Photo album – the (first) SE Asia Voyage of Babadudu 2009

Photo album – the (first) SE Asia Voyage of Babadudu 2009

2 June to 29 June 2009

The South East Asia Voyage of Babadudu

 

INTRODUCTION

 

In June 2009, the 40-foot sailing sloop Babadudu, crewed by Steve Lawrence and Marivic Gonzales, set sail for a six-month voyage through the Andaman and South China Seas.The course took us south from the island of Phuket off western Thailand, through the Malacca Straits to (among others) the islands of Phi Phi, Koh Lanta, Koh Phetra, Koh Tarutao, Langkawi (W. Malaysia), Penang and various harbours and anchorages along the west coast of Peninsula Malaysia.

 

We arrived in Singapore in early July 2009, following which the cruise continued into the South China Sea, around the southern tip of Peninsula Malaysia, and then north along its eastern coast and through a string of islands, Pulau Tioman being a principal destination. From there we took a course further north from Tioman along the eastern coasts of Malaysia via several stunning islands, and then re-entered Thailand, eventually making a north-east passage across the Gulf of Thailand from Koh Phangan to the Koh Chang and Koh Kut archipelagos on the Thai/Cambodian border.

 

After again crossing the Gulf of Thailand from north to south (Koh Chang to Pulau Redang in Malaysia), we re-visited Terengganu, Tenggol and Pulau Tioman before returning to Singapore. The final leg of the voyage north up the west coasts of Malaysia and Thailand and back to our Phuket base was completed in the second half of November 2009.

 

The voyage covered 3173 nautical miles in 172 days. We anchored in 43 different anchorages and landed on 38 different islands – most of the major islands, and many of the little-visited ones, in Thailand and Peninsula Malaysia.

 

This is an account of the voyage.

 

 

Phuket to Langkawi (2 June to 12 June 2009)

 

Tuesday 2 June 2009

We cast off the mooring lines from berth 41B at Phuket’s Yacht Haven Marina at 11.30, having the previous day attended the harbourmaster, immigration and customs offices in Chalong for what turned out to be painless exit procedures. The past month has been given to preparing Babadudu for her 6-month cruise and she now has reinforced canvas awnings and mainsail furling bag, an extra anchor, new batteries and a fully serviced outboard engine for the dinghy. A long list of  other maintenance jobs and minor mods have also been accomplished (including the fitting of a reasonably sized fire-retardant safe), all designed to make the cruise comfortable, safe and as free as possible from the less welcome ‘adventures’ that the sea frequently visits upon those who deign to ride its crests.

 

On board with me and Marivic is my very good friend Graham Collar whom I met through the now defunct BP Yacht Club some 18 years ago. Graham and I have shared many yachting – and other – adventures and I was delighted to have him on the crew which delivered the new Babadudu from Singapore to Phuket in November 2005. It is fitting that Graham should be aboard, even though it is for just two days, marking the end of a holiday to Phuket from his New Zealand home.

 

With the wind blowing 15 knots from the south west we rolled out the genoa (or headsail) and set a course for the southern point of Koh Yao Yai, one of the two large island which vertically ‘bisect’ the magnificent Phang Nga Bay with its 100-plus islands of forested slopes and towering limestone karsts which have become a symbol of both Thailand and the South East Asian coastline. We make a slight diversion west to the small sand island of Koh Khai Nok, anchoring the boat and swimming for an hour with the myriad small fish which frequent this tour-boat stop-over, lured by the harmful junk food fed to them by unwitting (I’m being kind) tourists. Then it is off to our overnight anchorage in the deserted horseshoe bay at Koh Yao Yai’s southernmost tip (position: 07 deg 53’.453N, 098 deg 35’.210E).

 

Wednesday 3 June 2009

This usually tranquil bay proved to be a ‘rock and roll’ anchorage as the wind moved to the south, strengthened and barreled into the bay making our first night a noisy and uncomfortable one (but a great test for our skills at stowing gear and supplies). As the boat rolls through a 60 degree arc, there is no appetite for a leisurely breakfast,so instead we hoist the full mainsail and genoa, and with a 20-knot wind on our beam, steer 140 degrees to the island of Phi Don, anchoring in Ton Sai Bay at 11.30 (position: 07 deg 43’.770N, 098 deg 46’.237E).

 

We go ashore to Phi Phi in the dinghy which, despite the attention given to it earlier, is running irregularly and it appears that another stripping of the carburetor will be called for (I do not relish these engineering chores). Phi Phi, once regarded as one of the world’s ‘must see’ islands, has been ravaged by rapacious tourism. For the land-owners and ‘investors’ who control the island, the priority – with some exceptions – seems to be for shambolic construction and the sale of  tourist tat and a parody of ‘paradise’ to visitors, with scant regard for the natural attractions which lured them here in the first place.

 

Phi Phi could not be further from the images portrayed in ‘The Beach’, the exotic drama filmed on the adjacent island of Phi Phi Le and starring a young Leonardo Di Caprio. The international relief money which is believed to have poured onto the island following the havoc wreaked by the 26December 2004 tsunami might have rejuvenated the island, restoring its grandeur and enhancing the lives of its inhabitants. Instead, Phi Phi Don is left with a shantytown and unanswered questions about where the money went.

 

My view will not be shared by many and even I will admit that the island on this visit seems a lot cleaner – the rubbish which usually lines its traffic-free paths less in evidence. There are also very few visitors, the global economic downturn and Thai political instability taking its inevitable toll on the vital tourism industry – particularly now at ‘low season’. Or perhaps the people of Phi Phi are tuning to the truth that their jewel needs polishing if it is to gleam seductively when held against the world’s other holiday gems.

 

Thursday 4 June 2009

We drop Graham at the Phi Phi ferry terminal and wave him a fond farewell as his ship sails for Phuket. For us it is a day of leisure – we buy ice (our fridge not working properly – another job!) and spend the day organising our stores and unpacking and stowing gear. A couple of hours are also spent on cleaning the boat – something I am fastidious about. However, the main achievement of the day is fitting new cockpit speakers which I bought at Los Angeles’ Marina Del Rey during my visit to the US in April this year. The sound quality is astounding, ensuring that we can enjoy the almost 4,000 songs stored on my i-Pod from the cockpit while under sail and when relaxing at anchor.

 

Friday 5 June 2009

We depart Phi Phi at 09:40, raising full mainsail and genoa for a beat (ie. sailing as close to the direction of the wind as possible) down to Koh Lanta. After rounding the southern tip of this island we sail up its east coast for six miles, anchoring opposite the town of ‘Old Lanta’ (position: 07 deg 32’.243N, 099 deg 06’.176E). This is a beautiful anchorage (a term I must stop using, since it applies to most of our stops). With Koh Lanta to the west, and smaller islands surrounding it on the other compass points, the anchorage appears as a lake – quiet, still and secluded.

 

Saturday 6 June 2009

Another day at leisure. We take the dinghy to the long pier at Old Lanta and visit the attractive town (really a small village), a collection of old wooden houses and shops served by a tidy main street lined with old-fashion lanterns. No evidence of tourism here. The owner of the general store near the pier is particularly friendly, offering loan of his lounge and internet facilities, and even lunch (which we decline politely). We are lucky that he has ice (no more warm drinks for us for two or three days), and even luckier, when hauling the heavy ice sack back to the dinghy, to be offered a ride down the long pier by a large family in a pick-up truck. Luck is still with us as we ride the dinghy back to the boat – the outboard engine is now running smoothly again!

 

Sunday 7 June 2009

At 09:30 with the mainsail and genoa filled by a 15 knot wind on our starboard beam, and with Marivic at the helm, we pull away from Koh Lanta on a 150 degree course towards Koh Phetra. Leaving the islands of Kradan and Liang to port we enjoy a marvelous sail down the east coast of Koh Phetra entering worryingly shallow water (at times only 2 feet below the keel!). However, the sea here has a sand bottom and we are at low tide, so even if we were to go aground, the rising tide would soon have us afloat again without damage. We anchor in the southeast tip of the island at dusk after a 44-mile sail (position: 07 deg 01’.603N, 099 deg 28’.677E). Koh Phetra is a forested, almost crenulated limestone ridge cut with caves and with pillars of rock which loom particularly impressively beneath a full moon.

 

Monday 8 June 2009

We depart the anchorage at 09:45 on a 140 degree course for Koh Tarutao. En route we anchor for 90 minutes off the east coast of Koh Don and snorkel ashore. From the sea, this small island with its attractive sand fringe appears uninhabited, but it in fact has a thriving fishing village complete with rustic shop and school. We are well off the tourist beat so the village is devoted entirely to fishing – nets, floats and fish traps strewn everywhere and a small flotilla of hand-hewn wooden longtail boats anchored on the beach. We press on, anchoring at 18:30 opposite the pier at Ao Talo Wao about midway down the east coast of Tarutao, Thailand’s most southerly island before its border with Malaysia (position: 06 deg 37’.197N, 099 deg 40’.633E).

 

Marivic and I last went ashore here on 14 October 2008, visiting remains of what was for many years a brutal penal colony. By the mid 1940s the ‘inmates’ were effectively running their own society, many turning to piracy, giving this part of the Malacca Strait its reputation for piracy – one that undeservingly survives today. On announcing this cruise to friends, both here and overseas, I have been asked repeatedly ‘aren’t you afraid of pirates?’ The answer is ‘yes, I probably am’, but I don’t expect to encounter any. However, should Cpt. Jack Sparrow, or rather one of his less affable modern day ilk, pay us a call, I shall of course deny this temptation to fate.

 

It is a footnote in the rather vague history of mid 20^th century Thailand that it was the British (who of course had a colonial presence in neighbouring Malaysia) who were asked by the Thais to mop up the pirates and other wrongdoers – a task they apparently accomplished with relish. I suspect the Thais, who pride themselves on having never being colonised, prefer to forget this episode of hired gunboat diplomacy.

 

Tuesday 9 June 2009

By 11.30 we are underway on a course to the north eastern edge of Langkawi, the lovely Malaysian island sitting just south of its western border with Thailand. As we cross the border, the Thai courtesy flag – which we fly consistent with maritime custom and law, in addition to our British ensign – is replaced on the starboard crosstrees by the flag of Malaysia.

 

Now in Malaysia, we enter the folds of Langkawi through a series of channels which lead through a narrow aperture into the so-called ‘Hole in the Wall’ anchorage. By late afternoon (having put clocks forward an hour for Malaysia time) our hook is down and it is time for a ‘sundowner’ (position: 06 deg 25’.238N, 099 deg 52’.005E). This is a special place, surrounded by wooded cliffs fringed at their base by mangrove swamps, the labyrinth of narrow channels which weave through their density accessible by dinghy.

 

Wednesday and Thursday 10 and 11 June 2009

We decide to stay here a total of three nights, exploiting the realisation that we are no longer bound by time, or in any other way constrained. We explore the mangrove swamps by dinghy, observing at close quarter the eagles as they soar, and then dive upon fish spotted from hundreds of feet above. The outboard engine plays up again and an inspection of the uncovered engine, as we drift powerless upon a strong current, reveals fuel spurting from a split hose connecting the fuel pump to the carburetor. We succeed in coaxing the dinghy to a small tour boat jetty where I borrow a knife, slice off the end of the damaged fuel line, re-fit it, and once more hear the ‘music’ of a firing engine – a temporary job, but it’ll do.

 

While the extended stay at this anchorage was intended for reading and general relaxation, Marivic spots – and then very ably repairs – a foot-long gash along the leech of the headsail. Not to be totally outdone, I polish the hull. However, there is nothing ‘hair shirt’ about this cruise. Among items stowed to ward off boredom in the unlikely event it strikes, are a portable DVD player and some 50 films. With the aforementioned new cockpit speakers now installed, we link up the DVD player to the yacht’s stereo system using a simple transmitter. The film soundtrack is just amazing, providing a resonant ‘surround sound’ experience. This is supposed to be a ‘technical test’, but we end up watching ‘The Thin Blue Line’ from the cockpit’s cushioned seats, shamefully violating the night silence.

 

Friday 12 June 2009

It would be easy to continue holing up in the ‘Hole in the Wall’, and we might well have done so, had we not run out of both canned drinks and the ice needed to cool them. So at 09.00, with the sun already beating down on an airless morning, we motor out of the Hole in the Wall, and down the east coast of Langkawi, entering at 14:00 the Royal Langkawi Yacht Club marina. After completing immigration and customs formalities at the adjacent port of Kuah, we hire a car and head out to the south west of the island, and to the Lighthouse restaurant. From a table planted in the sand a few feet from waves whipped up by the south west monsoon, we watch the sunset.

 

 

Langkawi to Penang (13 to 18 June 2009)

 

Saturday and Sunday 13 and 14 June 2009

While hardly exciting, a priority while in Langkawi is to get our fridge fixed. It has not worked properly for some time and now provides no cooling for the boat’s cavernous cold box. While ice-cold drinks may not seem essential (although I would argue this!), being able to preserve fresh and cooked food is more than a luxury – particularly in this climate where the temperatures never falls below 80f and is often above 90f. We track down a refrigeration engineer and he visits the boat. The ‘ice plate’ needs some aluminum welding and the extraction of the unit is clearly going to be no quick or easy job. He returns next day and after more than two hours liberates the ice plate from its almost impossibly ‘secure’ housing.

 

Langkawi is both a duty free port and a source of items taken for granted in the UK, but often regarded as ‘luxuries’ in Asia due to their rarity or massively inflated prices. We now have a case of Heinz baked beans, boxes of Mars Bars, Cadbury’s chocolate, Colman’s mustard and some good Port, Bailey’s Cream and Carlsberg beer at less than 25p (tbt 12) a can. We also buy 80 litres of fuel at less than a third of the UK price and around 30% cheaper than Thailand.

 

On our final night in Langkawi we head to ‘The Pier’, a ramshackle but homely expat bar on the seafront where I remembered having fantastic fish and chips on my last visit. This time I have a large steak which is better than anything I tasted in my recent five weeks in the US and cost less than £4 (tbt 200). We get chatting to a 50-something English guy just posted here as an aero engineer. He is wondering what his social life might be like, for while Langkawi has some beautiful beaches and scenery, a party island it is not.

 

Monday 15 June 2009

Our fridge man appears with a mended ice plate and a new thermostat in a hand-made stainless steel housing. After more than two hours of re-fitting, the fridge is humming again and there is frost around the ice box. What a great job done and I am reminded again how things rarely thought about at home take on a new significance aboard a boat. At 15:00 after clearing customs we depart the Royal Langkawi Yacht Club and head south east for a couple of hours to the north east point of Pulau Singa Besar island, anchoring in 25 a couple of hundred metres from a floating fish farm.

