Sail Africa Kenya to SE Asia

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KENYA TO SE ASIA

At 06h40 we lifted anchor and motored back down the Creek, clearing the bridge and power lines safely. The Fat Lady was trembling with excitement and we'd barely ploughed through the first swell when she shook the dust from her beautiful white wings and took flight. My Captain's first log entry read "Lovely to be sailing again" and no wonder, within minutes we hit a speed over ground of 10.6 knots. She was wild with happiness at being free from the constraints of the creek and I sat on deck with my eyes closed and my face turned heavenwards and rejoiced with her.

Our plans were to move up the coast, Easting towards Latitude 08 degrees North before commencing the crossing proper. We'd been warned to stay approximately 45 miles off-shore whilst passing Somalia as it was rumoured that pirates still operated in the area.

I shot below to prepare a quick breakfast and, not wanting to miss a second of the glorious sail, I served it above. At lunchtime I had to drag myself below to butter bread and toss a salad while Bob barbequed on deck.

Ern had refused breakfast, now he declined lunch and I was a little concerned as he usually had the appetite of a termite. He hadn't been seasick for months and I hoped he wasn't heading for another bout of it. I quickly washed the dishes and cleaned up the galley then returned to the forward deck. And oh, it was glorious up there in the sunshine with the brisk breeze and the thrust of the sail.

In no time we adjusted to the pitch and roll of running with the wind and, as we were sailing with the trades, we used the autopilot most of the time and hardly touched the sails for the first ten to twelve days. I was delirious with happiness. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing through my hair and I'd fallen madly in love with the wonderful wild Southwest Monsoon. Initially I'd been apprehensive about an ocean crossing, but due to the limited amount of traffic, I soon discovered that this was less demanding than coastal sailing.

Once the initial excitement of the sail had abated I realised that there was definitely something wrong with Ern. Aside from the fact that at he wasn't eating, he'd gone very quiet and only responded in monosyllables when absolutely necessary. He'd always been particular about his physique and, as he'd gained quite a bit of weight and was drinking copious amounts of water, I thought he may be watching his diet. Without mentioning this I enquired whether he was feeling alright. He ignored me so I dropped it.

During our sojourn in Dar es Salaam he'd had a high fever and, thinking that he may have contracted malaria, we'd taken him to the clinic which was within walking distance of the Club. It transpired that he had typhoid fever, a disease which in it's early stages, exhibits exactly the same symptons as malaria. Fortunately the doctor had extensive experience with these diseases and possessed the diagnostic skills and medical expertise to arrest them. He cautioned us that typhoid stemmed from eating unhygienic food. Ern had a voracious appetite and an adventurous stomach and consequently he ate all sorts of rubbish when he went ashore so we surmised that he'd picked it up in one of the dirty restuarants we'd visited in Zanzibar. Fortunately we caught it early so he recovered very quickly, but now I found myself fretting over the fact that he may be in the throws of a relapse!

He'd often chatted to us about the confused young people he'd fraternised with at the various yacht clubs we'd visited on our way up the East coast of Africa. Apparently they regularly commuted between the first world countries of their origin where they were being educated, and Africa, where their parents were employed on lucrative contracts. He believed that, out of a sense of guilt, their folks overindulged them with generous allowances, and turned a blind eye to their antics. Taking a leaf out of their parent's books, they hung around the Yacht Clubs and Country Clubs consuming copious quantities of alcohol as there was no other form of social intercourse available to them. Looking for company his own age, Ern had spent all his free time ashore with them.

When we'd left him in charge of the yacht in Dar and flown back to South Africa on business, we'd contacted his folks to let them know that he'd been ill. A few days later his mother had called back and confided to us that she was concerned about him as she'd heard from Liz's mother that he was drinking heavily. The only time we'd ever seen him inebriated was the night of our farewell party at the Tanga yacht club when we'd all over-imbibed.

As the information had emanated from Liz we'd dismissed it as sour grapes and gossip. We knew Liz was bitter as, in terms of our signed agreement with her, we'd refused to pay her repatriation costs back to Durban. But perhaps her nastiness was directed at Ern - "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned", and he'd often displayed irritation at the fact that she followed him around like a faithful dog.

