Living and visiting in the Maldives

Think about your country. Visualise its size and shape, its height, feel its mass, let your mind walk its earth and experience its topography: mountains and valleys, forests, deserts and waterways, cities and farmlands. Ok, so if you are Maldivian you would have finished this exercise in less than one minute and would now be going out for delicious short eats (spicy fish balls, samoosas, spring rolls) and Red Bull!

The Maldives has almost nothing above sea level: a fact that becomes apparent when cruising the atolls with a desire to ‘explore the islands’. Go there with a desire to explore underwater and you are immensely rewarded, whether snorkelling / diving one of the many famous sites of one of the largest reef systems in the world or simply exploring the drop-off or bommie closest to your boat or on the island’s house reef: vistas of stunning corals and myriads of fish in famously clear waters.

With approximately 1200 islands (to give an idea of their size, this is a variable number as the vast majority of these low lying coralline islands come and go with the waves, current and wind!…) and hundreds of un-vegetated reefs, a map shows a swathe of dots sprinkled on the big blue. The archipelago rises up dramatically from 3000m ocean floor, while between atolls the sea floor is at about 200m down and generally the depths inside the atolls are from 30 to 50m. Land heights contrast sharply with sea depths: the highest island (Hulhumale island - reclaimed land that accommodates the airport of the capital, Male) stands proud at 3m above sea level. (Atholu is the only Maldivian word that is used in the English language: “atoll” commonly used for a ring-shaped island or coral reef that surrounds a lagoon and is in turn surrounded by open sea).

The 300 000 short, slim, mild mannered, friendly Maldivians live on about 20% of the islands i.e. most of the ‘real’ islands. Many islands are merely rocks that nevertheless remain above sea level at all states of tide and are therefore counted. Resort islands dominate the country: there are more than 100 resorts in the Maldives with most of these located on their own island; each resort fills its island completely and many must spill over the adjacent sea and reef on their stilt-bungalows to offer sufficient accommodation. Tourism is the Maldives biggest (only?) income generator and Male is geared to piping in and shuffling around the thousands that come to the resorts or one of the 120 Safari boats.

Yachties, however, are not regarded as tourists worth encouraging. So cruising the Maldives is made discouragingly costly, requires a permit which takes a week to process (which week is nonetheless paid for as if cruising), limits your activities and allows the boat in the archipelago for a total of only 6 weeks. Yachties, presumably, must be kept away from locals, and evidently the resorts have influence in limiting independent yachting… as well as refusing you access to their islands. One result is that not many yachts cruise the area (we saw only 2 private boats in our two months here) and there is a dearth of useful information for cruisers.

The absence of information is at best tedious and more often, a hazardous challenge, when you are in the Maldives on your boat and need to firstly find an island where you may anchor, secondly find a passage through the fringing reef into the lagoon; then find a suitable anchorage…. in good sand / mud and in depths of about 4m to 16m… with no pilot guide and little other reference material to assist. The start of howling SW Monsoon winds at the time did little to calm matters!

In Male you anchor in Hulhumale lagoon and this is a surreal experience that has made a lasting impression. The anchorage is located at the end of the international airport’s main runway and 747s during landing and take-off are less than 200m above your head. The little twin engined seaplanes that ferry tourists between the airport and the resort hotels similarly take off and land on a strip of sheltered sea adjacent to the main runway. Dozens of Safari Boats (chartered wannabe superyachts / house boats on steroids, that accommodate about six crew and ten - twelve guests and each accompanied by its own support boat / dive boat and its dinghy) dominate the anchorage while they turn around guest parties every week or so – and the resulting boat traffic and departing / arriving guest parties adds to the air of expectancy and excitement. Then there are fuelling barges and ferries moving in and out from the jetty every 15 minutes…. and the turtle who regards us with interest as he surfaces to inhale! About 2 miles away is Male island, covered end to end with the city buildings and a few hundred metres the other way is the first of the resort islands. Between the two is the fuel island (a small island that serves as the country’s main fuel depot), the prison island, and the president’s holiday island. Anchored between all of these are over 20 large commercial ships, mostly no doubt bringing supplies to a country that can supply little of its own goods.

Examining how the people of the Maldives supply every inhabited or resort island with the facilities necessary for human habitation is fascinating, and the costs must be exorbitant. Each island has its own diesel powered generators, its own watermaking plant (usually RO systems), rubbish disposal (usually a dedicated boat, and its own sewage disposal (don’t ask). The islands are magnificent and it is little wonder that thousands of tourists fly in for a weeks’ visit…. Thank heavens they do so, for there is no other way for the Maldivians to run their lives without this income.

Male town is small, with narrow busy roads, motorbikes everywhere, beautiful mosques, interesting streets with colourful buildings and magnificent huge trees; it has a reasonable produce market (Maldivian produce only: other fresh goods can be found at the small Indian stores, mostly imported from India and Australia) and fish market (with incredible congestion in the supply harbour…) and shops that are mostly little “spaza” shops with random assortments of things, but yet also world-standard electronics shops! There are plenty of small tea houses and restaurants supplying tasty eats from cheap local to expensive foreign menus.

So we have experienced, in the past 2 months here (working around the “only 6 weeks maximum” rule involved a passage beyond Maldives to the ‘high seas’ and back again and some poetic license with documentation to ensure that we would be allowed to stay until the kids left ….!) very stressful times picking our way through and around bommies (small raised areas of coral rising quickly and steeply from the floor), grounding on a reef (more about that later), being refused entry to islands and unceremoniously ushered away from others, anchoring and re-anchoring to find a spot that holds and also does not cause us to swing onto bommies! Add to this the fact of no water maker for 16 days and a change of season: the SW monsoon season was heralded by regular gales and big seas. Fun times indeed to share with visitors…! This summary gives an indication of the difficulties experienced in cruising the Maldives. However, it has been a wonderful experience, particularly when shared with friends and family… and we DID see amazing sights and were warmly welcomed by some of the resort islands.

Our first taste of the archipelago (our time in the southern-most atoll, Addu) was made memorable by being the only place where land could be explored (on foot and by motorbike), with causeways joining the four islands. The anchorages on the way up to Male (referred to in a previous blog) were relatively easy and very beautiful. We have since explored the atolls of North and South Male (big tourist atolls and hence most islands have resorts on them, some more welcoming than others) and Gaafaru Atoll, our most northern anchorage. But before we did that….

