06/11/2009, Singapore to Borneo
Diesel Bug...
We finally managed to leave Singapore much later than we originally planned. The end of the SW Monsoon was coming and with it our last real chance to sail the 700 miles to Miri in Sarawak, Borneo. We had the last of our several farewell parties aboard various liveaboard yachts with friends we'd probably never see again. Usual story... We're heading eastwards whilst everyone else is sailing with the prevailing winds westwards.
But maybe we were not too late. Leaving Raffles Marina, we were immediately blessed with good winds but it soon proved far too risky to make our way under sail through the myriad of shipping, islands and traffic separation zones to the south of Singapore so we stuck the engine on and flicked Freddie's switch. Marie dozed and I kept my eye open for a possible anchorage for the first night. We could begin the big stuff in the morning when we finally got rid of our hang overs...
Two Hundred miles out from Singapore and everything was going well. The SW Monsoon wind was still with us and blowing very nicely from astern. It was good not to be beating into the winds as usual. Then the wind suddenly dropped abruptly and we were drifting in a fairly benign sea, so we had no option but to stick the engine on again. Half an hour later the engine suddenly died...
Now it was panic! No wind and no engine! Now, my knowledge of mechanical beasts is not my strongest point but I know enough to at least get my big tool out. After scratching my head and trying hard to convince Marie I'm the mechanical god who can get an engine running using only a pair of women's nylons, I had to confess that, on this occasion, I was stuffed. But Marie then took over the situation in her own normal style. We had a cup of tea and waited for something to happen....
We found the fishing boat on the horizon, drifted slowly towards it with the genoa headsail grabbing what breeze it could and talked the Indonesians onboard in to lending us their engine mechanic, who promptly found the broken solenoid on the starter motor and got the engine started. We all laughed, slapped backs affectionately and they left us complete with a box of beer and coke. Not bad for a Muslim crew! Of course, I told Marie their engine mechanic had been lucky as it was only a matter of time before I'd have found the problem anyway. But it was soon obvious to us the problem was not alltogether fixed as we could get no real power or revs. And our problem was about to get very much worse...
The wind suddenly hit us in the middle of the night, it seemed, from nowhere. Marie was on watch and I heard her shout a warning. I ran on deck and she was already furling out the main sail to catch the wind. Together, we then let the headsail go full out and we were soon sailing at well over nine knots with the wind blowing from our port quarter. But the wind was bearing ever harder at over 30kts and we were soon reefing everything in again to get the sails under control. At 40kts we were reefed right down and digging the stay sail and even the tri sail out of the locker in readiness to hank on. It was a pitch black night but we were once again working very well together.
So we hung on for some fantastic and exhilarating sailing. The next five hundred miles flew but we worked exhaustingly hard for the next three days, always with the nagging thought that we still had no engine. There was no way we could safely enter Miri Marina with a lee shore entrance, a dangerous sea and an unreliable engine. The only option was to make for Labuan Harbour, which the charts indicated could be safely entered under sail, another 120 miles NE from Miri along the Brunei coast and through the offshore oilfields. We abandoned Miri only 2 miles from the entrance and changed course NE with well over 30kts of wind.
Fantastic! It was probably our best sailing of the year! We had to slow Sänna down with heavily reefed sails so that we could enter Labuan in early daylight. But we did it! We dropped anchor under sail with the Harbour Master warning us over the VHF that we were obstructing the local ferry. We arranged a tow with an Angel called Neil and we tied gingerly behind a harbour wall in the wonderful Port Labuan, Borneo.
Next day we found the diesel bug in the tank that had blocked our engine fuel intake. Well, Neil did...
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Comments [0]
20/08/2009, Raffles Marina, Singapore...
Me and Bealy have decided we need a Sänna crew uniform and a Sänna crew salute...
So here we are! This three 'man' crew is great. We're all heading south to Singapore and Hen is with us for a few weeks now. Harry the Rat is dead, the winds are light and refreshing and we've just rescued three Malay fisherman...
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11/08/2009, Port Dickson to Singapore...
We were on our way to Singapore and we saw something tied up to a big floating buoy. It was a very little boat and they had ran out of petrol. They said they had been there a long time and asked if we had any petrol. We said yes, we have petrol and we gave them some. Dave was worried their boat would scratch our boat. Soon they were on their way.
