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KENYA
TO SE ASIA
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At
06h40 we lifted anchor and motored back down the
Creek, clearing the bridge and power lines safely.
The Fat Lady was trembling with excitement and we'd
barely ploughed through the first swell when she
shook the dust from her beautiful white wings and
took flight. My Captain's first log entry read "Lovely
to be sailing again" and no wonder, within minutes
we hit a speed over ground of 10.6 knots. She was
wild with happiness at being free from the constraints
of the creek and I sat on deck with my eyes closed
and my face turned heavenwards and rejoiced with
her. |
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Our
plans were to move up the coast, Easting towards
Latitude 08 degrees North before commencing the
crossing proper. We'd been warned to stay approximately
45 miles off-shore whilst passing Somalia as it
was rumoured that pirates still operated in the
area.
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I
shot below to prepare a quick breakfast and, not wanting
to miss a second of the glorious sail, I served it above.
At lunchtime I had to drag myself below to butter bread
and toss a salad while Bob barbequed on deck.
Ern had refused breakfast, now he declined lunch and I
was a little concerned as he usually had the appetite
of a termite. He hadn't been seasick for months and I
hoped he wasn't heading for another bout of it. I quickly
washed the dishes and cleaned up the galley then returned
to the forward deck. And oh, it was glorious up there
in the sunshine with the brisk breeze and the thrust of
the sail.
In no time we adjusted to the pitch and roll of running
with the wind and, as we were sailing with the trades,
we used the autopilot most of the time and hardly touched
the sails for the first ten to twelve days. I was delirious
with happiness. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing
through my hair and I'd fallen madly in love with the
wonderful wild Southwest Monsoon. Initially I'd been apprehensive
about an ocean crossing, but due to the limited amount
of traffic, I soon discovered that this was less demanding
than coastal sailing.
Once the initial excitement of the sail had abated I realised
that there was definitely something wrong with Ern. Aside
from the fact that at he wasn't eating, he'd gone very
quiet and only responded in monosyllables when absolutely
necessary. He'd always been particular about his physique
and, as he'd gained quite a bit of weight and was drinking
copious amounts of water, I thought he may be watching
his diet. Without mentioning this I enquired whether he
was feeling alright. He ignored me so I dropped it.
During our sojourn in Dar es Salaam he'd had a high fever
and, thinking that he may have contracted malaria, we'd
taken him to the clinic which was within walking distance
of the Club. It transpired that he had typhoid fever,
a disease which in it's early stages, exhibits exactly
the same symptons as malaria. Fortunately the doctor had
extensive experience with these diseases and possessed
the diagnostic skills and medical expertise to arrest
them. He cautioned us that typhoid stemmed from eating
unhygienic food. Ern had a voracious appetite and an adventurous
stomach and consequently he ate all sorts of rubbish when
he went ashore so we surmised that he'd picked it up in
one of the dirty restuarants we'd visited in Zanzibar.
Fortunately we caught it early so he recovered very quickly,
but now I found myself fretting over the fact that he
may be in the throws of a relapse!
He'd often chatted to us about the confused young people
he'd fraternised with at the various yacht clubs we'd
visited on our way up the East coast of Africa. Apparently
they regularly commuted between the first world countries
of their origin where they were being educated, and Africa,
where their parents were employed on lucrative contracts.
He believed that, out of a sense of guilt, their folks
overindulged them with generous allowances, and turned
a blind eye to their antics. Taking a leaf out of their
parent's books, they hung around the Yacht Clubs and Country
Clubs consuming copious quantities of alcohol as there
was no other form of social intercourse available to them.
Looking for company his own age, Ern had spent all his
free time ashore with them.
When we'd left him in charge of the yacht in Dar and flown
back to South Africa on business, we'd contacted his folks
to let them know that he'd been ill. A few days later
his mother had called back and confided to us that she
was concerned about him as she'd heard from Liz's mother
that he was drinking heavily. The only time we'd ever
seen him inebriated was the night of our farewell party
at the Tanga yacht club when we'd all over-imbibed.