 

Tuesday 16 June 2009

With the day yet to dawn, we avert catastrophe. The wind has whipped up to well over 20kts in this ‘secure’ anchorage; our anchor has dragged and at 04:00 the stern of Babadudu is swinging literally a few feet from the pontoons of the fish farm. It is Marivic who wakes and spots the danger and within seconds we are motoring forward to safety and hauling the anchor. Our intended departure had been 05:30, but we decide to crack off right away on a 147 degrees course for the island of Penang 60 miles away.

 

Had Marivic not raised the alarm at the precise moment, we would now be contemplating damage repair. As it is, we are reminded of the lesson that when faced with strong winds and/or currents, it is better to have the chain on the seabed, rather than in the locker! We abort plans to anchor a night on the north of Penang as the heavy swell from the west would make this a very uncomfortable stop-over. Our course is adjusted to Penang’s east coast and shortly after 16:00 we are berthed at Tanjong City Marina near the centre of Georgetown (position: 05 deg 24’.828N, 100 deg 20’.654E).

 

This marina is swept by the wash of regular mainland ferry boats using the adjacent terminal and is not the most comfortable. But it is within a short walk of Penang’s ‘Little India’ with its curry houses and shops/stalls selling spices, Indian fashions and pirated films and music from the Sub-Continent. We stock up on some 20 different spices called for in an Indian recipe book with which we intend to experiment on this cruise. And of course we have a curry – tasty and at less than £3 for a spicy Madras with pilao rice and a few poppadams, exceptional value.

 

Wednesday and Thursday 17 and 18 June 2009

Still based at Tanjong City Marina in Georgetown, we hire a motorcycle and explore the resort area of Batu Ferringhi on Penang’s north coast. Back in Little India on Wednesday night we enjoy a curry at Kapitan’s restaurant on colourful Penang Street. Thursday sees us at Penang Hill in the centre of the turtle-shape island and the railway which takes us close to the 2,723-foot summit of a hill range from which the Union Jack fluttered when Penang was one of the crown jewels of the British Empire. To relive this period of colonial ‘glory’, we take a Cornish cream tea at David Brown’s, the ‘quintessential British restaurant and tea terraces’ on Strawberry Hill.

 

 

Penang to Port Klang – and Kuala Lumpur –  (19 to 29 June 2009)

 

Friday and Saturday 19 and 20 June 2009

The day starts well enough with some final shopping in Georgetown and the return of our hired motorcycle. At 12.15 we depart Tanjong City Marina using slip lines to counter the combined effects of wind, current and the wash from large ships. With a southerly course towards the six-mile-long bridge connecting Penang to the mainland, all looks well – that is until we run aground on a mud bank at position 05 deg 23’.968N, 100 deg 20’.558E – less than a mile from the marina.

 

On the chart the bank is shown several hundred yards off our course, but I kick myself for cutting it so fine – particularly on a falling tide (no excuse!). After a few ‘oh deary me’s’ and ‘well bless my boots’, I immediately call up Tanjong City Marina on channel 68 in the hope of summoning a shallow draft motorboat to haul us off. There then follows half an hour of one of the most frustrating radio exchanges I have had to endure. The admin lady in the marina office wants to be helpful, but can’t grasp either the situation or the need for prompt action.

 

After clear and repeated explanations in tones I struggle to keep measured, I am asked whether I require fuel; do I need a tourist office (?) and – incredibly – whether I could bring the boat back to the marina to discuss my needs? Eventually I’m given the phone number of a marina-based boat owner who understands the problem, but not its urgency. This becomes apparent when the boat arrives an hour (and eight further calls from me) later with three jolly crewmen who are greeted by a severely listing yacht and no hope of pulling it off.

 

Babadudu went aground at around 13:00 and the next high water is not until 22:00 – nine hours away! What is more significant is that the next high water will only be as high (just) as the level it was at when we ran aground, so our chances of us escaping the bank’s iron grip using our own power are less than slim. We ask the motor boat to return around 20:00 and in the meantime sit and watch as the water level falls still further leaving us at low water (17:00) surveying Penang channel from a 45-degree angle. Somewhat to our surprise, the boat does return, but the crew is inexperienced and while clumsily trying to secure our towline to their vessel, one of the young men impales himself on a large fishhook which has been left dangling idly from a sea rod.

 

The boat needs to return to the marina to drop the poor guy off for treatment and we are naturally sympathetic. However, there is a danger that the high tide will peak, only to fall again leaving us stranded for another 12 hours. Luckily, for a third time, our trusty tow boat arrives back on the scene and after a half-hour pull with the full thrust of two 145hp outboard engines, Babadudu inches itself the 100 yards across hard mud and – to our cries of delight – into deep water. We have agreed a not unreasonable fee with the boat and crew and add on a little a tip which sees us all part in good cheer – they stuck with us and did a good job!

 

We continue our southerly track towards Penang Bridge, trying to make sense of a myriad navigational, fishing and other lights, passing under it at 22:00. With Marivic sat on the bows with the spotlight, we avoid various fishing hazards running down the east coast of Pulau Jerejak, and then turn up its west coast to anchor in 30’ at position 05 deg 19’.036N, 100 deg 18’.466E. It is 23:45 and we are glad to be here. Saturday is spent at leisure at the anchorage, tending to a variety of small jobs and passage-planning.  

 

Sunday and Monday 21 and 22 June 2009

At 04:00 we are underway, heading to the southern tip of Penang and then on a southerly course towards Lamut, a distance of some 65 miles which should see us anchored up by late afternoon. The night sky is being illuminated continuously by sheet lightening, a harbinger, we fear, of the squally weather anticipated in the Malacca Strait this time of year. But, no, the dawn brings with it a clear sky and the strange sight of dozens of fishing boats, strung out like a battle flotilla along a shallow bank on our port side. Indeed, our own depth gauge shows just 10-feel below the hull, and with the lessons of

a few days ago still fresh, we turn 10 degrees starboard into deeper water.

 

At 16:00 we enter the north-west channel into Lamut, leaving Pangkor Island to starboard, and run east down the Dinding River, past the Malaysian navy yards. We anchor off the Lamut International Yacht Club (position: 04 deg 14’.278N, 100 deg 38’.453E). The next day (Sunday) we row ashore to explore Lamut which turns out to be a pleasant navy town and a local tourist resort with clean streets and an old-fashioned promenade. We make the mistake of going to the Yacht Club for dinner.

 

While the staff at reception had been welcoming, the food and service was diabolical. The club was later described to us as being a fitting set for a horror movie – a little unfair as the colonial building is not unattractive and the ample gardens and large swimming pool do hint of a yesteryear style. But like so many old institutions in this part of the world, the Lamut International Yacht club appears to have been abandoned by its former clientele (many of whom I suspect have sailed into the sunset for the last time) and now lies somewhat neglected by its current ‘custodians’.

 

Tuesday 23 to Friday 26 June 2009

It is considered good seamanship for those sailing offshore, particularly at night, to prepare a ‘grab bag’. This is a waterproof bag positioned strategically near the hatchway and containing those items that might prove useful – indeed, essential to survival – in the event of a catastrophe requiring us to ‘take to the lifeboats’ – or in our case to the inflatable dinghy which we tow behind the yacht. Our bag (which I have just prepared) features, among other things, various distress flares, VHF radio, hand-held GPS (global positioning system), signaling mirror, water, t-shirts and sun hats and a foghorn.

 

Most importantly, it has a knife, tied to the neck of the bag and ready instantly to cut the dinghy tow line, thus preventing it from being dragged to the seabed by a fast-sinking yacht! We are leaving today for Port Klang, a 100-mile sail which will involve a full night passage. This is not remarkable in itself, but this is a relatively quiet stretch of coast and, unlike in European, US and Australasian waters, there is no Coastguard; nobody to summon help from, so good preparation is key.

 

For me, this preparation has included reading up on how to use my radar, which was fitted at not inconsiderable expense and which I confess to having only a cursory knowledge of. In particular, I have learned how to track ‘targets’ (vessels picked up by radar) and so determine their speed, direction of travel and – importantly – the closest distance they will approach, and thus the risk of collision. Another useful feature, which I have hitherto ignored, is the warning zone – the creation of a ‘cake slice’ wedge on the radar screen radiating several miles ahead of the yacht’s course. In the event a vessel, buoy, piece of land, or anything else that can be picked up by radar, ‘strays’ into this wedge, then an alarm sounds. 

 

Suitably prepared, we depart Lamut at 11:30 for Klang and as darkness falls we set up 3-hours on, 3- hours off watches – the watch-keeper being responsible for keeping a lookout, monitoring and correcting our course, trimming the sails, and generally managing the boat while the other rests. At midnight Marivic takes her first single night watch and the fact she keeps us on course and out of harm’s way without complaining of tiredness comes as no surprise to me. As we approach Klang, the shipping intensifies, perhaps not surprisingly given that this is Malaysia’s busiest port.

 

The new-found radar skills prove invaluable as massive container and other ships pass within a 100 or so yards of us as we navigate just outside the main shipping lane. The currents in this area are the strongest on the coast, reaching five knots – fortunately, at this time, in our favour. The strong tide propels us to our destination faster than calculated and at 05:00 we are at the entrance to the narrow channel passing the Royal Selangor Yacht Club. However, we encounter very shallow water and to avoid the risk of going aground on a falling tide at night in strong currents, we drop anchor and catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep (position: 02 deg 59’.916N, 101 deg 23’.174E).

 

Next morning (Wednesday 24 June) we call up the yacht club which sends a ‘pilot’ to guide us to a berth on a floating pontoon in the middle of the fast-flowing channel opposite the clubhouse. The Royal Selangor Yacht Club is a far cry from Lamut – this is a large, well-run facility, furnished in dark hardwoods and with (we later discover) a good restaurant. The club also has a slipway enabling keel yachts to be hauled up a ramp at high tide on slings so that work below the waterline can be carried out.

 

The work we need done does not bear a graphic description; suffice to say that the large ball valve which drains the holding tank of our heads into the open sea has stuck fast. Having already pumped the holding tank dry with the hand pump procured in Lamut, the job now is to haul the yacht out of the water and replace the stop cock valve (the valve cannot be replaced while the yacht is afloat as its removal would open a large hole in the hull).

 

This is a difficult and unpleasant task and we are extremely fortunate, both in arranging a haul-out with the yacht club and finding a competent and affable English engineer willing to do the job. On Thursday (25 June) the engineer and I drive into Klang – a major industrial centre – where we buy the valve, and also a hard-to-find piece of 12mm thick plexi-glass (our cracked hatch cover also needs replacing). That evening, at high tide, the club’s able crew winch Babadudu up the slipway and we spend the night on ‘dry land’.

 

Next morning, our engineer, Martin, arrives and manages the not easy task of removing the old stopcock and replacing it with the new – we now have clean and properly functioning heads (but what a performance!). Meanwhile, I had intended changing my engine oil and oil/fuel filters in Singapore, but with the able Martin on board, I get him to do it. Now all he has to do is make our new hatch cover and

we have accomplished three major jobs while visiting the Royal Selangor Yacht Club. Tonight (Friday 26 June), the yacht will be lowered back into the water and tomorrow (Saturday 27 June) Marivic and I will take the train to Kuala Lumpur for a two-night exploration of the Malaysian capital, returning to the yacht on Monday 29 June.

30 June to 14 Aug 2009

 

Port Klang to Singapore (30 June to 8 July 2009)

 

Tuesday 30 June 2009

The tide waits for no man, but man often waits for the tide, as indeed I am now doing at 14:00 hours on our mooring in Klang Harbour. At 17:00 we catch the favorable tide for the start of a two night, two day southerly slog to Singapore, hugging the Malaysian coast and steering clear of the shipping lanes down which container ships, tankers and other juggernauts bore, often blind or oblivious to craft such as mine.

 

We returned to Babadudu yesterday evening after spending two days in Kuala Lumpur as guests at the Ritz-Carlton which upgraded us to a suite and treated us to the finest service I have experienced in Asia. However, as this is a sailing blog, rather than a tourist travelogue, I shall be brief on our KL sourjon. Suffice to say that we did the usual tourist stuff; the KL tower (4^th highest in the world) and the twin Petronas Tower, which I believe once enjoyed the brief distinction of being the world’s tallest building. Impressive though these towers undoubtedly are, they fail – in my view – to lift KL to the status of other world or Asian capitals. Perhaps it can be put down to water, for while London, Paris, Rome, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Hanoi and Dubai have their rivers, harbours and creeks, the heart of KL is a designer-label-land unrelieved by waterways.

 

Dinner at the Bombay Palace (best vindaloo since Leicester’s Belgrave Road), and the following evening in a street eatery in China Town, were highlights. Less palatable was the sight of live chickens being thrown into the python pit at KL’s ‘animal zone’ – now you don’t see that (or want to) at Whipsnade!

 

And so farewell to Klang, a port which sits in a soup of sludge, sewage, debris and other detritus, stirred by fierce currents and the wash of myriad tramp steamers. It lies at the antithesis of the crystalline waters which await us around the corner of Peninsula Malaysia. And yet we must pay tribute to the Royal Selangor Yacht Club. It fixed our problems swiftly and at fair price, and dished up some fine fare while providing us with a safe mooring in an otherwise murky maelstrom.

 

Wednesday and Thursday 1 and 2 July 2009

With fuel tanks filled, we edged out of Klang yesterday evening at low water, and at 21:00 began the first of four watches (each of us taking three hours on, and three off). Our course takes us down a narrow band of water between Malaysia’s west coast (to port) and  (to starboard) one of the world’s busiest shipping lanes which ‘the rules of the road’ forbid us from entering.

 

Once again the radar, which we are now fully proficient on, proves invaluable, warning constantly of approaching ships which on occasions pass no more than 50 yards from us. We encounter several ‘tugs’ dragging massive unlit barges on towlines I estimate to be well over 100 yards long. Apart from the hazard of the barges themselves, which loom up under the half moon as eerie monoliths, there is the danger of the bar-tight towline which would wreak havoc upon our mast were we to stray between the tug and its following cargo.