We grounded the boat on a reef. Setting off from Hulhumale harbour the plan was to explore some potential anchorages on our way up to collect our first set of visitors (Geoff and Sue) where they were staying at Helengeli Island Resort. The channel into a nearby island resort area proved to be our undoing… when your draft is 1.4m and the water depth is 1.9m and then 1.4m and then 0.9m, it is too late! Well, it was for us. There are many things we did wrong, of course, to put our house on the reef, and the hideous scraping, grinding, bumping noises as it bounced up and down (rolly seas do not improve the situation) all drove the point home (simultaneously with driving the keels down hard and then, more unfortunately, driving the rudder blades up very hard.) With as much speed as possible, Irene dropped the dinghy onto the water and climbed in; there was now less weight on the back of the boat…. and we had a tool to push against the side of Ketoro and dislodge her from her perch (yeah right; and with the dinghy’s prop also hitting the rocks…). Before we could test this theory or more practically, use the dinghy to set a kedge anchor, a local dhoni (small ferry) came by and dragged us off. Well, fortunately the rudders were facing forward at the time (midships) because they were rammed up into the bottom of the hull, jamming them and resulting in our having no steering at all. The return to Hulhumale harbour was done with frayed nerves and great skill on the part of Rolf, using the engines to manoeuvre.

There are practically no repair facilities in Maldives and the rest of the day was spent underwater, first opening up a tiny gap between the hulls and the rudder blades and then getting in a saw blade to saw off the tops of the rudder blades (yes, you read that correctly) where they were jammed against the hulls, to create space between them and the hulls and thus allow the rudders to move. The deflection of the blades was presumably allowed by bending of the stainless steel rudder shafts (unlikely) and distortion of the delrin shaft bearings (probably). In any event we managed to achieve sufficient space between tops of rudders and bottom of hulls to be able to turn the wheel and steer the boat, with only moderately more effort and some notchiness in the action, and we were good to go again, which we did before daylight (and visibility) disappeared; thus after a busy day we left the atoll and sailed overnight to ensure we collected our first guests the next morning! (Replacing the rudder blades and bearings will happen in Thailand where the boat is due to be hauled out anyway for bottom painting.)

Sharing the Maldivian experience with guests

A wonderful day was spent at Helengeli resort island with Geoff and Sue, ending in a romantic dinner for 4 on the beach to celebrate our joint 32 year anniversaries (followed by their first taste of getting to and fro in the dark, rocking and rolling in the wet dinghy, using handheld GPS by torchlight to find our way round the reef: no, you cannot just head straight for the anchor light beckoning (and swaying wildly).

They then spent about 10 days with us, finding out what it is like to be on our boat. Sue’s meds enabled her to avoid sea-sickness and they enjoyed the travelling as well as the chilling out (particularly in the hammock strung beneath the trampoline - allowing bum in water and drink in hand on a very hot day!!); proved to be excellent bommie-spotters and navigators from the front of the boat when trying to find a passage through a reef or to anchor, and Geoff contributed fish to dinner admirably! We snorkeled, dived, sailed gently, visited a village and the capital city Male, and generally relaxed.

We all learned that you actually DO feel clean after sea-water baths…. Yup. Water maker broke again - on their second day with us. Man, were we disciplined: we used an average of 4 litres of fresh water pppd, including drinking water. Washing goes like this: sit on the sugar scoop (step) and wash with soap and a cup of fresh water, then jump in the sea to rinse off; turns out cheap shampoo actually lathers in sea water too. (Also turns out that long hair washed with cheap shampoo in sea water falls out at an even faster rate than normal). The naked, open air baths were made more interesting at the anchorages shared with big, lit-up Safari boats nearby. Dishes were washed in salt water and rinsed sparingly in fresh. (We now have a repaired water maker and rust on the cutlery and pots as a reminder.) Clothes washing….. none.

Gaafaru Atoll was our first port of call. Wow! With only a glimpse of a distant island, we were anchored in a lagoon bounded only by (submerged) reef. Beautiful snorkelling straight off Ketoro, and scuba diving from the dinghy at a nearby drop-off: activities that all of us enjoy tremendously and we found the coral and fish life superb. An attempt to anchor near the island and go in to the village was foiled by a fearsome barricade of bommies, making a dinghy ride too long and hence cancelled.

This was followed by several days meandering down inside North Male Atoll, with night anchorages (bath spots) either in the resort lagoons where we had received permission or in the public lagoons open to many boats. The Maldives have several renowned dive sites and we hovered in the boat near one of these while Geoff and Sue had a spectacular dive on the day of their anniversary… followed by a muffin spread for tea.

Well, 9 May was turn-around day: Geoff and Sue left us and 2 hours later the kids arrived, to be taken in the dinghy immediately to famous Banana Reef for snorkelling. Whereas G & S had experienced no weather (well, hot hot still days and calm seas) this changed on the day of their departure and the kids ushered in the start of the SW monsoon season!

So… Geoff and Sue had slept peacefully outside on the trampoline at night, with but a sheet and gentle breezes clothing them; Mark, Livi and Barry (Kay had no leave) sat whooping and cheering on the trampoline while we sailed at speed, dipping the bowsprit into the sea then lifting it to the sky, generally tossing the guys around and dowsing them with sea water (call it a bath, if you like).

The kids adapted well to the sea-bath concept and it was sometimes made even more fun when the agitated water livened up the bioluminescence so we had hundreds of sparkles around us. We ate exceptionally well and a favourite pastime was to obtain provisions from the sea while on the move: it seems the more hectic the activity the better (gutting the dorado or barracuda on the back step whilst flying forward and rocking and rolling enhances the experience it appears).

We also polished off the very last stores of boat booze: champagne and wine and whiskey saved from leaving SA 8 months ago, and the boys got opportunity to learn to love non-alcoholic Bavaria beer. Occasional trips to resort islands for a drink were enjoyed (Indians or Sri Lankans are employed at resorts to work behind the bar, open the drinks etc as Maldivians are not allowed to handle alcohol).

We sailed, rested, spent time away from any humans or land at Gaafaru, enjoyed the snorkelling and had several great dives. Ball games on / from a boat test many skills simultaneously, involving dives of a different kind… and one must be aware of the potential for guard rails to get caught in toes and other places more devastating.

There were few land trips (no land in the Maldives….!) but those we attempted were generally in a good SW Monsoon wind and seaway and so involved nimble footwork and good balance and a tolerance for wet clothes (to get into a wildly bouncing dinghy from the boat or jetty and then the reverse procedure) and often occurred at night…. Fortunately all undertaken with good humour and embracing the experience! There were several nights of playing cards/ emptying buckets of rain water into the tank/ sleeping /eating while gale-force winds tested our anchor (PAH!) and some days of motoring in same. Our children are becoming sailors!