As the information had emanated from Liz we'd dismissed
it as sour grapes and gossip. We knew Liz was bitter as,
in terms of our signed agreement with her, we'd refused
to pay her repatriation costs back to Durban. But perhaps
her nastiness was directed at Ern - "Hell hath no fury
like a woman scorned", and he'd often displayed irritation
at the fact that she followed him around like a faithful
dog.
At Dar es Salaam, Bob had estimated the amount of cash
Ern would require during our absence and doubled it. After
reflection he'd doubled it yet again, explaining to Ern
that he'd left him with four times the estimated requirement
in the unlikely event of something going wrong on the
yacht during our absence. He'd also instructed Ern to
retain all the cash receipts and keep an account of his
spendings. On our return there were no receipts, no accounts
had been kept and there was also no money left. We'd let
it pass without comment but now I began to wonder whether
in fact he really had been drinking excessively!
Somehow we got through the next 24 hours but by the following
morning it was clear that Ern definitely wasn't ill -
he was sulking. Bob went quiet and I understood why as
sulking is a shortcoming he just cannot deal with. I was
also irritated as Bob and I don't quarrel and I resented
the fact that a guest, whose presence we couldn't escape,
was creating an unpleasant atmosphere in our "mobile"
home.
Shortly after leaving Kenya, Bob decided to by-pass Sri
Lanka and proceed directly to Thailand. It was late in
the season and he was concerned that we may be hit by
an early tropical storm born in the Bay of Bengal. I had
to come to terms with the fact that I'd have to tolerate
Ern's antisocial behaviour all the way to Phuket, and
I wasn't sure whether I could handle it. The situation
was deteriorating daily and we reached a stage where the
atmosphere was starting to affect the relationship between
Bob and I.
Bob was alone in the cockpit so I seated myself next to
him, put my head on his shoulder and took his hand. I
wanted to be certain that what I needed to say didn't
sound confrontational, "She's sad". He twisted his head
and looked at me quizzically. "Who's sad?". "Sally ...
your wife". Puzzled eyes - a frown - then suddenly, a
grin - he'd got it! "Why's she sad?" he played along smilingly.
"Because he's gone off somewhere and left her with a grumpy
old man who doesn't talk to her. She's lonely and she
misses him". He squeezed my hand. "It's not easy for him
right now". "She knows that but she needed you to know
that he's making her sad". "Leave him to me, I'll kick
his ass".
And so we gave birth to the fictitious pair and over the
years 'they've' become very useful. 'They' always lighten
a tense situation by giving us a good laugh and it's extraordinary
how much easier it is for us to tell each other what 'he'
or 'she' had done to upset 'him' or 'her'. 'They' still
remain part of our lives and we always pin the blame on
'them' when misunderstandings arise. In fact, 'they're'
so helpful that I don't know how we ever managed without
them!
On our third day out of Kilifi we crossed the Equator
at 06h00. It was a pity Ern was still asleep because it
was his 24th birthday and we'd secretly bought him a gift
in Kenya. There were no vessels in sight so we set the
radar alarm and I conjured up a "birthday cake" while
we quietly waited in the saloon for him to emerge from
his cabin. When he appeared we burst into song with "Happy
Birthday". He smiled and thanked us and for the first
time in days everyone was smiling. The dreadful atmosphere
and the awful silence disappeared and we had a wonderful
happy day. I played my precious Kenya audiotape and we
sang together in Swahili to the tunes of "Jambo Bwana"
("Hello Sir") and "Haukuna Matata" ("No problem") and
various others. We didn't care what the sulking had been
about, we were just happy and relieved that it was behind
us.
The following morning when Ern stepped into the cockpit
it was as though the events of previous day had never
occurred. After a surly greeting he aggressively announced
that he was leaving the yacht at next landfall, then lapsed
back into his sulk without even being man enough to tell
us why!
Bob quietly replied that he should thenceforth consider
himself a guest on board and added that in future it wouldn't
be necessary for him to stand watches or assist with any
of the chores. I believe this really shook him as by now
he considered himself to be indispensible. It certainly
rocked me and I silently agonised over how on earth I
was going to cope. I'd stood watches, written up the log
and done a bit of helming but I knew nothing about trimming
sails or navigation and, as Ern made such a fuss about
everything he did, I'd been too intimidated or nervous
to ask any questions.
