Puteri Harbour Marina and the surrounds of Johor Bahru, brought us back to commercial reality with a thud. After six months in Indonesia, drifting between deserted islands, or islands comprising no more than two bamboo huts, a small family, a dog and four chickens, the double standards in Malaysia were glaringly obvious.
Even in the Marina complex, or especially in the Marina complex.
A sprawling shopping centre with towering glass panels and miles of chrome railing, every pointless idol to a retail God was here.
Pinnacles of shopping excellence such as the 'Hello Kitty' store and the 'DC comics superhero cafe' where a grown adult could try on a figure hugging batman costume and indulge in a chicken cheese sausage at the same time. Business did not appear slow.

This would take some getting used to.

Just outside the billion dollar eyesore,in the streets below, could be seen scraps of tarpaulin erected over ramshackle carts, their owners jostling for a space to purvey skewers of grilled chickens ass or other similar delicacies comprising every part of the chicken but the good bits..

So welcome again to the land of the haves and have nots.

After a few days the novelty of stepping on to a pontoon wore off. I took care of some maintainence, namely an engine service. The old Volvo was living on borrowed time and would have to be nursed to make it up the Mallaca Straits.

We'd heard about the reputation of Singapore as the electronics capital of the world so took the opportunity to replace the broken VHF radio. We had an interesting bus ride across the Malaysian border, at the second link bridge where we spent an hour sitting in traffic before having our passports stamped at Tuas checkpoint.
To be honest Singapore resembles just another massive asian banking mecca. Streets overflowing with suited, blank faced business men barging their way through the crowded city on autopilot, rushing somewhere? The whole scene wrapped in a filthy smog and washed down with a 20 dollar beer.
However I did get a good deal on a new VHF radio..

We had signed up for the Malaysian west coast rally in the hope that if the engine decided to give up at least we'd be in radio contact with the fleet. The other perk was the discount pricing for marina fees along the way.
So we jumped into the social scene and attended the opening night ceremony at Puteri Harbour. The hall was packed and most of the rally regulars had split into their cliquey groups. We sat up the back and sipped our orange juice whilst watching the local dancers perform in elaborate costumes. The minister for tourism came on and said a few words, then we hit the buffet.. Some of us hit it harder than others. Personally it was the high point of the evening watching the larger members of the crowd jostling for a posistion at the trough, fried chicken sliding off the plate in one hand whilst trying to manouvere huge slabs of chocolate cake onto a plate in the other.
So this is rally life, we mused..

OJ pulled out of Puteri Harbour on the 10th of November with the outgoing tide. The muddy water of the Johor straits sluiced past as we headed the ten miles towards open sea. As usual the day was windless and intensely hot, the familiar drone of the engine filled the thick air. This scene was far removed from the perceived notion of sailing through sparkling clear waters with a cool trade wind filling the sails.
Our loose plan was to nurse OJ 500 miles up the coast towards Langkawi to start the refit, failing that we would stop at Pangkor Marina further south.

Heading north along the Mallaca Straits needed a different approach. There are few protected anchorages along the way and the standard practice is to travel during daylight hours along the Malaysian coast then drop anchor wherever the sunset finds you. The straits are very shallow with a mud or sand bottom. The wind is usually nil. Any wind generally comes from the line squalls and huge thunderstorms that form in the afternoons.

Our first night out, after sneaking through the shipping anchorage at Singapore, was spent off the north coast of a tiny island called Pulau Tunda, just off the shipping lanes. No sooner had we settled in for the night when the sound of rolling thunder filled darkening sky. In the lightnings sillouette could be made out a huge cloud bank heading our way. Completely exposed, miles off the mainland, we were in for bumpy ride. I finished my beer and let out more anchor chain, dogged all the hatches and folded the bimini down then disconnected most of the electronics. By now lighting was illuminating the sky all around with an odd green tint. On deck I felt the first cold puff of wind and by the time we pulled the companionway hatch closed it hit with full force. The rain and wind came in sideways, thunder and lighting played overhead and the sea churned. OJ strained and yawed on her snubbing lines but the anchor held while we got bucked around the cabin.
In an hour or so it was all over with only a choppy sea to mark the storms existence. A yacht anchored a couple of miles away off a nearby island was hit by lightning and left with damaged electronics.

This formed our routine as we traveled further north. Constant vigilance is needed in the Mallaca straits, the shipping lanes occupy nearly the whole width of the seaway between Indonesia and Malaysia. Outside the shipping lanes the water is shallow and littered with fishing nets and floating fishing structures. It seems the lines are somewhat blurred though as we often encountered fishing nets inside the shipping lanes.
The days were spent straddling this imaginary line. When we could see no shipping approaching from astern we would ease more into the lanes to avoid the nets. When ships approached on the horizon we would slip back out amongst the flotsam.