Bealy Boy x
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05/08/2009, Port Dickson, Malaysia to Singapore
When your leftover cucumber sandwich mysteriously dwindles overnight, when you've finally found your glasses and inspected your sandwich thoughtfully, when you see little teeth marks around the edges and the crumbs are right next to your pillow then you know you have a little furry friend on board your boat and Armageddon has begun. I can see how Sigourney Weaver's heart pulsated in the movie 'Alien', I understand Big Arny's desperate determination in 'Predator' and will always remember Bambi in 'Bambi Goes to Dallas'. The hunt was on for my f******g furry friend.
I went to see Big Johnny on SY Cloudy Bay, he's an Aussie from Tasmania and he hates the Abbos. He told me "You need to kill it and kill it fast. It can sink your boat". So off I went to see Mr Mousey Ching, the local Chinaman who sells big traps. He was delighted to see me and we sat and drank tea. I explained my problem to Mr Mousey Ching. "I need to catch this killer rat as quickly as possible because my partner Marie and her son Henry arrive in two days time and they hate rats". "Vhy dey hating vats?" Mr Mousey Ching asked. "Because it could sink my boat", I told him, not wanting to get into a detailed discussion about why rats are seriously misunderstood creatures. "Aah, I seeeee...", he said. So I bought three of his biggest traps, which don't actually kill the rat, they trap them inside through a marvellous trap door mechanism and hook trigger device which has to be baited, I reasoned, with cucumber.
Then Big Johnny on Cloudy Bay informed me it could already be too late. "It will eat through your cables, probably the one that feeds your lightening conductor. You will then be unprotected and the next lightening strike will blow out your sea cocks and I guess you'll have about fifteen minutes to abandon ship, if you're lucky". So I set my baited traps, one in the bilge containing our large supply of Sabah Tea (half eaten), one next to the rubbish bin and one in the cupboard with the raisin cornflakes where I know Harry the Rat had already been (don't ask). I set off to the airport to meet Marie and Hen. I'd already decided to tell them nothing. This would all be over before they knew.
Everything went well until the next morning. Marie flung the cabin door open whilst I was reading my newspaper and demanded to know what the big cage was for next to the rubbish bin. "It's a surprise" I said. She gave me the 'look' she gives me often. I explained, "You know the little baby Gecko lizard that lives in our dinghy? I thought I'd try and catch it so that Hen can keep it for a pet in his cabin." We've had a small gecko living under the dinghy housing for about a year and we feed it often. It's dead cute and Hen's always wanted one as a pet. "Mmmmmm" she said. "But don't tell Hen, it's a surprise," I said. However, I was worried.
That's how it all began to go wrong. Henry finally found the traps too. He was really excited, realising he was going to get his pet gecko. He was going to call him Geeky. But he wanted to inspect the traps every ten minutes and I explained that wouldn't work and he needed to not look into the traps ever again. That didn't work either.
In the middle of the night one of the traps sprung and Hen was out of his bunk in a flash, much faster than me, and looked into the trap next to the rubbish bin.......
"MUM, IT'S A RAT......" The next ten minutes rank as some of the most sticky moments I've had for a while. Henry was crying because he wasn't going to get his pet Geeky, Marie was in tears because she's absolutely terrified of rats, Harry the b*****d Rat bit me through the cage wire when I decided he needed to get off the boat fast and Mr Mousey Ching was horrified when I told him I threw the rat overboard, still inside the cage.
Thankfully, everything calmed down by breakfast. We were all trying to be normal. Marie asked me if I wanted a cup of tea and a bowl of cornflakes. "No thanks, I'm still full from yesterday", I said.
Harry the Rat probably climbed on board when we were moored in either Port Lumut or Port Dickson, Malaysia. They are good swimmers I'm told. We slipped our mooring in Port Dickson and made for Singapore where Sänna is now moored. There are no rats in Singapore because they're banned, like everything else that's bad for you. Singapore is unbelievable, it's fantastic!
Everything went really well in Singapore until I took Henry to the Four Floors of Whores........
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08/06/2009, Port Lumut to Port Dickson, Malaysia
We're leaving Lumut and heading south down the Malacca Straights in the morning for Port Dickson, Malaysia. Unfortunately, this is a notorious pirate area, especially against small yachts. But I've got the option of purchasing an old four barrelled Bofors anti-aircraft gun salvaged off an American river gunboat sunk in the Mekong Delta during the war no one talks about. It doesn't work but it will look very impressive mounted on our bows.
