Andy
07/10/2011, 00 47.120'N:127 23.434'E, Indonesia - Ternate

Arrived Ternate Friday 07 October - good sail down, spent Friday checking in with Customs, Quarantine and Immigration - about to go and get phone card, and diesel and food hunting - more news tonight.

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Andy
03/10/2011, 4 31.86'N:126 46.8'E, Masareh �- Kepulauang Talaud

Selamat pagi

The smell of freshly baked bread and the surf breaking gently on the shore belies the character building moments of the last 36 hours. Two village fishermen have just paddled past to check their lines. Children�'s voices waft over the water. Earlier in the day the church bell called the villagers to Mass, the white steeple peeping above the coconut palms on the shoreline.

Seasickness is debilitating, as we were to find out on our first sea passage. We left Samal Island at 6am on Friday 30th September aiming for a good start after the repair delays. Once again we were motoring down the Davao gulf. In the early morning calm the boat slid easily through the debris washed down the rivers by the previous evening's violent thunder storm.

Hours later that calm was far behind. Nasty sloppy standing waves in the Molucca Sea had created a very confused situation, making for a rough ride as IM rolled and crashed her way into the head wind. Was it 5 or 6 thunderstorms in a row? Nausea and tiredness had already dimmed our collective memories - but there was no doubt the steady 20kt SW, the 2kt current and the 35kt wind gusts from the thunderstorms, had combined to make this journey one to be endured, not enjoyed. The periods of blinding rain passed reasonably quickly and with plenty of sea room, low visibility was not as worrying as the wind gusts preceding each storm. We could barely hear the thunder above the wind and the waves so it was difficult to gauge how long before each storm was upon us. At least the rain had bought the temperature down - we were all in our rain gear and life jackets, looking more like Southern ocean sailors than 'tropical cruisers'. I retreated into the cabin, pulling the Perspex ra in hatches in place after me, leaving the 'boys' to deal with the umpteen sail change and put another reef in the main. I was scared, tired, queasy and anxious, in an unknown boat in an unknown sea. Unable even to make a cup of tea I decided to clean my teeth. Maybe that would make me feel better...

Extreme tiredness and lassitude is how seasickness affects me. Luckily I don't seem to chuck, and I had even managed to cook tea the previous evening despite the insane gyrations of the boat. TM was looking pale and sweaty, but TC was the one who ended up at the rail, vomiting till he reached the bile. (His blog on how to insert an anti-nausea suppository while dry retching in the head will be linked shortly!) As the journey wore on and our 3 hour watch roster fell apart it became a case of doing only what had to be done. No finger nail filing going on today! We all knew it was still hours before we got to our planned anchorage, but almost didn't dare work out how much time we had lost due to the storms. As chance would have it, one of our 'neighbours' at the marina in Samal had sailed up from Darwin the month before, along the same route we were planning to take. Chalky from BreakAway had given us GPS way points, a hand drawn map, and great verbal instructions for several good anchorages which would allow us to break up the 450 NM passage to Ternate with a couple of overnight rest stops. Masareh, a north facing cove on the top of Kepulauang Talaud was the first of these, and we had hoped to be there by 3.00 pm on Saturday.

"Reefs on both sides of the bay's entrance" cautioned Chalky,"but you'll see them easily in daylight. Just head for the white steeple in the middle of the bay and that'll keep you out of trouble." Our revised ETA was now 5.00, possibly 5.30pm - just on sunset in the tropics. We knew if it was too dark and late by the time we got there we would just have to push on rather than risk entering an unlighted harbour with fringing reefs. At 2.00pm we were still over 20 NM away from Masareh, and although the winds had dropped the seas were still heaving and rolling. Skip TM opted for the iron mainsail, soothing us all with the reassuring throb of the diesel. I'd been able to grab a short nap out of the cold rain and wind, so I took the next watch while Skip and TC took a break. From my seat behind the wheel I could just see TC's leg stretched out against the toe rail - despite the suppository he had continued to dry retch and was laying miserably along the gunnell, with the sea breaking over him from time to time. I hoped he didn't decide to roll off the boat rather than endure the wretchedness of the sea sickness. The hazy forms appearing on the horizon looked more and more like land, as I whispered Land Ahoy to myself, not wanting to wake the finally sleeping men. I checked my watch, it was going to be a race against the tropical darkness - no twilight 4 degrees north of the equator. And thunderstor m No 7 was making its way towards us.