By the third day we still had frustratingly light breezes so were relying on the motor. The currents are strong in the Mallaca straits and we were learning to judge the flow somewhat to our advantage. But progress could be slow.
Around midday the engine overheated and had to be shut down. Now OJ was drifting with the current on the edge of the shipping channel. Belle kept watch and I went below to give a motivational speech to the engine, unfortunately there is no cure for old age, although I promised her retirement if she would carry us to Pangkor Marina.
We came to an understanding and I gave her a playful slap on the rocker cover.
Back up on deck, the ships were becoming up close and personal.
As sometimes happens, when one puts oneself in harms way, a reprieve is given. At this moment a slight sea breeze wafted over the decks, we jumped to the out haul lines and set full sail. Now we were moving and had steerage. I gave the engine key a tentative twist. With the push from the sails the engine had less load and so we carried on towards Port Dickson.
Admiralty Marina at Port Dickson wouldn't look out of place on the banks of a European river , 200 years ago.
An imposing whitewashed building in an early Dutch influence towers over the yachts penned in the Marina below. The whole facility is on a grand scale and serious dollars have been spent here. We caught up with a few other boats and fitted in a two day trip to the historical town of Mallaca. It seems throughout history all walks of life have had a go at taking charge of this strategic port town. Well worth a look to just wander through the old Dutch forts and maritime museums.

With the finish line in sight we were keen to press on.
Both of us were feeling the strain after months of nursing a broken boat through unfamiliar waters.

On the third morning of our stay at Port Dickson the bows were pointed north wards once more.
We were aiming for Port Klang that night, the port for Kuala Lumpur.
The breeze held all day, the current was favorable and OJ made 9.5 knots at one stage in the passage.
On dusk we glided up a small inlet between huge flat mangrove islands just off Port Klang and dropped the anchor for the night. Being close to Malaysias main shipping port meant plenty of boat traffic. We kept lights going all night and hoped we would be left alone. In the event we had a perfect calm night amongst the mangroves with not a squall in sight.
The following day we pushed on but the breeze we had found dropped out, the day got hotter, the current turned against us and the engine overheated once more. So again we found ourselves drifting slowly in circles in what was now the Bay of Bengal.
It seemed like a good time to make lunch.
Again, a slight sea breeze filled in and got us moving towards that nights anchorage. This spot was barely worthy of that title, being an open roadstead off Kuala Bernam. We simply turned right and kept going as near to the coast as depth would allow, which put us still over a mile offshore. Inevitably, in this vunerable position we got hit with a storm, around three in the morning the sea suddenly whipped up muddy waves from all directions, the wind and rain came at us and I layed out more scope on the anchor. Whilst pitching on the foredeck I looked across the dark churning waters to see the lights of the only other yacht unlucky enough to be anchored out here, disappearing behind us in the direction of the beach. A quick call on VHF showed they were on top of the situation and they managed to pull their boat up before it parked itself on the shore.
We stayed awake until first light then pressed on, this proved more favorable than being bounced off the cabin walls at anchor.

Today would hopefully prove significant. With much luck we would make Pangkor Marina. Already we had decided to make Pangkor Marina our goal, not the more far flung destination of Langkawi, in the interests of self preservation, and the desire to avoid a potential nervous breakdown.

So as all things come to an end we sailed into the channel between Pangkor Island and the mainland, turned hard to starboard and entered Pangkor Marina, tied up and turned the engine off for the last time, not sure when we would be sailing out again.

We had been at it for many months and miles and like the seabird coming to rest upon the waves OJ was safe and we were safe.
This would be home for some time to come. The work was just beginning and with perseverance the three of us would come out the other side stronger than before..

Right now though, it was time, in the age old tradition, to celebrate the journey's end and break out the spiced rum...

The following entries will no doubt be less 'adventure on the high seas' and more on the finer points of adhesive sealants and gearbox ratios. If this sort of thing pushes your buttons then stay tuned....

It was Wednesday, the 28th of October, and it was early.
We were anchored in a northern bay on the island of Kepaljirah, aptly named, and roughly translated to mean 'Tired Ship'.
This was one of those bleary early mornings following a restless night of daunting scenarios, played on loop, to an overactive imagination.

In less than an hour we would be crossing one of the biggest, busiest shipping lanes in the world.

With an overheating engine..

The Singapore straits, sixty miles in length and barely ten miles across.
Huge ships from all over the world come together at this point. Occasionally literally.

The week after we crossed, two ships, a bulk crude oil carrier and chemical carrier collided in the straits, as a result the crude carrier sank and six crewman are still missing.

Smaller boats are even more vunerable, a few days earlier another yacht was making a similar crossing, at night for reasons unknown, when they mistimed their approach and were run down by a ship, losing their mast in the process although thankfully not their lives.

The straits are the deep water approach to the port of Singapore.

And they are not sailboat friendly.

This morning dawn broke as usual in a thick blanket of smoky haze, barely penetrated by a watery sun.
Along with a couple of other yachts sharing the bay we raised anchor and made for our first waypoint. A tentative route had been plotted the night before which hopefully provided the fastest, safest passage to Malaysia.
Apart from 400 meter long fast moving cargo ships and tankers to contend with were mighty current flows and the threat of piracy, although so far the local pirates seemed more interested in hijacking the ships passing through the Straits.

The following current and and 15 knot breeze gave us a good push early on, we hit 8.5 knots of speed over the ground even with a sick engine.
Feeling more positive now, we could even make out the towering skyline of Singapore skyscrapers ahead.

Then we saw the east bound shipping lane..

As far as we could see, ships were stacked up on our port beam and closing very fast. On our Ais we picked up ships traveling at 16 plus knots about one minute apart.
We idled on the edge of the east bound lane and let the first two giants slip through the net.