 

Shortly after midnight we feel a knock under the keel followed by a strange vibration through the hull and a small drop in speed. Perhaps the propeller has become fouled by a floating length of rope or other material (which would account for the irregular engine beat), or – much more serious (and costly!) – the prop has been damaged by the impact of a stray log (there are many littered across this section of the Malacca Strait, ‘escapees’ from Malaysian and Indonesian logging operations). I deem it unsafe to go over the side, at night and in a slightly choppy sea, with mask and fins to investigate, and so we plough on under reduced power.

 

I’m uncomfortable at running the engine while not knowing the nature of the problem, but the wind is not strong enough for us to proceed under sail alone, and allowing the boat to drift until daybreak is not a safe option in these waters. But the luck that has followed us catches up again and shortly after dawn, the vibration ends as quickly as it began, consistent with something freeing itself from around the propeller and/or prop shaft. Sighs of relief all round.

 

So the sun rises and falls on a full and uneventful day at sea until once more we are back on the night watch system, monitoring the movements of increasingly heavy shipping as it funnels into the narrowing Malacca Straits. And then, at 06:00 on Thursday July 2, we round the corner to face the rising sun, and there, beneath it, lies Singapore. The western approaches to this island nation are festooned with anchored ships, but the harbour entrance is less frenetic than I’d anticipated. The next two hours pass quietly as we steer along Singapore’s western shores, entering Raffles Marina at 08:50 – exactly one calendar month (though it feels longer) after slipping our lines at Phuket’s Yacht Haven. In a sense Babadudu is ‘home’ as it was at this marina that she was commissioned in November 2005 and from which she embarked, with me at the helm, on her maiden voyage to Thailand.

 

Friday 3 July to Tuesday 7 July 2009

Singapore has the look and feel of a city in some utopian future – clean and green, its forests of shiny tower blocks housing the multi-cultural millions who keep the cash registers ringing at more than 100 giant shopping malls. I once heard Singapore described as ‘Disneyland with the death penalty’, and certainly this manicured garden city with its litter-free walkways, stunning architecture and chic inhabitants smack of the surreal.

 

Until fairly recently, chewing gum was an offence, and even today Singaporeans are kept in line by an authoritarian regime which – we were told by a travel courier – will charge its own people S$100 (£40) to enter a soon-to-open casino, while granting free access to foreigners. The message: ‘We don’t want our pampered populace exposed to the evils of gambling, but we’ll happily get rich on the proceeds from it’.

 

I digress. Singapore IS an amazing city/island/country and one can hardly fail to be captivated by its myriad attractions – Little India, China Town, the family playground of Sentosa Island, cheap travel on the Mass Rapid Transport (MRT) system, the majesty of its central business district, its preserved colonial icons and, perhaps most of all, its prolific superstores, malls and markets. We enjoyed four days exploring this urban playground, but are ready to move on. But not before having a new ice box fitted to our fridge – the ‘repair’ which we were so pleased to have organised in Langkawi having proved ineffective.  

 

Wednesday 8 July 2009

At 10.10 we slip our moorings at Raffles Marina, where we have spent the past six nights, and set a course that will take through the Singapore Strait, south of Singapore, and then eastwards towards the Malaysian mainland. The Strait is heavy with shipping, either moving at 10-minute intervals east and west down the main shipping lane, or anchored, usually unloaded and waiting to pick up a cargo at one the port’s many  loading terminals with their batteries of towering cranes.

 

Shortly after noon we pass the Raffles Lighthouse and at 15:00 we are less than a mile west of the Sister Islands. It is here that we call up Singapore Immigration on Channel 74 and request exit clearance. I have been slightly anxious about the procedure, my natural wariness of uniformed officialdom compounded by the added complication of first reaching them on radio and then having them come alongside to process our departure. My fears prove groundless. Courteous immigration officials ask us to standby and within an hour we have passed our documents to them in the fish landing net and had them returned duly stamped.

 

As the afternoon draws to a close, and we leave the Changi Naval Base to port, we are approached by an inflatable rib containing three ‘boys’ barely out of their teens in full military garb including rather comical steel helmets. We show mock surrender and learn that we have strayed, literally by a few yards, across an exclusion ‘line’ between two buoys strung several hundred yards from the base entrance.

 

The lads – clearly pleased at having something to do – ask to see passports and boat registration and after a few radio exchanges with their superiors, we are given a friendly wave off. When the boat returns minutes later we wonder if there has been a change of heart, but the embarrassed ‘officer’ on board informs us sheepishly that he omitted to record our boat registration number. We hand him a copy of this and cheerfully ask him to keep it with our compliments.

 

As dusk approaches (‘dusk’ here, just a few miles from the Equator, lasting only minutes), and at low water, we realise that we will not be able to cross the ‘bar’ spanning the entrance to the river, five miles up which lies our destination – Sebana Cove Marina. And in any event, I am uncomfortable about navigating a narrow, unfamiliar and un-buoyed channel at night. We therefore edge gingerly towards the shore, clear of any river traffic, and anchor in eight feet of water just as the sun sets. It is a beautiful secluded anchorage, surrounded by mangrove forest with no signs of human habitation except to the southwest where the downtown Singapore skyline 20 miles away is silhouetted against the darkening sky.

 

 

Sebana Cove (Malaysia) to Pulau Tioman ( 9 July to 30 July 2009)

 

Thursday and Friday 9 and 10 July 2009

After a 12-hour sleep (!) we haul the anchor and pass easily over the river entrance bar and into the channel leading to Sebana Cove Marina. We radio the marina on Channel 77 and at 12.30 are berthed on pontoon C28. The marina, also a golf club, has excellent facilities, a stylish clubhouse and restaurant and a pool which we will use today (Friday). The staff is efficient and for a small fee handles all our re-entry procedures into Malaysia. Today and tomorrow are days of complete rest save a few hours of boat work to keep Babadudu looking near new.

 

Sunday 12 July to Monday 20 July 2009

At 11:00 we are steaming out of Sebana Cove and navigating the narrow and shallow river westwards towards open sea. There is a good breeze blowing and after turning eastwards to run along the southern edge of Peninsula Malaysia we raise the full mainsail and headsail and race along at over seven knots. The ten to15-foot waves which roll relentlessly towards our stern raise Babadudu high before releasing her to surf squarely into the troughs.

 

The white-tipped waves, and the spume which streams like silk scarves from their crests, is mesmerising, their suggestion of purpose and determination placing us as if in a crowd marching expectantly towards a rock concert or sporting contest. At 15:20 we ‘round the corner’ and change course to 350 degrees (almost due north) – we are now cruising up the east coast of Malaysia. At 19:00, just as the sun is setting, we anchor in 14 feet of water off Balau Beach (position: 01 deg 35’.630N, 104 deg 15’.721E).

 

We ‘enjoy’ a memorable night – not so much for this being our first stop on Malaysia’s east coast, and thus a major ‘land’ mark for us – but because it proved inordinately uncomfortable. During the night, strong winds and sizeable waves mounted a direct assault on our position, rolling the yacht in a 60 degree arc and forcing us out of bed on several occasions to tighten lines and re-secure provisions to prevent them slamming around. However, by dawn, the ‘tempest’ subsides and we awake to clear skies. At 09:00 the anchor is up and we are on a dead run (ie. with the wind directly behind us) with the headsail ‘poled out’ on a 344 degree course for Pulau Sibu.

 

This island – our first island stop in East Malaysia – is known locally as ‘the island of perilous passage’ on account of the pirates who once based themselves here, bringing at best ruin, and often unpleasant death, to those who dared to ply their trade through these waters. The lively winds which push us the more than 40 miles to Pulau Sibu prove less welcome on our arrival, rendering our intended east shore anchorage impossible and forcing us to seek shelter on shores not cited as havens by the pilot books.

 

On Tuesday 14 July we continue towards the nearby island of Tinggi, narrowly avoiding running aground on submerged rocks between two tiny islands. As we edge through a gap shown on our chart to have deep water, our depth gauge (which thankfully we were monitoring closely) suddenly registers just two feet. We swing the yacht into a tight 180 degree turn, saving the hull and my bank account from potentially serious damage. We reset our course to clear the hazard and anchor in calm water off a secluded beach.

 

The next day (Tuesday 15 July) we take the dinghy ashore to the beach and spend an hour cleaning the barnacles off her bottom – it is staggering how a dinghy being towed constantly behind a yacht can allow marine growth to take on such a tenacious hold. With another job done (there is never a day that some minor feat of maintenance or repair is not accomplished) we set sail for Pulau Babi Besar. Again, strong southerly winds rule out anchoring on either the east or west coasts, so we tuck ourselves behind a low, narrow headland on the north east coast which offers some shelter.

 

On Thursday 16 July we take the dinghy to the magnificent beach on seemingly uninhabited Babi Besar Island; a wide, mile-long stretch of sand, free of any human debris, but ‘littered’ with rocks and boulders and swept by a crystalline surf. This is undoubtedly one of the most attractive beaches I have walked upon in South East Asia (and I have left my footprints on quite a few). Had the anchorage been more stable, we may have idled away another day here, but by midday we are pushing further north towards the sister island of Pulau Babi Kechil which is surrounded by coral reefs which we are keen to explore. We are indeed rewarded with some excellent snorkeling and spend two nights here.

 

The next island in the chain is Pulau Rawa which boasts a resort. We enjoy a sundowner at the bar, but the greater attraction is the clean beach and off-lying coral reefs which provide more excellent snorkeling. Our reverie is shattered at 04:00 on the morning of Monday 20 July when I feel a ‘nudge’ which I know comes from neither wind nor sea. Rushing up on deck, I find the bow of a large sailing vessel rearing at our starboard quarter in a choppy sea. We had seen the boat   anchor the previous evening. I had thought it was unnecessarily close, but lazily assumed the vessel was either just taking a brief stop before resuming its quest for fish, or that the skipper – having surely anchored thousands of times – would know what he was doing (why don’t I ever learn?).

 

I yell to the somnambulant boat’s crew, and then to Marivic who rushes up with the engine keys and assists me in pushing against the prow of the fishing boat to keep it off Babadudu. I then get the engine going and swing our yacht clear to a safe distance while still suggesting in a loud voice that the captain might ‘care to rouse himself and in his own good time move his vessel’. It is nautical ‘law’ that the last boat to anchor must move if there is risk of collision due to shifting winds, currents or tides.

 

A member of the fishing boat’s motley crew eventually materialises on deck and the order is given quickly to start the engine, raise the anchor and re-set it well away from us. While our prompt action has prevented any major damage to Babadudu, we are left with a small hole on the edge of our bimini (which Marivic has stitched up before breakfast), a bent stanchion (one of the stainless steel posts holding up the guardrails which run the length of the yacht on each side), and a flagpole which is snapped off at the base.

 

Although both the stanchion and pole are easily repairable, I take my dinghy at dawn across to the fishing boat and again rouse the crew. Not surprisingly, English is not spoken by any aboard, and my sign language (and other language!) fails to convey that their boat-handling incompetence has caused damage and inconvenience. I, of course, realise that I have more chance of being served with a beer and a pack or pork scratchings in the local mosque than I do in securing any recompense.

 

In fairness, the fishing boat, before it finally departs, does come alongside to inspect the damage (which in truth is hardly noticeable) and I receive a grin and a shake of the shoulders from the skipper as if in reluctant recognition of his maritime misdemeanor. So, no real harm done (thanks to us) and another one down to experience.

 

At 11:00, we move towards the island of Sri Buat but decide that there are no secure or comfortable anchorages to be had in the still persistent southerly wind. We steer instead towards Tioman – one of the principle island destinations on this South East Asian voyage. With a course of 060 degrees and a magnificent 15 to 20 knot wind on our starboard beam we average around seven knots, our SOG (speed over the ground) sometimes registering at over eight knots.

 

It is a magnificent sail to a stunning island and by 16:00 we are anchored off the sharply rising reef in Tioman Island’s Tekok Bay (position: 02 deg 49’.154N, 104 deg 09’.108E).

 

Tuesday 21 July to Friday 31 July 2009

Tioman Island is a real jewel in the South China Sea. Smaller than Phuket, its light development has left most of the dozens of beaches around its shoreline unspoiled and largely deserted. The mountainous island (its highest peak reaching around 3,500 feet) is covered in dense rainforest, and the reefs which fringe the island offer some of Asia’s finest snorkeling. It is not hard to see why this island was featured as the ‘Bali Hai’ in the film South Pacific and I find I can’t get the song out of my head.

 

We are anchored outside the very small harbour of Tekok which at first sighting appears to offer nothing in terms of either places to eat or to secure provisions from. However, on further exploration we discover not only that Tioman is a duty free island (with several well-stocked duty free stores), but that it also has several small shops selling fresh meat, vegetables and fruits and a variety of other essentials. Moreover, the small marina – which we decide not to use, preferring the beautiful land and seascapes afforded by our open water anchorage – has an easily accessible supply of water which we carry regularly to our yacht in large containers.

 

We are now having what amounts to a beach holiday, trying some of the local restaurants and befriending the Filipino band which plays nightly at a pleasant hotel a 10-minute dinghy ride from us. I am also delighted to meet the ‘chief engineer’ of a small boat charter firm, an able Indian-Malay who offers to take a look at my long malfunctioning outboard engine. Within an hour, and with the right tools to hand, he has the engine running as sweetly as it ever has – the charge, £4.00!

 

We make regular snorkeling trips along Tekok Bay and find the coral and abundance of fish around Renggis Island particularly impressive and we visit there several times. On Saturday 25 July we buy some lamb and chicken and have a sunset barbecue on a ‘private’ beach opposite our anchorage. We use the beach often, always enjoying it to ourselves.

 

On Monday 27 July we make an anti-clockwise circumnavigation of Tioman in Babadudu, taking with us the camp (well, with a name like Jezebel, he had to be!) lead singer of the local Filipino band. He has never been aboard a yacht – or even ridden in an inflatable dinghy – before, so finds it all quite exciting and we in our turn find him to be an amusing guest.

 

The trip takes us around the south of the island past the towering ‘rabbit’s ears’ rock columns and then to Juara, a lovely beach in an east coast bay where we go ashore for a seafood lunch and then wait an hour for a violent squall to pass. Rounding the north of the island we are hit by strong gusts and an angry sea which produces some anxious looks on the face of our guest who in eight hours has experienced everything from light winds, a mirrored surface and clear skies, to scudding indigo clouds, torrential tropical downpours and agitated seas.

 

Tioman has, from our experience, rapidly changing weather. We are woken often at dawn by violent gusts and thunder storms which quickly churn up the sea, only to subside before a breakfast taken on deck in calm water beneath a clear sky. Likewise in the evening, the balmy air can suddenly be deposed by a howling squall which sends the yacht spinning; our chain straining out towards the embedded anchor which has never once let us down.

