Our troubles largely behind us, and a fast sail of 60 hours across the 400 miles of Andaman Sea from Phuket, saw us arrive in Port Blair, the capital, with a couple of days in hand before the arrival of our friends Charlotte and Henry Crawley from Norfolk. We had anticipated the lengthy formalities of port and coastguard clearance, immigration and customs. The form filling and bureaucracy of India are legendary, but add to that the fact that the Andamans are a restricted territory of India, and the copies and bits of paper we produced needed triplicates for each official body, and you might begin to get the picture. Added to that that we unwisely declared that we were collecting friends here, and a whole new process of paper work was initiated!

I am either very dim or have never picked up the right vibes, but on asking the customs man several times what he meant, I finally understood that he was asking for a ‘complementary’, we were allegedly carrying too much booze, and by chance we happened to have 2 quarter bottles of brandy, bought ages ago for just such a purpose, I duly gave my first bribe!

Our saviour in Port Blair was Ravi, who drove us everywhere, knew all the hoops we had to jump through, and how to achieve it, as well as taking away our laundry and collecting the Crawleys at 6 a.m. We would have been truly lost without him.

Once the Crawleys had recovered a little from their journey, and the transition of arriving from January in the UK to 90’ in the shade in Brother Wind’s cabin, we felt that a trip to Ross Island should be undertaken before leaving Port Blair. The island, now a series of overgrown ruins is a reminder of the extraordinary sumptuous lifestyle of British rule, and the heavy handed brutality meted out during their 80 year tenure of the penal colony. Not a period of history to be proud of, and reinforced by our visit at the end of the Crawley’s and Gus’s visit to the cellular jail. We were at least better than the Japs, who came along in 1941.

Port Blair is on the east side of South Andaman Island; the west coast of the island chain being largely tribal reserves of the unfriendly Jarawa, while further north and south are other tribal areas. The islands we were permitted to land on are therefore limited to those that are not classified as ‘forestry’ or tribal areas, and are to the east and north of Port Blair. South of Port Blair are some smaller ‘forestry islands, very beautiful, where we could anchor, swim and snorkel but not land. These islands except for Little Andaman are all uninhabited.

My itinerary that I had had to produce for the authorities listed that we would spend a couple of days going south to begin with, then head northwards. Seventeen miles south to Chiryatapu, on the south end of South Andaman, provided us with a lovely calm anchorage, but the next day was overcast as we set off for the few miles to North Cinque Island, and very dark clouds ahead prompted us to reef the mainsail. Suddenly we were hit by a squall that lasted about half an hour, with winds of around 40 knots, and seas that were humpy but flattened by the wind.

Gus has of course experienced squalls with us before, but the poor Crawleys who only ten minutes earlier had been given their crew briefing of all the safety equipment, were now hurriedly dressed in life jackets and lifelines. The chaps busily set to furling the genoa, Char wisely stayed below away from the lashing rain, and listened to the horrible sound of flogging sails, until we got under control, and crabbed away from the lee shore which we were uncomfortably close to. Not a great start to a sailing holiday for beginners who had signed up for sunshine and blue skies.

I feel that the only benefit to poor Char was that she sent Sarah and Simon Garnier a text to say it was probably worse (though much shorter lived) than the ordeal we had put them through ages ago in the Caribbean! What’s this, crew past and present vying with each other for the scary Brother Wind stories!

That was one bad moment, but more lay in store later! Meanwhile, we headed back northwards, and found the lovely Radhnagar bay on the west of Havelock Island, Three or more miles of pristine white sand and clear turquoise water, with a backdrop of huge straight trees. Just a few Indian day trippers come to the bay, most of the backpacker resorts are all at the other end of the island. The weather picked up, and spirits revived a bit, except that I had picked up a D & V bug, either from water we’d taken on board at Port Blair, or Indian fare, Gus went down with it 24 hours later, and Char had a kinder version after that. But a foray into Havelock Bazaar, and beaches beyond found us at Emerald Gecko restaurant for a delicious lunch for those who felt up to it.

We moved around to Havelock port the next day, and went ashore there to try out the much recommended Brasserie for supper, it proved sadly disappointing. We had left the dinghy on a very mucky beach while we were ashore, and next morning as the chaps were bringing the dinghy on board there was a great scuffle and flurry, as a very large cockroach dropped onto the deck, thank goodness he was smartly dispatched.

One of our endless battles is inspecting and washing fruit and veg that come on board either for cockroaches or tiny ants, both of which we have experienced and eliminated in the past. Currently we have a tiny gecko on board of unknown whereabouts.

On we sailed from Havelock to the tiny island of Inglis, where we anchored off a lovely white sand beach between it and Henry Lawrence Island. No sooner had the anchor been dropped than the black clouds we had been carefully watching materialised into wind and torrential rain, so we battened down the hatches, and settled down to a game of Scrabble like any good British holiday maker! It was Char’s turn to be unwell, battling with a cold and tummy upsets.