Lying stopped in the water with tons of floating steel thundering past just in front of our bows was an indelible experience, the noise is incredible and the air pulses as the sizable propellers thrash the water just metres away.
On the instruments and with a compass bearing we can see they will avoid us however to the naked eye on deck it appears we are right in their path. These ships have a huge turning circle and it can take them a mile to adjust course.
So we aim for the stern of the second ship and push OJ for everything she's got, which isn't much these days. The breeze has died and now it's hot and sticky, I have one eye on the temp gauge and one eye on the port horizon where the next tanker is bearing down on us. It is analogous to crawling across a busy freeway on hands and knees.
OJ is blowing black smoke now and working hard, the temp gauge is sitting at the upper limit of its happy place
The current has slacked but now we are across the first lane of traffic and into what's known as the TSS, (traffic separation scheme). Basically a large area between the shipping lanes that is too shallow for ships to enter.

It gives us some breathing space, as does the mercifully clear blue skies which we have not seen for a month, before crossing the west bound lanes.

Closer to Singapore this lane is wider and busier and traffic enters from the Johor straits and Port of Singapore into the already busy east-west lanes. We would need to watch all points of the compass.
Again we idled just off the edge the lane and gave OJ some respite. The traffic here was incredible and almost bumper to bumper and moving fast.

Getting ready to time our next run we picked up a radio transmission from two ships on a collision course just off to port. We looked on as a large container ship and smaller freighter side by side on similar headings and speeds began to converge with horns blaring.
The two Indian captains grew more animated on the VHF radio as the two ships closed the gap with neither one backing down,
"Sir! You are making collision!" "Adjust course,why are you making collision?"
They avoided each other by a gap you could have stepped across.

At this point we thought about turning around and going back to bed.
But we wanted adventure, so onward.

We waited for three ships to pass by, and then charged for the stern of the last ship. So close, we could make out razor wire lining the rails on the upper decks and plastic mannequins dressed in combat gear, all to ward off Mallaca pirates.

What looked like a large gap between the next oncoming ship started closing rapidly as we calculated this ships speed as twice the speed of the previous three ships.
Our poor old Volvo engine was at its limit and we promised to retire it at the next shipyard if it would get us across one more shipping lane.
The engine temperature was too high and now the current was heading us, but we were commited.
We were making barely 6 knots and a 400 meter tanker was steaming down on us at 15 knots, this would be tight.
It looked like we were making ground although the ships bows loomed over our starboard beam and she gave two blasts of her horn meaning she was altering course to port.
She passed just astern as the next ship appeared coming out of the west directly ahead and we turned hard to port to scrape by the stern of this next ship.

Now we could see some open water ahead and just beyond a Singaporean beach front.
We squeezed ourselves as close to the Singapore Port limit as we could, to keep clear of the huge mass of shipping entering the Johor Straits.
By now the current was really moving against us although it seemed the worst of the crossing was behind us.

We throttled OJ back and kept our fingers crossed.
Up ahead two slow moving tugboats towing barges were also straddling the port limits and heading in the same direction, we passed them close by. We marveled as we sailed beneath giant oil and gas platforms and rigs being built at the Singapore shipyards waterfront.

Our destination was Puteri Harbour, a small Marina a further ten miles up the Johor Strait.
As the Johor Straits shallowed the shipping thinned out and thankfully we had some breathing room.
We negotiated the sandbars, shallow even for us, and lined up our next obstacle, the Johor bridge.
We passed beneath with what looked like inches to spare and then straight into a mine field of fishermans nets strung incomprehensibly across the channel.
Yet again we wondered on the mentality of certain everyday techniques employed in Asian countries.
To avoid these nets we had to detour slightly outside the channel markers which regrettably also took us into Singapore waters. The Singapore military frown on this type of behavior.
No sooner had we strayed 3 feet across the imaginary border when sirens went off in all directions and an automated loudspeaker blared at us, letting us know we would die, in fifteen different languages, unless we changed course.

Towards late afternoon we turned up at Puteri Harbour, quite spent, where thankfully there was a pen waiting for us.

It had been over six months since we had tied up in a marina and stepping ashore would be a novelty.
Indeed we had arrived in Malaysia.!

And from the outset was noticed a more laid back feeling in the manner of customs and immigration, whereby we were told we could clear in over the next few days, so relak' and welcome to Malaysia! All right...

In the meantime I had spied a 'Brussels Beer Cafe' at the end of the jetty, so, thirsty and following orders it was time to 'relak'...

For three days we rested up in the perfect sheltered anchorage of Bawean Island which gave the strong winds time to blow themselves out.
We went ashore briefly to explore the simple village and met some interesting characters on the way, including one old man in the dusty street who on discovering our Australian heritage, told us that was ok and we had "nothing to worry about". An obtuse statement if ever I've heard one, although he would not elaborate.
Indeed Bawean had quite an isolated feel about it, equal to its geographical location on the map.
It was time to make a move and we were keen to cover some miles and get to Malaysia where the long task of repairing OJ could start.
A morning departure from Bawean would see us arrive at Karimanjawa Island the next afternoon if the fair sailing breeze held.
The sailing was perfect, 15 to 20 knots out of the sou east. Seas were slightly lumpy, being leftover from the wild conditions earlier in the week. During the night we occasionally spotted masthead lights from another yacht, blinking in the distance, on a similar bearing and obviously bound for Karimanjawa. OJ covered the 140 nm in good time and the whole passage was thankfully uneventful.
Approaching Karimanjawa around midday we could make out its many smaller outlying islands, each more stunning and postcard like than the last. Then we saw the masts..
Like all good things everyone wants a piece.
So the rally was in town, we resigned ourselves to our fate and jammed ourselves in amongst the throng. Dinghys buzzed to and fro, carrying invitations of sundowners and potlucks. Fluffy pet dogs yapped in their on board confinement. And of course in due time anchors dragged..
We pondered the wise quote of our friend Jean Lous, who in another place and time, stated " why would I travel half way around the world to hang out with more French people?", this, after overhearing French accents nearby in one particular tourist hotspot.