We have a water-maker again. The necessary parts (7 small seals) arrived and needed to be fitted. Sounds simple. The job took 7 hours: 2 hours to remove the cabinet in which the pump is housed from a cramped locker in the hull and to remove the pump itself; 2 hours to open it, since every nut and bolt had “locktite” glue applied to it at manufacturing stage, in order to ensure it would never be free to open; then 3 hours to replace the seals and put it all together again (holding thumbs that the correct number of parts are found to fit the right places….). Happily, Mark was still with us as Rolf needed the extra muscle (….and brain…) so Mark’s skill set has now increased! With much trepidation the machine was turned on… and it works! However, we still have buckets at hand to catch the rain…

A tale of two hemispheres.... or: Best-laid plans - How your world can be turned upside-down

The grib files (weather) predicted light S/SW winds for a few days, so we saw, in our heads, gentle sailing under our beautiful code zero (asymmetric spinnaker sail), a “crossing the line” ceremony that involved swimming in the deep blue sea at the equator and then smooth passage north, with appropriate anchorages for R&R planned.

So, we set off north for Male. After a rainy start the winds did as they were told and the enormous blue, red and white sail filled with wind and pulled us smoothly and quietly north under a brilliant hot blue sky. At dusk we decided to stow this sail and use the headsail and main (with one reef) rather: we have learned that in this area the squalls come up incredibly quickly and require brisk seamanship to deal with rigging; the code zero is not easy to work with in a hurry and is also a more vulnerable sail. Clever little planning sailors…. Always in control?

The skipper went off watch and all was well in the darkened cockpit. For the shortest of periods. Ketoro’s crew (shark master) has developed a reputation for calling the wind: a squall arrived and hastened things up a bit; a short time later several squalls conjoined to cause a measure of chaos in the seas that, combined with the winds, contributed to a very uncomfortable rock and roll. Called on to help put in another reef, Rolf thereafter returned to bed to await his turn on watch. And the weather for Rolf’s subsequent watch? No storm, little wind, just a wobble, roll and dawdle generally forward!

However, this was good as the time was nigh to cross the line …. a lot earlier than anticipated! So after a serious go-slow to allow Irene to sleep, at about 0620 at 00:00.000N and 73:39.670E we crossed to the other side: it was cold after the storms (JACKETS for heavens’ sake!) so our early-morning celebration saw a unanimous vote to cancel swimming and indulge in a grand culinary breakfast feast. This saw our early-morning, dry-boat-for-passage bodies plied with vodka orange/ whisky, chocolate and an apple upside-down cake Irene rustled up while rocking and rolling on midnight watch! Self-portrait below… Of course, despite the fact that we believed King Neptune to have let the team down somewhat by giving us a disrupted sea state, he was given his share in the hopes of future comforts. Ha.

Somewhat giggly and showing no respect at all to the squalls and strong west winds that persisted in coming onto her watches, Irene wanted proof of her powers of squall-summonsing in her next watch period so here is a photo taken of her radar screen. For newbies to these interpretations (as we were until recently): the purple shows anything returning the radar signal, e.g. a ship or in this case a storm. Now it could have been drizzle….. but it was not, ok!? It raged around us… luckily we were fully reefed (main and headsails) for the experience! After she got through these Irene embraced her off-watch periods with more-than-usual enthusiasm.

And so the next night rolled forward. Well … best-laid plans etc! We had originally decided to rest over on an east-side anchorage at North Huvadoo atoll, knowing that they would provide good shelter in most weather…. except strong west winds, which had not been expected! After a slow drive in the atoll, east side, we did not want to risk being blown onto a lee shore and it was too late to get to the west side (you cannot travel the atolls in the dark: the bommies will get you!). So we exited the atoll again… to spend another night on the water. Ah, how hearts can sink!

This time we hove-to outside the atoll: crash-tack sails so the boat comes to a stop / drift allowing you to get more rest than while travelling. Or so the theory goes. Irene’s watch: Rolf’s crash-tack is good but strong gusting and squally winds combine with current to get us moving at a pace faster than Rolf’s sail the previous night!! Irene got off watch, handed her crash-tack over to Rolf…. who had no winds and the most peaceful night almost stationary on the water!

The following morning saw us hauling our tired bodies off to a lovely anchorage the other side of the atoll. We were initially challenged by the fact that the chart plotter, generally very accurate, left us to our own devices in finding an anchorage: you can see that the spot where we are anchored (little boat) is apparently in a drying area! Well, happily we were very safely on water….

We became rejuvenated by a swim, great snorkel and fish lunch (rainbow runner for 2) which we got from these fishermen in exchange for cigarettes and cokes (good barter stock to have on board); we congratulated them on their sailfish (although were happy to reminisce by ourselves on the one that got away from our accidental catch in the Seychelles) and declined their turtle eggs.

A good night’s sleep saw us ready for the next leg and pulling up anchor the following day. Well, that is… until 30 seconds after starting the process! A red light fault indicator on the S/B engine sent skipper into the S/B engine compartment. Unmake the bed, throw everything (bedding, mattresses, pillows) into the hull, lift the boards and climb into the hole (sorry, engine compartment)! Office-boy Rolf is learning to be a mechanic (as well as a sailor and fisherman) and identified the problem. The photo shows the remains of the v-belt for the water pump… but does not show the bolt that was sheared off in the process of fitting new belt, nor the jerry-rigged straps to hold the system together. We eventually got going again…. and at last found the winds and conditions originally promised us!

More tiring overnight sails were alleviated by two other magnificent overnight stops, at Mulaka and Felidhe atolls, giving us a taste of the beauty of the Maldives and its potential for cruising.

So here we now sit, in the in the other hemisphere, enjoying different scenery, different aquatic life, a sky that currently has both the southern cross and the big dipper in it so we can use these tools to find where we came from and where we are going. Turns out it is lovely this side, too.

And, from the Hulhumale Lagoon (airport harbour) at the SE tip of the North Male Atoll, we wait for formalities and repairs to be completed and watch tremendous activity around us… Safari boats with their support boats with crew and guests coming and going, ferries transporting people to and from Male (in the background) and planes using the airspace directly above us and runway close by. We are making plans for the next forays into exploring the Maldives archipelago … all just plain sailing!