With all hands on deck, we agreed on the visible sightings, Chalkie's church spire could just be made out in the thundery gloom, and GPS tracks were all lining up with the sides of bay, although the sound of waves on the shore were making me a little nervous. The storm hit 2NM off the entrance and for a difficult 10 minutes we battled against the frightening chaos of the rain squall, worried about our sea room, losing visibility and the chance to make our longed for haven. Struggling with the helm while being hurled around the boat, Skip Tone slipped and fell. "Thought you'd had a heart attack Skip," TC commented dryly as TM struggled back to his feet. The intensity of these storms means they pass quite quickly. Thankfully, with the light fading rapidly, visibility returned and we were able to make out the church steeple again. We edged our way into the bay, finally dropping anchor and turning off the engine at 6.00pm. The Examiner had been testing us these last 36 hours right up until the last minute. With the first exams over for the time being, we were all snoring soundly by 7.30pm.

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Andy
28/09/2011, Holiday Ocean View Marina

With our clear out all finalised, we set off on Monday 26th, motoring down the Gulf of Davao. Leaving the safety of the marina, (www.holidayoceanview.com ) but also the friends we had made during the three weeks Samal Island had been our home, I felt the inevitable twinge of sadness. Excitement and anticipation made it hard to settle as I madly sent last minute texts and internet messages to use up the last credit on my Philippino phone card. Eventually, even though land was still in sight, we were out of mobile range, the unused credits mocking my desire to let family know we were under way!
With the breeze increasing to 20-25 knots, we got our sails up, turned off the diesel and started the long slog to windward. We anticipated head winds for much of the trip south, but these stronger than usual winds were a side effect of the cyclone that had been hammering Manila, 1000 klms to the north of us. Davao's position on the southern end of Mindanao puts it clearly out of the northern cyclone belt, making the marina we had just left a great place for yachties to store their boats during the northern hemisphere cyclone season. Wind against tide and swell meant short choppy seas with an unpleasant motion as we cleared the end of Samal Island - the thought of lunch was not very appetising. A nap perked me up, while the two Tony's checked out various tacks and autopilot capabilities. It was then Skipper Tone's turn for a nap, and TC and I kept our eyes peeled for the floating FAPS (Fishing assistance platforms) that appeared every half a mile or so. The FAPS are made up of 6-8 drums lashed with rope and occasionally car tyres - anchored 250-500 metres to the bottom of the gulf providing local fishermen with somewhere to tie their tiny craft during their long nights.
All was going well. I'd even had time to file my fingernails. We had made a respectable 45 NM and were just starting to think about dinner and the evening watch. It was around 4.30pm, with the light just starting to fade - the day had been wonderfully cool and overcast, with thunderstorms and rain showers skirting all around us. That's when the helm started making 'funny noises'. - followed quickly by a TOTAL loss of steering!
Skip Tone's head disappeared down a locker, and when he re-emerged the look on his face said it all... the plate holding the pulleys to the wheel shaft was a pile of rusty bits and pieces on the top of the fuel tank. As the autopilot is connected directly to the quadrant and the emergency tiller was rapidly fitted, we were able to quickly get the boat back under control . What were our options? With land still in sight, it wasn't difficult. We would have to go back to Davao.
Turning the boat with the autopilot, we pulled down the sails, started the diesel and began the dejected limp back 'home' to port, minds racing - would we be able to fix the part, would we get back into the marina at 9.30pm, our estimated return time, knowing all the staff would have gone home and the marina gates closed.
As the breeze swung around to a 15k westerly we re-set the headsail and found ourselves flying along, conscious of the FAPS lurking just above the crests of the now dark waves, occasionally lit up by the fairy lights of the tropical phosphor-essence. With dinner under our belts, and the lights of Davao getting closer, the initial shock began to wear off. Now we just had to make sure we kept clear of the big ships leaving Davao.
A few hours later and we were back in Davao mobile range, those unused credits became a blessing, as I texted Ellen from the marina. She advised us to anchor just outside the marina walls and she would get the staff to open the gates for us in the morning. Circling around in the dark several hours later getting a feel for the emergency tiller and looking for a shallow enough but safe anchoring spot (the shelf drops off very quickly - from 0.5 m to 30 metres in a matter of seconds!) TC noticed half a dozen people running around on the top of the marina wall. After a few moments it was clear they had seen the boat and were going to open the marina gates for us - so without any lead lights and following our GPS trail, we thankfully slunk back into our old berth... past the sleeping crews on the other boats, knowing they would wake up in the morning wondering if we had ever left.

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