At Dar es Salaam, Bob had estimated the amount of cash Ern would require during our absence and doubled it. After reflection he'd doubled it yet again, explaining to Ern that he'd left him with four times the estimated requirement in the unlikely event of something going wrong on the yacht during our absence. He'd also instructed Ern to retain all the cash receipts and keep an account of his spendings. On our return there were no receipts, no accounts had been kept and there was also no money left. We'd let it pass without comment but now I began to wonder whether in fact he really had been drinking excessively!

Somehow we got through the next 24 hours but by the following morning it was clear that Ern definitely wasn't ill - he was sulking. Bob went quiet and I understood why as sulking is a shortcoming he just cannot deal with. I was also irritated as Bob and I don't quarrel and I resented the fact that a guest, whose presence we couldn't escape, was creating an unpleasant atmosphere in our "mobile" home.

Shortly after leaving Kenya, Bob decided to by-pass Sri Lanka and proceed directly to Thailand. It was late in the season and he was concerned that we may be hit by an early tropical storm born in the Bay of Bengal. I had to come to terms with the fact that I'd have to tolerate Ern's antisocial behaviour all the way to Phuket, and I wasn't sure whether I could handle it. The situation was deteriorating daily and we reached a stage where the atmosphere was starting to affect the relationship between Bob and I.

Bob was alone in the cockpit so I seated myself next to him, put my head on his shoulder and took his hand. I wanted to be certain that what I needed to say didn't sound confrontational, "She's sad". He twisted his head and looked at me quizzically. "Who's sad?". "Sally ... your wife". Puzzled eyes - a frown - then suddenly, a grin - he'd got it! "Why's she sad?" he played along smilingly. "Because he's gone off somewhere and left her with a grumpy old man who doesn't talk to her. She's lonely and she misses him". He squeezed my hand. "It's not easy for him right now". "She knows that but she needed you to know that he's making her sad". "Leave him to me, I'll kick his ass".

And so we gave birth to the fictitious pair and over the years 'they've' become very useful. 'They' always lighten a tense situation by giving us a good laugh and it's extraordinary how much easier it is for us to tell each other what 'he' or 'she' had done to upset 'him' or 'her'. 'They' still remain part of our lives and we always pin the blame on 'them' when misunderstandings arise. In fact, 'they're' so helpful that I don't know how we ever managed without them!

On our third day out of Kilifi we crossed the Equator at 06h00. It was a pity Ern was still asleep because it was his 24th birthday and we'd secretly bought him a gift in Kenya. There were no vessels in sight so we set the radar alarm and I conjured up a "birthday cake" while we quietly waited in the saloon for him to emerge from his cabin. When he appeared we burst into song with "Happy Birthday". He smiled and thanked us and for the first time in days everyone was smiling. The dreadful atmosphere and the awful silence disappeared and we had a wonderful happy day. I played my precious Kenya audiotape and we sang together in Swahili to the tunes of "Jambo Bwana" ("Hello Sir") and "Haukuna Matata" ("No problem") and various others. We didn't care what the sulking had been about, we were just happy and relieved that it was behind us.

The following morning when Ern stepped into the cockpit it was as though the events of previous day had never occurred. After a surly greeting he aggressively announced that he was leaving the yacht at next landfall, then lapsed back into his sulk without even being man enough to tell us why!

Bob quietly replied that he should thenceforth consider himself a guest on board and added that in future it wouldn't be necessary for him to stand watches or assist with any of the chores. I believe this really shook him as by now he considered himself to be indispensible. It certainly rocked me and I silently agonised over how on earth I was going to cope. I'd stood watches, written up the log and done a bit of helming but I knew nothing about trimming sails or navigation and, as Ern made such a fuss about everything he did, I'd been too intimidated or nervous to ask any questions.

I secretly confided my fears to Bob, who laughed like a drain and told me that it was all a lot of "big dealing", and he'd let it ride because he felt it was healthy for Ern's low self esteem. Bob then started teaching me to sail!

Ern no longer sat in our company as he'd found a new spot for himself perched upon the emergency liferaft immediately behind the cockpit. He spent his entire day sitting in the sun scribbling in a notebook and I wondered whether he was keeping a diary of the trip. At first I made an effort to draw him into our conversations but finally gave it up as a bad job. He never ate any meals with us and his bad manners left much to be desired.