I'm trying to get Marie to wear combat fatigues but she's having none of it. But she does say I look like Richard Gere in my imitation Naval Whites.
I have a back up plan though. If we are approached by Pirates and have to fire the thing then Marie puts up her hands and offers her surrender whilst I hide in the bilges. If I keep quite then they won't know I'm there.
So, all being well, we'll be back in touch from Port Dickson....
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10/05/2009, Langkawi
Photo: Vagabond sailors.
Tan Jung Rhu is a magical place. We nosed our way in through the narrow opening, between the sandbank and the hard rock, and the lagoon opened up. Fat Annie was already anchored and we drifted over the wreck to drop our hook two cables away from them. There were a few other boats too...
We were both whisked off in darkness in Fat Annie's dinghy to join the vagabond yachties gathering on the jungle beach. The Aussies had dug a hole in the sand and were burning logs on a fire in their own inimitable style. We drank their beer and ate their food, they would take nothing back. We carted them all back to Sänna, the Aussies, the Kiwis, the Canadians, the Brits and the French and we drank our beer and we all got drunk and we all said our goodbyes...
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04/04/2009, Yacht Haven, Thailand
Somehow I've inherited seven Thai labourers to work on my boat. This includes their very own female cook who comes along with her pile of pots and pans to cook lunch. It seems she's part of the 'gang' I've 'employed' to re-caulk my deck and install a new steel antenna mast to my roll bars. They all arrive early at 7.30 every morning whilst I'm still lying in my bed and the day begins promptly at 7.45 by gathering under the two palm trees to discuss what work needs to be done. We also talk about David and Victoria Beckam, Wayne Rooney and someone called Neathia (that's how it sounds) who's the Thai equivalent of the expected winner of X Factor. First off I moan and groan about how early it is but then I get a plate of delicious bread and curried jam pushed in front of me with the usual steamed rice and oats. We then agree a price for the day but my standard practice of a simulated heart attack cuts no ice anymore. So we press on, it's six days now and there's no end in sight...
My 'gang' all call me 'Boss', which I quite like. I'm summoned by calls of 'Boss, come look?' and 'Boss, this ok?' which has the effect of making me strut around the boat yard in the colonial style that I think every Englishman should try at least once in his life. So, I got myself a colonial safari hat from Big Johnny on SY Cloudy Bay. Johnny's an Aussie from Tasmania who hates the 'Abbos'. He says I'll get twice as much work done at half the price if I harden up, treat my 'labourers' the right way and stop being soft. So he gave me this hat and he said 'this should do the trick'. I wear my new hat and my gang all laugh and mock me by mimicking the way I walk. When I get angry they tell me it's time for lunch, so we eat with our hands under the trees, sitting on a dirty old plastic sheet with a red rose pattern and an old curry stain that looks a little bit like dog shit.
Now, every afternoon when the sun gets hot we sit under the two palm trees drinking Thai rice wine, eating god knows what cooked by a female welder who refuses to let me wash up. I can't pronounce her name but her mother was married to two fisherman at the same time. And she keeps looking at me out of the corner of her eye and I'm seriously worried. Hassan the Muslim says she likes men with no hair... I tell them I want my deck finished by Monday and they all nod in agreement.
This morning I told them about a mate of mine, Stefan, who I've heard has been diagnosed with cancer. Hassan said they will all go to the Buddhist temple tomorrow and make a special song, but he's sorry he can't go because he's Muslim. He was nearly in tears. I'm not sure I really understand what they mean but it's nice that they understood? My gang were genuinely upset. Maybe this all sounds a bit gooey but I hope my mate Stefan is listenening out.
It's always the weird stuff like this that makes a difference.
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15/03/2009, Koh Rok Nok, Thailand.
