but then the wind faded, forcing us to motor sail the rest of the day. We passed Puting Point around midnight, and made our way to the anchorage in Kumai Bay in visibility severely hampered by smoke and haze, dodging numerous small fishing boats lighted only by small red flashing LED lights like the ones cyclists wear at night. This was pretty much an “instrument approach” using the radar to pick up the shoreline and the night vision monocular to pick up the flashing lights of the fishing boats through the haze till we could get to a safe anchorage in 6 meters of water.

With good light, much improved visibility and a set of accurate waypoints from one of our predecessors, the next day we made our way over the bar and up the Kumai River to the township of Kumai. With its muddy brown water and densely rain forested banks, the Kumai River could easily have been the Amazon. Kumai, a small port town, is a gateway to Indonesian Borneo’s gold mines and timber forests. It is also the best place to arrange a tour of the Tanjung Puting Nation Park and the orangutan rehabilitation centers. If you like monkeys and jungles, you’d be in heaven here.

When we approached the town reach of Kumai, we were approached by a small, sporty speedboat and greeted by Harry Roustaman, owner of Harry’s Yacht Service. With a big, friendly smile and gentle mannerism, he introduced himself and guided us to the best spot to anchor. Once we were anchored, Harry dropped a pamphlet outlining his services, which range from jungle tours, fuel delivery, laundry, to port clearances, just to name a few. We were so impressed with his friendly, polite and easy going attitude that we immediately booked a jungle tour to visit the Tanjung Putting National Park and the orangutan rehabilitation centers.

That evening we went ashore in Kumai to have a walk and a meal out at one of the local eateries with a group of yachties. While Kumai doesn’t look much better or worse than any of the other small, out of the way Indonesian towns we’ve visited, we did notice that the vibe was definitely more warm and friendly. Almost everybody we passed either waved or gave us a warm “hello mista.”

Dinner at the eatery was OK and nobody got “Bali Belly.” Of the food on offer, most we were unable or afraid to identify. It was smorgasbord style, and they charged more or less by the morsel, but for the two of us the whole meal came to about $4.50 US. Among the offerings we could actually identify were curried tripe, liver of some sort, beef heart, and of course chicken and fish prepared a variety of different ways. The chicken is always a safe bet, I say. The next day we spent relaxing, catching up on a few chores, and getting ready for the jungle tour.

Our guides picked us up at 0700 sharp in a small speedboat. A young man remained on one of the boats in the anchorage to keep a watchful eye on our unattended boats-no extra charge. Harry maintained that while Kumai wasn’t a particularly dodgy area, he wanted to insure that there wasn’t any hanky panky with his customer’s yachts.

We hopped into the back of the speedboat behind driver and guide, and shot down the Kumai River a couple of miles, turning left into a tributary that marked the entrance into the Tanjung Puting National Park. As the river narrowed, the flora became thicker and more beautiful. Everywhere was the lovely scent of pandanus flowers. We occasionally spotted gibbons and macaques sitting in the trees high above the river. Along the river were a few small villages consisting of a cluster of elevated huts and small blocks of land cleared for rice farming. The river was littered with jungle debris, which our driver skillfully attempted to negotiate his way around, but we were never to go more than five or ten minutes without having to stop and clear some sort of plant material from the leg of the outboard motor.

Our first stop was Tanjung Harapan Orangutan Rehabilitation Camp. The purpose of these camps is to provide a safe sanctuary for this endangered species, while studying their behavior in their natural habitat. Because the orangutans have been reduced by the destruction of their habitat to such small numbers, they have become more or less dependent on humans, so the camps provide a regular feeding for those animals that need it.

We arrived well in time for the morning feeding. Walking nearly a mile into the dense rain forest, much of it on an elevated boardwalk, we reached the designated feeding area. In addition to the camp guide, Harry provided us with our own guide, a very knowledgeable young man named Dansa who had worked in the rehabilitation camps for two years, studying and documenting the behavior of the orangutans. He seemed to know all of them by sight, which ones were gentle, which were aggressive and potentially dangerous, which were the offspring of which, and loads of information about their social habits, most of it from personal observation.

At the feeding area, the guides called out to the orangutans and laid out bananas and tubs of milk on a raised platform. Orangutans move with incredible ease and feel safe high up in the trees, so are loath to come down to ground level for food, unless they are very accustomed to being around humans. Within a few minutes, we started to see some of the trees swaying, hear small branches breaking, and began to see dark, furry figures moving through the treetops. Within a half hour, there were at least half a dozen orangutans in sight, some feeding, some just sitting and watching the action from a safe distance, or avoiding getting too close to the dominant male of the area. A couple of the more “humanized” orangutans came right down to where we were at ground level to collect more food. Some of the larger animals were quite intimidating, having absolutely no fear of us. This is not entirely surprising as they weigh as much, if not more than us, and have 4-5 times the body strength of the average human. Orangutans have been known to literally pick up a human standing in their way and toss them over their head. We were happy to keep our distance.

We spent well over an hour and a half observing the orangutans, observing their unique habits and social behavior, and enjoying the cool of the rain forest under the dense canopy. Being in close company with these apes in their natural habitat is a fascinating and indescribable experience.

We returned to the speedboat and went further up the river. As we made our way further into the park, the river narrowed to the point of being mostly covered in canopy, the water cleared, and the flora and fauna became more prolific. We encountered numerous exotic birds, a couple of fresh water crocodiles, and even a group of five wild boars swimming in line across the river just ahead of us. Pulling off in a wide spot in the river, we enjoyed a box lunch while enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the jungle, interrupted only by the sounds of a couple of “African Queen” type boats making their way up the river. After lunch, we headed upstream a short ways further to Camp Leakey.

Camp Leakey is the largest and oldest orangutan rehabilitation camp in the park. It has more buildings, more staff and even a small visitor’s center/museum containing lots of interesting artifacts, photographs and information about the orangutans. There were also a number of very tame orangutans milling about the camp, as well as a wild boar, a domestic cat and a few gibbons keeping an eye on things from some nearby trees. None of the animals seemed to pay too much attention to each other.

Nonetheless, we trekked a mile or so into the jungle once again in order to observe the afternoon feeding. Again we were very fortunate to be visited by so many orangutans. Our guide explained that the feedings were so well attended because at this particular time of the season, there were fewer new leaves and flowers available, which are the preferred sources of food for the orangutans. Again we spent nearly two hours just hanging out and watching the orangutans while they dined on pineapples and milk, and curiously watched us. I was beginning to wonder who was entertaining who out there.

We returned back to the speedboat for the one hour+ ride back to Kumai. It was approaching dusk, and the monkeys were out in force along the river. We saw literally hundreds of long-tailed macaques, gibbons and proboscis monkeys. The dominant male of the proboscis species have a schnoz that Jimmy Durante would have been jealous of.
As we passed below on the river at high speed, some of the monkeys would become irritated by the noise, run out on a tree branch and begin shaking it wildly, and in some cases throw bits of food or plant material at us. We were definitely in their turf, disturbing their evening meal, and they weren’t happy about it!

Back on Moonshadow, over sundowners that evening we toasted to our best day yet in Indonesia. The beautiful rain forest, the monkeys and our excellent guides will all be indelibly marked in our memories. Harry popped by that evening to check up on us. From the copies of our passports that we provided for entry permits into the park, he discovered that Merima had just had a birthday a couple days before, and presented her with a small gift.