The sailing was glorious and on some days we covered up to 200 miles. Whenever we fancied a bite of fresh fish we simply popped a rod over the side.

We were just beyond Sri Lanka when the wind dropped and the sea flattened. When Bob started the motor he discovered that there was very little cooling water pumping through so he removed the raw-water pump impeller which he found to be in shreds. Fortunately we had a "spare" but when Bob removed this from it's box he immediately realised that it was the wrong impeller. He checked the part number on the box.....right box, wrong impeller! Stone the crows! What now?

Words couldn't describe our frustration. Our tanks held enough diesel to motor a 1000 miles at 6 knts, and we couldn't use the engine! Bob "jury-rigged" the water from the generator through the freezer heat exchanger and into the main engine. At least we'd be able to use the main in a crisis.

For eleven days there wasn't a breath of wind and it was oppressively hot. Not knowing how long we'd be becalmed, Bob banned daily fresh-water showers to take the pressure off our water stores. I resorted to placing a small amount of water in my hand basin and sponging myself down with a flannel and the guys took dives off the side of the yacht. Whenever I washed "clean" dishes like glasses, cups and teaspoons I would save the water for re-use.

Deep in thought and with genuine concern, Bob mused that if we ran out of water we'd have to resort to drinking beer. I shrieked with laughter as he'd always run a "dry" ship whilst underway, but he never saw the funny side of it and I realised that the strained atmosphere was also getting to him. As for Ern, he continued to spend his days alone and silent on the liferaft scribbling away in his notebook whilst I racked my brains trying to establish what on earth could have upset him so badly.

At 15h00 on 22nd October we were buzzed by a U.S. fighter plane. The pilot called us on VHF and yarned with Bob about sailing. It transpired that he was an avid sailor on San Francisco Bay and he said he'd give his bottom dollar to be down there with us right now. He quickly changed his mind when Bob explained our current predicament!

Around midnight Bob shouted frantically for me to come above immediately, then sped below to the nav desk as a vessel, which was travelling at high speed, was coming directly at us from astern. It was flashing coloured lights on deck and failed to answer Bob's radio calls. It cruised past us less than 50m to Port, then cut directly across our bow. When the radio operator finally answered Bob he announced that they were the U.S. Navy conducting exercises in the area. Bob tore a strip off them for their arrogance, whereupon they meekly apologised for the prank, wished us a pleasant sail and disappeared into the night. I could understand why my Captain was so grumpy. Aside from the tension on board we'd actually been registering zero wind for several hours!

At daybreak on 28th September I noticed a little bird asleep on a tarpaulin on the foredeck. He was the first of our numerous feathered hitchhikers and I christened him Billy-Boy. We were unable to identify his species but we guessed that he was a night bird as he slept for the entire day and took off at dusk.

Our next visitor was a swallow which arrived at about 16h30 on our wedding anniversary, the 13th of October. Without a trace of diffidence he perched himself at the top of the companionway and took his time casing out the saloon for a suitable bed. Finally he came below and after testing various spots, settled down beside the sink in the galley. When I came on watch at 05h50 the following morning he was dead. As his 'bed' was close to the stove, Bob deduced that he'd probably got a whiff of gas.

Another swallow arrived a few days later and, after going through the same fussy procedure, made his bed on one of the ropes securing the fruit and vegetable hammock. I was on watch when he awoke at about five the following morning and I observed him through the companionway. Keeping a beady eye on Bob, who was asleep on the Pilot Bunk beneath him, he stretched each leg and then each wing. After a last look around, he flew through the companionway, within inches of my face, and disappeared into the blue.

At mid afternoon on the 25th October F.R.E.D. arrived, and perched himself upon the pulpit. I said to Bob "I think you should take a photograph of that thing right now because no one is ever going to believe this." We were about 200 miles from the nearest landfall and F.R.E.D. (Flipping Ridiculous Egret Dude) was a cattle egret!

It was obvious that he was thoroughly exhausted and probably also hungry so I racked my brains trying to think of what I could give him to eat. I finally decided on minced meat! That was the closest I could get to a tick! I knew there was some in the deepfreeze but Bob had to dig deep inside to find it. In the process he transferred the contents of the freezer onto the stove top, while I in turn moved it onto the saloon table to create space for more. Before long he'd disappeared into the chest up to his waist and had to balance himself by placing his feet flat against the sidewall of the galley. Finally he found the meat and while I repacked the freezer he hacked off a reasonably sized lump with a sharp chopping knife.

