Climbing Again At Last

It feels good to be pursuing our passion for rock climbing again. Thailand is home to some of the world’s best rock climbing. The steep karst limestone formations jutting up off the beach make for a beautiful playground right in our own backyard. Upon our arrival to Thailand in late September, we traveled to Koh Phi Phi Don. Our initial impression was one of disgust at the over-crowded tourist scene. Motor boats driven by testosterone-filled unlicensed teenage boys zipped around the anchorage kicking up massive wakes that sent any un-stowed items aboard Chandrika flying about. The boats did not even slow down as they wove around the heads of snorkeling sun-burnt tourists. Fortunately for us, the tourists did not venture as far as the crags, and we had the climbing almost to ourselves. Occasionally, the friendly Thai guides would bring a few clients out for a half day of climbing, but otherwise there was no one else on the rock. One day while climbing at Drinking Wall, we foolishly rappelled off an overhanging route straight into the jungle. We landed in prickly thorn bushes. While clambering back to the trail with thorns up to our necks, we were viciously attacked by hoards of red ants. Once one bites, they all bite together in unison. The pain is intense. Even when you squash them, severing their heads from their bodies, their heads continue biting. After jungle swimming back to the trail and cleaning the ants off our bodies, we went to pull down the rope and saw a highway of ants streaming up and down it. We pulled the rope down using Graham’s T-shirt to clean the ants off the rope. The rope was now clean, but Graham’s shirt was swarming with the evil biting creatures. To rid ourselves of the ants for good, we lit the shirt on fire. We learned a valuable lesson and will never rappel straight into the bushes again. The other evil jungle creatures we encountered were the crab-eating macaque monkeys. Their horrible behavior directly correlates with the number of tourists in the area, as the tourists seem to think it fun to feed the little devils. This teaches the macaques that it is okay to steal food from people, rummage through their backpacks, toss stray items into the jungle, and create general havoc. It also teaches them to bite and to throw rocks at people when they do not get what they want. The macaques have been a problem throughout both Thailand and Malaysia. After Ko Phi Phi we stopped at the twin islands of Koh Lao Liang. The north island has about 50 established rock climbs. There is no development on the island aside from one small resort. Due to its remote location, few come here. It is quiet and peaceful with no boat traffic and the climbing is spectacular. October – November 2010

Phuket, Thailand

Arriving in busy, industrialized Phuket, Thailand filled us with nostalgia for the quiet and friendly South Pacific. We were overwhelmed by the availability of virtually any commercially-produced product we could imagine. For a week, we stayed busy finding our way through the city and buying various odds and ends for the boat. We were anchored in Ao Chalong Bay with over 50 other sailboats, more boats than we had seen for the entire half year we were in the Solomon Islands and PNG combined. We didn’t know most of the cruisers here, but we did meet up with a couple of our single-hander guy friends we’d hung out with in French Polynesia. About half the boats in Ao Chalong are captained by male single-handers. We were soon to discover why.