Karimanjawa is lightly populated and quite mountainous and thankfully appears still well wooded.
Keen to escape by ourselves and taking Jean Lous' advice we hired a motorbike and headed for the hills. This is a great island for touring by bike, the roads are narrow and poorly maintained so cars have a tough time of it. We circumnavigated the island and crossed the bridge over a mangrove forrest into the next island called Pulau Kemujan. We rode for miles and swam at deserted white beaches and came across small villages where we ate noodles on the side of the road and the kids gawked and laughed and played with us.
Back at the anchorage we set up the dive gear and headed out to some of the offshore reefs, there was an interesting display of coral however the visibility was poor and we noticed a distinct lack of sea life, an all too common theme on many Indonesian islands.

A few days later it was time to hit the track again. Our next stop would be the island of Belitung of which we had heard favorable reports, A solid haul of nearly three hundred nautical miles to the Nor West.
Feeling well rested from our stay on Karimanjawa we upped anchor one afternoon
Little knowing what Mother Nature had in store for us.
The breeze was good right out of the gate and OJ set a cracking pace, once again we worried about miss timing our next landfall. However during both following nights at sea the wind would ease to around ten knots and leave us quietly forging our way to Belitung.
During the second night as we closed the island of Belitung the fishing boats and subsequently the fishing nets and fads became thicker all around us. It was a dark night and our range of sight was pretty terrible. On one occasion I flashed the torch beam over the port side just in time to watch an upturned wooden dugout canoe slide past meters from us.
All this constant watchkeeping takes its toll. Around 2.30 in the morning seems to be the standard hour of the day for the wheels to fall off. I glanced over at Belle where she was motioning to a floating bottle lit up by her torch a meter off the starboard beam. To the untrained eye this would normally be a piece of floating rubbish but moments later another old bottle floated past in a similar fashion. With barely time to utter a warning I put the wheel hard over at the same time as Belle lit up the surrounding sea showing an endless line of old floating bottles. We had missed running down a fishing net by not more than an arms length.
Deciding to quit with frayed nerves, we hove to until first light. Next morning we carried on to a small shallow bay on the east coast of Belitung that looked promising on the charts.
So we spent that night anchored in a perfect sandy sheltered anchorage off pulau Tang.
The next day we started early on the passage to the main Belitung anchorage on the north coast near Tanjung Kelayang.
We had no idea at the time but today's events would shape the course of the rest of the journey to Malaysia and beyond.
The approach to the north Belitung anchorage is fraught with hazards, the offshore waters of Belitung itself are littered with uncharted reefs of the granite variety. On occasion small granite outcrops can be seen protruding from the sea miles offshore in supposedly deep water.
It was mid afternoon as we prepared to reef down and line up our run through the shallow inshore waters. We had been running well all day with a following 25 knot wind from astern but it was time to slow OJ down.
We had planned an approach which included two waypoints passed on from another yacht, it proved that these two waypoints were of dubious accuracy and have since re inforced my opinion to not rely on second hand judgement but to trust only in oneself.
We made for waypoint number one.
Belle was on the foredeck easing the preventer so we could turn into the breeze and bring the main in.
At the same time I clocked the depth sounder and froze on the spot. I couldn't utter a sound as I watched the numbers count down from a depth of over thirty metres to less than three in the blink of an eye.
The charts showed deep water around us as did the Ovitel charts.
We were still five miles off shore in supposedly open waters. And traveling at over seven knots..
I tore my gaze from the instruments and sure enough ahead and to starboard I could make out black granite boulders waving with kelp just below the surface.
Running out of options and knowing we would be aground in a few seconds I yelled a warning to Belle , unawares, that we would have to gybe. My words were torn away in the wind but the point was made and Belle scrabbled back towards the cockpit as I threw OJ hard over. She came about and I braced for impact.
In the split second that OJ came through her turn Belle had been trying to haul in on the loose mainsheet to ease the gybe and prevent the boom or mast from breaking under the impact.
We were not coming out of this unscathed..
The boom roared across, barely overhead and Belle never stood a chance of picking up the slack.
Instead she became tangled in the writhing lines, picked up and thrown bodily across the deck as the boom slammed to the end of its travel and the mainsheet snapped like a whip. She was pulled through the Bimini, snapping the straps on the way and ending up half over board.
Not more than five seconds had passed and all was in disarray.
Mercifully OJ had cleared the reef, however Belle was in a bad way.
Putting OJ on a clear heading I got Belle into the cockpit whilst the sails and broken Bimini flogged in the strong wind.
We got the engine running and I brought the sails in and headed for open sea.
Then I noticed the rope burn around her neck and said a quiet prayer to whoever was listening, she would prove to have been very lucky indeed.
Very pale and in shock I made her comfortable in the cockpit and found the painkillers in the first aid kit. She was complaining of pain in her right leg and a later scan would prove she had torn her hamstring muscles.
The last half hour of the journey proved agonizingly slow as I negotiated OJ in the choppy conditions through the reef pass into the anchorage. Finally the anchor was down and for the first time I was glad to see a couple of yachts in the anchorage, one of whom had a degree of medical experience.
By now Belle was in constant pain and I organized a driver to take us to an inland hospital on the island. The problem would be getting her in the dinghy as she couldn't walk.
With a few neighbors helping we loaded Belle in the dinghy and carried her to the waiting car. The driver 'Efan' drove us to the hospital and was later to become a good friend. The hospital was standard third world, dried blood stuck to the tiled walls, the once blue mattresses now brown and dogs and cats walked freely around.
From a decrepit ambulance an old lady was carried past on a stretcher. Her whole body shook and the foam from her mouth indicated rabies infection or similar. Once again we realized how lucky we both were in the grand scheme of things.
An X Ray showed no break in Belles leg however the limited medical facilities could offer no more help.
As Belle couldn't walk we rented a shack on the beach and she spent ten days in bed viewing the beautiful island of Belitung through a small window while her leg swelled up then turned yellow and black.
To further complicate matters our Indonesian visas had just expired and we had just cleared out of the country. All fine, except we couldn't leave.
So we left OJ anchored in a quiet bay near our shack and lay low.
After ten days we saw no improvement in the offending leg and I decided on a dash to Singapore to reach proper medical help.
Getting Belle back on board was an effort.
From then on I was Captain, cook and housemaid.
As we made our way through the islands towards Singapore Belles condition started to improve, thanks , in no small part to the motion of the boat, we believed.
Our travels took us through some of the most beautiful islands we had seen. We made our way to the island of Bangka and from there crossed the gap to the Lingga Archipelago, a group containing thousands of islands, many uninhabited. This suited us well and we kept a low profile.
We had been told to stay aware of pirate activity in the waters of the Riau islands off southern Sumatra. Passing through here we kept our lights low and tried to look inconspicuous. We later learned another yacht had been approached in the area by a high speed fake police boat, the crew demanding alcohol, money and cigarettes whilst attempting to ram their vessel.
Meanwhile Belles leg was improving and she could move around the boat and even , to my great appreciation, work in the galley.
So we worked our way up to the north coast of Pulau Kepalajerih and an anchorage where a Malaysian warship patrolled, just offshore from the final piece of Indonesian soil in our eventful journey.