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.

The Experience of Chagos

Imagine this: the world around you shows water to the horizon. It is gently rolling, calm and deep blue, the light blue sky above the horizon dotted with a few pristine white clouds. Then the eastern horizon gets a fringe. As you approach, the extent of this fringe becomes apparent: it stretches in a long line in front of you. The binoculars show long, low islands, covered with extensive coconut forests. Approaching the designated pass on this western side, anxiety balls in your stomach as you see all the breaking water: along the whole stretch of islands is reef which will destroy your boat in minutes. However, the Raymarine chart-plotter / Navionics chart is accurate and you get through safely.

The beauty is astounding. Around you the water turns from deep blue to lighter sapphire to aqua and the brightest turquoise, then back again as you move into greater depths. You are in an atoll: in this case, Peros Banhos Atoll of the Chagos archipelago. If you had a bird’s eye view of the atoll, you would see a chain approximately 15-miles in diameter; the reef (the chain), a green/brown thread in the aqua waters, is almost continuous, bar a few passes and is bejewelled with long, slim green coconut islands circled by narrow sparkling white beaches and sand spits.
How can you get here? Well, the only way is to sail: the Chagos archipelago, apart from Diego Garcia which is a naval base, is uninhabited and provides none of the usual tourist means of access. Our sail from the Seychelles was glorious: for the first time, consistent currents and winds in our favour so the sails worked hard and the motors less than usual! With no pirate worries after the first 2 days, within a week we were at the islands, having experienced little in the way of bad weather besides a few squalls typical to the area…. but these come up really quickly and one needs to be prepared to put in reefs or drop the mainsail to deal with the winds which, in our experience this time, did not reach more than 30 knots. The worst part is dealing with the grumpy, lumpy seas afterwards (and the grumpy engineer husband who cannot believe that he can’t find a way to control our motion in these waters)!

We had obtained a permit from BIOT (British Indian Ocean Territories) for a month in Chagos. This allowed us to anchor in certain designated areas and in addition laid down many rules, accompanied by the threat of (massive!) fines for lack of acquiescence: no anchoring outside the designated areas / no scuba diving / no spear fishing / no keeping or cutting coral or plants / no catching coconut crabs, etc.

So we sailed south and put our anchor down at Ile du Coin. First jobs: Irene went off to check on the set of the anchor (snorkelling) and Rolf sat on the bottom of the sugar scoop to prepare the fish (mullet… i.e white fish - yay!) caught in the pass. This provided Irene with some thrilling moments. As she returned to the boat (anchor was fine…. we love our over-sized Rocna anchor!), she was delighted to see great numbers of large fish in agitated movement at the port side. Her delight was decidedly tempered by the arrival of a black-tip reef shark… which was rather more determined than agitated. Her delight completely dissipated when she realised that the food source for the feeding frenzy was coming off the boat: essentially, Rolf was chumming the water, with her in it!! Chagos lesson #1: do not clean your fish off the back of your boat, unless you are trying to summon the sharks.

Above the Chagos waterline are beautiful small islands; many are out of bounds and we explored about 10 of those allowed. Very dense in the interior with coconut palms, layers of huge fallen fronds and coconuts (rotting) and incredible numbers of hermit crabs (tiny to pretty large and of a great variety of colours) to pick your way through, they are very interestingly different from other forests and provide a cool (albeit exceptionally humid) high canopy under which to make your sweaty way forward and look out for the small areas of hardwood trees, odd fruit trees and huge coconut crabs which occur in large numbers on the islands. The small beaches (generally covered at high tide) have soft, white sand and are great to explore as the tides bring in coral and shells (not allowed to collect), as well as interesting things to scavenge: Rolf was like a happy boy playing in a junk yard when he salvaged endless floats, hooks and pieces of line for Ketoro.
The sea also washes up FADs: Fish Aggregating Devices, these float at sea with nets or logs underneath which attract small fish which in turn attract bigger fish; at the surface is a big sealed electronic device which transmits its position to the owner but sometimes the electronic parts get new owners when stripped out by yachties who find the FADs washed ashore (they also contain a large number of D-cell batteries). We were given a great show when we came upon 7 small sharks that had trapped a bait ball of small fish in a corner of a tiny island with its reef; when the sharks were satiated and more listless with their hunting the trevallys and other predator fish moved in; the red-foot boobys nesting in the tree above watched.
Ile du Coin is the biggest of the islands in Peros Banhos and was the centre of the copra industry that thrived here for about a century (see Chagos history at the end of this blog). The original plantation buildings, complete with homes, small jail, church/school, cemetery and water well are derelict and moss-covered but provide a fascinating picture of what it might have been like: the original home of the manager of the plantation huge and stately, all buildings with massive walls and with roofs falling in; the jail with its 4 doors still holding strong but roofs again clearly a weak point! Some of the railway is still evident, as are the railway trolley-cars, and the pier's remains tell their own story.

The other left-over is the donkey: donkeys were originally used for various functions at the copra processing plant and there is one survivor (a few generations on). A very healthy male, it is surely nonetheless lonely and honks (hee-haws!) at visitors to the island; we thought it a shame that BIOT have not made an attempt to give him company (human even), perhaps by moving him to Diego Garcia to be amongst equals on the US military base there?!

We found a wonderful community of yachties. At no stage were there more than 9 yachts in this atoll, usually less than 5 at a particular anchorage, but the other sailors were welcoming and friendly, leading to many evenings of sundowners on a boat, group walks (and beachcombing!), dinghy excursions together to distant snorkel areas, and in our case invaluable help from the others who have spent many seasons in the areas to which we are heading. A great friendship was established in this short time with a couple who became mentors to us.

What about underneath the Chagos waterline? Well…. my, oh my…. WOW. With no human pollution or disturbance and no commercial fishing (except for illegal Sri Lankan fishing boats occasionally) the reefs and waters of Chagos have developed for many decades just as nature intended. The corals are truly amazing: soft and hard corals, massive, healthy and of huge variety of type and colour, they grow alongside and on top of each other from near the beach out to the drop-off, where the resultant complex 3-dimensional gardens have the most fascinating topography. With and around this the many fish (small, large, colourful, camouflaged, fish-shaped and exceedingly oddly-shaped) swim, play, eat, clean each other, catch others or hide from their predators in a world totally intriguing to us. We were sorry not to be able to scuba dive but the snorkelling was so wonderful that we did not really miss it: and our breath-holding improved enormously as we dived down to investigate what was hiding under the huge plate corals or in the holes and caves. (Unsure why diving is disallowed, we assume it is because, as with spear-fishing, there is increased potential for accidents and health problems which clearly are hugely problematic in this remote place…. and would necessitate assistance from the navy at Diego Garcia, which is why we signed our bank accounts over to them when applying for our permits to Chagos!)