Considering that some parts of Indonesia rely heavily on the tourism dollar, or in this case rupiah, we couldn’t understand why our visas granted us just 60 days to stay. The process of extending visas is expensive, and requires interface with the Indonesian officialdom, which means delays, endless amounts of paperwork and, in some cases baksheesh (bribery). We were loath to deal with this any more, so we decided to check out of the country at Kumai. Harry organized our clearance for just US$25. This meant that technically, we were meant to proceed directly to our next port of call, which was Singapore, so we would have to be in stealth mode for the rest of the time we were island hopping in Indonesian waters.

The following day we took on a bit of fuel, got some washing done, picked up a few provisions, did some email, said our goodbyes to the friends we made in Kumai and prepared for the last stretch of our Indonesian tour, the 600 mile island hop to Singapore. We had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves in Kumai and it was the first place in Indonesia that we were truly sad to leave.

The following morning, we easily retraced our track down the Kumai River with the tide ebbing, and took a long 115-mile leg to Pulau Mangkut. Typical of sailing and flying, the leg was hours of total boredom punctuated by a few moments of sheer terror. As we approached the small islet, we were motor sailing in light air, following the 10 meter contour. All of a sudden, I noticed a strong current on the nose, the seas started stacking up and the bottom was coming up fast. The last thing that I wanted was to crest one of these waves and then be dropped on the bottom and push the keel through the hull of the boat. I dashed to the helm, switched off the autopilot and threw the helm hard to port, where there were no standing waves, and the chart showed deeper water. Within 30 seconds both the bottom and my heartbeat had receded substantially and we had not even kissed the bottom. An hour later at around midnight, with a good moon, we made our way into a safe but rather rolly anchorage for the night in the lee of a small, rocky islet.

We were underway early the next morning, and sailed most of the day with the spinnaker. It was another long day sail, but this time the destination was much more to our liking. We arrived late that evening to a lovely bay on the north side of Serutu Island, and were guided to a safe anchorage by some yachties already at anchor. After two long sailing days, we took a day’s rest and enjoyed the beauty and quiet of this uninhabited bay.

From Serutu, we made a short 15 mile hop over to Carimata Island, and again relaxed in a beautiful anchorage in the lee of the lush, green island. Just ashore from our anchorage was a natural spring where the water was led down to the water’s edge in a pipe fashioned from some lengths of bamboo. In the absence of rain, this was apparently the only source of water for two fishing villages on neighboring islands, as there were endless streams of boats and people coming to bathe, do wash, and haul away jugs of the beautiful spring water. Unfortunately some of them took the opportunity to make noisy close passes to us or stop and ask for, and in some cases, actually demand food and clothing. We found a break in the action and went over to check out the water source and have a bath in the spring water. Unfortunately, the anchorage was so infested with flies that it made cooking and eating a bit unpleasant. After a day and a half there, we decided to take the hop across the South China Sea.

We departed Carimata in the morning, and reckoned that we would be able to make Kentar Island before happy hour the following day. This would put us in range of Singapore with just a couple of easy day hops.

Soon after we cleared the small and picturesque islands lying off Carimata, the breeze filled in and we had the spinnaker up, making good speed. This lasted most of the day, but eased to almost nothing by nightfall, so we had to drop the kite in favor of the cast aluminum spinnaker. At about 1230 hours the following day, we crossed the equator, and for an instant, the GPS showed just goose eggs for the latitude, and the N (for north) was superimposed over the S (for South) indicating the hemisphere we were in. Then, after a magic moment, Moonshadow was back in the northern hemisphere for the first time in eight years. Since Merima hadn’t sailed across the line before, she has officially graduated from a “furback” to a “shellback.” Since she was the only crew on board, and fearing a mutiny, King Neptune was unusually easy on her. We arrived later that afternoon and took anchorage in the lee of Kentar Island.

We relaxed the next day, anchored off of a small fishing village built on stilts at the water’s edge. We were visited by a few very nice and friendly locals. We experienced something completely new to us in Indonesia. Instead of coming up to the boat and asking or demanding something, they brought us a gift. Mind you it was just a coconut, but it was a lovely green “drinking nut,” and it was a charming gesture. We were so pleasantly surprised that we gave them some clothes and lollies for the kids. They were so appreciative, they gave us another coconut!

Two easy day hops found us within eyeshot of Singapore. Anchored off a small, primitive fishing village built on stilts over the water, it was difficult to fathom that from our anchorage in third world, we were gazing across the Singapore Strait at the lighted skyscrapers one of the most modern and cosmopolitan cities in Asia, if not the world.

Although we’ve sailed more than 60,000 miles since we left Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, nearly eleven years ago, this spot roughly marks the half-way point of our circumnavigation. We’re hoping the second half is just half as good as the first half!

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Bali

Posted on September 24, 2005 by George Backhus

We had heard and read that the channels between the islands in the Indonesian archipelago are home to some of the most treacherous waters in the world. There are many accounts of swift currents, tidal rips, whirlpools and massive overfalls, the likes of which are not seen anywhere else on the planet. While we’d experienced a few minor occurrences of the above mentioned, we had encountered nothing extraordinary and we’d mostly had smooth sailing. We were beginning to discount these stories as just more “sea tales.” That is, until we encountered the Lombok Strait.

We slipped our mooring at the Sundancer Resort on the south end of Lombok early in the morning, and in a light southerly breeze we were enjoying a nice beam reach westward. The first challenge of the day was an inter-island ferry about 150 feet long and five stories high, heading straight at us. There was plenty of water and we were not in an sort of a channel, so we couldn’t work out if he was trying to give the passengers a closer look at us, or playing an Indonesian version of “chicken.” In all our time sailing in Indonesia, we’d never had one of these “professional” boats play looky-loo with us.

I radioed the ferry bearing down on us on VHF channel 16 to ask his intentions, frivolously hoping that he; a) had a VHF radio, b) knew how to use a VHF radio, c) spoke at least a few words of passable English. No joy. I altered course 20 degrees to the right, clearly indicating to him that I was going to stay clear of him and in standard fashion, pass with our port side to his port side. The ferry altered course 20 degrees to his left and was once again on a collision course with us. I altered course another 20 degrees to my right. He again altered his course 20 degrees to the left, as if he was locked on to his target. I wasn’t enjoying this game at all. Altering course a third time, our headsail then collapsed and we were now in danger of an uncontrolled gybe. I yelled hopelessly into the radio “please turn right immediately!” No joy again. I bolted to the foredeck, madly waving my hands for him to turn away, pointing up to our collapsed headsail. Still no joy. I returned to the helm, switched off the autopilot, and prepared to take drastic evasive action. The ferry passed us to port, with barely a boat length (ours, not his) of sea room-way too close for comfort. The captain came out on to the fly bridge, waved at us and said “thank you.” Had we not been holding on for life as we rolled wildly in his massive wake, we would have waved back at him with a gesture of our appreciation. Expletives deleted.

With “Moonshadow” back on proper course and our heart rates back to a normal range, we relaxed over a cup of tea and carried on sailing towards Bali, marveling at the Corinthian spirit of the Indonesian seafarers, and vowing not to bother trying to avoid oncoming traffic in the future, as it appears to be a completely futile practice.

Passing to the north of Nusa Penida and Lembongan Islands in the Lombok Strait, we noticed on the GPS that we were starting to pick up a tail current. Within a half hour, we were enjoying a 6+ knot push, and indicating an average speed of 14.5 knots over the bottom. Clearing Lembongan Island and turning to a more southerly course, I noticed ahead what appeared to be waves breaking on a reef, right on our course line. I wiped my eyes and had a second look with the binoculars to make sure that I wasn’t hallucinating. Yikes! Checking the chart plotter again, I confirmed that this was what surfers dream about, large, nicely formed breaking waves measuring 2-3 meters with nothing but deep blue water beneath. Having no interest in taking Moonshadow on a surfin’ safari, we gave the area a very wide berth. This was the most prolific overfall that I had ever encountered. I could see where a yacht could easily be rolled, dismasted, chewed up, and spat out by these seas, and apparently, some had. After covering 45 miles in just four and a half hours, we made landfall on Bali at Sunur Bay and took anchorage at a comfortable, but rather unattractive spot off of a fishing village on Serangan Island. We thought to ourselves, so this is Bali? Yuk!