The Anchorage at Ao Chalong

Our friends, who we’ve decided to name Bob and Fred to protect their privacy, invited us out drinking one night. Staying up past our bedtime (of 9pm) and sitting in loud smoky bars is not something we enjoy doing. However, Bob is not into hiking, and he was good sport enough to join us on a couple of steep strenuous hikes in the tropical heat of French Polynesia. We decided to adopt his positive attitude and join him on an outing that he enjoys. Our night on the town proved to be an enlightening experience into the Thai sex market. We had noticed the Thai hookers sitting at the bars up and down the road near the pier catering to Western men, but we did not realize that hookers are everywhere around here. You can even pick up a hooker at the corner mini-mart! Bob, our guide for the evening, informed us that the going rate for a hooker is 1000 Baht ($33 US) a night. If you take a girl home from the bar before closing time, then you must also pay the bar a 300 Baht fee ($10 US). Bob is trying to complete a circumnavigation but has spent all of his savings and is now living on credit cards. Since the whores do not negotiate a price before having sex, Bob discovered he could get away with only paying them 600 Baht ($20 US). They give him a disappointed face, but don’t say anything. He also waits until they are off work to avoid the bar fee. The Thai hookers in this area cater exclusively to Western men, or farang. Most dream that a farang will decide to marry them and their future will be blessed with financial stability. This does occasionally happen; although for the average sex worker, it is only a slight possibility. Most of the hookers speak limited English, but are very eager to learn to improve their chances. From other sailors, we’ve heard that the women are so eager to please that when you take them to your boat, after sleeping with you, they will clean and even polish the stainless steel! Needless to say, many of the single-handed sailors in Ao Chalong Bay have multiple Thai “girlfriends”. Our night began outside the local mini-mart, where our friends Bob and Fred got drunk on cheap beer before heading to the bars (where beer is more expensive). Then we went to a bar, where we played pool. The bar was full of Thai hookers and single farang men. Sue noticed she was the only non-Thai non-hooker female in the entire bar. After this bar, Bob and Fred decided to venture down the street to a bar we have decided to name, The Crazy Bar. Again Sue was the only non-Thai non-hooker female in this bar too. Fred and Bob went off to dance with the young Thai hookers, while Graham and Sue sat on bar stools and talked with one of the Thai hookers, named Lek. Lek told us she was from Northern Thailand and had moved to Phuket about a month ago. (According to Bob, all the hookers say they have only been working for a month, so we are not sure if she was telling the truth.) Lek then taught Sue a few words of Thai. When we turned around to see what Bob and Fred were up to, we saw Fred with a long pool que between his legs and three young Thai hookers straddling the other end. The girls were gyrating their hips and laughing and giggling. Very good actresses. Then we looked to the other side of the bar and saw an older Thai hooker sitting in the lap of disgustingly over-weight man in his 50s. He was groping her, and she was just sitting there staring off into space with a mixed expression of boredom and disgust on her face. Sue must have looked disturbed, because Lek immediately asked her if she was okay and put her arm around her reassuringly. Lek is very sweet. Bob later explained to us that the hookers decide who they want to go home with. If they do not want to go with someone, they don’t have too, although the bar does expect them not to be too choosy. Most likely this means that the younger ones have a little more choice in the matter, but the older ones get stuck with the gross men, since they do need to make money after all. At this point we decided we’d had enough for the night, so we headed home after our first and last night in the Phuket red light district.

A Peaceful Sanctuary in Busy Phuket

October 2010

Solomons to Thailand

Images of limestone cliffs with world-class rock-climbing right on the beach beaconed us. Between the Solomon Islands and the climbing of western peninsular Thailand, lay Papua New Guinea, Australia, Indonesia and Malaysia, and about 4300nm of sailing. For various reasons, we decided to bypass them all and sail direct. PNG? We already went and did not want to risk getting sick again. Australia? Too many quarantine regulations that we would be unable to meet, especially having a warm, fuzzy feline on board. Indonesia? Corrupt government officials are notorious for demanding bribes at every port, and the lengthy visa application requires 2-3 months of advanced planning and costs about $300 US, not counting the cost of bribes. No thanks! Malaysia? but….Thailand and world-class rock-climbing lies right next door. Why stop? Before departing we had to provision and to clear out with the authorities in Noro. Our first evening in Noro, Sue awoke with a paranoid feeling that an intruder had come aboard. She got up to investigate and discovered a teenaged boy in the process of boarding Chandrika astern. Despite his dubious intentions, he was quite pleasant and left when told to go away. He told us he was hungry and had come by for some “lollies.” (We had given some candies to a few local children earlier that day. Word sure does get around.) The following night, (the night before our early morning departure), we both awoke to a “thump” on the cabin top. We got up to investigate but found nothing amiss. Before falling back asleep, Sue heard some teens laughing in the distance. In the morning, we discovered the cause of the thump. A large terd, (from a pig perhaps?) lay on our cabin top. Either it had fallen out of the sky, or some mischievous teens had been up to their pranks. Gross! While we loved the Solomons and found most of the locals to be very loving and delightful, we’d had enough. It seemed like at every anchorage, there was someone causing trouble and who had a grudge against us. Well, we were ready to go. We had stocked up on stale (past expiration date) crackers, weevil-infested flour, limited short-grain rice (due to a shortage on the island), damp wheat cereal and Ramen noodles, the finest that the stores in Noro had to offer. Not wanting to purchase more than we needed because of the low quality, but also not wanting to run out of food on our long passage, we estimated amounts as best we could. We also still had canned foods aboard, like beans, spicy daal, sardines, tuna, tomatoes and peanut butter. We also bought some fresh squash and cucumbers at the market. It would have to do. Once outside the protected Solomon waters, the sail began with a boisterous beat into the heavy Pacific swell towards the Torres Strait, which lies between the North coast of Australia and the South coast of PNG. Once through the Torres Strait, we enjoyed about 2 weeks of idyllic sailing in the Arafura and Timor Seas. After being in the large swell and rough seas of the Pacific, the moderate seas and slight swell was delightful. A full moon, clear skies, dry air, lots of huge dolphins (or were they some type of whale?), and phosphorescence glistening in the water, added to the beauty of steady trade winds from abaft. Although the wind was light (only 10-15 knots) by our standards, the calmer seas allowed for excellent and fast sailing with the assymetrical spinnaker. Sailing does not get much better.