 

However, despite the cycle of weather, we have never experienced a day without several hours of sunshine, and our nights have rarely been interrupted by the rolling and banging associated with inclement weather. Indeed, the mercurial weather is one of the attractive elements of this Arcadia, enhancing the raw beauty of an island which has so far resisted the encroachment of thoughtless tourism.

 

We pay tribute, too, to the people of Tioman – the engineer who fixed my outboard engine, the Filipina lady who cut my hair and offered us her motorcycle (we declined), and the Chinese lady who runs the marina general store who allowed us to use her garden table as an ‘office’ and always added ‘something to try’ to our basket free of charge.

 

Saturday 1 August to Thursday 6 August 2009

After some final shopping for fresh foods, a top-up of our water tanks, and a slap up lunch at our favourite beachside Chinese restaurant, we bring the anchor up on the first day of  August after close to two weeks in Tioman. We had thought this would be a principal ‘port’ of call for us, and we were proved right – the island living up to the wondrous tales we had heard about it. It is thus with a slight sense of sadness that we edge out of Tekok Bay, rolling out our genoa to catch the benefit of the reliable southerly wind. However, we are planning a return to Tioman, possibly around the middle of September, and may well use the island as a jump off for Borneo – but more on that later.

 

 

Pulau Tioman to Koh Samui, Thailand ( 9 July to 30 July 2009)

 

Our course is 346 degrees for Tenggol Island some 125 miles away. At a conservative average speed of five knots, this should be a 24-hour trip, but with a strong wind pushing hard at the stern, our speed averages well over six knots. At 20:00 we begin the three hours on, three-off night watches with Marivic taking the first of them. Shortly after I come on deck at 23:00, the wind drops mysteriously and the light from the half moon disappears, tarnishing the silver sea and bringing down an ominous blackness.

 

Experience tells that when nature rings sudden changes, then caution is called for. I furl the genoa quickly, leaving the spinnaker pole, which had pinned the sail out on the starboard side, secured to the mast. It should be taken down, but I have no wish to be on the foredeck in pitch darkness, without a harness, and without knowing what might be about to come down upon us. The waiting is short-lived. I have hardly stowed the winch handle when a huge squall arrives like a bullet, accompanied by driving rain. The sea begins to boil, and while Babadudu ploughs on regardless under engine, I am relieved not to have been caught by the squall with a full sail up.

 

The following day is Sunday 2 August, exactly two months since we left Phuket. It is also the day that we log our 1,000^th nautical mile on this voyage. At 09:00 – four hours ahead of our initial estimated time of arrival – we slide into the bay on the east coast of Tenggol, finding welcome shelter from a disquieted sea (position: 04 deg 48’.490N, 103 deg 40’.609E).

 

With the anchor down in 45 feet on the edge of a reef which rises steeply to within 200 metres of the shore, we survey our new surrounds. The island is densely wooded, its thick rolling greenery appearing like giant clumps of broccoli. There is a crescent beach, behind which sit some modest huts, the accommodation for a dive resort whose patrons hail us enthusiastically as they pass in their boats to or from the many excellent dive locations around the island.

 

We waste no time in mounting the outboard engine on the dinghy and motoring over to rocks at the northern edge of the reef where the snorkeling proves exceptional. The steep face of the reef plateaus out into a verdant garden of hard and soft corals and a plethora of fish species. The highlight of this first reef exploration is a giant moray eel in some 15 feet of water. I am tempted to swim down for a close-up with my underwater camera, but mindful of the injuries these creatures can inflict on over-zealous divers who approach their rocky lairs too closely, I resist this.

 

The next day again sees us exploring the reef with mask and fins, and this time we are rewarded with the sight of a black-tipped shark which I manage to snap with the camera before it undulates its way off the edge of the reef and into deeper water. Dinner is a beach barbecue which is delightful until I discover later that evening that I have been ‘devoured’ by sand flies (we had thought be beach to be free of them). Fortunately we have bite ointment on board, so while I resemble some giant spotted fish, I am largely spared the torment of itching.

 

On our final evening we are joined in the anchorage by several fishing boats, their crew delighting in a swim after however many days/hours they have been at sea. We are amused to note, not for the first time, that most of the fishermen take to the water wearing life vests. Though they make a hard living snaring the denizens of the South China Sea, they have yet to learn how to swim in it.

 

As the sun rises on Tuesday 4 August, we ‘steam’ away from Tenggol at eight knots, our full mainsail and headsail catching an 18 knot wind on the port beam. It is a most exhilarating sail towards our next destination – the mainland port of Terengganu a comfortable day-sail away. By mid afternoon we are off the entrance to the harbour which has a shifting sand bar with just enough water to get us over it – provided our navigation is spot on. From the shore, well out to sea stretches a ruler-straight line separating clean ocean from a coffee-coloured cocktail of eroded soil and man-made effluent flooding eastwards from the port entrance.

 

The line is so pronounced, and so unlike anything I have seen before, that I cut the engine, fearing for an instant that I might be about to take the yacht over an uncharted sandbank. This, and a slight anxiety at approaching very low water in choppy seas on a falling tide, is exacerbated still further when I notice through binoculars that recent harbour works have rendered our approach unrecognisable, both on our sea chart and in the pilot book.

 

With an anchorage outside the harbour not a viable option along this exposed west coast, we plough on into the ‘unknown’, only to discover that a channel has been dredged and that our entrance into the Terengganu is considerably less daunting than had been anticipated. This sense of relief is elevated to one of joy when in the distance we can see the masts of yachts in a marina we had heard might not be operational. As we approach the marina, we are beckoned in by a member of staff who helps us tie up on new pontoons leading to an impressive building (position: 05 deg 20’.328N, 103 deg 07’.884E).

 

We are given a tour and told that the gymnasium, sauna, swimming pool, and other facilities are at our disposal, and that the very reasonable marina fees include ‘free’ water and power. To cap it all, an hour later the pleasant lady who manages the marina arrives at our yacht with a welcoming basket of fruit – a gesture I have never before experienced in over two decades of sailing. Given that we were anticipating three nights on an anchor, this level of welcome and comfort is most agreeable.

 

Terengganu is an interesting old port with a colourful history as a trading centre, and now a base for vessels serving Malaysia’s offshore oil and gas fields. We take the marina ‘gondola’ (it really does look like it has been snatched from a Venice canal) to the main town on the other side of the river. Here we complete harbourmaster and customs formalities before visiting a vast covered market selling the freshest fish and vegetables.

 

We also pay a visit to the magnificent Terengganu State Museum which is said to be the largest in Southeast Asia. On Thursday (6 August) we take to our dinghy and explore further up-river noting just how filthy the water in this harbour really is. I bring with me the stanchion bent in my altercation with the fishing vessel off Pulau Rawa two weeks ago and take it to a ‘hole-in-the-wall’ machine shop run by two affable Chinese brothers who take great interest in our voyage.

 

Using a powerful cold press, the stanchion is restored to good-as-new, saving me a fair sum for replacement. We also clear immigration, I being told that Malaysia will happily grant me a visa for up to five months, while Marivic – being from the Philippines – may only stay a month on each visit. It never fails to amaze me how Asians treat those from their own region less favourably than visitors from afar.

 

Friday 7 August to Sunday 9 August 2009

I am writing this (midday on Sunday 16 August) in Babadudu’s cockpit while cruising along the 80-mile edge of a ‘war risk’ zone. No battle fleets are arraigned around our position, and no jets scream their murderous intentions from above. And yet this stretch of Thailand’s east coast in Pattani Province – between Narathiwat and the Port of Songkhla to the north – is so designated by Babadudu’s insurers. They warn us that no compensation will be paid should woe, in whatever form, betide us within 12 miles of these ‘perilous shores’.

 

While it is easy to wax irreverent on the policy exclusions written by insurers loathe to relinquish any portion of their hefty premiums, there is an explanation (of sorts). The coastline in question snakes along what is often lamely referred to in the Press as Thailand’s ‘restive south’, a loosely defined area bordering Malaysia which contains   fanatical minority Muslim groups hell-bent on wresting greater autonomy and other concessions from a tired majority. In pursuit of their goals, the terrorists have slaughtered both Thai’s who share neither their faith nor aspirations, and innocent men, women and children from their own communities who just happen to get caught up in the mayhem.

 

Indiscriminate bombings and targeted murders are as frequent as the solution is elusive. However, while motorists may drive the scarred streets of Pattani, unencumbered by insurance restrictions, a sailing yacht is denied access to some 1,000 square miles of ocean where – to my knowledge – no precedent for violence has yet been set. And so, today, we find ourselves in an open ocean without land or vessel in sight on the second of a three-day, 300-mile trip to the Thai holiday island of Koh Samui. But I race ahead; may I roll back to Friday 7 August and our departure from the Malaysian port of Terengganu.

 

‘Fear’ – ranging from slight anxiety to abject terror – I have often thought occurs when imagination meets the unknown. I doubt this is an original ‘revelation’, but in any event it is apposite when considering my arrival at, and exit from, Terengganu. A page or two back in this narrative, I describe the anxious moments occasioned by the harbour’s totally unfamiliar entrance and the imagined possibility of running aground amid breaking waves and ever shallower water. A perfect recipe, then, for ‘fear’ (I’d give it a good 3 or 4 out of 10 on the scare-scale).

 

On leaving the port mid-morning on Friday 7 August, armed now with first-hand knowledge gained from my earlier arrival, and imagining nothing more than a trouble-free deliverance into open water, there is no fear to dent my demeanor. I reflect on this as we turn onto a heading of 343 degrees, stream the fishing line, and head for the island of Redang about which we have heard so much.

 

Without wishing to dwell on this dubious and rather obvious ‘philosophy’, it strikes me again how, particularly when sailing, one so often confronts fear by unveiling the unknown with practical experience and tempering the imagination with reason (or if that fails, wishful-thinking). Perhaps this is what the German intellectual Goethe (with whom obviously I have nothing in common) was thinking when he said ‘…be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid’ (one of my all-time favourite quotations and truisms).

 

We arrive at the island of Redang, just a 32-mile sail, late afternoon at the same time as Rolf and Eva, a Swiss ‘live-aboard’ couple who have been cruising the world in their 38’ Sovereign yacht ‘Present’ for four and a half years. We were ‘neighbours’ in the Terengganu marina and invited them for drinks aboard Babadudu the previous evening. When it transpires that we are all heading for Redang next morning, we agree to ‘cruise in company’. They prove indeed to be good company, and unlike most sailing couples, where the man is invariably the ‘captain’, both Rolf and Eva are formally and equally qualified as skippers in their own rights and so ‘take turns’ (I’d love to be a mosquito in their cockpit!).

 

The large bay at the north of the island has two striking beaches. Behind one sits a luxury hotel, while the other – separated from its ‘sister’ by a near impregnable outcrop of jagged rocks – is ‘deserted’. It is opposite the latter that we anchor, admiring the white sand which stretches beneath towering palm trees, washed by a mineral-water-clear sea in which the cobalt sky is reflected perfectly (position: 05 deg 47’.262N, 103 deg 01’.103E).

 

That evening we take our dinghy with Rolf and Eva to the hotel restaurant and enjoy an excellent meal. We are later invited for a nightcap aboard ‘Present’. She is a lovely centre-cockpit yacht, hand-built in the Austrian Alps(!) and with commodious accommodation finished off with quality carpentry. While impressive, the yacht did have one astonishing design fault – part of the stainless steel frame supporting the cockpit (bimini) hood runs only inches across the headsail sheet winches on both the port and starboard sides. Thus, the winches can only be operated with the winch handle in a series of short jerks, it being impossible to rotate the handle a full 360 degrees. Even Rolf, who pointed this out to us, is incredulous and will, I hope, forgive me for mentioning this here.

 

We spend three nights at this lovely anchorage, exploring the pristine beach and enjoying excellent snorkeling. Around us the sea seems to be a hive of constant activity with turtles breaking the surface for air and fish leaping out of the sea in frequent displays of apparent joie de vivre. On one of our visits to the beach we meet a ‘stranded’ French woman and her three small children. On a jungle hike, and aiming for the hotel around the headland, they have lost their way. Having witnessed from the sea the precipitous sections of the headland, we advise them strongly against trying to climb across it. Instead, we give them a dinghy excursion around it, delivering them safely to their hotel. Our ‘good turn’ is rewarded next day when after a foot slog north across the island we are given a welcome lift back by a shuttle bus from the same hotel.

 

Monday 10 August to Friday 14 August 2009

By early afternoon, and in no rush to leave Redang, we set off for the 20-mile cruise to Pulau Perhantian Besar, dragging our fishing line and lure, but again ending the day sans poisons. We anchor in the southern bay of the island – the last eastern Malaysian island before the Thai border (position: 05 deg 53’.453N, 102 deg 45’.168E).

 

The next day we explore the bay and the off-lying reefs by dinghy. Again, the snorkeling proves exceptional and several new species are checked off. It is a feature of the reefs in this region, that each can support fish species and corals quite distinct from those perhaps only a mile away in another part of the bay or headland. Thus, each snorkeling expedition proves a unique experience. I have included as appendix 3 in this account a list of aquatic fauna we firmly believe we have viewed at close quarters in eastern Malaysia. While our identification may in some cases be flawed, there are many, many species that we have seen, but which we have not been able to positively identify in our Asia Pacific Reef Guide.

 

On Wednesday 12 August, we move a couple of miles from our Pulau Perhantian Besar anchorage to the narrow and shallow channel between this island and its sister, Perhantian Kechil. We spend several hours over the next few days snorkeling, and also go ashore to both islands, stocking up with what fresh food we can find and replenishing our water tanks.

 

On our last trip out from this anchorage with mask and flippers we see three black-tipped sharks and follow a beautiful turtle, fining leisurely a few feet directly below us in crystal clear water with coral gardens beneath and the sun illuminating its multi-hued shell. It would have made an amazing photograph – possibly THE picture of the trip –except that this was the one time I did not bring my camera with me!

15 Aug to 21 Sept 2009

 

Saturday 15 August to Monday 17 August 2009

We say ‘farewell’ to the twin Perhantian islands just as the sun rises above the mountains, setting a course of 323 degrees for Koh Samui, 270 miles away in Thailand. At 15:00 on Saturday 15 August we believe we have crossed into Thailand and accordingly hoist the Thai courtesy flag to the starboard crosstrees. As I do so, I muse over how the sea, while connecting the continents of the world, and so many of the countries within them, has no marked boundaries and thus no border posts.