That evening, we hopped a cab into town, caught the sunset at Kuta Beach and enjoyed a lovely dinner at a very cool Balinese style restaurant in the Poppies Lane area of town.

Anchored off Serangan, we felt a bit isolated, so after a couple of days, we moved over to Port Benoa and anchored off the Bali Marina, as there were no berths available. Anchoring there was a bit “cozy,” but we did manage to find a reasonable spot where we could swing with wind and tidal shifts. In addition to seeing a bit of Bali, this would be our first major provisioning point since we left Darwin and fueling point since we left Kupang.

We first set about provisioning, and Bali was, as advertised, a place where we could get almost anything we needed. In addition to two excellent western style grocery stores, Hero and Pepito’s, there was a huge warehouse club called Makro, which was is more or less a carbon copy of Price-Costco in the States. We left Makro with six huge plastic bags (which they charge for) of provisions and a case of Bintang beer, having spent about US$60. The only bad news about Makro was that they accept every major credit card except Visa, and their ATM didn’t work. Fortunately we ran into a yachtie friend who made us a short term loan.

On one of our provisioning runs, we made a side trip to the public market in Denpasar, the largest city and capital of Bali. This is where the locals shop, and where many of the smaller shops come to get their merchandise. On one street alone, there were literally a hundred shops just selling Balinese fabrics. Merima had a difficult time choosing anything as there was just an overwhelming array of options. One could literally spend days here checking everything out. Because the market occupies acres of space, right in the middle of the city, it is set up in two buildings of four to five stories each, with a maze of narrow walkways through the stalls with merchandise stacked, binned and hung everywhere. Walking through the market, I was ducking half the time. We spent an hour or so wandering around the market, checking out all the interesting merchandise. Along the way, a lady in from one of the shops attached herself to us. She kept trying to guide us to stalls where, we suppose, she would receive some sort of a commission on our purchase. We told her repeatedly that we were just having a look around and did not want or need a guide. She nodded indicating her understanding, but nonetheless kept following us and trying to steer us in one direction or another. We’d finally had enough of the pushy routine and made a fast exit.

Shopping in Kuta, the main tourist town, can be an overwhelming experience. First of all, there are enough shops to keep one busy for a year. There’s so much on offer that it’s hard to know where to start. If you aren’t keen on the Balinese arts and crafts, all the top designers have shops there. With names like Prada, Ralph Lauren, Georgio Armani and many others, it was almost like a southern hemisphere version of Rodeo Drive.

Our main focus was to stock up on DVD’s. At one shop, we bought 50 movie titles for about US$35 for the lot, all genuine of course ;-() Unlike Rodeo Drive, in Kuta there are hundreds of hawkers on the street trying to flog everything from transportation to rental motorbikes to timeshare condominiums. Some of the pitches are very clever and entertaining, others very high pressure and manipulative. After awhile it all became as irritating as a mosquito infestation, and we couldn’t wait to jump into a cab and get the hell out of there. Someone should really tell them that they are driving people away!

Our provisioning was behind us, but we were waiting for fuel. We had no interest in jerry jugging 700 liters of diesel, so we waited patiently while a mega yacht was parked on the only fuel dock on the island of Bali. Apparently this yacht had adopted Indonesia’s policy of “rubber time,” as we were told three days in a row that they were definitely leaving tomorrow. We also couldn’t believe that the marina would block the only fuel dock for a week or so when there were dozens of boats waiting to take on fuel.

With the 100 footer finally off the fuel dock, we wasted no time in getting Moonhshadow along side. The Bali Marina management has apparently attended the Freddie Fastbuck course on “how to screw the cruisers.” Those staying in the marina must pay for both power and water. The power is usually about 190 volts. While this might be an average between 110 volts and 240 volts, it tends not to work too well for either. The water is not potable and contains little green bits of algae, so you can’t even wash your clothes with it. As for the fuel, they charge more than twice the price than at the service station pump. I suppose when you have one of perhaps three or four fuel docks in the entire country, you can charge whatever you want. They also use a unit of measure that we have come to call the Indo-liter. We managed to fit 750 Indo-liters into our 700 liter tank. This process took three and a half hours as the pump was excruciatingly slow. At least the fuel was clean. When I had a conversation with the marina manager about his fuel measurement, he insisted that his pump was accurate and didn’t want to know me. I told him I would be sure to pass the word on to others.

We were fueled up and happily back on the hook. Happy that is, until a couple of locals came over and laid a permanent mooring less than a boat length away from us on our starboard side. This is the sailing version of parking a car on someone else’s front lawn. I called them over and pointed out that we would swing into the mooring when the tide shifted. They said it was too late, that the mooring could not be moved and they suggested we attach the line to our stern. Trying to be good tourists, we did this, and when the tide turned, we had the mooring line fouled in our prop. I managed to cut it free, and then went and had a conversation with the guy who’d put down the mooring, telling him I was going to cut the line well below the water line if he didn’t get it out of our way.

Nothing happened for a few hours, and in the mean time I had a conversation with the harbormaster, who also suggested I cut the line. We were drifting over the line again, so I got my knife out and began to take action. All of a sudden Mr. Mooring came over and wanted to talk. I asked him once again to move his mooring as it was catching my prop and rudder. He wasn’t much concerned about that, only his friggin’ mooring. Trying to protect his mooring, and maybe appease me a bit, he put a line on the end, tied it to an anchor and moved it about a boat length away and put a big plastic ball on it. A pretty lame temporary fix, but it seemed to be OK for awhile. Then the wind shifted, we swung around and had the hard plastic mooring ball banging against our painted hull.

I again got out the knife and removed the ball. I took it over to Mr. Mooring’s boat. I then tied a SCUBA weight to the line and got it out of my way. Mr. Mooring wasn’t too pleased about this. He came up to us and asked what I had done. I explained that his mooring ball was banging against my hull, making a lot of noise, not to mention scratching the paint. He couldn’t have been less concerned and asked where his ball was. I told him I had placed it on his boat. He then said to me “I don’t trust you.”

Well, by this time I had had a gutful of his antics and began to show my irritation. I attempted to explain to him that he had no right to place a mooring under a legally anchored boat in a public anchorage, and that I had politely asked him on more than one occasion to move it. I continued to explain how his mooring had fouled my prop and anchor, damaging my bottom paint, and how his mooring ball was scratching my hull paint. He was oblivious to all this and only wanted to know where his mooring line had gone. I explained to him that it was on the bottom, and pointed in the direction. I told him that I was leaving in a few days, and that he was welcome to keep my SCUBA weight. Yes, we were soooooooooooo ready to leave Bali.

With all that out of the way, it was time to see a bit of Bali. We contacted a driver/guide by the name of Ketut Suara, who had been recommended to us by our friend and regular MooCrew Todd. Ketut showed up in a very comfortable, nearly new car to give us an all day tour of Bali. He spoke very good English and was able to give us a lot of information about Bali and the places we visited.

We drove about 45 minutes to the town of Ubud in the middle of the island, where we first visited the Monkey Forest, a beautiful rainforest park that is home to a band of very cheeky long-tail macaque monkeys. We purchased a bunch of “official Monkey Forest bananas” so we could feed them. Now the monkeys didn’t seem to actually like to be “fed.” Rather, they preferred to sneak up on us steal whatever they could grab from us and eat that which was edible. We had a leisurely walk through the forest, visited a sacred temple on the grounds, and enjoyed the various antics of the monkeys. My favorite photo of the day was of one particular monkey, perched on a limb, which turned my way, looked straight into the camera, and just stuck out his tongue at me.