Our Sailing Companions in the Arafura Sea

Long-distance voyaging may sound like it is full of adventure, which it definitely is at times, but often it is incredibly boring. Our time was filled with lots of reading and various home-improvement projects. After 26 days, we entered the Lombok Strait between the Indonesian islands of Bali and Lombok. The strait is narrow and shallow and at this time of year a swift current races southwards. We were headed north. With moderate swell opposing the current, the waves stood up straight and steep. Fortunately, we had an excellent 20 knots abeam to help Chandrika battle the contrary current while the waves from behind lifted up her stern and crashed against her transom. We estimated we were moving 6 knots through the water, but the GPS showed we were only making 0.5 knots of speed over ground. Engine alone would not be able to battle this current. Not wanting to lull around in the strait long enough for the wind to die, we fired up the engine (still under sail) to give Chandrika another half knot of push. Wow! That’s strong current! We were glad we were at half moon and did not experience this pass on a spring tide. Once through the pass, the current subsided and the waves settled down. We were now in Indonesian waters and in Phase II of our voyage. These waters were packed with traffic and obstacles, necessitating a sharp eye while on watch. Both private and commercial fishing vessels, large container ships, ferries, tugs towing barges, and small motor boats, criss-crossed our bow and stern heading in every direction. Despite sailing for 3 years aboard Chandrika, we had hardly seen any other boat traffic since leaving Miami. There were also large offshore oil drilling rigs, fish traps made of 12 foot long floating stacks of bamboo (impossible to see at night), heaps of floating garbage and debris and huge submerged logs that all needed to be avoided. As we approached the equator, the winds became frustratingly light and our passage agonizingly slow. We layed ahull often, glad for the 0.5-1 knot of current carrying us in the right direction. We used the spinnaker frequently. On one occasion, after a squall had passed through, we were left with lumpy seas and little wind. Not sure if the seas were too rough and the winds too light for the spinnaker, we decided to give it a try. After raising it, we realized right away that it would not work. Reaching for the line to sock the assymetrical, Sue heard a huge tear of fabric. With dread, she turned around to see a large tear running down the entire leech of the spinnaker. The actual leech tape was stuck to a piece of rigging (a tang) on the mast. We would be unable to sock or drop the spinnaker without someone going aloft. “I’ll go get a harness.” The sentence was not even out of Sue’s mouth before Graham had shimmied up the mast to the second spreaders (about 30 feet above the deck with no harness, of course). With the swell, the top of the mast was swaying heavily from side to side. Graham clung on like a monkey while he quickly detached the spinnaker leech from the rigging. Sue pulled down the sock once Graham was back down safely on deck. We decided to anchor at the nearby island of Bawean for some sail sewing. In addition to the tear in our spinnaker, the sacrificial canvas covering for our jib was starting to detach. We spent two days repairing both sails. The repair of the assymetrical was quite challenging, but once completed, the sail looked as good as new. While we were anchored, we had a torrential downpour, the first rain we had encountered for the entire sail. We were happy to not be sailing in it, and we were even more happy to be able to top off our water supplies. Full of drinking water and with freshly repaired sails, we set off again. Our food supply, however, was starting to run low. We had plenty of beans and oats, but were running low on rice. We had no Indonesian currency. Not looking forward to another two weeks eating only beans and oats, Graham got an idea. One evening, just as the sun was setting, we floating around with the sails down, waiting for wind. We were only one mile away from a 60 foot long industrial fishing boat, blasting its blindingly-bright fishing lights. We motored closer and dropped the hook. Graham threw the dinghy in the water armed with a diving mask, a few fishing lures, and a switch-blade knife. He discovered that the boat had aboard about 30 fishermen from the Philippines, none of whom spoke English. Using sign language and waving a container of empty rice at the captain of the vessel, he made his message clear. The captain leaned over, grabbed the switch-blade knife, and sent one of his men to the galley for rice. We were given about 5 or 6 kilos of long-grain rice and a freshly caught fish. Squeak had a delightful passage. Except for the first few days while we were in the Pacific Ocean (before the Torres Strait), the seas were calm. Once inside Indonesia, the seas were dead flat. At times they were as calm as if we were at anchor. He got to snuggle with whoever was not on watch, meaning that he had 24 hours of constant snuggling. On one particularly hot breezeless afternoon, his snuggling was interrupted by a hoard of swallows that descended onto the boat. Hearing their chirping, Squeak hopped up and ran outside. As soon as he made it out on deck, he already had a bird in between his jaws. He’d killed it instantly. Since his prize was no longer moving, and therefore no longer of interest, he passed his attention back to the irresistible, chirping, fluttering flock of swallows. In one swipe he’d broken the neck of a second one, and then a third, and a fourth. Squeak! Stop! Enough! He was running around the deck, bounding, jumping and frolicking, killing one bird after another. The sun was scorching down. There was no wind, and the temp was somewhere in the mid-90s. When we finally managed to corral Squeak down below and away from the birds, we saw that he was hyperventilating, and his entire belly was dripping in sweat. Our snuggling little fur ball had turned into a mad killer, but he was probably having the happiest day of his entire life.