Our next task was to figure out how to defrost it quickly. Both heating it on the stove and thawing it in the oven were out of the question as we knew our "guest" would prefer his "ticks" uncooked. So I solved the problem by thawing it between my hands then splitting it into "tick-sized" portions. Bob crept forward with the first bit and threw it onto the deck as close to Fred as he could get it. Fred studied it curiously, then descended to the deck and took it. As It disappeared down his gullet he gave Bob a "more-ish" look.

I rolled a few more and once again Bob crept forward, tossing them as far as he could, while Fred gobbled them up almost before they hit the deck. Suddenly we heard a bird calling from above and spotted yet another cattle egret circling the yacht. Fred answered and a prolonged calling session ensued between the two. I decided it was Fred's mate!

She was obviously exhausted as each time she circled her height gradually decreased until eventually her belly was touching the water at frequent intervals. She made no attempt to settle on the yacht and we presumed it was because she was nervous of the noisy, empty flapping sails. Eventually she flew off and, after observing her progress for a few minutes, Fred followed her.

A short while later we saw them returning together and this time Fred was determined to get her on board. It was clear that she was still very nervous as again she resisted. He resorted to shrieking at her and before long they were engrossed in a vicious altercation as she shrieked back at him. We could see that she was tiring quickly as she floundered in the sea from time to time and it was clear that if he didn't get her aboard soon she'd succumb. Then he started dive-bombing her, attempting to "hit" her upwards into flight, and all the while the dreadful shrieking between them continued.

At long last he succeeded in getting get her onto the pushpit, away from the sails, but it was clear that there was still bad blood between them as he then flew forward and resumed his former position on the bow.

We all relaxed again and, with yet another mouth to feed, I resumed my task of rolling meatballs. We all agreed that she probably needed sustenance more than Fred did so Bob made an attempt to feed her. As he took a step in her direction she prepared for flight so he tossed some "ticks" onto the deck near her hoping that she'd eat them. None of us could stomach the thought of another one of those dreadful water fights so we concentrated our efforts on building Fred up in the hopes that she'd eventually summons up enough courage to descend to the deck and take some of the meat.

At nightfall they were still in their respective spots, but when it began to grow light next morning we could see that she'd gone. Years later Bob told me that at the time he was certain that she'd fallen overboard during the night as it was highly unlikely that she'd have taken off in the dark. I was very thankful that he hadn't told me that at the time.

We decided to feed Fred his breakfast before starting our own in case he wanted to get on his way in search of his mate. We devised a plan to lure him into the cockpit as we wanted to have a good look at him to satisfy ourselves that he wasn't injured. When the mince was thawed, rolled and ready, Bob went forward with a handful. He got himself as close to Fred as possible and dropped a little ball, then reversed slowly towards the cockpit dropped a trail of 'ticks' all the way along the deck.

We pretended to ignore him whilst we ate our breakfast in the cockpit but kept a sly eye on the proceedings. Gradually he 'ate' his way towards us and eventually joined us in the cockpit where I'd placed a huge juicy tick on top of one of the primary winches. He made no attempt to leave and within a couple of days he was even eating out of my hand. He was also smart enough to figure out who provided the grub as he always sat right beside me!

The distraction caused by Fred and his mate had broken Ern's silence, and out of the blue he apologised for his behaviour and told us that he'd decided to remain with the yacht. Peace reigned until the 26th of September when, for no apparent reason, he once again announced that he was disembarking at next landfall. I actually found my mouth hanging open (and quickly shut it). I was flabbergasted! Without any comment or reaction, Bob calmly logged this declaration.

When we were alone in the cockpit I caught Bob's eye and my eyebrows formed question marks. He turned his palms upwards, cocked his head and shrugged. I had to restrain myself from bursting out laughing. They say women are difficult! I'd never before encountered a fit, healthy young man who "threw his toys out of the cot" with such regularity and behaved so irrationally. Once again he reverted to spending his days on the liferaft, scribbling in a note book and I wondered whether forced inactivity had anything to do with his unprovoked mood swings.