Also under the Chagos waterline…. sharks. Reef sharks, mostly black-tip, some white-tip, some grey, are prolific but each seems to have its own reefs/areas that it prowls constantly. And every area has at least one shark. So wherever and whenever you go to explore the reef, you will encounter sharks (we saw sharks on every outing except one). Reef sharks are not aggressive to humans (apparently) but they are very curious and circle a few times as they check you out. But you know what? They are sharks… and one is very respectful of these incredible beasts! You don’t want to be too far from your dinghy when a shark is curious so….. Chagos lesson#2: pull your dinghy with you when snorkelling. On one occasion Irene waited longer than Rolf to end her swim and turned to see a shark, more aggressively curious than he should have been, approaching at speed, not more than 2 metres away (he was probably intending to bump and move off???) Getting into an inflatable from in the water is not an easy process and is generally not achieved briskly or graciously. The speed of Irene’s exit from the water on this occasion is something of which to be extremely proud. Her grace and dignity, however, reached new lows as she found herself at the bottom of the dinghy, spluttering, fins entangled with snorkel somehow. Rolf, having seen this coming before Irene did, was standing in the dinghy and beating down on the water with our trusty hard plastic baton (Irene’s knight in shining armour; however, this was an encouragingly improved reaction from him as he is usually expected to be seen laughing uproariously on such occasions). We developed our own Chagos rule #3: two people plus dinghy present a united front worthy opponent to a shark; emitting low-pitched growls appears to deter them and finally with baton on nose they will be further discouraged and pick on a less confusing target!

Then again, under the waterline.... lunch! Trying to avoid the tinned beans, we are still living off the land (as it were) and catching fish for the pan. Tried to catch fish from Ketoro and lost 2 lures at speed (“what happened there?” expressions on our faces) then pulled in a ... black-tip!! Oh my: newbies to sailing, newbies to fishing, newbies to shark-handling... Happily, at this stage another sailor came up to us in his dinghy; a single-handed sailor for the last 24 years, this man is clearly not a newbie and proceeded to do dental surgery on the shark (from his dinghy) to get the hook out; we were delighted and the shark apparently so too, swimming off at speed with most of his teeth and gum intact: no metal fillings! We have had some success with catching squid off the boat and are becoming adept at not allowing these angry meals-to-be to shoot their black ink all over us / the boat / the dinghy. It is no mean feat to turn these guys into restaurant-style calamari rings…

Having mentioned to another yachtie how generally unsuccessful we are at catching fish (other than sharks, apparently, and tuna, which are stupid enough to catch themselves), he took us out on his dinghy to show us how it is done. Rod each. First line taken: Irene fought (wo)manfully with this huge thing that felt, half-way through, as if it had got a lot heavier and immeasurably stronger .... she successfully pulled in half a huge Trevally, with the shark (other half in belly) still attached to the fish and another 3 circling fast and close (picture: we rocking and rolling in tiny dinghy); the shark had to be discouraged with the back of the gaff after which he tried to jump in the dinghy (he knew where to get the rest of his supper)! All too exciting really, from then on we were all slipping around in the bloody water at bottom of dinghy and trying not to fall out. Seriously trying not to fall out.

Settled the nerves etc then off again; Rolf's line taken, shark on end, shark won and kept the lure. Rolf's next lure taken again and he pulled in a whole, non-sampled Trevally ... many suppers with one-and-a-half trevallys!

Above and below the waterline: turtles and dolphins. In abundance. On one occasion our dinghy was joined by a pod of dolphin that came from all sides to swim and play in our bow-wave. With 10 at any one time having fun, we could not stop, so drove up and down many times, accompanied by these giant glistening bodies shooting past and up and in front of us: seemingly smiling! Well, we were too, and particularly when we stopped and hopped into the water with our snorkel gear to swim with them, finding there were at least 30 in his pod, circling below and around us. A treat of a lifetime.

Chagos sounds like all fun-and-games. Well, it is, really; except sometimes the fun is tempered by anxiety brought about by your isolation and exposure to Mother Nature and her powers. Even within the atoll we had massive storms: some led to threatening situations on anchor, on a lee shore with gale-force winds (anchor watch all night, finger poised over the throttle switch: tense times; several yachts have become damaged in this archipelago) and some were experienced just in transit between anchor spots a few miles apart (F9 winds inside the atoll: testing).

When in Chagos, your daily activities are particularly intertwined with the environment and this experience has reminded us to appreciate our planet’s cycles and the impact we can have. Our memories of the Chagos archipelago are awesome.

Summarised Chagos history: (we apologise if there are inaccuracies in this history, but hope that it gives a picture of the background, political machinations and subsequent miseries that dictated the lives of those on Chagos). Initially visited by Portuguese explorers in 1743, the Chagos islands were subsequently claimed by France a few years later. France leased the islands to two Frenchmen who established Copra plantations and a small fishing industry – exporting mainly to Mauritius. Workers were mainly slaves. Around 1810 – 1815 subsequent to the defeat of Napoleon, Britain took over Mauritius and Chagos from France.

Britain appeared to honour the lease of Chagos and in 1834, with the abolition of slavery, the workers were freed of slave status and became contract workers for wages. The leases and concessions appear to have passed hands and in 1883 the copra oil interests on Peros Banhos and Diego Garcia merged into a private company which recruited labour from Mauritius, Madagascar and Mozambique.

By 1945 the British military presence was withdrawn, about 60% of the population had been born on the islands and in the late 1950’s the company was purchased by a Seychelles group with the result that many islanders left for Mauritius and were replaced by workers from Seychelles. The copra plantations struggled financially and some islands were abandoned. In 1965 the British Indian Ocean Territory (BIOT) was created by Britain to provide sites for joint US / UK military facilities. Initially the BIOT comprised of transfers from Britain’s crown colonies: Chagos Archipelago (from Mauritius) and Aldabra, Desroches and Farquhar island groups (from Seychelles). Britain bought out the private contractual rights of the Seychelles commercial interests in 1967 and started evacuating the residents (about 500 workers and their families) on grounds that they were simply temporary contract workers. Evacuations – mainly to Mauritius - were completed by 1973 and in 1971 the US military started building on Diego Garcia. At present the sole remaining component of BIOT is the Chagos Archipelago which is uninhabited by civilians and with Diego Garcia occupied only by US military personnel and a small number of UK military personnel.