We had battled breakdowns, injury, storms, heat, drunk fishermen, bureaucratic pirates, floating filth, invisible reefs, wind, calms and currents..
We were down but not out.

Tomorrow would bring the crossing of the fabled Singapore straits and the busiest shipping lanes in the world..

But that is a story for next time...

Heading around the north coast of Bali towards Lovina saw the wind gods smile upon us. We carried a steady breeze off the port beam most of the day.
Beginning our approach to Lovina we could make out at least fifty yachts of all shapes and sizes. Mood somewhat dampened we picked our way through the cluster of boats towards a tiny bit of clear water to drop the pick miles from shore, all the while grumbling in our antisocial fashion about the curse of the rally boat.
Lovina is a lovely spot ,and I'm sure if you could anchor anywhere remotely close to shore, a lovely anchorage.
Made up of a big crescent shaped bay with shores of dark volcanic sands and soaring mountains in the background, Lovina is certainly picturesque and I'm sure at other times quite peaceful. Just not this time. The rally spectacle was in full swing and the cheesy house music blasted off the beach across the still waters till all hours. Nearby, performing local dancers went through the routines whilst crowds of well lubricated yachties got stuck into the free food.
Next came the fireworks and we couldn't help but feel we were caught up in some kind of Disney production.

So the next few legs would be solid hauls and we went about readying OJ and checking all was secure. Provisions were topped up and the charts came out.
This was our final run to Malaysia, some 1200 miles distant, planning a few stops on route, we marked some promising looking islands on the chart.
With nothing keeping us in Lovina the anchor was weighed on the afternoon of the third day and a course shaped for Bawean, a tiny volcanic speck in the middle of the Java Sea 200 miles away.
Throughout the day a constant breeze wafted in from the nor east, OJ cut through the clear waters accompanied by the ubiquitous dolphins whilst the crew lazed and read. Oftentimes there are flashes of brilliance to this cruising life.
However, nature in my humble opinion does not tend to sit for long on idle hands, in short order we would be woken from our reverie.

Off ahead before the bows the horizon softened as dusk gave way to dark, instrument lights were dimmed, lifejackets and headlamps broken out and the radar placed on standby.
Our position showed us closing the narrow gap between Pulau Kemudi and the submerged reef of Karang Takat, a major arterial route for shipping bound for Singapore and the nor west turning point for the long run up the Java sea.
By now the breeze that had kept us company from Bali had steadily clocked round to the east and strengthened, a sign of things to come..
The radar and Ais showed a number of fast moving ,ships in the night, closing our position.
Indeed, staring through the inky black from a now rolling deck we made out the nav lights of a towering crude tanker ship overhauling us from astern, their powerful spotlight catching us momentarily in its loom.
This ships lights and our instruments showed she would pass slightly to port. To be sure I called the captain for confirmation. The reassuring voice of the Indian captain affirmed this was thankfully the case, we passed on our vessel information and wished each other safe travels.
Replacing the handset we could feel through the souls of my feet on the cockpit floor, the booming vibrations given off by the tanker as she eased past. A surreal moment as the stars were one by one blotted out and replaced by a huge moving mass of mindless steel and lights.