 

Out here there are no endless forms to be completed, no rubber stamps to be applied, and no ludicrously self-important officials demanding special ‘fees’ for doing their job (about which, more later). It is only when we leave the sanctuary of international waters that one must battle bureaucracy. But even extending out into the big blue, there are rules and I have already described the War Risk Zone drawn arbitrarily by our insurers and left well to the west of our intended course.

 

We are two nights at sea on this portion of the passage and Marivic and I work our now tried and trusted three-hours-on, three-hours off watch system. While there is not the heavy shipping encountered in the Malacca Straits, we have to play dodge with a variety of fishing boats. The squid boats with their powerful spotlights trained on the water can be spotted even over the horizon, and are often stationary, but it is harder to discern the activities of trawlers – sometimes trawling in pairs.

 

Hardly any fishing boats in Thailand display the regulation lights which reveal the nature of the vessel and the direction of travel. While the radar picks up some of the boats, wooden craft are not displayed, Fishing boats often have a habit of making sudden course changes in contravention of international ‘rules of the road’ that most fishing skippers are either totally ignorant of, or blatantly ignore. On more than one occasion we are forced to alert a fishing vessel with a ‘blast’ from our 2,000,000 candle-power spotlight (a useful ‘souvenir’ from Singapore).

 

With the lights of Koh Samui just visible in the early hours of Monday 17 August, it is pointed out by my grim-faced crew-woman that I have been wearing the same underpants for three days – and nothing else!  I’m afraid it’s true. Too lazy to get dressed when leaving Perhantian, I set sail in my underpants (a rather fetching pair, though I say so myself); spend my days on deck in them and wear them to bed a couple of nights. I offer Marivic the lame excuse that this is less distasteful than she implies since I have ‘washed’ the offending underpants on the couple of occasions I leapt into the sea for a dip from a boat ‘hove to’ in mid-ocean.

 

She is less than impressed, telling me rather more sharply than I feel is necessary that this is NOT what Marks and Spencer mean by the term ‘wash and wear’. Truth be told, there have been several occasions when I have awoken in underwear and later strode along a tourist beach sporting it proudly. To date I have not been arrested, so I shall continue. ‘Captain Underpants’ – the hero of a scatological comic strip much-loved by my young son – would be proud of me.

 

Tuesday 18 August to Thursday 20 August 2009

At 05:00 on Tuesday 18 August we anchor in darkness in Koh Samui’s Ao Lamai Bay (position: 09 deg 27’.809E, 100 deg 03’.426E). We have a leisurely day on Lamai which is a relatively quiet tourist beach with the usual small hotels and shops. The next day is a work day – gas to find, fuel cans to fill and food to buy. But the main task is to ‘check in’ with the Koh Samui immigration, customs and harbour authorities. In Malaysia, this formality proved to be just that – a couple of simple forms, a cheery word from smart officials, a few rubber stamps and on our way within half-an hour with no tacky demands for ‘special fees’. But as my good friend Graham so often says to my annoyance: ‘WTT (welcome to Thailand)’.

 

We are in the immigration office close to two hours to process paperwork which needs ten minutes and are charged an un-receipted ‘fee’ of tbt 500 (£10) for the entry stamp in our passports. In the harbourmaster’s (marine department) office, where we while away another hour, Marivic – who unbeknown to the rapacious officials speaks fluent Thai – hears them discussing how much they can take us for in bribes.

 

The figure starts at tbt 4,000 (£80) and when my linguistic crew-woman pipes up: ‘What for, we have a small boat and there is no fee for registering it in or out of a Thai port?’ the figure plummets to tbt 1,000 (£20). We are told this is a charge ‘for cruising in a yacht around Koh Samui’. I must however applaud the Koh Samui Customs Office who processed us within 20 minutes and waved us on our way without demanding any ‘fee’ for doing what they are paid to do. I might also add that I have to date never been ‘shaken down’ in this way by the immigration, customs or harbourmaster authorities in Phuket.

 

On Wednesday 19 August we take the dinghy for a couple of miles east along the coast from our anchorage to the busier Chaweng beaches. From the sea one can see the monstrous hotel and residential developments lining the shore and creeping like sores high up the hillside. I visited Koh Samui 20 years ago when it was a pretty island. It has now been blighted by what amounts to architectural vandalism and the only thing which appears to have remained the same is the poor state of the roads and general lack of infrastructure. How the island’s leaders can have allowed development to proceed in such a haphazard, unrestrained and unsightly manner is a mystery – but then, perhaps it is not.

 

Koh Samui to Koh Chang/Koh Kut (21 August to 10 September 2009)

 

Friday 21 August to Sunday 23 August 2009

We are now in possession of the latest edition of the just printed Southeast Asia Pilot which is hand delivered to us by the publisher himself – Grenville Fordham – over a beachside lunch. The Southeast Asia Pilot is the ‘Bible’ for sailors in this region and it really is a most excellent publication, rivaling the best pilots for other parts of the world and undoubtedly one of Thailand’s finest exports.

 

On Tuesday 22 August, suitably refueled, re-provisioned and topped up with water (given to us by a friendly beach hotel which even carried the 30-litre containers to our dinghy), we depart Koh Samui’s Ao Lamai Bay for the short hop north to Koh Phangan. On route, beneath clear skies and sunshine, I reel in a large crocodile needlefish, well over a metre long and with a row of sharp teeth down the elongated jaw which gives it its name. That evening the fish is filleted and on my plate in breadcrumbs – a favourite dish – and not the first time we dine on this fish. We anchor in the pretty bay at Haad Thong Nai (position: 09 deg 46’.370N, 100 deg 03’.633E). On the second night we experience torrential rain which pours more water on us in a few hours than has fallen on us in the past two and a half months. Koh Phangan is considerably less developed than its neighbour to the south and is all the more attractive for it.

 

Monday and Tuesday 24 & 25 August 2009

With the sun just up on Monday 24 August, we point Babadudu at 042 degrees for the 200 nautical mile passage across the Gulf of Thailand to Koh Chang near the Thai Cambodian border. The wisdom of making this trip is questionable since Koh Chang, like Phuket and western Thailand, is exposed at this time of the year to the south west monsoon. Moreover, the Gulf has a reputation for choppy seas and violent squalls. However, the opportunity to explore this little-visited group of islands in the far east of Thailand is too good to miss.

 

The journey begins extremely well, a 20-knot wind on our beam (ie. at right angles to our direction – the fastest point of sail) giving us speeds through the water consistently over 8 knots. For a brief period we recorded 8.8 knots – a record for Babadudu. After six hours sailing we average just over 7 knots which is excellent going.

 

Buoyed by the euphoric sailing conditions and a sea yet to live up to its violent reputation, I take myself to the galley and prepare a fish pie (courtesy of our recent catch). Although a reasonable cook – though I say it myself – my culinary contribution on the overall voyage has been minimal. This is not due to the usual chauvinism which on many yachts confines female crew to the galley, but because Marivic truly enjoys cooking and, better still, is inordinately good at it.

 

At 19:00 hours we begin the three-hours-on, three-hours-off watch system, piling on through the night under full sail at a healthy speed. At 05:00 on Tuesday 25 August – around 50 to 60 miles from our destination – the first of the threatened squalls thunders out of a black sky, hosing the yacht and heeling it sharply. As the wind strengthens, we manage to put in the first reef on the mainsail (reducing the sail area) and also reef the headsail. This calms things down for a while, but the dawn reveals a horizon dark with cloud ‘squall lines’ foretelling of ‘batterings’ yet to come.

 

We approach the north western tip of a Koh Chang looming from the gloom about six hours ahead of schedule due to our good progress under sail. But with no hopes of finding shelter here, we round the island, passing down its eastern shores, finally finding a quiet anchorage on Koh Ngam just off Koh Chang’s south eastern tip (position: 12 deg 08’.699N, 102 deg 15’.258E).

 

Wednesday and Thursday 26 & 27 August 2009

The two sandy bays which converge along a narrow, palm-lined isthmus has led to Koh Ngam being described as ‘Koh Chang’s Phi Phi Island’. Fortunately the resemblance ends with their shapes as Koh Ngam has to date been spared the haphazard construction and attendant pollution which has so blighted its west coast ‘twin’. That said, even here in this ‘paradise’ location, there is some unattractive- looking tourist accommodation which one hopes does not bode ill for the island’s future.

 

We would like to spend more time here since the weather has turned out fine and the beaches are idyllic and deserted, but we are under pressure to register our arrival in Thailand with the relevant authorities and so, on the afternoon of Wednesday 26 August, we move Babadudu into the bay at Ao Salak Phet on the south east of Koh Chang (position: 11 deg 58’.743N, 102 deg 22’.921E).

 

We are anchored off the Island View Resort whose owner kindly allows us to use his private jetty. On Thursday 27 August we complete the arduous entry formalities. This entails firstly taking a taxi from Ao Salak Phet to the ferry terminal on the east of Koh Chang and from there across to the Thai mainland and the short drive to Laem Ngob where, in a surprisingly commodious immigration office, our arrival is registered. Then it is a short walk to the pier and the marine department (harbourmaster). After our experience in Koh Samui we are prepared for the worse, but ‘King’, the lady who processes our entry to Koh Chang could not be more helpful.

 

We are dismayed to learn that the customs office is 50 miles away (via the provincial capital of Trat) at Klong Yai near the Thai-Cambodia road crossing. But King arranges for a ‘taxi’ to take us there and back for a not unreasonable fee. While logistically the formalities are time-consuming, all the offices we dealt with at check-in (and on departure two weeks later) are courteous and efficient and no ‘special fees’ are demanded from us. However, yachts planning to visit Koh Chang from another Thai ‘port’ and return to Thailand afterwards could probably spare themselves the bureaucracy.

 

Friday 28 August to Wednesday 2 September 2009

On Friday 28 August, with the sun still shining in a near cloudless sky, we begin our exploration proper of the Chang and Kut archipelagos, moving just a few miles to Koh Wai (position: 11 deg 54’.399N, 102 deg 24’.076E). A hundred metres from this attractive anchorage is the small Koh Wai Paradise Resort. We get friendly with the staff which allows us to re-fill our water cans and serves us an excellent curry. They also direct us to a visiting supply boat from which we buy large fresh prawns and ice.

 

On Sunday 30 August we again move a short distance, this time to the north west bay of Koh Mak, an unusually flat, cross-shaped island (position: 11 deg 49’.277N, 102 deg 27’.381E). Although there are some tired-looking resorts in the bay, and on nearby Koh Kham, our dinghy exploration does not confirm the pilot book’s assertion that this is a ‘very spectacular location’.

 

After sleeping until 11:00am (a full 12 hours), despite having done nothing exerting, we set off on 31 August for the next stop on this island-hopping excursion – Koh Rang. As we approach our intended anchorage on this densely forested island’s northern tip, a heavy squall bursts upon us and we ‘heave to’ for half-an-hour for it to pass before dropping the ‘hook’ in deep water on the edge of a reef (position: 11 deg 48’.380N, 102 deg 23’.414E).

 

We awake on 1 September to rain and heavy cloud and the realisation that our enjoyment of unseasonably fine weather has come to a glowering end. We try a spot of snorkeling, but there is no comparison with what we have experienced in Malaysia. The following day (September 2) – the three-month ‘anniversary’ of our departure – we move south east to the north west of Koh Kut, Thailand’s most easterly island before Cambodia.

 

The intended anchorage is a cauldron of waves and wind, so instead we find a pocket of shelter behind the small island of Koh Maisilek (position: 11 deg 42’.924N, 102 deg 31’.625E). We attempt a dinghy trip from here to the main island, but halfway across we are beaten back by large waves which threaten to overturn us (we have lifejackets, but a ‘drowned’ outboard engine would certainly spoil our day).

 

As the sun sets that evening, we encounter a strange phenomenon when at first one, and then dozens more swift-like birds circle our anchored yacht and take up perches along the guardrails either side of the bow in a scene reminiscent of Hitchcock’s The Birds. We sweep our 2 million candle power spotlight across the foredeck in an attempt to get them to ‘flock off’, but while they circle and swoop noisily overhead, they are not to be deterred. We conservatively estimate the flock to number in excess of 300 birds which perch quietly throughout the night’s howling wind and heavy rain. They are still there in the early hours, but when I creep stealthily on deck at dawn to photograph the spectacle, I find them all gone.

 

Both Koh Chang (slightly smaller than Phuket) and Koh Kut are densely forested and cut with bays which on the west coasts often have long sandy beaches. While tourism is in evidence on the west coast of Koh Chang, it is mainly catering to low budget visitors with their ubiquitous back-packs. Thus, the 50 islands which comprise the Koh Chang/Koh Kut archipelagos remain largely unspoiled and a real alternative to visitors seeking a quiet location. While the area bears some similarity to Phang Nga Bay on Thailand’s west coast, the island of Koh Chang – although showing signs of mushrooming development has a long way to go to ‘catch up’ with Phuket (and one hopes it never does!).

 

Thursday 3 September to Thursday 10 September 2009

Another cloudy and wet morning which sees us heading first down the exposed west coast of Koh Kut and then, after rounding the bottom of the island, north along the island’s east coast which provides shelter from the easterly winds and rain. Our anchorage tonight is at Ao Yai (position: 11 deg 36’.675N, 102 deg 35’.780E) opposite a fishing village.

 

But no quaint fishing village this, with friendly old salts sewing nets and spinning yarns. The village is strung out precariously on crumbling stilts and wooden walkways linking simple shacks, some selling basic necessities and others blaring out karaoke. The latter, along with alcohol, appears to be the staple diet of Thai and Cambodian fishermen seeking some R&R after their stints at sea. Across this latticework stumble glassy-eyed and slurring fishermen who gaze at us bemused as they struggle – some wearing only underclothes – to or from the assorted moored fishing vessels and their places of ‘entertainment’. Here I would agree with the pilot book that this is ‘a very interesting spot indeed’.

 

Friday 4 September dawns after a night of strong gusts which gave us an unwelcome night-ride, so by 11:00 we are glad to be on our way, returning to Koh Mak, but to an anchorage on the south east bay of the island (position: 11 deg 48’.337N, 102 deg 29’.413E). With the weather unsettled, there is not much to do except to watch a DVD in the cabin – something we have done rarely on the voyage. And I cook a stew.