Ubud is known as Bali’s center of “cultural tourism,” where people come to enjoy and purchase Balinese art, dine in its excellent restaurants, and relax in its spas. We spent a few hours exploring the galleries and shops, and enjoyed some low pressure (finally!) shopping. Merima had recently earned her black-belt in bargaining, so I don’t think any of the merchants in Ubud made much money that day.

From Ubud, Ketut drove us through the countryside, past farmlands, rice paddies and quaint villages, up a long gentle slope to the rim of the Gunung Batur volcano. We lunched in a restaurant perched right on the rim, enjoying the spectacular views of the volcanic cones, lake and villages inside of the crater.

After lunch, we headed back downhill, on another of Bali’s narrow and winding roads. We were obviously in a fruit farming area, as we passed numerous roadside stands, each offering an array of local fruits, all beautifully arranged in tall cone-shaped stacks. On one road, for a mile or two where there was a neat row of trees on either side, the trunks of the trees had been painted in red and white bands, signifying the Indonesian flag, in honor of Independence Day.

Our next stop was at Pura Samuan Tiga, a Hindu temple near Ubud, sections of which date back to the 11th century. I just happened to be wearing shorts that day, so in order to enter the temple, I had to rent and wear a bright orange sarong. I felt a bit like the Dali Lama, traipsing around in this getup, but found it well worth it as we took in the beauty and solitude of the grounds, and the incredibly ornate temple structures.

Ketut was well versed on rice farming, having done a bit himself before becoming an entrepreneur. We learned a bit about the process, and that Bali produces some of the best quality rice in Indonesia. Even if we couldn’t fully appreciate the subtle differences in the various varieties of rice, we could enjoy the beauty of the terraced rice paddies which are a trademark of Bali. As we worked our way back towards Denpasar, we stopped a few times to view the amazing networks of hand-crafted terraces and aqueducts in the lush green valleys of Bali.

Between rice fields were numerous small villages. Each one is known for a particular type of art or craft. As we drove through, we could see people laboring away in small open workshops, carving, weaving, assembling, polishing and painting. Much of their handiwork was stacked up along the road, or on display at a local outlet. If you had the time, and were looking for bargains, this is where you would go, right to the source. Importers ply these villages and buy container loads of this stuff for shipment all over the world.

We’d had enough touring for the day, so returned to Moonshadow for a shower, and then headed out to Samaya Beach to the legendary Kudeta. Kudeta is a beach club/restaurant/night club, and is about as trendy as they come in Bali. The complex is stunning, the food and service as good as gets anywhere in the first world, and the prices, apparently imported from the States. We had a fantastic meal accompanied by a bottle of California chardonnay.

In retrospect, we feel that Bali is almost a world unto itself inside Indonesia, embodying some of the best and the worst of the country. In one respect it’s sort of a Hawaii with lots of temples, a place that has unfortunately become victim of its own beauty and accessibility, spoiled by tourism. To some it’s simply a tropical extension of Sydney and Melbourne’s party scene. On one hand, we encountered some very friendly, kind and gentle people, stunning architecture and spectacular scenery. On the other, we were put off by the overdevelopment, lack of waste management, smog, congestion, poor infrastructure and excessive greed of those trying to extract every last possible Rupiah from the tourists. We were irritated by a few people who were just plain stupid or inconsiderate. At the end of the day, we feel that Bali is much better suited to the tourist who flies in and out and spends a week or so at a resort hotel, enjoying the beaches, surf, sunsets, scenery, culture, spas and fine dining. For the yachtie, Bali like most of Indonesia, it is seriously lacking in facilities, services and attitude that make for a notable cruising destination. Next time, we’d give it a miss.

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Sail Maintenance and Repair

Posted on September 15, 2005 by George Backhus

Over the years, we’ve found that with sails, just like the mechanical systems on the boat, regular care and maintenance will extend the useful life as well as improve their overall performance. All of our working sails are Dacron. I’ve still not been able to justify the additional cost and shorter useful life of the “high performance” fibers in the context of a yacht that is primarily used for cruising.

Aside from user error, the biggest enemy to a sail in the sun, so limiting exposure to UV can greatly extend its life. We try to get the cover over the main as soon as we’re done sailing for the day, unless we plan to head out again the next morning. Our furling sails have good acrylic UV covers on the exposed leech and foot edges to protect the sails when they are furled. For the sails in bags in the forepeak, we try to make sure they stay dry, so after a long and wet passage, we’ll bring them all out on deck so they can air out.

At least once a year, usually in the off-season, we take all the sails to a local loft, lay them out on the floor, and have a sail maker give them a thorough inspection. It’s a lot easier to take care of a bit of chafe, repair some UV damage or stitch up a seam that’s coming apart when the problem is small, rather than waiting till you’re in a blow in the middle of the ocean than to have one of those “oh shit!” moments that all sailors hate.

This has worked pretty well for us, as our main, which is nine years old and has done more than 50,000 miles is still about a six or seven on a scale of ten. We’ve got a genoa and an old heavy air spinnaker that don’t get used a lot, but are original equipment, nearly 20 years old, and still very serviceable. A few years back when I lofted the big genoa, we noticed that it had taken on a human tendency; it had stretched out and become very full in the middle as a result of age and abuse. I had it split from the head to the middle of the foot, the extra material removed, and the seam sewed up. This “tummy tuck” flattened the sail back to near its original shape and greatly improved its performance and useful life.

In reality, with the amount of sailing we do, it’s nearly impossible to avoid the occasional “field repair” so we keep a small tool bag on board with gear specifically for sail repairs. In it we keep an assortment of needles, various threads and twines, sail maker’s palms (both left and right hand, and a small adjustable one for Merima), etc. In addition, we keep a good supply of “sticky-back”, which is handy for making quick minor repairs or covering up chafe on the Dacron sails, and rolls of spinnaker tape, in the appropriate colors of course, for patching up the small holes or tears that seem to mysteriously appear in the spinnakers.

Over the years, I’ve done more amateur sail repair work than I can remember or care to mention, but the one that does come to mind was during the 1996 Pacific Cup race from San Francisco to Hawaii. Most of the race is a downhill spinnaker run, and we only had two symmetrical kites to work with, so it was essential to keep them both in good nik. We had put a few small holes in our light air kite on one of the middle of the night gybes. Rather than risk a bigger problem, my good mate Mark and I decided to take it down and make a field repair. The kite had ATN snuffer on it, so to get at the holes, we had to fully extend the sock and then slide it up to the head of the sail. Not easy to do on a boat moving downwind in a seaway in 25+ knots of breeze at 13 knots. We tied the head to the forward head faucet, ran the sail through the forward stateroom, salon, up the companionway, through both cockpits and tied the clews to the stern rail. We managed to get to the areas needing repair in the salon and forward cockpit, under the protection of the dodger. After rifling through hundreds of square feet of red and white .75 oz nylon for a couple of hours, locating a dozen holes and skillfully applying spinnaker tape patches (in the appropriate colors, of course) to both sides, we snuffed the sail again, horizontally, so it was ready to hoist it again. The repairs we made did the job and we were able to fly the kite for four more days and a thousand more miles on to Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii.

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Indonesia

Posted on August 19, 2005 by George Backhus

Kupang, West Timor

“This is Rally Radio, welcome to Indonesia” boomed Dick McCune’s voice over the VHF as we crossed the finish line of the Darwin to Kupang Rally. Continuing in a voice that sounded like an FM radio personality, “come on in to Kupang Teddy’s at the end of the beach, the beers are cold.” This was just the first of many welcomes to Indonesia.