Squeak waits ready to strike.

Happy Cat

The ITCZ (Inter-tropical Convergence Zone) is a region were the SE trade winds from the Pacific meet with the westerly winds from the Indian Ocean. The region where these winds converge has very light fluky winds and a fair bit of squall activity, making for very difficult sailing. At this point in our journey, we were only averaging from 30 to 50 nautical miles a day. Painfully slow progress. During this time, the ITCZ crossed over us 9 times. It seemed like the horrible sailing winds would never end. Eventually, we reached Singapore. At this point, the wind was still not good, but it definitely improved, as we could now go between 50 and 70 nautical miles a day. Once in the Malacca Strait, we developed a new sailing tactic. The currents through the Malacca Strait are tidal. Half the day, the current would be in our favor sometimes reaching as high as 1-1/2 knots. The remaining half of the day, however, the current would be against us. If there was no wind during this time of day, we would drop a light anchor in about 100 to 200 feet of water to prevent ourselves from drifting backwards. This strategy was very effective for getting through the Malacca Strait. Once outside of the Malacca Strait, we encountered a decent sailing wind which carried us quickly to Phuket, Thailand, 56 days after having left from the Solomon Islands.

Light Wind Sailing

August – September 2010

Solo to the Solomons

The sky was dark and gray. Strong winds blew from the northwest as the sky unleashed torrents of rain. I ran to the market for shelter. Listening to the tapping and hammering of rain on the tin roof above, I huddled and waited for Henry to arrive with the denatured alcohol Graham and I had ordered. “Two weeks,” Henry had said. Well now it was over two months and it had finally arrived from Port Moresby. Although the rain gave me a wet and inconvenient welcome back to Kokopo and the boat, I was glad to see that northwest monsoon season was still in full swing. It would provide favorable winds for my upcoming sail. After discovering that Graham had an abscess in his stomach, he had hopped on a plane to the US for treatment, and I had flown back to Kokopo from Port Moresby. Because we could not safely leave Chandrika unattended in Papua New Guinea (PNG) for very long, I would be sailing her to a marina in the Solomon Islands before flying to meet Graham in the US. It would take me a few days to ready the boat. I hoped the season would hold out until then. The NW monsoon season ends in a transitional period, lasting for a couple of months, during which there is virtually no wind, making for terrible sailing and a long dreary journey of motoring. I looked up to see Henry, wearing a friendly PNG smile. I hopped in his truck and we set off to the ATM so I could withdraw some money. Unfortunately the deluge had caused land slides, knocking out the power lines to town. The ATM was out of service and the bank was closed. The denatured alcohol cost 150 Kina, and I had only 60K. In typical PNG style, Henry told me I could have the denatured alcohol for 50K, leaving me with enough money for bus fare and a few small expenses. He told me that if the power came back on before I left town, then I could pay him the rest, but if not, then “No worries.” I knew he would be losing money on this deal. Melanesians, in general, are too nice to be savvy business people. Henry then told me that the road between Kokopo and Rabaul had been washed away, and the bus was taking a long detour and would no longer be passing near the bay where Chandrika was anchored. He offered to drive me home, along the detour and then back up the main (dirt) road from the other direction, a drive of 1 and 1/2 hours. Not wanting to walk into the night in the driving rain and muddy gunk, I took him up on his offer. Back at the boat, I was greeted by a desperately lonely kitty. The next couple days were spent readying Chandrika for the upcoming sail. I cleaned the slime and barnacles off her bottom and propeller, and surveyed the rig, steering and the engine. While checking the cooling system on the engine, I discovered that an arm had broken off the raw water impeller, so I replaced the impeller. Not wanting the broken arm to clog the cooling system, I disassembled the cooling system in search of the missing piece. The cap for the tube stack was stuck in place, and I was unable to remove it despite all of my efforts. Not wanting to break something by using too much force, I opted to leave well enough alone. Being along in the middle of nowhere with no other cruisers around, now