Me and Loz caught two tuna but I made her gut them to see if she's grown up yet. And she did gut them so we stuck them on the barbecue with pad thai rice laced with fresh limes. We watched the sun go down and then took turns on watch through the night with a sweet wind that pushed us northward to Koh Rok Nok in Thailand. We set the anchor the next morning as close inshore as the reefs would let us and just far enough offshore to stop the monkeys climbing through the hatches and going through the fridge. When the anchor drifted out Loz told me the currents were slack enough to scuba under the boat so we could clean the prop shaft and keel. Half an hour later we were five meters down with the underside of the hull banging on my head. I could see Loz was laughing inside her mask but an hour later we had the job done.
Before we surfaced I watched her make her way under the boat to the swim ladder and I thought 'life doesn't get any better than this'. Then I felt tears well up in my eyes, which freaked me out as I suddenly thought that no one ever tells you what happens when you cry in your mask underwater. Perhaps they never surface and don't live to tell the tale. Then I felt all whimpish because Troy Tempest never cried in 'Stingray'. He always seemed to have a smile on his face when he was swimming underwater right behind Marina, the beautiful aqua princess who couldn't talk....
Any of you lot think I can't catch fish then think again.
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14/05/2008, Sri Lanka to Malaysia...
Photo - Fourteen hour haul out operation in Sri Lanka.
Posted on www.noonsite.com. August 2008
We left Aden, Yemen, in mid January and were blessed with crazy but good winds to sail the 600 miles up to Salalah in Oman, although we had to engine the last 100 miles. The trials and tribulations of our passage down the Red Sea were now well behind us. We had to tack relatively little and pondered the "NE" monsoon repeatedly, with easterlies and south easterlies giving beam and close reaches much of the time. After refuelling and good provisioning we left Salalah for passage to Galle in Sri Lanka in early February and were again rewarded with good winds. Marie had returned aboard Sänna in Salalah with my brother Gary hopping off back to the UK. The Piracy risk from Aden to Al Mukallah and Salalah meant that it was unwise for Marie to be away from Henry with his broken leg. Initial F6/7 NW winds pushed us along very well until the wind turned N and then NE, F5/6 for much of the passage and we were able to follow our rhumb course line pretty much all the 1700 miles across the Indian Ocean to Galle, arriving in 13 days from Salalah. We then left the wonderful island of Sri Lanka in early March bound for Langkawi in Malaysia but then had no winds at all for five successive days and sailed from thunderstorm to thunderstorm to claim the wind.
After burning much of our diesel reserves against the currents we decided to retreat back to Galle using what little winds we had to either await the SW monsoon or increase our diesel reserves as there was again little wind in prospect. Many yachts travelling westwards had motored all the way from Malaysia/Thailand to Sri Lanka. So we decided to investigate the possibilities of hauling out in Galle through the Agents GAC. Consequently, we are now hauled out in Galle Harbour. I'll leave the sorry and amusing tale of our fourteen hour haul out operation to a later blog...
There are now a few yachts gathering in Galle to go eastwards and we are pondering the best time to leave. At the moment the consensus seems to be early June when the Cyclone season's worst has passed and the big seas have not yet built up. In the meantime, we are enjoying this amazing Island, alongside our very good friends Peter & Dagmar aboard the German SY Iltis and the inimitable and unsurpassable Swiss couple Lucy & Romeo aboard SY Miou De Mere. We have also made good friends with Serge & Maire aboard their French yacht La Bulle. Serge is to tragically die in appalling circumstances after departing Sri Lanka.
We also spend our time avoiding the infamous Saman, Secretary of the so called 'Galle Yacht Club'. Three hour chases are not uncommon...
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13/02/2008, Oman to Sri Lanka
Photo: 1,000 miles from land & 3,000 metres deep
We left Salalah in Oman heading for Sri Lanka late one evening, a little out of sorts, our good friends Peter and Dagmar were planning on making the 1700 mile crossing with us, but as we pulled up anchor and circled them it became evident that their anchor was fouled and they wouldn't be going anywhere that day, so with some reluctance and the promise of having a beer waiting for them in Sri Lanka we waved them goodbye to catch the back edge of a storm which we hoped would give us good winds for the crossing.
We did catch the storm, but more the middle than the edge and a few days of full on sailing followed, followed by days and days of sweet sailing with nothing in sight, where the biggest challenge was making sure the bed in the back cabin was level, for a restful sleep between watches, and deciding which bit needed tanning next.