The reef pass falling away in our luminescent wake behind us, the course was altered to a nor west heading, and the run out into the void of the Java sea.
By this time the wind strength was increasing rapidly out of the east and we knew it would only gather momentum as we moved further northwards into the natural wind tunnel between Borneo and Indonesia.
Bracing ourselves for a couple of sleepless nights and wishing we'd taken more notice of the intense high pressure system,hovering over most of northern Australia, we reefed down and hung on. Ironically most of the past six hundred miles across Indonesia had featured hot glassy seas punctuated by the never ending drone of our slowly dying engine..
OJ forged on, spearing through the backs of the waves ahead and surfed her way towards Bawean Island.
30 miles north of the Java coast, from the tops of the waves, we spied through the wind blown gloom hundreds of twinkling lights in our path. Eventually we could make out giant fishing platforms spread out over acres and acres of sea. Huge generator powered floodlights lit the whole scene in front of us for a distance of ten miles. These craft bucked and snapped against their anchor lines in the heavy seas.
They being downwind from our position and anchored off a lee shore we struggled to gain offing in the messy conditions. As we made up ground , slowly clearing this ghostly fleet, spray could be seen tearing across across the intense circle of white light enveloping each platform.

The local boys were also having quite a night of it ..

Eventually we were free to ease sheets, shape a more westerly course and bring our wind more astern. OJ moved more easily with the seas off the starboard quarter.
And still the wind came on, by midnight a solid 30kts saw us closing the distance to Bawean, too fast, the trouble now being arriving in unfamiliar territory in darkness the following night.
So we reef again to bring our boat speed down but not enough to let her wallow in the troughs of passing waves.
Barely lit by a scant moon, peaks of roaring crumbling white foam loomed up astern, lifting OJ briefly skyward then passing fizzing and hissing onward into nothingness.
Dawn broke watery and thin, struggling to get a get a grip on the windswept horizon.
Tired eyes scanned the still wild seas all about.
Winds of 35 to 40 knots had been piling up the seas for two days and from here to Malaysia the Java sea becomes gradually more shallow, this combined with varying currents meant our roller coaster ride was to continue.
Little sleep was had during the night and just the first sniff of coffee on the boil below had rousing properties.
Throughout the day we shared watches. The off-watch snatching moments of sleep wedged into the leeward side of the cockpit. Moments broken by abrupt, contact of some body part against some unyielding boat part and the contestant echoes of booming waves against the hull.

Shadows lengthen and again we see the raw beauty of an ocean sunset. We steel ourselves mentally for the oncoming darkness and fatigue it brings in these adverse conditions.
OJ has ran strong all day under reefed main and a scrap of poled out Genoa.
In the last remaining light I take a tour of the decks, checking fittings for damage and lines for wear and chafe.
I bring the pole in and we carry on under reefed main and bright starlight, still covering too much ground too fast.

The anchorage at Bawean island is a small inlet nestled between two towering valleys on the northern coast.
It was now midnight on the second night, Bawean was 2 hours further to the west and closing fast. The time had come to make a choice. Our charts here were good, we had accurate satellite images, radar and a fairly well lit clear sky. Do we chance an approach to the anchorage or heave to till daylight.? Many many tired sailors have come unstuck in their haste to get out of heavy conditions.
We did the sums, rolled the dice and decided to make a cautious approach.

Keeping the island well off our port beam we could make out a dark silhouette,black volcanic peaks just off to the south. Somewhere in there was safe anchorage.
One chance to stick the approach that would lead us in behind the lee of the first valley. If we miss the turn we will be blown past the island with no hope of beating back.
Check the co ordinates, check the course, check again.
And turn...

Bringing the helm down OJ comes about and feels the full force of the seas on her port beam, she holds her ground. We are heeling now and trimming hard, aiming for an imaginary point dead ahead.
OJ holds her line and loses little leeway as the sea works away at her weather rail.
Two miles out we creep in with all deck lights and spotlights burning. First mate watching from the bows. Now we can feel the seas start to lose their grip, the wind still tears down off the mountains. We sense the headland off to port, theoretically putting the anchorage directly ahead. Sails come down and the engine is drowned out by the wind.
In the outer beam of my spotlight I pick up a huge shadow in the water just 3 meters off to starboard. I rub my eyes and check again. A 15 meter long 1 meter thick wooden post or tree trunk perhaps 5 tons in weight, is floating by, equipped with steel bars protruding from its length.
All I can do is snort in disbelief..
While I'm processing this near miss a waft of burning rubber hits my nostrils...
A quick glance at the needle on the engine temp gauge shows we have just melted the impeller and nearly cooked the engine.

It's quarter past two in the morning and we would rather be anywhere else right now.

I shut the engine down..
We work together in a dreamlike trance. The depth is 20 metres and we have enough protection from the open sea so the anchor goes down.
In the lurching engine room, sweat runs in my eyes as I wrestle the broken impeller from its housing then ram the new one in its place.
Fatigue is catching up as we assess the situation.
We are barely sheltered but the anchor is holding and the scope is long. We will wait a couple of hours until first light to come in to the anchorage.