As we were the first to arrive, we had the anchorage to ourselves for awhile, but within a few hours and throughout the night, the fastest boats in the fleet began to quietly arrive and take their places along the beach at Kupang on the west end of Timor Island. The 465 mile passage across the Timor Sea from Darwin was too easy, all downwind, and too much of it motor-sailing when the breeze got too light to keep the spinnaker flying. That evening, we enjoyed a few celebratory drinks, a late dinner on board, and then retreated to our berths looking forward to a quiet and motionless sleep.

That sleep was interrupted well before dawn by some horrible Arabic a capella singing, broadcast loudly with an ample dose of distortion throughout the town. We later learned that the singing, which sounded like Tarzan having his wisdom teeth pulled, was one of the five or so calls to prayer broadcast from the local Mosque starting at 0430 daily. As the morning wore on, the cacophony of vehicle horns, booming car stereos, and loud, distorted music playing outside various shops, mounted a full scale invasion on our eardrums. Welcome to Indonesia!

We were told that Customs, Immigration and Quarantine officials started work promptly at 0800. We were the first boat to be cleared, and they arrived at about 10-ish. This is what is known in Indonesia as “rubber time.” Now normally, when we clear, we are boarded by two to four officials. In this case, we were invaded by ten or twelve people. I couldn’t exactly count them all as they were all over the place. At least there were four of us to keep an eye on them. Customs conducted a very thorough search of every drawer, locker and under and every settee-of the forward half only of the boat. In eleven years, that is the most we’ve ever been searched. Satisfied that we weren’t laden with contraband, they suddenly departed, with the last guy, apparently a hanger-on mate of one of the officials, asking for whiskey and cigarettes. Assuring him we had neither, he shuffled off disappointed to the next boat. Feeling violated, we mentioned this to the rally organizers and they instructed the remaining boats to permit no more than four “officials” aboard. Not exactly an impressive first impression of Indonesian officialdom.

Graham and Todd were eager to check out Kupang so after a quick breakfast, they assembled the dinghy and headed for shore. Merima and I remained behind and gave “Moonshadow” a tidy-up. That afternoon Merima and I headed ashore to stretch our legs and see a bit of Kupang. After a short walk through the town, we felt as if we had seen enough and headed for Teddy’s to see if the beer was in fact cold as advertised.

Over a few bottles of Bintang, the rather tasty local brew, talking with some other yachties who had been before, we learned why we came to Kupang first. They told us from here, it just gets better. What a relief! Kupang made the average Mexican town look pretty flash. The infrastructure, if it could be called that, was literally crumbling under our feet, and there was trash everywhere. Apparently the Indonesians have not embraced waste management. For security, all the shops have roll up garage doors which they pull down when they’re closed for the day. At night and on Sunday, the whole town is a mosaic of various colored steel roll-up doors. We noticed a few of the white trucks with “UN” in blue letters on the side (as seen on TV), reminding us that we were just a hundred or so miles from one of the world’s hot spots, West Timor, which occupies the other half of the island.

As the rally fleet arrived, the crowds at Teddy’s Bar got bigger, and the welcoming festivities began. These consisted of long-winded speeches, in Bahasa Indonesian of course, with broken translation, by all sorts of officials like governors, mayors and regents. This was followed by traditional dancing with loud music, followed by very loud rock music, followed by dinner of mostly unidentifiable food accompanied by deafeningly loud rock music. If the food didn’t drive one away, the music did. Many of us were driven back to our boats anchored hundreds of meters away, where it could be enjoyed at a proper volume. We have learned that every sound device is always played at full volume. Welcome to Indonesia!

Now when one arrives in a foreign country, it’s a good thing to learn a few important phrases like please, thank you, how to order a beer and directions to the toilet, important stuff like that. I asked the Indonesian word for thank you and was told that it was terima kasih. Hell, I asked, how will I remember that? In his own inimitable way, Todd replied “just think tear up my car seat.” Worked for me.

The easiest and cheapest way to get around an Indonesian city is in a bemo. I’m not sure of the literal translation to English, but I would nominate “boom box.” A bemo is a mini van with two long bench seats in back, oriented fore and aft. The ones in Kupang were frivolously decorated with colorful paint jobs, lots of unnecessary lights, bright stickers and various chrome adornments, posters of Bob Marley and/or gorgeous western female divas, and of course, equipped with a copiously loud stereo system. Under each of the bench seats was one solid speaker box with at least a half a dozen sub-woofers, generating hundreds of decibels of sound, mostly the pumping bass track. A defribulator on board would be redundant. The conductor acts as sort of a barker, soliciting customers and collecting the money. He rides hanging mostly out of the perpetually open side door, getting off before the bemo fully stops and hopping on after it is well under way. This leaves the driver to fully concentrate on his driving. This is a good thing, as there are were no traffic signals in Kupang, and driving in Indonesia is a “life in your hands” proposition. The only driving rule is that there are no rules. A ride in a bemo is like walking into a coffin sized disco, complete with large doses of second hand smoke, and deafeningly loud music. The good news is they are very cheap transport. For four of us to go 20 minutes across town to the shopping mall cost a total of 4000 rupiah (the Indonesian currency) or about 40 US cents.

Speaking of the rupiah, if it was the world’s currency, almost everyone on earth would be a millionaire. I changed AUS $400 in Darwin and got over 2.5 million rupiah, which was a massive wad of notes. If you wanted to make a large cash purchase in Indonesia, you would need to show up with a suitcase or wheelbarrow full of notes.

While the grocery store in Kupang was very modern and well-stocked, we realize that we weren’t in Australia anymore Toto, and would need to get used to eating different, non-western foods. This is always one of the interesting and challenging things we enjoy about cruising to new countries. Some of the things we take for granted like mayonnaise, UHT milk, sliced bread, wheat flour and peanut butter are just not to be found here. On the other hand, we did discover some things that we would have least expected to be there, such as A&W Root Beer, 7-UP, Oreo cookies and Tupperware.

Visiting the “locals” market, which is an outdoor arrangement of ramshackle stalls consisting of bamboo poles supporting some sheets of rusty old corrugated iron to keep out the sun and some of the rain, is a completely different experience. This is by far the roughest I’ve seen in 11 years of cruising. The smell of dried fish and decaying vegetables is enough to drive away most westerners. If you can handle that, then the muddy pathways and the foraging rats won’t bother you too much. What we encountered, besides many unrecognizable items, was an assortment of miniature food, covered in flies. Onions were the size of garlic, tomatoes the size of grapes, potatoes the size of walnuts, pineapples the size of potatoes, pumpkins the size of grapefruits, carrots the size of, uh, baby carrots. We’re not sure if they harvest too soon or are just agriculturally challenged. And if the produce was miniature, the prices were miniscule. For example, limes (for caipirhinas) cost us AUS$1.00 each in Queensland, and about the same price per kilo in Indonesia.