 

Our worst weather in this area comes shortly after our Saturday 5 September departure to Koh Chang. With winds in excess of 30 knots and 15-foot waves rolling towards our port beam, the thought of our forthcoming 400-mile passage back to Malaysia is not a comforting one. We anchor midday at Ao Bang Bao on Koh Chang’s south western tip opposite a lighthouse sitting at the end of a long pier (position: 11 deg 57’.998N, 102 deg 19’.138E).

 

Along this pier are a number of shops, dive operators, restaurants and bars and we agree to return later for some ‘night life’. Later that evening, as we arrive at the pier (not really designed for small dinghies), another heavy squall rips through the bay churning up the sea and reducing visibility. We turn our dinghy back to the anchored yacht, reaching it with some difficulty and marveling how, in just 10 minutes, one’s environment can be altered totally. Again, I have a sense of foreboding about the Gulf of Thailand crossing which will be measured in days and nights, not just by a few hours.

 

Sunday September 6 is my birthday and it is celebrated with a birthday (pan)cake for breakfast, and a thoughtful card from Marivic. It rains all day – hardly bringing cheer to a birthday boy just 710 days from being 60. We realise the weather must be bad when we note that several large fishing vessels are at anchor for several days alongside us. It is from one of these vessels that we buy a fat fresh fish which Marivic fries up with vegetables as a birthday treat.

 

Koh Chang has a friendly feel about it. Members of the local boating community are only too ready to take our lines on the pier, and keep an eye on the dinghy while we are ashore. And the simple restaurants offer friendly and efficient service that would shame some of the top eateries on Phuket.

 

The stormy weather continues until Thursday 10 September when we hire a car and take the ferry to the Thai mainland to complete our exit formalities with the immigration, customs and harbourmaster’s offices in Laem Ngob and Klong Yai. We stop in the busy town of Trat for a few provisions and also manage to secure diesel from the small village. Our water tanks are still almost full since Koh Samui thanks to Marivic who – over the past 10 days – takes advantage of the wet weather to collect ample rainwater for washing, showers and general cleaning. In short, we are good to go.

 

 

Koh Chang to Terengganu (11 September to 21 September 2009)

 

Friday 11 September to Thursday 17 September 2009

With the sun barely up on Friday 11 September we take Babadudu from the sanctuary of Ao Bang Bao to begin the almost 400 nautical mile journey south through the Gulf of Thailand to the island of Redang off Malaysia’s east coast.

 

As anticipated, the sea is rough and the rain heavy. However, after a couple of hours under engine – essentially to restore battery power – we raise a reefed mainsail and headsail and sail close hauled (about 40 degrees off the wind) making good time. Even more encouraging than the favourable sailing wind is that after six hours of sailing, the sky turns blue and the waves subside (no weather forecast offered us this).

 

The familiar watch system sees us ploughing through the night and after 24 hours we have averaged exactly 6 knots under sail which we are very happy with. Our second day and night at sea also delivers better than hoped for weather. However, we do have one ‘scare’. The centre of the Gulf of Thailand is a mass of gas fields with offshore exploration and production rigs marked with wide exclusion zones. We have noted these on both the electronic and paper charts and set a course to keep us well clear of them. At just after midnight on Sunday 13 September we approach what at first appears to be vessels at anchor – perhaps gas field support vessels.

 

However, as we draw closer it is evident that the ‘ships’ are in fact ‘permanent’ structures – we have strayed into a gas field which is not shown at this position on either of our charts. Although we stay clear of the platforms (which do not look like your typical oil-drilling rigs), we pass to within only a few hundred yards of a gas flare stack which – had it suddenly been switched on – would have ruined a good pair of underpants.

 

With a sense of relief we clear the field, but a few hours later, just before dawn, our reverie is shattered again when a sudden squall loudly announces a major change in weather. The wind on our starboard bow suddenly comes at us head on at 25 knots. The genoa is dropped and the engine fired up. For the next 12 hours we hammer straight into increasingly choppy seas, the yacht rising over the bigger crests and slamming into the troughs causing the mast to quiver like an arrow fired into a door. Sailing purists will maintain – with some justification – that I could have tacked (zig-zagged) into this weather and arrived at our destination under sail, albeit several hours later than planned. However, I am in ‘let’s get there’ mode and kid myself that the change in wind direction is caused by a local storm which will soon abate.

 

By late afternoon the storm does pass and is replaced by light winds and a sea which, by sundown, is flat calm. At 01:00 on Monday 14 September we enter the familiar bay on the north of Pulau Redang several hours earlier than anticipated and happy to sleep at anchor in a comfy and unmoving bed (position: 05 deg 47’.284N, 103 deg 01’.147E).

 

We enjoy excellent weather and the remarkably beautiful beach opposite our anchorage for four full days – catching up on reading, snorkeling, enjoying the beach and its ‘mineral-water-clear’ sea, and watching the turtles circle the boat. We also catch squid which we eat fresh in a spicy tomato sauce with pasta. Although the Berjaya Hotel on the adjacent beach has a good restaurant, nothing can compare with what comes out of Babadudu’s galley. However, we eat at the Berjaya’s beach restaurant twice, the excellent head waiter ‘Rizal’ remembering us from our visit there several weeks earlier and offering us a complementary glass of wine and a Muslim dessert to mark the imminent end of the Ramadan month of fasting.

 

Friday 18 September to Monday 21 September 2009

After an early morning swim beneath the palms on our private beach, it is with some sadness that we say ‘farewell’ to Redang which in some way has come to symbolise this whole voyage with it’s almost clichéd allusions to ‘Arcadia’. Less than five hours later we enter the harbour of Terengganu which had given us some anxious moments on our last visit. We are welcomed by the affable and efficient manager of Heritage Bay Marina, ‘Ashim’, and advised that everything is shut until Tuesday 22 September for the Muslim Eid holiday. We should have known!

 

However, we do manage to get some fresh food in Terengganu town and I even find, in a small electronic shop, an inverter which will enable me to run 240-volt appliances from the boat’s 12-volt power supply. The device works well and will enable me to keep computer, cameras and other appliances charged up. Power is a major problem on yachts without generators and Terengganu is the first time I have had access to power and an internet connection since Koh Chang.

 

While Terengganu is not the most attractive place we have visited, it does offer most of the things we need to help prepare Babadudu for the next stage of our SE Asia voyage – fuel, water, fresh food and a power supply. Sunday and Monday September 20 and 21 are given over to writing a commissioned 1,200-word article on this voyage for the Phuket Post.  I also update this blog which, I am informed by the World Cruising Club, can now also be accessed through its ‘Noonsite’ website for yachtsmen. We also give Babadudu a thorough clean inside and out and she now sparkles like new.

One final pause for thought: Since leaving Koh Phangan a month – and more than 700 nautical miles – ago we have not seen a single sailing vessel out on the water.

22 Sept to 19 Oct 2009

 

Terengganu to Tioman (22 September to 5 October 2009)

 

Tuesday 22 September to Thursday 26 September 2009

Today (Tuesday 22 September) was the day we were to clear customs and immigration and then get underway, but it seems that the Eid Muslim holiday does not in fact end until tomorrow. So, an extra unscheduled day in Terengganu. We are up early on Wednesday 23 September, eager to get the paperwork out of the way and head off to anchorages new. The whole process takes longer than anticipated and with time added for last minute fresh food shopping we do not slip our lines at Heritage Bay Marina until 16:00 (but I’m not up for another night here).

 

As an aside, just when we were leaving this marina on 7 August after our first visit, a magnificent luxury schooner with the rather uninspiring (and some might say pretentious) name of ‘Impression’ sailed in. In fairness, this 80-foot modern machine was impressive, and its crew must have numbered more than a dozen, six of whom arrived in advance at the pontoon in an equally luxurious tender to take the lines. I joked with them by asking how many people it took to tie up a boat (at least it got a laugh from the other yachtsman gathered to watch the imperious arrival of this yacht).

 

The yacht is still here six weeks later and one of the English girl crew (from Hamble as it turns out), who joined us on board Babadudu for a glass of wine, tells us that we are the first yacht to enter the marina since they arrived. She is incensed that having ‘signed up’ as crew, she’d done nothing more than an overnight trip to Terengganu from Singapore under engine. While she admits that the yacht is beautifully laid out, she says she’d do anything to come for a ‘real’ sail on Babadudu.

 

Our destination on Wednesday 23 September is Pulau Kapas, just 12 miles from Terengganu. We have seen brochure pictures of this island portraying a beautiful beach and classy resort, but on arrival just before dusk we are greeted by dark, towering cliffs rendered even more foreboding by a dark sky and choppy sea. We anchor in deep water, narrowly missing running over rocks rising steeply from the west of the island to within four feet of our keel and not shown on the charts (position: 05 deg 13’.333N, 103 deg 16’.335E). Shortly after anchoring we are surrounded by several large, dark brown jellyfish, their tentacles stretching beyond the visibility afforded by the clear water. We have not encountered this species before and the visitation puts an end to any thoughts of swimming.

 

With nothing to keep us here, the anchor is up early on Thursday 24 September and the yacht is on a course of 136 degrees towards the island of Tenggol just over 40 miles away. With wind and waves straight on the nose, we make slow and uncomfortable progress, dropping the anchor late afternoon on the edge of the reef in the attractive east-facing bay we had last visited on 1 August (position: 04 deg 48’.468N, 103 deg 40’.582E).

 

On the night of Thursday/Friday 24/25 September, a nasty storm rages above Tenggol sending angry waves straight into the bay and throwing Babadudu about in all directions. The anchor chain strains out as we are pushed back towards the reef and on switching on the depth sounder I see with horror that while we dropped the anchor in 50 feet of water, the hull now floats just 12 feet above the jagged coral heads below. First thought is to re-anchor, but with the violent motion of the boat, and the air filled with a mixture of driving rainwater and the spume whipped off the waves by a howling wind, I opt instead to monitor the depth until the storm abates – the engine keys ready in the ignition in case we need to move forward urgently.

 

The next morning (Friday 25 September) we awake to a flat calm, but I nevertheless re-anchor Babadudu in 75 feet of water in the middle of the bay. The snorkeling in Tenggol bay is just fantastic and we record several new species. However, while the day is spent enjoyably enough, we have a shock, when turning on the engine to re-charge the batteries, to discover that the engine starting battery is dead. The yacht actually has four batteries, three which run all the boat electrics (water pumps, navigation equipment, lights, radio/stereo), and one which is isolated exclusively for starting the engine. I am mystified at how this engine battery could have lost its power and concerned about how we might get it re-charged.

 

The luck which has so frequently graced this cruise again comes into play. We row ashore to the small dive resort with our ailing battery and the very helpful staff there hook it up to their generators. The next morning they deliver the battery to our boat and the engine fires up beautifully. I then work out why the battery discharged. When re-anchoring the boat using the electric windlass to first haul up and then re-set some 280 feet of chain, I did not run the engine at sufficient revs to generate the considerable power needed for the task. The windlass therefore took its power from the engine battery and I did not run the engine long enough after re-anchoring to recharge it. Another lesson learned and a sigh of relief that this problem didn’t arise at a remote and deserted anchorage.

 

Sunday 27 September to Monday 05 October 2009

By midday on Sunday 27 September we are on our way to Pulau Tioman – one of our favourite islands on the east coast of Peninsular Malaysia. Wind, waves and tide are again on the nose and our speed over the ground is consistently less than five knots. There are two instances which make the night passage memorable. The first is at dusk when a school of dolphins finds us and for some 30 minutes enthralls us with a dazzling display of aquabatics. The second, considerably less enjoyable, is during my 2am-5am watch when, while stretched out in the cockpit, I am slapped in the face by a flying fish which takes off from the crest of a wave across the deck. It certainly snapped me out of my reverie, but I console myself by being thankful that the fish was not of the larger, jagged tooth variety. On the afternoon of Monday 28 September we anchor in Pulau Tioman’s Tekok Bay in the same spot as two months earlier (position: 02 deg 49’.146N, 104 deg 09’.101E).

 

With an ‘action replay’ of what happened to us a few days earlier in Tenggol, our first night at this now familiar anchorage is heralded by a massive squall with more than 50 knots of wind turning the bay into a ‘boiling’ cauldron. The following day when we go ashore to clear customs and immigration, the small village of Tekok is agog. Trees have been uprooted and several roofs have been damaged. One ‘old salt’ tells us this was the worst squall he has witnessed in the region. 

 

A couple of days later – on the night of Friday 2 October (four months since we set off) – we are again unwitting players in a scene from the Tempest, our anchor and full extent of chain working overtime to keep us rooted in deep water and well clear of the reef at our stern. After this, we consider relocating to the sanctuary of Pulau Tioman’s marina, but I resist this temptation, for there is nothing more invigorating for the spirit than to climb on deck in the morning and take in the scene and salty scent of a serene anchorage. Our forbearance is rewarded by several days of complete calm.

 

We spend a total of eight days on Tioman, mainly relaxing and snorkeling around Renggis Island, where, on one visit, we have four sizeable (but ‘harmless’) black-tipped sharks swimming around us. Some work also gets done, notably an engine oil and filter change. We hook up with Lilibert – the Filipina hairdresser who we met on our last visit – and together we enjoy an evening at the Bejera Hotel where we meet up again with ‘Jezebel’, the outrageously camp lead singer with the house band. Jezebel (who we introduced to sailing two months ago) invites us for lunch at his chalet a few days later. We are joined by the two sexy female singers in the band, although without their stack-heeled black boots, micro-dresses and skimpy tops they didn’t look as I’d fondly remembered them!

 

An unusual (for us) phenomenon encountered on several consecutive evenings at exactly the same time after dusk is the attempt by several giant fruit bats to perch atop our mast. Aside from not wanting bat droppings over my deck, I am afraid these ‘fliedermice’ might damage the mast-top instruments which measure wind speed and direction. To discourage the damn things, we shake the steel backstays which support the mast at the stern and this sets up a vibration which after about 20 minutes does the trick.

 

 

Pulau Tioman to Port Dickson (6 October to 19 October 2009)

 

Tuesday 6 October to Monday 12 October 2009

With Babadudu re-fuelled, re-watered, fully provisioned, and with our passports stamped out of Malaysia, we begin what is intended to be the start of a passage more than 400 miles east across the South China Sea to Kuching in Borneo (Sarawak). The launch point for this epic crossing is the island of Pulau Aur, 40 miles south of Tioman, and it is to here we head on Tuesday 6 October.

 

We arrive at night without the benefit of moonlight and after some anxious moments skirting the fringing reefs we anchor in 70-feet of water in the channel between Pulau Aur and Pulau Dayang (position: 02 deg 27’.917N, 104 deg 30’.123E). We awake on the morning of Wednesday 7 October after more than 12 hours sleep and, beholding our surroundings in daylight, see that we have picked a pretty safe spot in which to anchor.