With the morning comes hope.
The sun makes all clear again. Laid out before us a soaring vista of mountainous rainforest, beneath that a clear bay of beckoning calm waters.
We move in and anchor.


Then sleep consumes us...

Crossing from Sumbawa to Lombok with fairly decent winds we anchored in a tiny nook on Lewang Island, a very calm and peaceful night, just us and a few swarms of mosquitoes.
From Lewang we day sailed to Medana Bay Marina.
I guess we must have over emphasized the word 'marina' in our minds.
As we approached Medana Bay we could see it was very open to the north and sure enough as we picked up a mooring ball we could feel the swell rolling OJ under our feet.
Owned by Peter, a very helpful English/Aussie expat and his very accommodating family, this place has a great little restaurant on the beach where the chef Sam puts together some tasty local dishes.
Medana Bay Marina consists of around 20 moorings in around 15 metres of water. Rented out at roughly $10 au a day.
Closer to the shore there is a floating rusted H section pontoon with room for about five boats to berth on, although seeing the effect the swell was having on the pontoon I don't believe it will be long for this world. Watching the penned boats grinding against rusty steel we decided to stick with the rolly moorings.
And roll we did, night and day.
Fortuitously we had planned to leave OJ here and head to Bali to pick up our new autopilot and to be honest get off the sea for a few days.
We left OJ at the mercy of the swell and dubious mooring, ( we have since met an unfortunate yachtie whose boat broke its mooring and parked itself on the nearby reef not long after we left. )
Still you roll the dice, there is much to be said for lying to your own trusty anchor.
After a taxi ride that cost more than the flight we bumped down at Bali's Ngurah Rai Airport.
On the streets of Bali, nothing had changed , really more of the same old hustle and bustle, same as I remember. Same bunch of Aussies barking orders at the same bunch of locals, spouting the same bunch of crap to each other about the latest and greatest Tapas bars whilst getting drunk and burnt in their cut price hotel swimming pool.
In short time we organized a ride to Ubud, having never ventured that far inland, to see what all the fuss was about.
To be fair the feeling was rather more laid back, the hotels and restaurants of decent quality and the massages dirt cheap.
But my god the crowds..
Mass hordes of exquisitely presented Europeans clogged the streets with noses aimed skywards. In my mind I pictured central Milan deserted except for a few blowing tumble weeds.
We sniffed out the cheap cocktails and even found some live music, a young Australian singer/ songwriter, Emma was the standout and we shared a few margaritas after the show.
A few days later we were done with the heaving masses at Ubud and thoughts turned to work.
Heading into Denpasar we found the freight company where our new auto pilot system was supposed to be waiting for us. And funnily enough it was..
So a quick plane ride and long taxi ride later we found ourselves back onboard OJ at Medana Bay 'Marina'.
Thankfully she was still where we had left her. The place was busier than before with many rally boats now catching us up, this looked like the end of the solitude.
Next morning we fired up the engine for the short windless trip across to Gili Air, half way there the engine overheated and we throttled back to a crawl in the strong currents and just nudged our way through the fringing reef, picking up a mooring in the nick of time.
So after a journey of three miles we were again stranded and the memory of the short respite in Bali went up in smoke and steam.
Gili Air was another frothing tourist mecca and we divided our time wisely between the engine room and the closest beach front bar.
During this 'force majeure' a welcome surprise in the form of mum and dad and my brother arriving, somewhat bewildered, by fast boat for a weeks R and R. It was a great reunion after 8 months apart.
So we juggled the socializing and the repairs and in a fortnight I'd installed the new autopilot, stripped the entire cooling system then rebuilt it after soaking in acid. The main culprit was the exhaust mixing elbow. Very coked up and rusty it got the acid treatment and some physical persuasion with chisel and hammer, although the cast was so brittle I had to stop before the whole thing crumbled in my hands. I enlarged the outlet somewhat and prayed it would take us all the way to Malaysia.
We had exhausted the islands extensive repertoire of sickly cocktails, including a personal favorite of my brothers called
'I'm Sexy' , and decided it was time to push on.
No sooner had I washed the grease off my hands before we were clearing the outermost Gili islands and pointing into a brisk south wester, bound for Lovina on the north coast of Bali.
The new auto pilot held a course straight and true.
OJ poked her bows into the waves and spray flew across the decks as we reefed down. In the distance the fast ferry, carrying the family homeward, raised plumes of white water as it bashed its way to the port of Sanur.

To feel OJ alive again and surging beneath our feet lifted the spirits and would prove to fortify us for the next round with old man fate..
For now all was well with the world ....

Now, this latest post will deviate from our usual travelogue as the subject is something that has been on our minds whilst sailing through Indonesian waters.
Namely,

'The inescapable curse of plastic'

Over the years I've had the chance to travel many miles throughout Indonesia, mainly overland to surf spots with a few short boat trips thrown in.
Over time I've seen the amount of rubbish and pollution growing steadily. It always seemed an unsavory fact of travel in the islands.

These days however it is an unavoidable eyesore.
The amounts of rubbish, mainly plastic, we have seen on this journey are of depressing proportions.
I think traveling by boat has driven home the scale of this epidemic.