Indonesia is an archipelago made up of thousands of islands, so naturally the Indonesians are quite keen seafarers and fisherman. We’ve seen a plethora of boats here, ranging from simple dugout canoes to posh inter-island ferries resembling small cruise ships. What we mostly encounter are either long, narrow open wood canoe-type boats or larger exotic looking trawler boats with a wheelhouse or cabin to protect the occupants from the elements. What they seem to have in common is that they are very low and rakish looking, painted in bright colors and they have incredibly noisy inboard engines. When an Indonesian boat passes, it usually comes close enough to swap paint, and it sounds like either a Harley Davidson motorcycle with no muffler in full throttle acceleration or a Vietnam era Huey helicopter flying over at masthead level. Most of the boats have some sort of primitive inboard engine, as outboard motors are expensive and rare. The Indonesians are quite resourceful and have learned to attach a prop to the end of a Weed Eater, which they then affix one or two to the side of a canoe for propulsion. Of course in most cases they remove the muffler to ensure it reaches proper sound levels. The popping and clacking of any Indonesian boat will immediately cause any conversation in which you may have been engaged to cease, and in some cases fingers to be inserted into ears. In most cases the boats are chock-full of curious Indonesians all waving, smiling and yelling “hello mista” to us. We just smile, pull one finger out of our ear and wave back.

With all these boats running every which way burning up millions of liters of dinosaur juice, it’s a wonder that someone has not embraced the concept of a fuel jetty with electric pumps. Almost everyone uses plastic jugs, filled at a service station, and lugged to the boat. We took on 500 liters in Kupang which was a real welcome back to the third world for me. The local fuel man came alongside with a small canoe and preceded to hand pump fuel from 30 liter jugs into our tank, through our Baja filter of course, to remove all the crap that he insisted wasn’t there. We had to stop twice in the process to clean the filter as it had totally clogged with water and crap. I’m glad I stocked up on Racor fuel filter cartridges in Oz.

With all the rally welcoming ceremonies finished, and the fuel tanks full, we were all too happy to leave the bright lights, noise and smoke of Kupang in our wake and head off to spend a quiet night anchored in the middle of nowhere.

The next port of call on our itinerary was Kalabahi on the island of Alor, about 175 miles north. We were looking forward to Alor as it is purported to have some of the best SCUBA diving in Indonesia. We split the trip into two long day-sails, hugging the north coast of Timor the first day and anchoring for the night in sight of West Timor. We kept a low profile that night, no anchor light and departed for Kalabahi before dawn the next morning. We sailed due north across the Savu Sea and worked our way through the channels leading to Kalabahi.

Kalabahi, Alor Island

The numerous small villages clinging to the steep hillsides along the west shore of Alor provided some great scenery as we hugged the shoreline to get some relief from the wicked currents, in some cases more than four knots, in Selat Pantar channel. Finally turning northeast into Teluk (bay of) Kalabahi with a rising tide, we finally got a bit of current behind us and made it to the tight anchorage in time for sundowners.

From a distance in the binoculars, the anchorage looked more like a marina or a raft-up.
We found one remaining spot in the anchorage in reasonably shallow water (less than 20 meters) and carefully anchored, short roding, in a spot that left us quite cozy with four other rally boats. To keep things interesting, the wind Gods made sure to cycle the breeze through at least 360 degrees each day.

Kalabahi was alive with a regional art, craft and music expo, so soon our ears were under full assault from loud music and of course the regular call to prayer from the village mosque. Of course there were plenty of welcoming ceremonies and various other activities for the rally participants, but we came mainly for the diving.

We enjoyed a walk in the village, had a few beers at the temporary “yacht club” set up for the cruisers at the local hotel, and a very nice meal on shore. Of course, some “traditional music and dance” was tossed in for our pleasure.

The next day, we were up early and boarded a traditional boat that had been chartered by DiveAlor, the local outfit to take us to some of the choice local spots. It was a real kick to actually get a ride on one of the boats we had seen going by us many times at close range.

Basic is probably an understatement for this “dive boat.” While it was reasonably clean and in good nik, it was apparent that DiveAlor had a whole kit that they brought on for the dive charter. This included things like dive compressors, tanks, snacks and water that one would expect on a dive boat, but also some things that most Indonesian boats don’t have, like life vests, a first aid kit, carpet for the sun deck (roof), toilet paper, music, those sorts of things.

What amazed me is how these people manage to navigate these boats in the open ocean with such a minimum of gear. The wheel house had just that-a wheel. Nothing else. No compass, no GPS, no VHF radio, no engine instruments, no helming seat, no nothing. Not even a compass. The captain made his way purely by good old fashioned EBN (eyeball navigation). The helm, an old car steering wheel, was connected “Rube Goldberg style” to the rudder post some 40 feet aft by exposed polypropylene lines guided through a series of old wooden pulleys. There was no throttle or gear shifter. Engine control was done by a voice call from the wheelhouse to the “engineer,” a little man stationed below the floorboards in the bilges next to the engine. I have no idea how he could even hear the commands from up front over the racket of the engine. The galley consisted of a single burner diesel stove and an ancient looking tea kettle in a tiny nook across from the toilet. The galley had that “well used” look and oil coating, similar to the engine. The toilet, situated strategically at the very aft end of the boat, was absolutely brilliant in its simplicity. It consisted of a hole in the transom of the boat, with a toilet seat positioned over it, raised off the floor by a round stainless steel chute. There was no flush handle, no bowl, no pipes, no pumps, no holding tank, and other than the hinged toilet seat, no moving parts. Only a yachtie who has suffered through a clogged toilet could really appreciate this. There was a roll of toilet paper hanging on the wall and a bucket of water and a ladle for washing up after. The décor consisted of an assortment of graffiti, either carved or scrawled in felt pen on the three rough-hewn wood bulkheads and door. I guess this was sort of the Indonesian version of “Kilroy was here.”

The most important thing was that we had three excellent dives in the waters surrounding Alor, and shared a great day on and in the water in excellent conditions with some fellow yachties. We encountered loads of clownfish, some black with white stripes, quite a few lionfish, and a couple of interesting frogfish. The soft corals and sponges were prolific, and all in all, the place lived up to its reputation.

Again, longing for some peace and quiet, and with no particular destination in mind, we sailed west the next day leaving the islands of Kuwala and Pantara to our port side. In light airs and calm waters we spent the day watching as seaside villages, massive volcanic mountains with smoking cones and scenic bays and inlets passed us by. We took anchorage off of a sand cay near a pearl farm near the northwest corner of Adunara Island. Enjoying the peace and quiet so much we lingered there for a second day and caught up on some missed sleep and boat chores. Thank God there was no mosque in earshot! Departing early the next morning, we made our way over the northeast tip of Flores Island and took anchorage on a coral shelf just before sunset at a small volcanic cone island called Babi. With a sundowner, we watched the sun drop behind a very picturesque little fishing village situated on a small sand spit extending from the main part of the island.

Maumere (Sea World), Flores Island

Setting sail early the next morning, we arrived near the town of Maumere on the Island of Flores by midday, taking anchorage off just off the beach by a small dive resort called Sea World.

We’d read that Maumere was the largest city on Flores Island, so hopped a bemo into town. We wanted to check the place out a bit, and see if we could score a few provisions and maybe even find an Internet café. Arriving to the center of Maumere, we were completely under whelmed. A large rain squall earlier that day had washed most of the gutter trash into the streets, so the place wasn’t looking too flash. The “central park” was surrounded with barbed wire and a small herd of goats were grazing inside. We weren’t quite sure if the fence was meant to keep the goats in or the people out.

We did find a tidy little Chinese grocery store that had some nice American apples and pears and a few other goodies, but otherwise found Maumere to be only just slightly more appealing than a visit to a Tijuana barrio. On the way back to the boat, the bemo we boarded waited nearly a half hour to fill up with passengers before it made its way out of town. Those who joined us for the ride were mostly young men smoking cigarettes. Between the loud music and smoke, the trip was almost unbearable, and we wished we had walked. For the pleasure of a long wait and an uncomfortable ride, the conductor tried to rip us off for three times the price of the exact same ride in the other direction. Fortunately for him and us, I don’t know any swear words in Bahasa Indonesia.

