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 (4th 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 1,000th 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!
Steve Lawrence 