 

The two islands either side of us are magnificent, but strangely different. Pulau Aur has a clean stretch of beach overlooked by a sail-like rock not unlike that in Thailand’s Similan Islands. Across the narrow channel, Pulau Dayang boasts sheer, flat-topped cliffs which plunge into the sea along the island’s entire length. Along the top of this ridge is a line of coconut palms which, silhouetted on the skyline, seem somewhat incongruous so far above the shore. We stay on an extra day and explore both islands in the dinghy.

 

When raising the anchor to mark the start of our intended crossing to Borneo, Marivic’s eagle-eye spots not one, but two broken links in the anchor chain. I am horrified to think that during one of the major blows we have encountered in recent weeks our chain might have parted, consigning Babadudu to the mercy of a coral reef or rocky shore. If this had happened at night, the yacht would at best have suffered serious damage and I don’t want to think of the worst that could have occurred. We set aside 90 feet of the 280 feet of chain we carry and replace one of the broken links with a heavy duty shackle. I resolve when this voyage is over, to replace the entire anchor chain with high spec imported chain (rather than the China-made links which I was assured were ‘top quality’).

 

On Thursday 8 October at 09:00, with the full mainsail and genoa set for a beam reach, Pulau Aur falls astern as we set an easterly course for Borneo. The portents for the three-day and night passage are good: 10 to 15 knots of wind from the south, a relatively smooth sea, clear skies and an upright sail averaging 5.5 knots. By 15:00, the wind has moved mysteriously to the south east and has strengthened. With one reef now in the mainsail and the boom winched in amidships, we are close-hauled and heeling increasingly to port. An hour later and the wind is blowing at full gale force (35 knots) and we have rolled in our genoa down to a ‘handkerchief’.

 

Commensurate with the fast-rising wind are steepening seas and the realisation that our Borneo quest will be at best exceedingly uncomfortable, offering little chance of sleep between watches, or the chance to prepare a decent meal. As the sky turns evermore leaden, concern for comfort turns to fear of danger, and with just a couple of hours to go before darkness falls, we make a decision (at position 02 deg 26’.645N, 105 deg 02’991E. We swing the yacht hard to starboard through the wind and set a new course for Singapore 18 hours away.

 

After a bumpy overnight sail we round the south eastern tip of Peninsula Malaysia as the sun rises behind us on Friday 9 October. At 11.00 we are on Singapore, swinging on a mooring buoy outside Changi Yacht Club near the island nation’s north-eastern edge.

 

Singapore, being the bureaucratically ‘correct’ place that it is, we are informed by the very helpful ‘Ronnie’ at the club’s reception desk that we are not permitted to land on Singapore without first clearing immigration and customs (on our last arrival here these formalities were handled at great expense by Raffles Marina). This necessitates a one and a half-hour sail back the way we have come to a designated anchorage a few miles off Singapore’s shores, where we are visited by an immigration/customs launch which processes our arrival at no cost.

 

Given that we visited Singapore on the way down, we are not inclined to stay long, but in the end we give it four nights, visiting downtown Singapore a couple of times and enjoying Changi Sailing Club’s pool, restaurant and other facilities. We also take the opportunity to replace the heavy-duty zip on our sail-furling bag which was irreparably damaged in the heavy weather in the South China Sea. A good job is made of this by ‘Brad’ of Volution Sails at a fair price.

 

Tuesday 13 October to Monday 19 October 2009

We are underway before sun-up on Tuesday 13 October, our intention being to clear Singapore and its heavy shipping during daylight hours. We also enjoy a favourable tide as we pass west along the Singapore Strait, and by the time the sun sets, we have rounded the south west tip of Singapore and are heading north east up the Malacca Straits. At 03:00 on Wednesday 14 October, just before handing over the watch to Marivic, I note that we are low on fuel. To avoid the risk of running the tank dry, and therefore having the difficult (for me) task of bleeding the fuel system while at sea, I decide to pour in 40 litres of fuel from two jerry cans of ‘spare’ fuel which we carry. This turns out to be a very shrewd move.

 

An hour later, I am awoken by the sound and sensation of a yacht slamming hard into head-on waves – a mystery since the wind and waves ‘should’ be from the south, at our rear. I stumble on deck where Marivic – already wearing her safety harness and lifejacket – is battling to keep the yacht on course in northerly winds of over 30 knots.

 

The sea builds up surprisingly fast sending cascades of green water sweeping across the decks as Babadudu see-saws before a head-on onslaught. Yacht speed is down to around one knot and there is no doubt that had we not refueled hours earlier, we would now be tossing powerless on the waves with little hope of getting diesel from the jerry cans into the fuel tank and re-starting the engine. With visibility measured in a few feet, and with shipping on all sides of us, we rely on radar to steer a course through the maelstrom. At daybreak, the storm is still raging, but at least we can eyeball other shipping. By 08:00 things start to calm down and at midday we are sat on a pontoon in Admiral Marina at Port Dickson on Malaysia’s west coast.

 

Soon after, we are sprawled by the splendid pool surrounded by the Mediterranean-style architecture and gardens of Admiral Marina with a cocktail in hand and musing on how there can be few activities which pitch one through such a gamut of emotions in such short timeframe.

 

We stay at Admiral Marina for six nights – four more than intended – which says something about the attractions which make it hard to leave. We enjoy days by the pool, a ‘Diwali’ Indian lunch on 17 October and drinks aboard ‘Skylark II’ with Desiree and Chris who later join us for dinner aboard Babadudu. We go twice into Port Dickson which is a small, tidy town boasting the amenities we need and efficient immigration, customs and harbourmaster offices.

20 Oct to 19 Nov 2009

 

Port Dickson to Phuket (20 October to 19 November 2009)

 

Tuesday and Wednesday 20 and 21 October 2009

With water and fuel tanks re-filled we slip into the very shallow water surrounding the entrance to Admiral Marina shortly after 11:00. Our course is 300 degrees and with a steady wind abaft the beam we raise the genoa and for four hours cruise at a leisurely 5 knots until the wind moves to the northwest and forces us to rely on the engine. The unfavourable wind heaps up the sea and the onset of night sees us again ploughing headfirst through large waves. On the positive side, we benefit from a strong north-going tidal current and at 11:00 on 21 October we enter the channel between Pulau Pangkor and the Malaysian mainland. The anchorage looks perfect and after more than 24 hours, during we averaged six knots through a bumpy sea, we are    happy to have the anchor down at position  04 deg 12’.460N, 100 deg 33’.090E.

 

Thursday 22 October to Saturday 24 October 2009

While the anchorage proves a settled one, its beaches are less attractive than they appear from 200 metres away and while I do take a dip or two from the yacht, the  murky depths are a far cry from the clear waters we so enjoyed on Malaysia’s east coast. We take the dinghy to the unimpressive settlement opposite our position, a collection of tired resorts and shops which have not only failed to take advantage of their lovely natural setting, but have sullied it with construction and other debris.

 

Shortly after our arrival at the anchorage, the Prout 38 catamaran ‘Murungaru’ motors in with Roger and Caroline Leakey and their two children. We had met the family a few days earlier in Port Dickson and having left the marina a day before us, they were amazed to see us at the anchorage before them. While Babadudu had successfully tackled the head-on waves on the way here, the lighter catamaran had been forced to wait out the bad weather on an exposed west coast anchorage and had arrived at Pangkor after enduring not inconsiderable discomfort. The debate on the merit of catamarans vs monohulls will long continue with staunch advocates on both sides, but a light displacement cat’s difficulty in making headway in a heavy oncoming sea is clearly a significant disadvantage.

 

We were invited to join the Leakey family for drinks on board ‘Murungaru’ and discover that Nigel is the cousin of renowned Kenyan anthropologist Richard Leakey (who I have met in both Kenya and London). Nigel is having problems with a leaky (no pun intended!) fuel tank and is trying to drain fuel from it (he told me in Phuket weeks later that he had to replace the tank at considerable cost, confirming that an old boat, while cheaper to buy than new, can be a constant drain on resources).

 

Sunday 25 October 2009

At 10.00am we leave the anchorage at Pulau Pangkor and move up the island’s east coast which is heavily developed, accounting, it would seem, for the cloudy surrounding water. We turn east into the entrance of Lamut Harbour, anchoring at midday off the Lamut International Yacht Club which we had last visited four months earlier (position: 04 deg 14’.285N, 100 deg 38’.437E).

 

Our experience here is far more positive than on our previous visit. The reception staff is efficient and we are allocated a berth at the club’s small marina at reasonable cost. Helpful staff take our lines on our allocated pontoon and given that we intended to leave the boat here for several nights we are pleased to have the reassurance of a secure berth.

 

Monday 26 October to Wednesday 28 October 2009

After walking into Lamut town, we catch a bus to Ipoh and then change for Tanah Rata at the heart of the Cameron Highlands in the central Malaysian hinterland. We check into the Heritage Hotel, a once grand hostelry frequented by the colonial elite, but now slightly tired looking. During the British colonial era the Cameron Highlands was where those who could afford it would decamp to escape the steamy coastal heat. Its densely wooded hills and high altitude provide a pleasant coolness for visitors and an ideal climate for the cultivation of tea which is the area’s prime industry.

 

We visit a couple of tea plantations and also local farm outlets offering an abundance of fresh vegetables and fruits. Here we are able to buy delicious strawberries, a fruit I had hitherto not seen growing in South East Asia. The Cameron Highlands are accessed by just two roads which twist sharply along ledges cut painstakingly into the verdant hillsides.

 

The heavy daily downpours are a testimony to the rich and varied shades of green which greet one at every turn. We hire a motorcycle and for three days explore this still remote and regenerative outpost. In chatting with a local tour operator, Marivic discovers that for little more than the very cheap public bus fare, we can travel direct from Tanah Rata to Lamut in almost half the time in a private minibus.

 

Thursday 29 October to Saturday 31 October 2009

The minibus from Tanah Rata drops us right at the Lamut International Yacht Club before lunch and we have ample time for some relaxation by the club poolside before slipping our berth at 17.30 on a course taking us overnight to Penang. This 80-mile leg begins well with us making 6 knots under the genoa. But soon the Malacca Straits’ ubiquitous storm clouds gather and we spend many hours dodging the worst of the heavy and relentless electrical storms which roll in from the north east, mindful of the very shallow ledge along the coast on our starboard side. We also note that the depth soundings on our chart appear rather ‘optimistic’, often showing depths in excess of 30 feet in contrast with worrying depth sounder readings of below 15 feet.

 

As dawn breaks on Friday 30 October we edge past the south eastern tip of Penang, anchoring at 07:30 in the channel between Penang and the island of Jerejak (position: 05 deg 19’.077N, 100 deg 18’.492E). After catching up on a couple of hours’ sleep, we summon a passing ferry boat which takes us (at no cost!) to the Penang shore. From here we take a taxi to Georgetown on the north east of the island, enjoying a curry lunch in Little India. On Saturday 31 October, we spend the day on board, attending to the yacht and generally taking it easy.

 

Sunday 1 November 2009

At 13:15 we round the southern tip of Pulau Jerejak and then turn north into the channel between Penang and the Malaysian mainland, passing under Penang Bridge at 14:30. We were last under the bridge on June 19, but the experience today couldn’t be more different. Before, we had just been ‘released’ from the clay bank on which we’d ran aground and had to make sense of a myriad multi-coloured lights on land, bridge and sea. Now it is daylight and although there are shallows to be avoided, our passing beneath the massive span of the bridge is so leisurely that we pause to take pictures to mark a milestone psychologically heralding the beginning of the final push home.

 

Immediately after clearing the bridge we see a yacht trying to make way under sail which, given the near absence of any wind, seems rather strange. At 15:00 we enter Tanjong City Marina (berth B19). While the marina sits conveniently in the ‘heart’ of Georgetown, I do not really like the place. Its waters are constantly being churned by the car ferries which come and go incessantly through the day, and its staff – while attempting to be helpful – seem bemused by the business of running a marina.

 

A prime example of this comes shortly after we tie up and hear over the radio the skipper of the yacht we had seen under sail an hour earlier. The French registered ‘Liberty’ is without engine and requires a berth. This should have been denied and the yacht ordered to anchor outside the marina (which many yachts do). At best the yacht should have been directed to a pontoon well clear of other yachts. In the event, the yacht is allocated a berth a couple of pontoons down from us and, shortly, after it appears being ‘steered’ by the yacht’s inflatable dinghy which has been roped on the starboard side, its outboard engine being used to power it into the marina.

 

The yacht is clearly not under proper control and as it careers wildly towards its berth, the skipper misjudges his turn, missing his allocated berth at which marina staff are positioned to take his lines. The yacht instead heads obliquely into the empty berth alongside us on our port side. Marivic and I

rush up on deck to fend off the yacht and largely succeed, although the edge of its stern does make contact with our port beam.

 

The ‘damage’ caused is very minimal, but a lack of apology from the French ‘live-aboard’ skipper (although his wife did apparently apologise to Marivic) raises my ire. I tell the skipper and the marina staff that a yacht not under proper control should never have been allowed to enter the marina. The episode underlines what I have often thought about many (but by no means all) ‘live-aboard’ sailors – that they are adept at cluttering their decks with solar panels, wind generators, fuel canisters, assorted fenders and potted plants, but are often inept at piloting their vessels in narrow confines. I produce a list of the information I need from the skipper and demand that he complete and sign this so that I can claim on his insurance. He complies with this, but later I decide not to pursue the matter as the ‘scratch’ needs little more than a polish to remove it.

 

On Sunday evening we introduce the Leakey family, who have anchored just outside the marina, to the curry delights of Kapitan’s al fresco eatery in ‘Little India’.

 

Monday and Tuesday 2 and 3 November 2009

We take the opportunity of being berthed alongside a pontoon to flake out our chain and reposition the three sections separated by the defective links spotted earlier. We now join the 65, 86 and 83 foot lengths with heavy-duty shackles which – while they will not pass through the anchor windlass – will allow us to use the anchor with some degree of confidence.

 

On Tuesday we clear customs and immigration and do some shopping at the vast Queensbury Mall, also picking up some fish and prawns at the wet market. Later we walk around Cornwallis Fort which stands as a memorial to the man who effectively staked Britain’s ‘claim’ to Malaysia in the late 18^th Century.