As a rule Ern was never still, and I'd read somewhere that hyperactive people sometimes tend to experience personality changes when they're cooped up in small spaces for any length of time. My thoughts ran wild in an effort to establish a reason for this strange behaviour and again my mind flashed back to what Liz had told his mother about his drinking habits. Bob runs a dry ship whilst underway and now I began to wonder whether he was craving alcohol!

There wasn't a breath of wind and it was insufferably hot. We were all irritable and I was sick to death of our surly passenger. If we hadn't been saddled with his obnoxious, hostile presence I could have pranced around half-clad and taken a skinny-dip off the back of the yacht whenever I wished.

We'd had a small electric ossilating fan fitted high up on one of the bulkheads in the saloon but we couldn't use it. The problems we'd experienced with the main engine prevented us from charging batteries for extended periods so we needed to conserve as much power as possible. The heat, the boredom and our sulky, churlish passenger were taking their toll of me so I decided to expend my pent-up energy on spring-cleaning the interior of the yacht. With the exception of Ern's cabin there wasn't a cupboard, drawer, nook or cranny that escaped my onslaught. This industrious pursuit kept me occupied and helped to pass the days and I'm sure it went a long way in preserving my sanity!

We reached a stage when we became excited by any form of human contact and we counted the minutes to the radio nets. We would gather in the saloon and hang onto every word uttered by Phil Hollywood, Rowdy and other yachtties. We clockwatched as we waited for the next newscast from the BBC or Voice of America and even started following serials on the radio! These diversions became the highlights of our day and while I sat listening, I busied my hands with embroidery, crochet and tapestry. As for Ern, he simply remained in his spot on the liferaft writing away, gazing into space and chewing on his pen and then writing some more.

At last a light breeze came up and we were able to pass through the Nicobar channel. We'd no sooner cleared it when the wind dropped, and once again we were stationary. Suddenly Bob called out, "Here comes the wind!". I rushed above desperate to catch a cooling breeze on my burning, sweating body. ..... But there was none! Not a breath - dead still - stifling - humid - mercilessly hot! Then we heard it again! We couldn't feel it but we could definitely hear it. Where was it? We noticed a disturbance on the sea in the far distance - a strange rippling on the surface of a large patch of water. It wasn't wind - it was current!

Approaching from the rear it caught up with us and carried us forwards. "Halleluliah!" We'd only moved a few hundred meters when it passed on, leaving us behind. "Stone the crows!" Then it came back at us from the front and took us right back to where we'd started. "$#!t!"....... And so the game continued. It came at us from every direction, moving us every which-way and back again ...... but it took us absolutely nowhere at all!

For the next few days we were plagued by these strange rippling, surface currents - or eddies. Every now and again one of us would shout out "Here comes Eddy!" and we'd all groan. The only constant thing about "Eddy" was the fact that he rendered us no assistance whatsoever. His only useful function was the fact that he gave us sporadic diversions from our boredom.

The long days and nights dragged on and they seemed to become longer and longer. At last we noticed clouds building up in the west. A breeze picked up and we were blessed with a few scattered squalls which allowed us to collect water off the sails. This was a Godsend as by now we were down to 20 bottles of drinking water. Thereafter we got regular daily showers and whenever the rain started we'd tear below to fetch buckets, basins, pots and any other container we could lay hands on. It was such a pleasure to have something to do! Then at long last, after having been becalmed for eleven days, we were mobile again, with 30 to 35 knts of wind within the squalls.

Finally at 23h30 on Saturday night 28 October 1995 we spotted the loom of Phuket Island in the distance. The water traffic increased and we had to be on our toes again as before long we were surrounded by fishing trawlers. As it grew light we were dismayed to see the vast quantity of flotsam in the water. It was the rainy season and the rivers had spewed muddy water, tree branches and foliage into the sea. But it was the rubbish that dismayed us! The sea was awash with plastic bags, cardboard boxes and polystyrene containers of every conceivable size and shape - floating about in their ugly, filthy abundance.

At last we rounded the Southern point of Phuket Island and sailed Northwards to Ao Chalong Harbour. Finally, at 13h35 on Sunday, 29 October 1995 we dropped anchor in the bay. The crossing had taken 35 days.