Britain evidently paid compensation to the various interests involved and also paid a grant to Mauritius to assist with re-settlement of the evacuees. However, the resettlement appears to have been largely unsuccessful, with the re-settled Chagos ex-residents living in poverty, and litigation against Britain commenced almost thirty years ago. Recent news suggests that the British High Court has found in favour of the former inhabitants of Chagos and negotiations are underway on how the matter is to proceed.

Fishing

I am not a fisherman! Despite a normal upbringing involving the usual blood sports my upbringing somehow omitted anything more than a passing acquaintance with fishing. Little did I realize the void this left in my skill set.

When we were planning our life afloat the firm policy statement from the officer in command of all matters in which she knows best, was that due to limited refrigeration and the burden already placed on this by my daily beer ration, protein would be provided by a serving of beans unless there was freshly caught fish available!

I was pained by my crew’s assessment of my ability when I discovered the ships library swelled by several recipe books including the arresting titles “The Bean Book” the equally enticing “Rice, Beans and Grains… Great-tasting recipes for better health” and the quite irresistible “Winning Ways to Better Beans”. And not a single reference, not even a scrap torn from a magazine, about fish as a food source!

My humiliation was complete when I further discovered the quantity of beans and bean lookalikes that we were carrying on board: butter beans, red kidney beans, white kidney beans, soya beans, bortolli beans, baked beans, green beans and of course lentils. Lots and lots - green and brown and red – naturally all rewardingly rich in protein. All in vast quantities. If all these beans were served to the inhabitants of a medium sized town in a single glorious feast, the result could change global wind patterns forever.

I therefore resolved to become a fisherman and remedy the glaring deficiency in my upbringing. Thereafter at social gatherings I would raise the topic of fishing and then listen avidly to the wisdom, fueled by beer that would flow from the experienced adherents of this pastime.

My confidence and credibility reached a low when I confessed that I had caught only one fish in my life and that was a Barbel, in Rhodesia, (yes, long ago) and a friend who knows about such things quietly explained that in fishing circles this modest feat did not really count and rather placed me beneath the level at which the cognoscenti would even bother to dispense advice.

A vague idea and the wisdom contained in the ‘Idiots Guide to Yachting’ had informed my quest for a life afloat, so I thought a similar approach to fishing would be appropriate. In fact I was much better prepared as my slim compendium on fishing was richly supplemented by the insights newly gained by standing around the braai drinking beer. Thus armed, I planned a trip to the local fishing outfitters.

The result of this little outing was predictable and inevitable. Did you know that the record for retail spend on any sport does not go to Formula 1 racing, nor to golf; but is consistently won by ‘angling and sport fishing’? The absolute minimum outfit evidently comprises three rods, two reels: one medium heavy rig for trolling and a lighter coffee grinder with two rods for trolling, casting and jigging. In addition was a mountain of jet poppers, rooster poppas, zulu rigs, pulsator lures, bibless minnows, sorcerers, trolling lures, metal baits, birds, bucktail jigs, daisy chains, swivels, hooks, sinkers, spare nylon, spare braid, nylon trace, steel trace – you name it I got it - and the biggest bloody gaff in the shop (this was for lunch, not sport!)

If the shop assistants and the marketing gurus only knew how misguided their efforts are – the most successful sales pitch to me was the helpful little printed ‘how to’ instructions on the packaging. Thus by surreptitiously reading the blurb on the package of some lures, I discovered the art of ‘vertical jigging’. Similarly, my choice of leader and trace wire was guided by those that had helpful little diagrams of suitable knots printed on the packaging. The basis on which hook sizes are categorized however remains a mystery and my choice was informed by comparing a selection of hooks with the mouths of suitably sized stuffed and mounted fish specimens that adorned the shop. I was subsequently to discover that fish are very ambitious.

I also subsequently discovered that one of the most successful and economical fishing rigs is my ‘lunch line’ for the seriously hungry – a merciless monster made up of 50 metres of massive 200 kg breaking strain nylon, tied securely to a cleat on the yacht with a length of spear gun rubber (to absorb some of the shock), which tows a delicious looking pink plastic squid that disguises a great big double hook. The head of the unlucky fish that takes a bite of that, always changes direction: 15 tons of boat moving at 7 knots makes for a powerful rod and reel. To date the bodies of the catches have remained attached to the heads and we have discovered the drowned fish before the sharks do – but just imagine: no fighting the fish, no hard grinding away on the reel, no strain on the shoulders, no lower back pain, no worrying about whether the hook is set properly – you simply hand wind in the defeated fish and prepare lunch!

The normal setup while underway when there is the general threat of beans instead of food, is to deploy the ‘lunch line’ with its deadly plastic squid (depth depending on where the lead weight has moved to); a surface popper / trolling lure on the light rod / reel; and a scientifically designed lure that is guaranteed to dive and remain at the precise depth stipulated on the package, on the heavy rod / reel. Notwithstanding that not a single one of these lures looks even remotely like a little fish or anything else that our target fish might eat, we are assured that each of these lures is cunningly designed and virtually guarantees success for a specific fish species and fishing conditions.

Invariably on sailing through a shoal (say of tuna), every one of these lures successfully hooks a tuna more or less simultaneously! Fish appear to eat anything and everything when they are hungry and conversely, ignore any offering when not on the bite. I suspect fish are stupid. That fishermen spend vast sums pursuing the ultimate fishing lures and debating at length their subtle nuances, is therefore very troubling.

Having hooked and landed a beast brings us to the part of fishing that did not feature around the braai nor on the product packaging – cleaning and preparing the fish. Our haul in the first few months comprised fish that were quite amenable and user-friendly, particularly in that none of them had more than a handful of scales and all were fairly clean. However, recently as we sailed through the pass into an atoll in Chagos we hooked one of the mullet species (I think) and were perturbed to find this guy exuding lots of disagreeably slimy stuff and also having a skinful of scales! I beheaded and gutted the fellow and threw the bits overboard while still in open water, but it was only once we were anchored within the lagoon that I finished the job – scaling and filleting, and tossing the small bits and the skeleton overboard. Irene had in the meantime donned mask and fins and was in the water checking the anchor and the surrounding rock outcrops. We thus discovered another and by far the most successful fishing technique - chumming the water and adding a live bait – within seconds shoals of very large, feeding fish and several sharks were around the boat! Energetic walking on water accompanied by some very unbiblical commentary had our bait safely back on board.