I secretly confided my fears to Bob, who laughed like
a drain and told me that it was all a lot of "big dealing",
and he'd let it ride because he felt it was healthy for
Ern's low self esteem. Bob then started teaching me to
sail!
Ern no longer sat in our company as he'd found a new spot
for himself perched upon the emergency liferaft immediately
behind the cockpit. He spent his entire day sitting in
the sun scribbling in a notebook and I wondered whether
he was keeping a diary of the trip. At first I made an
effort to draw him into our conversations but finally
gave it up as a bad job. He never ate any meals with us
and his bad manners left much to be desired.
The sailing was glorious and on some days we covered up
to 200 miles. Whenever we fancied a bite of fresh fish
we simply popped a rod over the side.
We were just beyond Sri Lanka when the wind dropped and
the sea flattened. When Bob started the motor he discovered
that there was very little cooling water pumping through
so he removed the raw-water pump impeller which he found
to be in shreds. Fortunately we had a "spare" but when
Bob removed this from it's box he immediately realised
that it was the wrong impeller. He checked the part number
on the box.....right box, wrong impeller! Stone the crows!
What now?
Words couldn't describe our frustration. Our tanks held
enough diesel to motor a 1000 miles at 6 knts, and we
couldn't use the engine! Bob "jury-rigged" the water from
the generator through the freezer heat exchanger and into
the main engine. At least we'd be able to use the main
in a crisis.
For eleven days there wasn't a breath of wind and it was
oppressively hot. Not knowing how long we'd be becalmed,
Bob banned daily fresh-water showers to take the pressure
off our water stores. I resorted to placing a small amount
of water in my hand basin and sponging myself down with
a flannel and the guys took dives off the side of the
yacht. Whenever I washed "clean" dishes like glasses,
cups and teaspoons I would save the water for re-use.
Deep in thought and with genuine concern, Bob mused that
if we ran out of water we'd have to resort to drinking
beer. I shrieked with laughter as he'd always run a "dry"
ship whilst underway, but he never saw the funny side
of it and I realised that the strained atmosphere was
also getting to him. As for Ern, he continued to spend
his days alone and silent on the liferaft scribbling away
in his notebook whilst I racked my brains trying to establish
what on earth could have upset him so badly.
At 15h00 on 22nd October we were buzzed by a U.S. fighter
plane. The pilot called us on VHF and yarned with Bob
about sailing. It transpired that he was an avid sailor
on San Francisco Bay and he said he'd give his bottom
dollar to be down there with us right now. He quickly
changed his mind when Bob explained our current predicament!
Around midnight Bob shouted frantically for me to come
above immediately, then sped below to the nav desk as
a vessel, which was travelling at high speed, was coming
directly at us from astern. It was flashing coloured lights
on deck and failed to answer Bob's radio calls. It cruised
past us less than 50m to Port, then cut directly across
our bow. When the radio operator finally answered Bob
he announced that they were the U.S. Navy conducting exercises
in the area. Bob tore a strip off them for their arrogance,
whereupon they meekly apologised for the prank, wished
us a pleasant sail and disappeared into the night. I could
understand why my Captain was so grumpy. Aside from the
tension on board we'd actually been registering zero wind
for several hours!
At daybreak on 28th September I noticed a little bird
asleep on a tarpaulin on the foredeck. He was the first
of our numerous feathered hitchhikers and I christened
him Billy-Boy. We were unable to identify his species
but we guessed that he was a night bird as he slept for
the entire day and took off at dusk.
Our next visitor was a swallow which arrived at about
16h30 on our wedding anniversary, the 13th of October.
Without a trace of diffidence he perched himself at the
top of the companionway and took his time casing out the
saloon for a suitable bed. Finally he came below and after
testing various spots, settled down beside the sink in
the galley. When I came on watch at 05h50 the following
morning he was dead. As his 'bed' was close to the stove,
Bob deduced that he'd probably got a whiff of gas.
Another swallow arrived a few days later and, after going
through the same fussy procedure, made his bed on one
of the ropes securing the fruit and vegetable hammock.
I was on watch when he awoke at about five the following
morning and I observed him through the companionway. Keeping
a beady eye on Bob, who was asleep on the Pilot Bunk beneath
him, he stretched each leg and then each wing. After a
last look around, he flew through the companionway, within
inches of my face, and disappeared into the blue.