When several hours later the rain finally stopped, all but Char went ashore to the lovely beach, and walked, gathered shells, and in turn got very excited by what appeared to be very distinct crocodile tracks, i.e. claw marks the size of a large hand, and a tail drag in between. It appeared to have been burying eggs in the sand, and we knew it was very recent, as the rain had washed every other track away. We later concluded it was a large water monitor!

Next day we sailed on for breakfast moored between Outram and Henry Lawrence Islands, and an attempts to fish again proved unsuccessful. Snorkelling wherever we have been has revealed that the coral of the Andaman’s has died, evidently a few years ago it was pristine, but now it is in a brown and sorry state, caused apparently by the rise in sea temperature. The fish life however makes up for it. The size and variety of fish here is huge compared to anywhere we have been, humble things like Butterfly fish and Sergeant majors are all double the size of anywhere else, the Parrott fish are huge, and lots of Wrasse and Groupers, and Unicorn fish. There are many fish that I’ve never seen anywhere else. The other lovely thing is that I have yet to see a jelly fish!!

On we went to North Button Island, another beautiful deserted island with a perfect white sand beach, and the weather finally settled into a cloudless night, enabling us to sit on deck that evening star gazing with the help of my excellent computer programme, which allows you to locate yourself, and pick out stars and constellations.

From North Button we set sail for Long Island, which has a population of about 1,000, and daily ferries to Port Blair. It is barely on the tourist trail, there is one back packer place, and no restaurants, but we could stock up on basics as well as good samosas. The whole place has a strange neglected sense of its forgotten past. Several beautiful wooden houses stand dilapidated and empty as a reminder of a bygone prosperity that the jungle is reclaiming. The once prosperous wood mill and logging business left ten years ago, and there seems little to take its place. The concrete paths through the village are too narrow for anything other than the two auto-rickshaws and a tractor, which seemed to be the only vehicles on the island.

We walked up to the tiny hospital, where the caretaker was delighted to show us round, particularly when he learnt that Henry is a doctor. We learnt that in the Andamans health care is free, unlike mainland India, and surprisingly the women seem to go to Port Blair, a long ferry ride away to have their babies.

A couple of nights in Long Island was enough, particularly as the water is silty from the tides and a nearby river. Next we were going to do an inland trip up the narrow Humfray Strait, which separates Barantang Island and Middle Andaman, we then planned to cut back east via the Andaman Strait. The strait is uncharted, but we had been given a series of waypoints to follow as a guide, and our only potential hazard we thought, was the high voltage power cable which was allegedly 21 metres high, giving us 3 metres clearance.

The approach to the Strait is shallow, but we arrived there on a rising tide, and had no problems, it was fun to be in amongst the jungle, and looking for birds and crocodiles. We turned the engine off to drift, and listen to the jungle sounds, only to find when we came to restart it, there was no response. Giles was down below in a trice, and soon it roared into life. Our faithful Yanmar friend has developed a few idiosyncratic moments since the new regulator was fitted in Phuket.

On we went happily under the High Voltage cable without much clearance, the RCC burgee being our highest point, but we had taken the trouble to measure our height from the waterline very exactly, when Giles was up the mast doing mainsail measurements.

From now on we were in Jarawa tribal country, but we saw almost no evidence of life, except for a domed straw hut roof, which is typical of their domestic dwellings. The Strait widened out, and although at times we worried about depth all seemed well, until suddenly there was a crunch, and we came to an abrupt halt. We had been preparing to move across to port before the strait narrowed, but this was totally unexpected. We instantly got the dinghy over, and began organising our Bruce anchor to use as a kedge to winch ourselves off, when fortuitously a local motorised fishing canoe came by, and we managed to gesticulate, and persuade them to try to pull us. It was a forlorn hope, and they quickly gave up!

Giles’s next suggestion of someone getting over the side was soundly over-ruled none of fancied get into crocodile infested water! We continued with the kedging attempt but the Bruce was not up to it. Our next project was to try and use a halyard on a kedge to heel her over, and reduce our draft, but by this time the tide was ebbing fast, and Henry and Giles were having difficulties pulling the anchor line into the right place.

All efforts were to no avail, and we resigned ourselves to waiting for 12 hours until the next high tide. It was not a great thought that we had hit the rock at the top of High Water springs, and our tidal information suggested that the evening tide was lower than the morning one.

We set out the Bruce anchor as our halyard anchor at 90’ on our port beam, and our Fortress anchor with a long rope, and several metres of chain was laid off our port quarter. They both seemed to be well dug in, so all we could do was wait! Char nobly went down to attend to the practicalities of lunch, when there was an almighty lurch, and poor Brother Wind settled herself at a wild angle of about 45’ on her port side. Somehow Char managed to catch the flying jar of spicy chutney, which would have stained our cabin floor forever! It must be something to do with her fast tennis playing reactions.

However, we were now seriously uncomfortable and nervous lest we should tip over even more. We decided to adjourn to the high starboard gunwale, and have lunch and review our problems.

