A first time for everything

Some new experiences are truly amazing once-in-a-lifetime events that live with you forever; while others are amazing more in the fact that the gods must have been smiling and ‘forever’ still has a future. Our brief time in the Chagos Archipelago and the first few days of Maldives provided a number of First Time events.

40+ knot winds at anchor

First time to experience 40+ knots of wind complete with wave slam against the bridge deck and solid water coming over the bows – whilst at anchor!! A squall had become a storm and the wind had changed direction to turn the reef into a lee shore, just as night fell. One option was to blunder around the rock and reef strewn waters in the dark during the storm, to hopefully arrive in the shelter of another island and then get the anchor set in a suitable place – all without losing body parts or expensive boat parts. That happy outcome seemed improbable. Instead, we spent an anxious night with eyes glued to GPS and hands poised over engine controls, but survived without a painful inspection of the reef and crashing surf that beckoned a few metres behind us, with nothing more serious than a caffeine hangover.

A few days later 40+ knot winds struck from dead ahead while we were travelling within the atoll under engine (we had cunningly taken down the sails when the horizon disappeared. We are getting so clever that way.) – and another first: the disconcerting experience of having both engines churning along at 2,000 rpm (about 50% power) and finding that our speed over the ground was precisely zero! Of course the catamaran is hardly the last word in sleek Italian design and it generates wind resistance like a small warehouse. It was really interesting to drive this box around in a lively sea with almost no steering – to the amused gods watching from above it must have appeared like a graceless, and rather fast, Viennese waltz. In these circumstances the skipper’s dignity was best preserved by declaring a desired course that coincided precisely with the wishes of wind and waves. It eventually needed the engines flailing away and spraying diesel with gay abandon to persuade the warehouse to see things our way.

Lots of firsts with the dinghy

Dinghy Dolphins: Playing with dolphins that break away from feeding (or playing) to accompany the dinghy and play in the bow wave or come alongside, close enough to touch. On one occasion we simply drove the dinghy backwards and forwards for a couple of kilometres each way while the dolphins took turns to come along for the ride. When we tired of this, we jumped in and swam ‘with’ them: these are incredible animals; huge and amazingly fast and graceful and intelligent. You see them actually eyeballing you in the dinghy and in the water and interacting with swimmers with their antics. This really was a rare privilege.

Dinghy Fishing: Fishing from the dinghy, with Irene trolling for fish and naturally hooking and hauling in a rather large Trevally (probably the biggest fish ever hooked by Ketoro) only to have a determined shark latch onto it and be dragged along to the side of the dinghy by our able crew – newly nicknamed sharkmonster / sharkmaster. A friend accompanying us in the dinghy patiently explained that this was our fish by repeatedly pounding the shark on the head with a gaff handle, finally dislodging it and Irene hauled in the 50% of the fish that remained. This was however not the end of it because the shark was not stupid – it knew where the fish had gone – and it tried to launch itself into the dinghy as well. We were now already three people plus a half fish and a whole lot of blood and water sloshing around in the little vessel, and the cheated shark had been joined by three more that were all loving the smell of blood. Disinclined to give up any more of our catch, or any of our own body parts, we urged the little dinghy to new fishing grounds.

These were reef sharks that we are assured are harmless! I struggle to get through the backbone of a big fish with all my weight behind a sharp knife; and this little reef shark (only about 1.2m long) ripped through this Trevally – spine and all – effortlessly. These ‘only’ reef sharks have dozens of those typical nasty triangular teeth and the same nasty eating habits and we did develop a new respect for these fellows right away.

A few minutes of fishing later a black-tip shark attacked my brand new Rapalla lure and spun it off before we could control the idiot and remove the hook. Lures are indeed precious out here, however, I considered it a reasonable outcome as I do confess some misgivings about the usual technique of removing a hook from a shark in these circumstances - three people pitching around in a little inflatable dinghy in the open ocean beyond the reef, leaking bloody water from the drain plug and no doubt under keen observation from several interested shark onlookers – who will attack their own kind without hesitation if the victim appears vulnerable (endearingly human aren’t they?). The ‘usual technique’ involves bending the shark backwards over the side of the dinghy (curiously, they generally remain fairly still once they have been persuaded into this position) and then ever so gently retrieving the precious lure – with pliers if not too deep in the mouth or by judicious gum surgery with sharp knife if deeply embedded. Shark and fisherman often go their separate ways relatively unharmed and well satisfied after such encounters.