Then in the middle of the night (it always is!) Dave was on watch and a thud hit the bottom of the boat, enough to wake me and send me up on deck, 'think we've hit a fishing net' said Dave. We'd heard tales of Iranian fisherman who cast nets miles long and then left them overnight to collect later, we were sailing and there was little we could do.
Next morning and the wind died and all was calm, 'we need to check the keel and the rudder to make sure the net is free before we start the engine' were Dave's words of wisdom, after some intense negotiation - Dave 'You go and I'll make you tea every day forever' Me - 'I've got chocolate hidden' Dave 'I'm skipper - you're going' It was decided that I should be the one to check, so I donned my cossie, snorkel and mask and tied a line on, before asking 'by the way how deep is it here' 'Does it matter' were Dave's words of reassurance. I guess not - but out of interest it was 3000 metres!
It was fantastic, bath water warm and as clear as anything, there was no net but some fabulous fish swimming round the rudder, it was so good, Dave insisted on going in afterwards.
M
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10/11/2007, Aden, Yemen.
Photo: All dressed up and nowhere to go. Aden, Yemen.
I went to see the local Commanding Officer of the Yemen Navy. Every day, vagabond pirates passed by Sänna when they went to get their diesel to pillage and rampage out in the Gulf. They waved and smiled and said I looked like the man in the movie. The Navy Chief told me Sänna would be safe and we would have nothing to fear or stolen in Aden because the Pirates had told him I was their friend. But they said if I insulted Islam or their God they would slit my throat and I would die like a western dog. He asked me how many children we had and he laughed when I told him four. He said we were lazy coz he had twelve and also two wives. I didn't tell him Marie and me were not married...
We left Sänna swinging on the anchor for nine weeks in the once glorious Port of Aden, a magical place. And we made good friends with Peter & Dagmar on the German yacht Iltis and with Omar and the Somalian washing man...
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20/10/2007, Bab Al Mandab, Yemen
I was surrounded by four skinny black soldiers beaming their smiles and proudly presenting their automatic weapons. I climbed the stairs and entered the smoky room in what seemed like an old desert fort from some Beau Geste novel. The officer sat behind his desk smoking a cigar, looking at me intensely. This was surreal. Everyone was silent and no one said anything. I saluted. They all laughed and saluted back, obviously thinking this was some strange English greeting. I saluted again, laughing, and they followed the same ritual, laughing even more. This was going well...
"We need diesel" I told the officer. They all laughed again, having no comprehension of what I'd said. I got coffee. It was good too. I tried to explain again that we'd anchored off their military post because of the big storm and our lack of fuel. They were now my friends and the tall skinny slapped my back and said "You stay". I laughed my stupid laugh...
A good while after I was taken outside and led around the back of the fort to a compound by the same officer and two other skinnys I'd not seen before. Inside the compound stood three enormous army Tanks, their yellow guns pointing to sea in the general direction of Sänna still anchored about a hundred metres from shore. Marie was sitting in the cockpit drinking tea. I don't think she noticed three 88mm cannons pointing at her. The officer said something in Arabic and the two skinnys started to drain the diesel from the engine of each Tank which they transferred into two bigger oil drums. I got 300 litres.
I love these people....
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30/09/2007, Massawa, Eritrea to the Gulf of Aden
Marie was worried, I could see it in her face. The speeding skiff boat was approaching us very quickly on our starboard beam and was now on a constant bearing. We'd been watching them for about half an hour. We could see four men onboard and one of them was holding what appeared to be a rifle, but it was difficult to be sure at this range. They changed direction on to a parallel course and their speed slowed to track us. I was worried too - these were standard pirate tactics and our current position put us about 30 miles off the Yemen coastline, well within the piracy danger zone. They turned and approached us and I told Marie to stay calm...
The skiff came alongside with four ragged and beaming fishermen. They could have been Yemenis or Somalian, we couldn't tell. They wanted to give us fish and insisted they wanted nothing in return. They showed us the huge sharks they had caught and we all laughed, they because they had laughing faces, Marie and I because we realised we were stupid.
They gave us a great big tuna and Marie gave them my favourite knitted Rastafarian cap, my treasured one from Jamaica. "Good trade" the skinny black man said, smiling, and they sped off, the shabby helmsman wearing my hat...