was not the time to break something. I ran the engine hard, giving it a good trial, to ease my worries. I would run it in lower throttle underway. Having prepared the boat, provisioned with food and water, cleared out with the authorities and paid Henry, I raised the hook and set sails. The first 2-3 days were pleasant and reasonably uneventful. Other than a few squalls with fierce lightning, the wind was generally from the southeast at 10-15 knots. Even though it was coming from the direction that I wanted to go, at least I was sailing and not motoring. I could set the self-steering and sit back and relax. As I got further into the passage, however, I encountered a southwesterly current that at its strongest set at 1-1/2 to 2 knots. Then what I had been fearing, happened. The wind stopped. I still had over 200 nm to the Solomons. With such a strong current carrying me away from them, I did not want to lose miles by laying ahull and waiting for wind, so I turned on the engine. I motored all night and all the next day and night. There was not a breath of wind anywhere. Without wind, the self-steering gear could not drive the boat, so I was forced to hand-steer. I would drive until I was completely exhausted. Then I would turn off the engine for a brief nap. Since I still had current carrying me the wrong way, I made these stops very brief, 1-2 hours at most. With heavy eyelids, I would return to the noisy motor and the oppressive tropical heat and sun. From all directions, I saw the same view. Flat, featureless water, like a lake. Not a single ripple on its surface. The sky clear and cloudless. The sun baked down as the steady humming of the engine lulled my mind into a buzzing numbness of boredom. Then, an alarm sounded. I quickly glanced at the engine control panel to see the oil pressure alarm light glowing red and the oil pressure gauge at zero. Knowing that a lack of oil pressure could fry the engine in seconds, I quickly threw the shifter into neutral and leapt to the control panel and shut off the engine. Quiet and stillness. I went down below. With the engine manual in one hand, I opened the engine compartment to investigate. Of all the potential causes shown in the manual, there were not many I was in a position to test. After a little exploring, I tested the engine a few more times. Again the oil pressure gauge read zero. The manual stated that this problem could arise if the engine overheated. Although the engine temperature gauge was not reading high, I was worried that the broken impeller arm was causing problems. Several times I disassembled and reassembled the cooling system and tried running the engine again. On one attempt, in addition to there being zero oil pressure, salt water sprayed all over the engine, soaking the alternator. I washed the engine in fresh water, dried it, and sprayed it down with WD40 and attempted to close the leak. I was getting frustrated and while tightening a bolt, I heard a “Snap!” Woops! I’d broken the bronze bolt holding on the cap for the tube stack. Searching through our spare bolts, I realized that we did not have anything of the same size. Well! I guess I was really engineless now! I would have to sail. I assessed the situation. I had 109nm to go and 0.7 knots of current against me and no wind. Things were not in my favor, but at least I had plenty of fresh water and food. Although there was no wind, I did encounter the occasional squall. At first, I would reef the mainsail before the squall hit, but I soon realized I would lose precious time doing this. I could not sail as fast, I could not head into the wind as well (the squalls were almost always from the direction I was trying to go), and I lost time shaking out the reef. As long as the squall didn’t look too threatening, I began entering the squalls under full main and jib. The first 24 hours I covered a net distance of 5nm in the correct direction. This was going to be a lot of work. My hands were already blistered from raising and lowering sails so many times, handling wet halyards and sheets. At times when the wind was on the nose at 2-4 knots, I would tack back and forth, tracking at 180 degrees because of the contrary current. I would do this for hours hand-steering, just so I would not go backwards.

It took me 7 days of exhausting work with only 15 minute catnaps, but on April 16th at 05:30 am, I was only 5nm offshore from the Liapari marina. By 06:30am, I had made contact by VHF radio requesting a tow into the marina. Within 20 minutes, Noel and Levin from the marina came out in an aluminum skiff with outboard and towed me in. April 2010