We finally re-established our credentials by catching another Trevally and hauling it (all of it) into the boat before the sharks got close. Sharks 1: Ketoro 2. No - the first encounter was not a draw!!

Dinghy Safari – plotting the positions of a selection of bommies (submerged rock / coral pinnacles that reach almost to the surface) within the atoll and then visiting them in the dinghy, fishing en route and diving around each bommie when we get there; then onto the next one, etc. with the occasional floating refreshment stop while watching the sea life and the coral on the sea floor through 15 – 20 metres of incredibly clear water. This pleasurable pastime ends only when the beer runs out, the sunburn becomes intolerable or the light finally fades - a wonderful way to appreciate this remote, marine wilderness.

Dinghy Diving – a first for us was to dive with one of us towing the dinghy (or, depending on the current or wind, being towed by the dinghy). Previously we would anchor the boat or leave it on a nearby beach and return to it at the end of the dive. However, being attached to the vessel enabled us to range widely and freely – and of course confuse agitated sharks by miraculously disappearing from the water.

Dinghy Driving – it occurred to us that the very first time we climbed aboard a dinghy and / or started an outboard motor was when we arrived in Richards Bay after completing our maiden voyage from Cape Town. Possibly a little late to develop such basic and essential skills? Now the dinghy is ‘the car’ and it seems the most natural thing in the world to hop aboard this wet and bouncy platform and yank the outboard to life and almost never fall overboard.

Beachcombing and Salvaging

Participating in beachcombing and salvaging expeditions with a contingent of yachties armed with machetes and with acquisitive glint in the eye. Notwithstanding that the Chagos islands are hundreds of miles from anywhere, the spring tide high water mark on the outer reef beaches is defined by hundreds of plastic water bottles (what did people do before the advent of the designer water bottle?) and dozens of slip-slop sandals (the mental image of unseaworthy rustbuckets overloaded with luckless refugees is unavoidable) and other plastic stuff – mostly debris but also some semi-useful jerry cans, planks, bits of material, etc. that for some inexplicable reason assume great value, even if only until the rich haul is dragged all the way back to the yacht. At this point sanity sometimes returns and most of the stuff is promptly consigned back to the sea.

Even more cherished are the piles of fishing nets and heavy fishing lines that are washed ashore – complete with floats of different shapes and sizes, nylon cord and heavy stainless steel hooks, swivels and other fittings; just waiting to be cut up and salvaged. The jackpot however is to come upon a FAD (fish aggregating device) that has been washed ashore, complete with the floating transmitter that sends its position to its owner (a commercial fishing boat). Some of these FADs contain several dozen D-cell batteries that power the transmitter, until they are relocated into some yachtie’s torch or flashing cockpit light! It is astonishing to watch this gaggle of scruffy and ageing beachcombers descend on these modest spoils with machetes and knives – knowing that they are actually decent enough chaps and in a previous life were probably successful businessmen and pillars of respectability in their communities. And here they are, auditioning for a part in Lord of the Flies!

Fauna and Flora

Winning Ways With Weevils – since restocking in some dodgy parts of the world, before breakfast we now must first pick the weevils from the muesli. It is jolly hard to distinguish these diabolical intruders from linseeds as they keep very still when under scrutiny. We now have linseeds with legs and linseeds without legs. Linseeds without legs taste better.

Navigational Issues


Mooring in a harbour that is not a harbour. Even the largest scale chart of Gan in the Addu Atoll of Maldives – one of only four ‘ports of entry’ into the country – does not show a single harbour. Instead the charts show only fringing reefs around the islands that extend offshore for hundreds of metres. Hardwon local knowledge (and this for someone who does not – ever – ask for directions!) reveals that alongside a causeway that joins two islands, a pool within the reef - possibly enlarged by some judicious blasting and with the debris piled up on the sea side – exists a safe anchorage. A plastic bottle and a stick stuck into the rock mark a narrow passage through the reef to this sanctuary. A hungry reef on one side, a low causeway carrying road traffic on another side (punctuated by culverts that carry a powerful stream), a shallow and rocky island shore to another side and a crumbling sea wall on the fourth side. Within this little space (more than four yachts here demands close cooperation and innovative anchoring techniques) are all the facilities of a ‘port of entry’ – customs, health, immigration, coast guard, police all conveniently brought to your yacht by a coast guard patrol boat; and what’s more, it all actually works quickly and efficiently!