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At
mid afternoon on the 25th October F.R.E.D. arrived,
and perched himself upon the pulpit. I said to Bob
"I think you should take a photograph of that thing
right now because no one is ever going to believe
this." We were about 200 miles from the nearest
landfall and F.R.E.D. (Flipping Ridiculous Egret
Dude) was a cattle egret! |
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It was obvious that he was thoroughly exhausted and probably
also hungry so I racked my brains trying to think of what
I could give him to eat. I finally decided on minced meat!
That was the closest I could get to a tick! I knew there
was some in the deepfreeze but Bob had to dig deep inside
to find it. In the process he transferred the contents
of the freezer onto the stove top, while I in turn moved
it onto the saloon table to create space for more. Before
long he'd disappeared into the chest up to his waist and
had to balance himself by placing his feet flat against
the sidewall of the galley. Finally he found the meat
and while I repacked the freezer he hacked off a reasonably
sized lump with a sharp chopping knife.
Our next task was to figure out how to defrost it quickly.
Both heating it on the stove and thawing it in the oven
were out of the question as we knew our "guest" would
prefer his "ticks" uncooked. So I solved the problem by
thawing it between my hands then splitting it into "tick-sized"
portions. Bob crept forward with the first bit and threw
it onto the deck as close to Fred as he could get it.
Fred studied it curiously, then descended to the deck
and took it. As It disappeared down his gullet he gave
Bob a "more-ish" look.
I rolled a few more and once again Bob crept forward,
tossing them as far as he could, while Fred gobbled them
up almost before they hit the deck. Suddenly we heard
a bird calling from above and spotted yet another cattle
egret circling the yacht. Fred answered and a prolonged
calling session ensued between the two. I decided it was
Fred's mate!
She was obviously exhausted as each time she circled her
height gradually decreased until eventually her belly
was touching the water at frequent intervals. She made
no attempt to settle on the yacht and we presumed it was
because she was nervous of the noisy, empty flapping sails.
Eventually she flew off and, after observing her progress
for a few minutes, Fred followed her.
A short while later we saw them returning together and
this time Fred was determined to get her on board. It
was clear that she was still very nervous as again she
resisted. He resorted to shrieking at her and before long
they were engrossed in a vicious altercation as she shrieked
back at him. We could see that she was tiring quickly
as she floundered in the sea from time to time and it
was clear that if he didn't get her aboard soon she'd
succumb. Then he started dive-bombing her, attempting
to "hit" her upwards into flight, and all the while the
dreadful shrieking between them continued.
At long last he succeeded in getting get her onto the
pushpit, away from the sails, but it was clear that there
was still bad blood between them as he then flew forward
and resumed his former position on the bow.
We all relaxed again and, with yet another mouth to feed,
I resumed my task of rolling meatballs. We all agreed
that she probably needed sustenance more than Fred did
so Bob made an attempt to feed her. As he took a step
in her direction she prepared for flight so he tossed
some "ticks" onto the deck near her hoping that she'd
eat them. None of us could stomach the thought of another
one of those dreadful water fights so we concentrated
our efforts on building Fred up in the hopes that she'd
eventually summons up enough courage to descend to the
deck and take some of the meat.
At nightfall they were still in their respective spots,
but when it began to grow light next morning we could
see that she'd gone. Years later Bob told me that at the
time he was certain that she'd fallen overboard during
the night as it was highly unlikely that she'd have taken
off in the dark. I was very thankful that he hadn't told
me that at the time.
We decided to feed Fred his breakfast before starting
our own in case he wanted to get on his way in search
of his mate. We devised a plan to lure him into the cockpit
as we wanted to have a good look at him to satisfy ourselves
that he wasn't injured. When the mince was thawed, rolled
and ready, Bob went forward with a handful. He got himself
as close to Fred as possible and dropped a little ball,
then reversed slowly towards the cockpit dropped a trail
of 'ticks' all the way along the deck.
We pretended to ignore him whilst we ate our breakfast
in the cockpit but kept a sly eye on the proceedings.