Back on board “Moonshadow” we washed off the grime and smoke from our Maumere misadventure and then headed back ashore to the resort for sundowners and dinner. The staff of Sea World were most gracious, the facilities excellent, the grounds lovely, and we enjoyed drinks and a delicious buffet dinner for two for about US$14.

At 0630 the following morning we were in a minivan we had hired for the day, on our way to the legendary Kelimutu volcano. For three hours we wound through rainforests, rice paddies, small villages, coconut and banana plantations and steep mountain terrain on a one-and-a-half lane road heading down island to the volcano.

Driving on Indonesian roads requires tremendous skill, intense concentration, rock-steady nerves, split second reactions, and a certification of insanity. From a westerner’s point of view, the roads here make absolutely no sense. Drivers follow way too close, drive in the wrong lane, pass when they shouldn’t, speed frivolously, honk their horns incessantly and stop and park in the middle of the road whenever they feel like it. We came upon a broken down truck blocking one lane of the road, with the driver happily asleep on the ground under the front bumper. Because cars are so expensive, most people drive small motorcycles. It’s not uncommon to see two, three or even a family of four on one Honda 100cc motorcycle. Few have rear view mirrors. The Indonesians driving style would make Evil Kneivel nervous. Some motorcycles have so many boxes and bags attached to their sides that they take up a full traffic lane. The only driving rule seems to be that there are no rules and “might is right,” so if you are in a car, truck or bemo, you can pretty much ignore the motorcycles.

If the chaos of vehicular traffic wasn’t enough, the pedestrian habits thoroughly baffled us. People seem to prefer walking on the roadway to any footpaths alongside. If they want to stop and sit for a rest, they generally prefer to sit on the hot pavement, not in the cool grass or perhaps a log off the side of the road. The farmers love the heat of the roadway and use it freely to process their harvest. On numerous occasions, we saw an entire lane blocked off for at least a hundred meters, using coconut husks as pylons, where copra (coconut), rice or other unidentifiable crops were being dried on those ubiquitous blue tarps. The largest vehicle would assert right of way through the blocked section and the smaller vehicles would just have to keep clear.

On the foot of Kelimutu, we came upon a rice farming village. This area was absolutely stunning, just as depicted on those beautiful Asian paintings, with acres upon acres of small terraced rice paddies, clinging to the mountain’s contour lines. They were flooded with water through an intricate system of viaducts and pipes leading from a mountain stream. All the “soil engineering” appeared to have been painstakingly done by hand. In this instance, the Indonesians have raised agriculture to an art form.

After three hours of what seemed like the scenic version of “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride,” miraculously, we arrived unscathed at Kelimutu National Park. Now we’ve all seen lots of volcanoes, but a ten minute walk from the car park along a path to the top of the cone revealed why this volcano is totally unique. Kelimutu has three steep walled cones at its lofty summit, each containing a different colored lake. The first cone we came upon resembled a huge cup of rich hot chocolate, complete with white frothy patches. Walking a bit further, a second cone came into view with a lake the color and opacity of the mineral turquoise. Reaching the top, we could see all three lakes, the third one having water that was the color of rich black coffee. The colors of the lakes apparently change over time, as well as with the seasons of the year, but nobody has fully explained the phenomenon. The locals believe that the souls of the dead go to rest in the lakes. The young people’s souls go to the warmth of the turquoise lake, the elder’s to the cool of the brown lake and the souls of thieves and murderers to the black lake. We found it to be a uniquely beautiful sight and well worth the long drive.

That night we enjoyed another meal at Sea World, this time at a table set up for twenty cruisers on the beach. Again the food was excellent, and along with some great conversation, we enjoyed some unique traditional Flores Island music played by a local band at a refreshingly pleasant “unplugged” level.

Riung, Flores

Sailing two full days to the west along the north coast of Flores Island, we came to the small fishing village of Riung. Riung is nestled in a large bay at the foot of a river, and is protected from the seas by a myriad of reefs and beautiful small islands with white-sand beaches. Part of the village extends out over the sea, so the homes are constructed on poles to either side of the main road, which is elevated just above the high tide level.

We found the anchorage in Riung to be excellent, and more importantly, the people were most welcoming and friendly. They even constructed a “princess dock” so that the yachties could land their dinghies, tie up and walk ashore, avoiding muddy beach landings.

While Riung didn’t offer much in the way of shopping or provisioning, we did find some beautiful fruits at the open market, and enjoyed a few nice meals ashore. In particular, we liked a restaurant that was known as “the Pastor’s Place,” which was in a small hotel that looked more like a seminary, situated in the middle of town. “The Pastor” was an elder Polish gentleman who has lived in Riung for 40 years. He puts on an excellent meal in a large room in the hotel that looks more like an austere church’s chapel, and it was evident that he believes cleanliness is next to Godliness. Dinner for two with a couple of cool Bintangs was $US 10. A clean, comfortable, basic room with a western style bathroom is available for about $US 7 a night.

We also enjoyed some good snorkeling on the edges of the reefs, and some walks through the village. Most notable about the primitive looking stilt homes over the water were the electrical meter boxes by the front door and the huge satellite dishes outside. You just can’t fight progress.

Labuan Bajo, Flores Island

After a few enjoyable and relaxing days in Riung, we set sail to the west end of Flores Island to the large port town of Labuan Bajo. We arrived on the 17th of August, which is Indonesian Independence Day. The town was abuzz with ceremonies and parades, so we just quietly made our way through the crowds to the shops and market area of town. While we did find quite a nice assortment of fresh fruits and veggies in the market, and a few goodies in the shops, it is still a bit unnerving to be competing for the goods with numerous large rats and cockroaches. After our shopping expedition, we enjoyed an excellent lunch at very nice little backpacker’s resort situated on a hill overlooking the crowded harbor. There’s nothing quite like relaxing over a meal and a cool Bintang, at a table in a lovely garden of bright bougainvillea flowers, with a view of your boat in the harbor. After lunch we returned to “Moonshadow” and had a leisurely downwind sail to the island of Rinca, which is part of the Komodo National Park.

Crocodile Bay, Rinca Island

Crocodile Bay is a deep, narrow estuary with a cozy anchorage at its end. With the hook down, we caught up with our friends on Calypso, Explorer and Mar Bella who were also anchored there. Crocodile Bay may be a bit of a misnomer, as there no dangerous sub-marine animals present. On the other hand before we could even get our anchor set, we were accosted by two small fishing boats full of young Indonesians trying to sell us pearls and wood carvings of Komodo Dragons. Without invitation they were alongside, tied to our cleats, attempting to get on board. I immediately repelled them, pointing out that an old tire is not a suitable fender and that it was very impolite to invade one’s home in this manner. Loudly and openly displaying my displeasure, I think they realized that due to their overaggressive behavior, we weren’t going to buy anything from them and quietly went off to bother someone else.

We were ashore at 0630 the next morning where we met a guide to take us on a 5 kilometer bush walk in the park. We were greeted at the dock by a Komodo dragon, which is a ginormous (3 meter, 100 kilogram) monitor lizard. While this guy looked pretty relaxed and docile, we were told that a Komodo dragon can swallow an entire goat in one gulp.

At the park station we saw a few more dragons hanging out before we headed off into the bush. We were warned to peek into the toilet before we went inside, as the day before, a dragon had wandered into the men’s and hung out for about an hour. One poor soul, who had to drain his lizard, walked in and had a heck of a fright when he discovered the toilet was already occupied by a much larger lizard.

During our three hour walk, we saw a few more dragons, which appeared to be more healthy and active than the one’s hanging out at the park station. We also spotted a number of small monkeys and a couple of large, wild water buffalo, sporting a massive spread of horns. After our tour, we set sail northwest to a large anchorage on the north side of Komodo Island. From there, our flotilla of four sailed the next day to nearby Banta Island, where we enjoyed a couple of days of excellent diving.