Now that we are anchored in the atoll and therefore not underway, catching fish by the simple expedient of trailing some lures is no longer available and the prospect of beans looms large. The obvious solution according to fishermen is to bounce around for hours in an unstable dinghy, hopefully poised over a submerged outcrop or pinnacle or perhaps a drop-off or a sand bar over which the tidal waters bring nutrients – and patiently ‘jig’ a lure up and down. After half an hour of this mindlessness with even the lightest rod, your arms go lame. As a pleasant diversion you can cast a suitable lure into a likely spot or at some fish you have spotted!

Clearly other yachties also had deficient upbringing as they find no joy in this pastime and therefore devised a more inspired technique. This involves tying the favored ‘lunch line’ securely to the dinghy (usually a little rubber duck with an inadequate two stroke outboard engine) and driving the lot out through the protective reef into the open ocean – where the user friendly pelagic fish are. The dinghy is then whipped up to planing speed and fishing again proceeds by simply trolling a lure behind a moving boat, as befits a yachtie and a gentleman. A danger of course is that the hooked fish is not dominated by the little dinghy and its laboring outboard motor or that the chaos of stopping the boat and bringing in the fish does not occur quickly enough to beat the shark that is attracted by the distressed fish – the image of successively larger and larger fish attaching themselves to the fishing rig does keep me awake at night. It is also possible that the ocean waves being unkind and / or the chaos of trying to land the feisty creature and / or the prickly fellow puncturing the inflatable boat, result in the little vessel being swamped and disappearing entirely.

In my previous life on land Irene on occasion (obviously only rarely and when circumstances warranted!) treated me to a withering look that says ‘you are a pitiful worm’. Now that we share precious moments that are filled with panic and frenzied activity, I get a heated look that says ‘you are a complete jackass’. I find this to be a strangely rewarding elevation in status.

In the manner of many desk-bound bureaucrats, the authorities governing Chagos have decreed that scuba diving is undesirable and is banned outright. Therefore in order to explore the truly wonderful and fantastic underwater world here, you snorkel / free dive and therefore spend time at the surface – which is where sharks generally feed. On every dive thus far we have been checked over by at least one black tip reef shark, who circles us a couple of times before meandering off to a distance where we can keep an eye on each other. At the Ille Fouquet anchorage about three miles away, there is a mob of black tip sharks and several grey sharks that are quite aggressive – reflexively snapping at anything that hits the water from a yacht and also close-circling and crowding swimmers. I have it on good authority from my crew, who recently became an expert in the matter when she earned the endearing nickname “Sharkbait”, that there is insufficient evidence of territorial behaviour by sharks to dispel the notion that these chaps could wander over to us for a visit, particularly as the yachts have departed the Ille Fouquet anchorage and left them with nothing to snap at.

We therefore have taken to diving with the dinghy in tow and brandishing our police batons / nightsticks with the intention of poking sharks on the nose if they get too inquisitive and at the first sign of an agitated shark, abandon dignity and retain limbs by hopping aboard the dinghy. My preferred weapon is of course my trusty axe but I suspect the psychological impact on a shark of seeing ‘crazed fool wielding axe’ would not be quite the same as it might be on terrestrial baddies. When on a seaworthy boat and armed with stout rod and reel, I have a reasonable negotiating position but when both players are in the water it appears the food chain can become a little tangled.

So far we have thankfully dodged all the sharks and much of the stock of beans and I am ever hopeful that corrosion will soon attack the remaining cans at least as much as it attacks every other part of the boat. Nevertheless, my skill set remains challenged as I have clearly not embraced the essential principles and passions of a fisherman. However, fish appear to obligingly commit themselves to the cause when needed and we are delighted with that happy outcome.

Leaving Seychelles; preparing for 7 weeks isolation

The Seychelles phase of our journey is ending – and with very mixed emotions: sadness in the goodbye to beautiful islands with friendly, welcoming, colourful people; delight that we were privileged enough to experience the islands in this way; some anxiety and trepidation for the next ocean passage, and expectations of unique experiences the passage and the destination is certain to give us.

In the next few days we will leave on a passage of 1050 nautical miles to the Chagos islands, almost due east of the Seychelles. Embarking on this voyage will mean leaving this seriously comfortable spot where we are presently berthed: the Wharf Hotel and Marina…. Tied up to a jetty means a still boat, stepping straight off the boat and onto “land”, cell phone coverage, easy access to the internet, unlimited supplies of water and electricity to the yacht (read air-conditioning and long hot showers) …. and the hotel pool! This is the first time in all our sailing that we have had such luxuries, and they will be difficult to leave!
The Chagos Islands are, apart from Diego Garcia (a remote US military installation and out-of-bounds to yachties), uninhabited British islands for which we have obtained a one month visitors’ permit. So, all being well, we will have interesting experiences in Chagos and at the end of March we will leave there to travel the 300 nm north to the southernmost atoll of the Maldives… our first experience of “civilisation" in approximately 7 weeks. And the first time in 7 weeks that we will have access to the internet (apart from satellite-phone based), cell phone coverage and the chance to communicate with friends and family.

The last few weeks saw Irene take a trip to Pretoria, where she felt what it was like to have a stationary surface beneath her feet (no big deal), ridiculous quantities of water for showers (terribly indulgent, but fortunately it was not in the drought-stricken Cape areas), a bed which allowed one to get on / off from either side (tested both sides and NEVER got on / off at the foot end, as in boat-wise… surprising!?) and the easiest shopping trips in the world, surely? Thus she stocked up on 33kg of food and toiletries to take back to the ‘land of no rooibos tea, no provita and too-expensive other commodities’ (the red-queue customs man declined the task of bag-checking when exceptionally long itemised till-slips were thrust in his hand and he was implored to “see for yourself”). The real gift of this trip (from Rolf, who remained on the boat to do innumerable chores) was spending time with family and friends, sorely missed when you (of own volition, admittedly) embark on a two-man sailing adventure. Oh, and it was also great to see progress in all the construction that is still the dominant theme of the Gauteng landscape and to top-up on world and local SA news (although much of the latter had not really moved on since we left the country…. except for the number of children, wives and girlfriends of the leader of the nation!)