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17/09/2007, The Red Sea. Sudan to Eritrea
We were two days into a five day sail down the Red Sea heading for Eritrea having left Egypt after a fabulous few months, night time was here, Dave had just gone to bed, I was on watch, the stars were out, it was a full moon, the bimini was back and my Ipod was playing in one ear - all was good in my world.
Once again Dave had a line out fishing (as we had for the last few years) with little hope of catching anything - despite every other boat telling us how rich the Red Sea was for fish (my hunter gatherer sadly very rarely did), suddenly there was a big bang and a clatter, I jumped up and grabbed the torch scanning the back to see what had fell off or hit us. Realisation slowly dawned - I needed to wake the Skipper....
'Do you want the good news or the bad?' I asked giggling, like any good seafaring sole he was already on his feet heading for deck - 'Give me the good' he said '....well you've just caught your first fish...' replied I 'and the bad?' he asked with a slowing down ' its got your rod...' at which point I gave in to a good old fashioned hysterical chuckle.
Dave consoled himself as he headed back to bed that it must have been least of shark like proportions to have pulled it out of its holder, I on the other hand - laughed all night.
M
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10/09/2007, Port Sudan.
I threw the mooring line and shouted to the old man on the quayside to quickly take it and secure it. We were drifting towards the rusting dive boat and I desperately needed a fixed line. He was sitting smoking his pipe but he dropped it as he groped for my line. The old man shuffled and crawled and missed. I nearly died on the spot! He had no legs. Marie was horrified and the bunch of Sudanese soldiers standing by the guard post started laughing uncontrollably. I didn't know what to do.
We got the line secured and got ashore. I went to see him but didn't know what to say. He stared at me, me with my big flash sailing boat and him with no legs. I had much to say to him but said nothing. I offered him some money but he refused it. He then pointed to the black plastic refuse bag I was holding full of rubbish. He asked for that.
As I walked away he was joined by two other men and they poked through my rubbish looking for bits of food. As we walked away the three of them were eagerly devouring the stale bread we'd had onboard for some considerable time. We walked down the street into the main town and saw much worse. Why is this world such a crazy place?
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22/07/2007, Port Tewfig, Suez Canal, Egypt
Me and Dave went swimming in the Suez Canal in a harbour. There is a big container ship behind us. It is ten meters deep and it is very hot. Dave said he had a fight with a shark once and I asked him who won.
Bealy Boy x
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15/06/2007, Ismalia, Suez Canal, Egypt
Photo: Louise
I bet no one who's transited the Suez Canal has had to fish their Canal Pilot out of the Canal? There's no RYA qualification or certificate available for standing and staring gormlessly at the thrashing arms of the guy you're totally dependent upon as he screams at you in Arabic. Can you imagine the might of the Egyptian Navy and Army fixing their beady eyes on you in disbelief as chaos reigns in their beautiful canal? It all began so smoothly....
We left Sänna moored for a month in Ismalia, the Egyptian port half way down the Canal where, it seems, all sailing vessels have to spend the obligatory period tied up paying fees to the 'Ismalia Yacht Club' before they are allowed to transit the remaining part of the Canal. But it's a really nice town, a perfectly safe and friendly mooring and an ideal spot to leave your vessel whilst you explore the unbelievable sights of ancient Egypt. So we did it all and it was fantastic. Egypt is stunning! Then, when we'd done everything, we decided to continue our passage south down the Canal to the Red Sea, which we thought was a fairly straightforward matter....
Well, no....
The skippers on board the two other waiting yachts laughed, "War Ship", they said with knowing smiles. And so it proved that each time I requested a departure date from the Canal Pilot's office they would inform me "Not today, big warship coming". Which everyone knew was just a ruse to get you to stay and pay. After waiting five more days with no warships of any nationality in sight, I decided I'd had enough and confronted the Harbourmaster using a version of the English language that, I understand, is not translatable into Arabic. And, in the middle of my rant, a huge American Aircraft Carrier drifted by behind the Harbourmaster's back with impeccable timing. He didn't say anything to me. He didn't have to! He just beamed a gratifying smile that made me want to knock his block off.
So two days later, we got ready our departure, cast off our lines and waited for our Pilot to jump aboard. But our propeller was completely fouled from four weeks moored up motionless in some of the most growth prolific waters in the world. We drifted instead, despite revving the engine at full throttle in panic. The Pilot jumped, missed as we drifted out... and fell into the canal....
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