Four Letter Words

Yachts seem to inspire a new vocabulary of particularly noxious four-letter words, each with powerful negative connotations. The worst of these are rust and salt and hair and damp – which manifest in the most unimaginable places.

Rust - particularly on the finest, marine grade, 316 stainless steel. The marine environment is disdainful of our metallurgists’ finest efforts. Any mild steel is miraculously transformed to powder. My adjustable spanners are solidly past adjusting and my feeler gauge measures only the sum of all its leaves – a spark plug with a 10mm gap? My machete is rusted to the point that the sharp edge has simply disintegrated and the crew refers disparagingly to my butter knife. When the dive compressor is hauled out (to fill scuba tanks) and the Honda petrol engine that drives it started up (which it miraculously still does on occasion), the entire yacht is instantly covered in a plume of black particles. I understand that only some of these bits are from the exhaust blowing off its latest coating of rust – some of the particles look suspiciously like bits of engine and compressor but I cannot be sure as liberal coatings of Q20 and WD40 have congealed to prevent inspection of the substrate, even if they did not prevent it rusting. Even gelcoat and paint appear to rust!

Salt – we discovered a solid crystallisation of salt, 5mm thick, under the generator. Cooling water oozing from a strained seal? – probably - but it isn’t broke yet so it can’t get fixed yet. It is simply not possible to remove salt from some fabrics and salt is hygroscopic so the fabric never dries completely. Denims have therefore banished from the boat and donated to some hapless fisherman, to no doubt make his life equally damp and frustrating. External surfaces, especially after a few days at sea, become slippery with a damp, salt grime that causes more four letter words. On the bright side, whilst on passage a handful of table salt is obtained by the simple expedient of walking along the side deck clutching the handrail.

Hair – boats grow hair! In considerable quantity. I know this for a fact as on many occasions I have meticulously cleaned every hair from a test space (cockpit or bathroom) and then stare at a test section, defying the boat to yet again reduce my cleaning efforts to nought. And sure enough, before my eyes hairs miraculously appear on the pristine test section of floor. The hairs do not fall to the floor, they simply appear! Furthermore, the hairs cannot possibly come from us as there is so much of it that we would by now both be quite hairless. In any event at least some of the colour, length and shape variations of the offending hairs do not correspond with any known domestic specimens. There is therefore only one conclusion, the boat grows hair – proudly, defiantly, maliciously, in extravagant quantity and in bewildering array of colour, length and style!

Damp – nothing is ever really dry, least of all the crew: what with natural humidity at sea level on the equator adding to the general feeling of sticky sweatiness. Pity the yacht crews that do not have water desalinators or are unable to freely use them due to power constraints. Those unfortunate crew must rely on rainwater, or finding wells on islands, or dip into the precious stock in their tanks for everything from drinking and food preparation to washing clothes, washing dishes, washing themselves. A fresh water shower ranks up there with beer!

Beer – (in the Maldives they are strict adherents of Islam with a prohibition on alcohol). Beer must unfortunately rank amongst the foulest of these words. I slugged back the last of my precious stock while two days out from Gan harbour – confident of finding a suitable market from which to restock once we landed in the Maldives. Sadly, I appear to have misjudged the convictions of the Maldivians and am reduced to non-alcoholic beer. It is however telling that the non-alcoholic stuff is becoming increasingly palatable and even more worrisome is that the level of intelligent, or even coherent, conversation declines as rapidly as it did before!

Other - thankfully our toilets remain serviceable so we need not go there.

Crossing the Line

We finally got to cross the Equator by boat just after 6 a.m. on 13 April. A modest ration of vodka, orange and chocolate for the crew (who was on watch at the time) and several rations of whiskey and chocolate for the skipper – who heroically sacrificed his breakfast of muesli and weevils in the trade off. Ironically, after not wearing a shirt for many weeks it was on the Equator that we were in the middle of a 24 hour period of squally, stormy weather that lasted long enough to drop the temperature to shirt levels.