Lombok and the Gili Isles

With nothing much notable to offer the cruiser, we decided to give Sumbawa Island a miss. We left Banta early in the morning and did an overnight, 165 mile sail straight to Lombok Island. Lombok is the westernmost island in the Indonesian regency of E Nusa Tenggara, and the neighboring island to the east of Bali. The conditions during the trip ranged from light and variable, to 25 knots on the aft quarter, with a bit of close reaching in light breezes tossed in to keep things interesting. Crossing the channel between Banta Island and Sumbawa was a real E ticket ride, with strong breezes, ripping currents and over falls. We had the kite up, so were enjoying the ride and hitting speeds up to the mid 12’s.

We enjoyed some nice scenery along the way, with Sumbawa providing some dramatic volcanic landscapes. The most interesting village we passed on the north coast of the island was a shipbuilding community. We could see at least half a dozen large (100-ish foot) wooden ships under construction both on the beach, supported by frail looking bamboo scaffolding and in the water, being commissioned and painted. They were literally the shape of bananas, with bow and stern exaggeratedly high and the amidships section very close to the waterline. The wheelhouses were low and flat, and leaning forward at quite an angle, looking like the rakish roofline of an old hot rod. While these ships typically have (extremely loud) motors, some are also fitted with a small gaff cutter rig and some sort of sails. For its primitive nature, this scene could have been out of a movie about the biblical times and the construction of a fleet of Noah’s Arcs.

Sailing in these waters can be challenging, especially at night. There is plenty of boat traffic, and most of it is poorly lit, incorrectly lit, or not lighted at all. Fortunately and by design, we had a full moon for this leg. During the day, the boat traffic like to pass very close to us and have a look. Unfortunately some of these look-y-loos don’t seem to understand sailing and wind angles, as their curiosity often causes us to either head up to high or down too low in an effort to give them a wide berth. Their comfort zone for passing and mine are obviously quite different. I suppose we’re guests in their waters, so we’ll just try to play their game.

After dark, this becomes a demanding video game. This is how you play: Try to spot the fishing nets strewn across the channel, usually marked with small black flags, if anything. If you do, you won’t have to dive in the middle of the night in shark infested waters to remove the net fouled in your prop. Try to guess the intentions of an unlighted boat that is circling us. Are they pirates who are closing in for a bit of privateering, or just looky-loos with excellent night vision. We keep a wallet full of photocopied cash and expired credit cards handy for the former. Try to figure out why a boat’s nav lights are on one minute and off the next. Lucas electrics perhaps, or pirates? Tired of the game, we finally just turned off all our nav lights and went stealth so that we would be left alone. I’m almost ashamed to report that it worked pretty well. If you do well at the game, you get a few hours sleep and a replay the next day.

We made landfall at Lombok Island the next morning. The anchorage off the north east corner indicated in the cruising guide was so rolly that we back-tracked to some small islets off the coast that seemed to offer better protection. They sufficed as an overnight stop, but there was not much more to offer, so the following day, we continued on to the 
Gili islands, just off the northwest corner of Lombok. We had heard from friends and read from numerous sources that the Gili’s were a cool place to stop and hang out for awhile.

Winding our way through the reefs off-lying Lombok Island, we first called into Gili Air. Anchorage was a bit dodgy in 23 meters of water, and we found ourselves with our back to the shore in a brisk afternoon southeasterly every day. We paid out all 100 meters of chain, and backed down hard on it. We held fast, so decided to chill out there for a few days. Since most of the fleet missed this little gem of an island we had the anchorage pretty much to ourselves.

Gili Air is sort of a cross between Gilligan’s Island and Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville. There are a number of small resorts, but all the accommodation units are very simple huts situated close to the beach. The vibe is definitely cool, and aside from diving, chilling out appears to be the main activity for visitors.

There are no motor vehicles on the island. “Transport,” on the island is in the form of pony drawn carts that operate very quietly on a narrow sand road that lies near the perimeter of this small island. The carts are colorfully painted and decorated, and the ponies are dressed in all sorts of adornments, including bells to warn the pedestrians they are coming. If the temperature was about 80 degrees Fahrenheit cooler and the white sand was snow, one might think they were dashing through the snow a one horse open sleigh.

Along this little road are a plethora of bars, restaurants, shops and boutique resort hotels. Rather than typical tables and chairs, most of the bars and restaurants have small pavilions on the beach side of the road. These are little raised platforms resembling a sort of open gazebo, each with a thatched roof, a small table, and an assortment of brightly colored and very comfortable pillows, and room for from two to eight people. Once you have occupied a pavilion, it is becomes very difficult to leave. The friendly wait staff bring you tasty and inexpensive meals, ridiculously cheap and very tasty drinks, and all you have to do is chill out, chat and enjoy the sea breeze and the waves lapping up on the white-sand beach a few meters away. If you are tired of that, you can simply rearrange your pillows, read a good book, take a nap, or contemplate the meaning of life. If you want, you can stay all day, or even all night. If you want some more passive entertainment, there are a number of “cinemas.” A Gili Island cinema is a somewhat larger pavilion with a big screen TV setup at one end, and a pile of DVD’s for you to choose from. If you want a truly relaxing vacation and want to preserve your output of calories as well as dollars, you can’t go past Gili Air.

We enjoyed it so much that we hung out for four days, taking a few nice walks around the two mile circumference of the island, provisioning in the village market, enjoying some great and ridiculously cheap dinners out, and hanging out with friends over $2 caipirhinas at our favorite joint on the beach, the Zip Bar. After chilling a bit, we were ready for a bit of action, so we made the half-hour hop over to Gili Trawangan, a few miles to the west.

If Gili Air is a favorite place to waste away, Gili Trawangan was the place to eat, drink and party. This is where those in the know, who want to avoid all the hustle and bustle, congestion and high prices of Bali, come for a relaxing holiday. The accommodation is casually elegant, the food excellent, and the party scene is enough to keep even the most serious clubbers out till late.

Gili Trawangan is a major destination dive resort with numerous dive shops operating. The difference is that most of them have a pool bar attached. After your dive lesson, you can stay in the pool and have a couple cool ones to rehydrate your parched throat. Or, after your ocean dive, you can hop in the pool, sip on a pina colada and get the salt out of your bikini. Blow bubbles all day, drink bubbles all night without having to even cross the street.

Like Gili Air, Gili Trawangan was slightly anchorage challenged. In this case, it was open roadstead, 20+ meters deep, exposed to wind and some swell, and the currents opposed the wind about half the time. In layman’s language that means it was not exactly comfortable. We enjoyed a day and a night there, and if conditions were a bit more settled, would have stuck around for a bit more fun.

We hadn’t taken on fuel since Kupang, a month earlier, so we were hoping to find some easy and cheap way to take some diesel on board. We worked our way down the east coast of Lombok to the port of Labuhantereng. Once again we found no fuel jetty and wondered how the heck all the big commercial boats in Indonesia take on diesel. We tried to anchor in the soft mud of the shallow bay, three times failed to get the hook set, managed to plow up a few of the ubiquitous black and white Indonesian plastic shopping bags, topped it off by fouling our prop with a fishing rig tied to a very small water bottle. After a half hour under the boat with a mask, snorkel and a razor knife, I had had enough of the place so we headed out to a nearby island resort that had some free moorings.

The Sundancer Resort looks like it will be quite a stunning place when it’s completed. I hope they put some lines on their moorings, as it will certainly make it more attractive to visiting yachties. We spent a quiet night there after a frustrating day, and the following day set sail for Bali.

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