Initially on entering Indonesia via Kupang in Timor the contrast between pollution control in developed versus third world countries is a huge shock, a cultural slap in the face. The amount of floating rubbish is difficult to comprehend. Rubbish in Indonesia is not just casually tossed away, it is physically dumped into the rivers and seas in huge quantities.
Just to navigate the coastal waters of Indonesia requires vigilance. I am constantly diving on a fouled propellor to remove a plastic bag or winding in a fishing lure dragging a pile of old rope and plastic.
In Kupang ,at anchor, old nappies had to be poked off the anchor chain by boat hook. On the second day in Indonesia a dead and bloated cow also had be untangled from the anchor chain.

Not to point fingers, but behind China, Indonesia is the second largest contributor of plastic waste found in the worlds oceans.

- Mismanaged plastic waste-

Communities living within 50 miles of the ocean generate 275 million metric tons of plastic waste per year, Circa 2010. Up to 12.7 million metric tons of this plastic finds it's way to the sea.
Elsewhere in the worlds oceans one might expect to find plastic particles at a concentration of 1 to 10 items per square kilometer.
In the English Channel for example the ratio is between 10 to 100 items of plastic to be found floating in the sea per square kilometer.
Now compare the statistics of plastic waste recorded floating in Indonesian waters at an incredible 4 items of plastic waste per square metre...
Recently studies were completed on a colony of local seabirds and it was found 80 percent of them had ingested plastic.
Seabirds have a tendency to pick up floating debris from the sea surface, mistaking the small particles as fish they then feed these particles to the chicks who consequently die from starvation as their stomachs fill with debris instead of food.
Most plastic will break down into particles as small as 80 micron or smaller than the width of a human hair. Marine life can ingest these small amounts and contain them within their flesh, so the plastic particles enter the food chain at the lowest levels, in the case of say mussels, and consequently in the case of larger more predatory species further up the food chain the toxicity is magnified. Thus causing a poisoning effect for marine life and humans together..

Discarded fishing nets pose a huge threat to marine life here and policies are underway to make every fisherman liable for his own net. When the fishing nets have become unserviceable they are generally set adrift where they can tangle with other nets and floating debris to make rafts that continue catching marine life. Turtles , manatees and dolphins are a few of the species found dead in these ghost nets.

Indonesia's attitude towards rubbish is hard to comprehend for most western people.
Some will blame poverty or lack of education which can be true.
An incredible lack of infrastructure could be blamed on the government simply not addressing the problem. Basic rubbish bins are not provided let alone a service to empty them. Then of course there is the lack of processing facilities, land fill , incineration etc.
Indonesians are simply blind to rubbish and plastic waste, they live in it, on it, their kids get sick from it but still it keeps piling up. Some communities we have found will actually collect trash from the area and burn it although this brings it's own problems as the fires are not usually stoked by wood and therefore not hot enough to cleanly burn off the toxins. The result is a slowly smoldering fire on the beach releasing black smoke into the sky over a couple of days. If you've ever seen the way car tyres and engine oil burn you'll know what I mean.
As an example we visited a beautiful remote waterfall in the highlands of Lomboks northern mountains yesterday.
The water cascaded into a small pool surrounded by sheer cliffs.
At the only clearing at the base near the pool a rubbish fire was burning, the black smoke making the whole area uninhabitable for visitors.
I'm not sure how you combat this mentality?
Further back along the track in a small clearing in the lush jungle a small bamboo lean to had been erected. The amount of rubbish laying around this pristine jungle was incredible. We spent the next hour walking around and picking up rubbish which consisted of plastic water bottles and cups, straws and noodle packets and noodle cups, chip packets, lolly packets and coffee sachets.
The irony of desecrating such a remote untouched wilderness is completely lost on the locals, it just doesn't register. For them it is simply,
'The world plus plastic'

We looked into a trek up mount Rinjani, Lomboks majestic volcano. However on hearing from many people who have experienced this trek and the amount of rubbish, wind blown toilet paper and general filth they encountered we decided to take our $160 and our motorbikes and get off the beaten trail somewhat.
Rinjani experiences 300 tourists a day and not the infrastructure to cope. The exorbitant national park entry fee is obviously going more into some officials pocket than into park maintenance..

For my two cents worth the only way to solve this problem long term is at the base level. People talk about ' clean up days' and rubbish collection and recycling, all of which are fantastic ideas.

Let's talk about the consumption of plastic in Indonesia?

Indonesians have a
LOVE AFFAIR WITH PLASTIC, full stop..

A bag of lollies in indonesia comes in a plastic bag, ok fair enough, now those lollies are all individually wrapped in plastic for reasons unknown?
Then you take this bag of lollies to the counter where it is again dropped into a large plastic bag and off you go plastic in hand..
Consumables in Indonesia such as laundry powder and shampoo down to coffee powder and single biscuits are all bought in tiny individual sachets, these sachets can be found on huge rolls hanging from the ceiling of any village store.
I've heard the argument, money is tight so it's easier to spend a little on a small sachet of shampoo rather than buy the large bottle. The economics of this practice are misplaced.
The full bottle of shampoo will always be cheaper than it's equivalent volume in sachets.
The end result is, sadly, more rubbish in the world..

It will ALWAYS be the responsibility of the companies manufacturing these plastic products to take responsibility for their actions.
The onus is on the university
educated marketing men.

I believe the changes can be made at this level if the plastic industry ever decides to grow a conscience.

A better alternative needs to be found.

In the mean time we can all be more plastic aware....