 

Wednesday 4 November 2009

We slip our lines at Tanjong City Marina at 11.30, setting a course north under engine for Langkawi. After a couple of hours our engine speed drops and we feel a vibration through the hull suggesting that something might have become wrapped around the propeller. I go over the side with mask and fins and remove a large piece of plastic sheeting from the prop following which we are soon underway again at the correct speed.

 

When we left Singapore three weeks earlier, I mistakenly envisioned that the passage north through the Malacca Straits would be a leisurely cruise home. We should, after all, be benefitting from a favourable wind on the port beam as the last winds of the 2009 south west monsoon carry us to Phuket. However, thus far, our northward passage has been dogged by strong headwinds, breaking waves and lightning forking out of the blackness into the sea too close for comfort.

 

This pattern continues as night falls on the evening of 4 November, leaving the mountains of Penang just visible off our stern. A violent squall strikes from the north east with winds of up to 40 knots. We have over two knots of current against us and are running low of fuel in the tank. We harness the squall’s power by furling out barely half of the genoa and soon we are making more than eight knots through the water. However, while appreciating the surge of speed, the large waves breaking over our starboard beam are less welcome. At around midnight we enter calm water in the lee of Pulau Singa Besar, one of the southerly islands in the Langkawi group (position: 06 deg 11’.202N, 099 deg 43’.824E).

 

Thursday and Friday 5 and 6 November 2009

The Pulau Singa Besar anchorage proves a good overnight refuge from the howling north east winds, but by early morning on 5 November the winds and waves are rolling straight into us from the south east. We decide to move the yacht just four miles to shelter afforded by Pulau Dayang Bunting to the north east and Pulau Gabang Dabat to the south (position: 06 deg 11’.620N, 099 deg 47’.016E). This calm anchorage marks the 3,000^th mile on our South East Asia voyage. However, the weather is wet and miserable and we spend Friday doing not much of anything.

 

Saturday 7 November to Wednesday 11 November 2009

At 11:00 with the sun shining in a clear sky again we pilot ourselves through the islands to the marina on Pulau Rebak, berthing at 13:00 on pontoon B30 (position: 06 deg 17’.635N, 099 deg 41’.870E). I have heard much about this marina, but have never visited it, believing it to be a base primarily for luxury motor cruisers and over-hyped ‘lifestyle’ accommodation. I could not have been more wrong. The marina itself is accessed by a narrow dredged channel and offers complete protection from all weather (although its fuel berth was trashed by the 2004 Tsunami).

 

The adjoining 5-star hotel blends well into the forest and vegetation and has a beautiful pool, two restaurants, a manicured beach and other facilities. All this is available to visiting sailors for a reasonable marina fee which undercuts all of Phuket’s marina developments. A free hourly ferry links the island with the main island of Langkawi and the international airport just a few minutes taxi ride away. I think seriously of leaving Babadudu in the marina until after Christmas, but finally decide to return to Phuket as we have a great deal on board which needs to be taken off at the end of the cruise. We stay at Rebak Marina for five nights enjoying what amounts to a five-star beach holiday at very little expense.

 

Thursday and Friday 12 and 13 November 2009

Today sees us motoring the eight miles north from Rebak Marina to Langkawi’s Telaga Harbour, a narrow channel to the marina marked by a lighthouse and protected by two man-made islands which offer shelter to yachts opting to anchor outside. After entering the marina and tying up at the fuel pontoon to replenish our tank for the last time with relatively cheap Malaysian diesel, we anchor

outside in very shallow water behind the more easterly of the man-made islands. Later in the day we take a taxi to Langkawi’s cable car and enjoy splendid views of Langkawi and its satellite islands from the mountain summit.

 

On Friday 13 November we take the dinghy back to Telaga marina to clear customs and immigration, but despite assurances from several quarters that these offices are open seven days a week, we find them closed. After hiring a car we deal swiftly with exit formalities in Kuah, Langkawi’s main town. We shop for duty-free goods, have a sundowner on the beach at the Lighthouse restaurant, and finally a remarkably good two-for-the-price-of-one dinner at the Loaf  French restaurant at Telaga.

 

Saturday and Sunday 14 and 15 November

At 10:00 we set a course of 290 degrees under a leaden sky for the Butang Island group, passing from Malaysian into Thai waters. Leaving Koh Lipe to starboard we round the island to the east anchoring between the islands of Koh Lipe and Koh Adang (position: 06 deg 30’.093N, 099 deg 17’.782E).

 

Although we enjoy some protection from strengthening winds, the sea is too choppy to risk a dinghy excursion ashore. On Sunday we make it to Koh Lipe and enjoy a swim from a section of quiet beach. But walking further along the shore we encounter the backpacker bungalow accommodation and shabby ‘infrastructure’ which has all but trashed what was just a few years ago a beautiful, unspoiled island. Returning to the yacht we find the wind and waves are now barreling directly into the anchorage and we are forced to haul anchor at midday and move to the northeast coast of Koh Butang where we run out the full extent of our 240’ anchor in over 60’ of water (position: 06 deg 32’.159N, 099 deg 10’.124E).

 

Monday 16 November 2009

In a few days our South East Asia adventure will come to an end, but the heavy weather which has tested us repeatedly along the west coasts of Malaysia and Thailand is not about to loosen its grip. At 06:00, with winds around 30 knots and waves estimated at up to 15-feet, we leave the sanctuary of the Butangs and set a north easterly course for Koh Lanta. With the sea rolling us wildly, we winch up the mainsail and attempt to put in the first reef. With the single reefing line and the main halyard (which hoists the mainsail up the mast) bar tight I can’t understand why the sail has a huge bag in it.

 

On investigation I discover that the wheel that rotates in the block attached to the reefing point on the leech of the mainsail has been ripped out. The sail is tight at the head and the tack (ie. the front edge of the sail at the mast), but is loose at the clew (the corner of the sail at the far end of the boom). With no chance of effecting a repair in still worsening conditions we dump the mainsail and with life harnesses attached to the steel jacklines running the length of the yacht, Marivic and I wrestle to furl the sail using sail ties.

 

With one third of the genoa out, and with our harnesses still attaching us to the yacht, we average 6 knots through an angry sea. While plotting the storm on radar at the chart table, I am flung from the table seat across the width of the yacht and into the galley, slamming my hip into the edge of the sink. It is then that I realise that ploughing head on into gale-force winds in order to make Koh Lanta is no longer a good plan. Instead we set a new course off the wind towards Koh Rok Nok, four hours closer to our current position than Koh Lanta.

 

The calm we encounter in the lee of Koh Rok Nok is a beautiful contrast to what we have been enduring this past eight hours. We pick up a mooring buoy laid by the Parks Department for visiting yachts and enjoy some excellent snorkeling, unpacking masks and fins we thought we’d used for the last time on this trip (position: 07 deg 12’.131N, 099 deg 03’.900E). Later in the afternoon a packed tour boat steams into the anchorage and one of the crew asks us to surrender our mooring. We tell the boat politely to ‘bugger off’ – and they do! A local fishing boat also enters our sheltered spot and we row out to them to buy a freshly caught white snapper which Marivic turns in to a delicious, flaky fish supper.

 

Tuesday 17 November 2009

Our decision to divert in heavy weather from Koh Lanta to Koh Rok Nok proves the correct one. We awake to calm and sunny weather with favourable winds from the north west which by 07:20 are pushing us under genoa towards Phi Phi Island. We pick up a mooring buoy at 13:50 in Phi Phi Lei’s Maya Bay, the setting for cult film ‘The Beach’ (position: 07 deg 40’.823N, 098 deg 45’.817E).

 

The bay’s beautiful stretch of silver sand, ringed by towering limestone cliffs and backed by lush vegetation is arguably Thailand’s most iconic beach. Between 10:00 and 16:00 during the ‘high season’ it is thronged by tourists ferried in from the mainland and other surrounding islands by battalions of high-speed launches. The noise, maneuvering and hordes of typically white and flaccid bodies clambering on and off their landing crafts puts one in the mind of an invasion – one best witnessed at a distance from the edge of the reef on which we are moored.

 

Wednesday 18 November 2009

At 07:30 Maya Bay looks as it is portrayed in the tourist literature and postcards – deserted, tranquil and evocative of the notion many people have of ‘paradise’. We row our dinghy to the beach and are reminded immediately of how local Thai ‘authorities’ often try to cash on the natural attractions in their custody. We are asked for a tbt 200 (₤4) a head ‘entry fee’ from rangers. Marivic banters good-naturedly with the two rangers and convinces them that they should waive their fee for our short visit. It is a delight to have this beach pretty much to ourselves, the more so because of the exceptionally low tide which reveals sections of beach and limestone caves usually inaccessible. As the tourist craft again come howling around the bay’s twin headlands for their daily incursion, we are heading out.

 

 

This is the last full day of our voyage and the spirits of the sea have deigned that it should be perfect in all respects. The sun blazes in a clear sky and a gentle wind blows consistently from the north east. It is as if today has been chosen as the day when the south west monsoon – which has blown throughout our entire cruise – gives way to the north east monsoon, heralding several months of fine and settled weather for Phuket.

 

We sail for seven hours towards Phuket, the Big Buddha statue looming into view atop one of Phuket’s highest peaks less than a mile from the home we will soon be occupying again. Our final night is spent on the west coast of Koh Naka Noi, an anchorage I have used many times when arriving at Phuket too late to enter the Yacht Haven.

 

Thursday 19 November 2009

It is with mixed emotions that we haul up the anchor off Koh Naka Noi. We had set out at the beginning of June with the expectation that we would spend at least three months exploring the Andaman and South China Seas around Thailand and Malaysia. Our cruise has lasted twice that time and were it not for other commitments, both Marivic and I would be happy to keep on going, such has been the positive experience that we have shared. However, we have many friends in Phuket who tell us they are welcoming our return and the weeks ahead already promise the busy social life and activities which make our life on the island so enjoyable. Marivic is due to visit the Philippines before resuming her teaching career in early 2010, and I am looking forward to seeing my son, Alexander, and my parents in the UK in January.

 

We arrive at the entrance to the Yacht Haven at 14:00 – exactly to the minute we promised several weeks ago when discussing our return to the marina with the affable and effective British couple who manage it. We are allocated a new berth (B25) and it is only when our lines are secured to the pontoon, and out engine switched off that Marivic and I exchange glances and share a silent congratulation for having conceived and undertaken an adventure which, while very modest in the annals of ocean travel, produced sights, sensations and emotions which will live forever in our memories.

 

As Marivic and I pose smiling on the pontoon beside Babadudu for the final snapshot of the cruise, it strikes me that my greatest personal discovery was revealed not by the seas we sailed upon; from the waters below, the sky above, or from the sandy shores which bore no footmarks before our tread. That distinction comes from the fact that for six months, 24/7 in close proximity through conditions fair and foul, Marivic and I did not have a single row.

 

                                                                                         THE END

Appendix 1 – Cruise Statistics

 

APPENDIX 1 Cruise Statistics
Total Miles Covered	3173
Total Number of cruise days	172
Total Number of days aboard (not including hotel nights)	167
Average distance covered for each day on board	19
Number of days moving at sea	76
Average distance sailed on sailing days	42
Number of full nights moving at sea	15
Number of different islands visited	38
Number of different anchorages visited	43
Total number of nights at anchor	120
Average number of nights spent at each anchorage	2.8
Number of marinas/yacht clubs visited	10
Total number of nights in marina/YC club mooring (on board)	47
Average number of nights spent in each marina/yacht club	4.7
Number of hotel nights (KL and Cameron Highlands)	4

Appendix 2 – Cruise Summary (page 1)

 

APPENDIX 2   Cruise summary of dates, anchorages, distances
Date (all 2009)	Overnight anchorage	Nights spent	Total cruise nights	Distance (nautical miles)	Total NMs
2 June	Koh Yao Yai	1	1	26	26
3-4 June	Phi Phi Don	2	3	17	43
5-6 June	Koh Lanta (East)	2	5	35	78
7 June	Koh Phetra	1	6	44	122
8 June	Tarutao	1	7	33	155
9-11 June	Hole in Wall (Langkawi)	3	10	17	172
12-14 June	Royal Langkawi YC	3	13	21	193
15 June	Pulau Singa Besar (Lang)	1	14	9	202
16-18 June	Penang (Tanjung Marina)	3	17	61	263
19-20 June	Pulau Jerejak (Penang)	2	19	9	272
21-22 June	Lamut	2	21	76	348
23 June	AT SEA	1	22	96	444
24-29 June	Port Klang (inc 2 days KL)	6	28	–	–
30 June – 1 July	AT SEA	2	30	197	642

Appendix 2 – Cruise Summary (page 2)

 

Date (all 2009)	Overnight anchorage	Nights spent	Total cruise nights	Distance (nautical miles)	Total NMs
2-7 July	Singapore (Raffles M)	6	36	–	–
8 July	Sebana Cove (Malaysia)	1	37	48	690
9-11 July	Sebana Cove Marina	3	40	5	695
12 July	Balau Beach	1	41	44	739
13 July	Pulau Sibu	1	42	43	782
14 July	Pulau Tinggi	1	43	13	795
15 July	Pulau Babi Besar	1	44	14	809
16-17 July	Pulau Babi Kechil	2	46	3	812
18-19 July	Pulau Rawa	2	48	3	815
20-31 July	Pulau Tioman (Tekok B)	12	60	29	844
27 July	Tioman ‘cicumnav’	–	–	39	883
1 Aug	AT SEA	1	61	123	1006
2-3 Aug	Pulau Tenggol	2	63	–	–
4-6 Aug	Terengganu	3	66	47	1053
7-9 Aug	Pulau Redang	3	69	32	1085
10-11 Aug	Pulau Perhantian Besar	2	71	19	1104
12-14 Aug	Perhantian channel	3	74	3	1107

Appendix 2 – Cruise Summary (page 3)

 

Date (all 2009)	Overnight anchorage	Nights spent	Total cruise nights	Distance (nautical miles)	Total NMs
15-16 Aug	AT SEA	2	76	271	1378
17-21 Aug	Koh Samui	5	81	–	–
22-23 Aug	Koh Phangan	2	83	22	1400
24 Aug	AT SEA	1	84	224	1624
25 Aug	Koh Ngam (Chang)	1	85	–	–
26-27 Aug	Ao Salak Phet (Chang)	2	87	6	1630
28-29 Aug	Koh Wai	2	89	5	1635
30 Aug	Koh Mak (north west)	1	90	7	1642
31 Aug-1 Sept	Koh Rang	2	92	5	1647