It didn’t seem too good, we were miles from anywhere, in unfriendly Jarawa territory, in uncharted croc infested water in the middle of the jungle! There was every chance that come evening the mosquitoes would be out in their droves. The earliest we could hope to get off the bommie was at 11.30 that evening. If we failed, then we should send two people off in the dinghy at daybreak to get help from the ferry crossing a couple of miles back. Not only that, but we had grounded at the top of a spring tide.

Our crew were fantastic, whatever they may have felt, they didn’t let on, and once the daylight had faded, and reading ceased, we resorted to reciting poetry, recapping on stars, and generally keeping spirits up, helped by Giles’s generous administration of medicinal spirit reviving drinks!

There were some very strange noises in the jungle that night, but we finally began to feel dew falling, and carefully crept off our high perch, and down into the cabin, where Giles managed to give us cheese on biscottes for supper, while we all giggled at his long legs negotiating the lopsided cabin.

We found various ways of wedging ourselves somewhere to sleep, while we waited for the coach to turn into a pumpkin or whatever. Midnight came, and Brother Wind was almost upright, the Bruce obviously hadn’t held her too far heeled, but next we had to see what the Fortress could do, and Gus began winching in on the long line, which we had taken to our port jib winch. As it tightened Giles went to start the engine, but instead of the usual ignition squeak there was deathly silence.

There we were with high tide upon us, and no engine working, it was a bad moment, nor was it the normal pattern of not starting, it was a power failure. Poor Giles, was down to the engine in no time, and managed to hot wire the starter solenoid. Never has the sound of the engine been more welcome! However, it wasn’t as simple as that, as our smoky stern testified that there was no cooling water coming out, we waited with baited breath, when there was eventually a gush gush sound, and the air lock probably caused by our grounded angle cleared itself, and at least we had a functioning engine.

Meanwhile our crew both Gus and Henry had been flexing their muscles to extremes, winching as hard as possible on the Fortress, which was obviously holding brilliantly. The anchor rope was so stretched, we feared it might break, but it was our only hope. By shining the torch into the water there was a lump of white coral which became our marker. But looking into the water we could see that the tide had turned, and the ebb had begun. Gus decided to crank the mast a bit more, and Henry managed to carry on winching, while the engine went hard in reverse, then gradually Henry was getting in more line inch by inch, and we realised that we were shifting. It still took several minutes to winch her off, the length of our keel needed clearing, but finally we were floating, and amongst whoops of relief we floated on air as well as water!

What a Trojan crew we had, without Gus and Henry’s brawn, I feel that we might still be there! But what a tribute to the Fortress anchor too, to pull 15 tons of boat off a coral bommie. It was our luck that it had bitten deep into black clay! We lay to the Fortress anchor for the remainder of the night, and when day came retrieved the Bruce, and went cautiously on our way.

We had to exit the Homfray Strait, then sail inside Spike Island on the west coast, and go back into the Andaman strait. All of this is largely uncharted, there is a large island inside Spike Island, which is not shown on any chart! The route between the islands was very shallow, and our waypoints although we followed them did not take us into deeper water. Right on our route, Char, who had become self appointed and superbly efficient depth watcher suddenly warned us that is was shelving fast, and looking over the side, we could see more coral a few inches from the surface. Luckily Henry was on the bow, and managed to guide us into deep water. We could so easily have got stuck again, but it also illustrated that another yacht following the same waypoints must have missed this coral in blissful ignorance!

We got into the Andaman Strait, and sadly didn’t much enjoy it, as again the depth was very variable. When at last we left the Strait, we had a long three miles in the open sea of very shallow water, although it was high tide by the time we were there, the depth varied between 3 and 5 metres.

We had 10 miles until we reached Radhnagar Bay on Havlock Island, delighted to be safely back, to a now much calmer bay with transparent water, which we gratefully leapt into, and nervously swam round to our port side to see what damage we had sustained.

Now I know why we have a long keeled heavy boat, apart from some scum, and a few pin-prick marks on the gel coat, Brother Wind sustained no damage at all. It would of course have been a different story had we been buffeted by wind and tides, but thankfully that was not the case.

We realised with the pressures of the day no one had eaten anything, so we went ashore early and got a madcap lift to Beach 5 and the Green Gheko restaurant, arriving so early that they had not yet started cooking, but it was good to be ashore, and everyone’s spirits were much revived by the delicious food.

The next couple of days were spent chilling out at Havelock, and Neill Islands, the only other ordeal a hot but enjoyable bike ride the length of Neill island, a lovely way of seeing the island, but pretty good torture on bottoms! Gus managed to redeem his reputation as honorary fisherman, by catching a delicious Spanish mackerel, and on our return sail to Port Blair a couple of days later a skipjack tuna. In spite of knowing that the seas are filled with fish here, we haven’t had much luck in catching them, in spite of much trying.

We returned to Port Blair with time to go to the anthropological museum, and the cellular jail, then sadly everyone departed for Chenai on their way home, I suspect we had given them all a holiday to remember in more ways than one!