Returning to the Seychelles brought, to contrast with the news from SA, the following snippets of local news…. the Seychellois are up in arms because prime properties at the top of the beautiful mountains that make up Mahe, the main island, have been sold to an Arab Sheik for a rupee (about 70 SA cents) each, and he has embarked on a distasteful building project there, thus defacing their natural skyline; the Coast Guard says there have been no piracy problems since December (the Coast Guard operations room shows 7 successful pirate attacks on boats in Oct/Nov last year in their area: scary) and the Rising Sun newspaper has an article claiming that Seychelles has been holding 11 Pirates since December. A UN resolution has been made that after trial they serve sentence in Seychelles … but this land has no appropriate facility so the only jail on the island group needs to be refurbished to accommodate these criminals. In that same paper is a teen page featuring an article informing them of numerous “ways to annoy others by phone or at work” (we kid you not). Perhaps if they become too annoying they should be thrown in the newly-refurbished jail?

The last week in the Seychelles also saw us meeting people who alternate their lives between here and SA; apart from a super meal with them they also shared local knowledge, showing us local plants from which we picked curry leaves and cinnamon leaves and took us to a shop that sells…. Rusks (Bokomo) and Provitas!!! And a whole lot more from SA too (except Rooibos). AARGH!! I did not need to bring all the 33kg!! Generally, shopping in the Seychelles is difficult; the islands are covered by what SA citizens would call “spaza shops”: small, badly merchandised, stocks irregular with a limited and eclectic mix of products. So in our sojourn here it was necessary to trudge from shop to shop to obtain what was needed and there have been times when one could not obtain eggs / coffee / sugar. The present problem? Carrots!! No carrots for 3 weeks… “they are imported from Australia and the container has not arrived”!

Back to the preparations for the imminent departure.

We have purchased: 12 more jerry-cans for extra diesel (will there be wind? Will that be enough fuel?), a total of 840l diesel, 5kg chicken fillets (will we catch fish? Will that be enough protein? AHA! Beans!), appropriate quantities of tinned, bottled, packeted and dried food to keep us going for at least 7 weeks and approximately R1000.00 fresh food that, at inflated prices, will not take us far!

We have also: put non-slip materials on every flat surface in the galley and also non-slip strips on ends of steps on which we have slipped; sealed the targa wing/bimini (i.e. cockpit roof) from end to end (where it was leaking annoyingly) (yep: we have become DIY experts!); serviced the 2 engines and saildrives and the generator (yep: Rolf is an expert mechanic!); repaired / replaced the heart of the water-maker (under warranty fortunately); prepared and bottled a Madagascan mango/carrot/ginger relish and South African curried beans (yep: Irene has become a bottler!); tensioned up the shrouds; checked and cable-tied all the D-shackles; picked out every weevil we could find in every packet of starch and put these (the packets) in the freezer (a week’s freezing apparently will cure the problem); adjusted the winches; got local banana recipes from a friendly taxi driver; made provision for rain-collection off the roof (to save the water-maker and fuel); rigged a storm drogue to deploy from the stern (to slow us down if we are moving too fast / out of control in a storm); rigged the anchors to handle the deep water anchorages in Chagos and Maldives; stowed the croc and scuba gear and sorted the fishing gear (determined to catch / eat something other than tuna!); rigged the spinnaker in anticipation of light wind, down(ish) wind sailing; de-rusted the tools; sharpened the axe and the machete!?!; covered our eggs with Vaseline (prevents mould from getting into them… and from experience mould is not nice. We will also turn the eggs at least twice a week to prevent the yolks from settling to the bottom); washed every item of vegetable and fruit in Milton, dried and either vacuum bagged, sealed or wrapped for (hopefully long-term-no-vrot) storage and placed moth-killer stuff in every cupboard – such a barrage of assorted good fun is hard to resist!

We have not…. been able to put any more than 1 beer, 1 soda and 1 tonic in the fridge as it is solid with food (daily booze rationing!); unpacked the pirate bag as anti-piracy precautions are still necessary to at least 60 deg East (i.e. 300nm east of here). Explanation of pirate bag: on the recommendation of the UK Maritime Safety Organisation, this “grab bag” (that must be ready to pick up-and-go when the pirates take you off your yacht and whisk you away to Somalia) was put together at the start of the Madagascar to Seychelles passage. Pirate bags, as it turns out, play on the emotions. They cause great trepidation during their packing at the start of the journey and great mirth to observers (visiting family) during their unpacking - having reached the destination safely. So ours contained (as advised) suncream, water-purification tablets, sunglasses, hats, mosquito repellant, individual-required meds, multivitamin, toothbrush and paste, diarrhoea meds etc. Jolly sensible stuff, really. But at the end of a long and ribald evening, family can take the mickey out of you and this certainly provided for much hilarity. Particularly when the RESCUE tablets came out!! However, one petite and feminine almost-formally-member of the family took the prize for the night by pointing out the obvious omission “You need a big f…..g GUN!”

Reflecting on the last 13 months (when we started our training) we have become aware that we were real land lubbers getting into this (ad)venture: with no sailing experience before our training, only 78nm on the new yacht’s log when we left CT (and that was earned motoring within Table Bay), everything has been a learning experience… even handling a dinghy! This coming passage will be the first time it is not a “first”: not our first passage, not the first one on our own. However, we still feel like land lubbers at heart – although Rolf has not spent a night on land for over 6 months, the speed with which Irene acclimatised to land-dwelling in SA was telling!

These land lubbers are about to sail away from all signs of land for a while and in fact looking forward to the journey, remembering previous awesome experiences and sights, moments that took our breath away; but we are also aware that this journey, and the whole of the next 7 weeks, will expose us to more “firsts”. Will they be good or bad? Enjoyable or not? Frightening or not? Whilst isolated on passage our main worries will be weather (enough wind, the right direction, not too much wind, a manageable and comfortable sea state), equipment failure, sleep and our health; we hope that these are not the “firsts” that are manifest on the voyage. Strangely, we have not felt fear during a storm as there is no time to dwell; the anxiety is worst when you see the storm coming! However, this will be the first time our destination will be a land with NONE of the usual facilities .… except if in dire need we could probably try to contact the US Navy on Diego Garcia for help (they lease this atoll from Britain).

Seeing non-sailors take off as we have, understandably has people wondering about our sanity. But many of our experiences have been a privilege and there is no other way we could have enjoyed them - and anyway, we still owed ourselves a gap ‘year’ and it sure beats working!

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.
So throw off the bow lines
Sail away from the safe harbour
Catch the trade winds in your sails
Explore
Dream
Discover

Mark Twain