Gradually he 'ate' his way towards us and eventually joined
us in the cockpit where I'd placed a huge juicy tick on
top of one of the primary winches. He made no attempt
to leave and within a couple of days he was even eating
out of my hand. He was also smart enough to figure out
who provided the grub as he always sat right beside me!
The distraction caused by Fred and his mate had broken
Ern's silence, and out of the blue he apologised for his
behaviour and told us that he'd decided to remain with
the yacht. Peace reigned until the 26th of September when,
for no apparent reason, he once again announced that he
was disembarking at next landfall. I actually found my
mouth hanging open (and quickly shut it). I was flabbergasted!
Without any comment or reaction, Bob calmly logged this
declaration.
When we were alone in the cockpit I caught Bob's eye and
my eyebrows formed question marks. He turned his palms
upwards, cocked his head and shrugged. I had to restrain
myself from bursting out laughing. They say women are
difficult! I'd never before encountered a fit, healthy
young man who "threw his toys out of the cot" with such
regularity and behaved so irrationally. Once again he
reverted to spending his days on the liferaft, scribbling
in a note book and I wondered whether forced inactivity
had anything to do with his unprovoked mood swings.
As a rule Ern was never still, and I'd read somewhere
that hyperactive people sometimes tend to experience personality
changes when they're cooped up in small spaces for any
length of time. My thoughts ran wild in an effort to establish
a reason for this strange behaviour and again my mind
flashed back to what Liz had told his mother about his
drinking habits. Bob runs a dry ship whilst underway and
now I began to wonder whether he was craving alcohol!
There wasn't a breath of wind and it was insufferably
hot. We were all irritable and I was sick to death of
our surly passenger. If we hadn't been saddled with his
obnoxious, hostile presence I could have pranced around
half-clad and taken a skinny-dip off the back of the yacht
whenever I wished.
We'd had a small electric ossilating fan fitted high up
on one of the bulkheads in the saloon but we couldn't
use it. The problems we'd experienced with the main engine
prevented us from charging batteries for extended periods
so we needed to conserve as much power as possible. The
heat, the boredom and our sulky, churlish passenger were
taking their toll of me so I decided to expend my pent-up
energy on spring-cleaning the interior of the yacht. With
the exception of Ern's cabin there wasn't a cupboard,
drawer, nook or cranny that escaped my onslaught. This
industrious pursuit kept me occupied and helped to pass
the days and I'm sure it went a long way in preserving
my sanity!
We reached a stage when we became excited by any form
of human contact and we counted the minutes to the radio
nets. We would gather in the saloon and hang onto every
word uttered by Phil Hollywood, Rowdy and other yachtties.
We clockwatched as we waited for the next newscast from
the BBC or Voice of America and even started following
serials on the radio! These diversions became the highlights
of our day and while I sat listening, I busied my hands
with embroidery, crochet and tapestry. As for Ern, he
simply remained in his spot on the liferaft writing away,
gazing into space and chewing on his pen and then writing
some more.
At last a light breeze came up and we were able to pass
through the Nicobar channel. We'd no sooner cleared it
when the wind dropped, and once again we were stationary.
Suddenly Bob called out, "Here comes the wind!". I rushed
above desperate to catch a cooling breeze on my burning,
sweating body. ..... But there was none! Not a breath
- dead still - stifling - humid - mercilessly hot! Then
we heard it again! We couldn't feel it but we could definitely
hear it. Where was it? We noticed a disturbance on the
sea in the far distance - a strange rippling on the surface
of a large patch of water. It wasn't wind - it was current!
Approaching from the rear it caught up with us and carried
us forwards. "Halleluliah!" We'd only moved a few hundred
meters when it passed on, leaving us behind. "Stone the
crows!" Then it came back at us from the front and took
us right back to where we'd started. "$#!t!"....... And
so the game continued. It came at us from every direction,
moving us every which-way and back again ...... but it
took us absolutely nowhere at all!
For the next few days we were plagued by these strange
rippling, surface currents - or eddies. Every now and
again one of us would shout out "Here comes Eddy!" and
we'd all groan. The only constant thing about "Eddy" was
the fact that he rendered us no assistance whatsoever.
His only useful function was the fact that he gave us
sporadic diversions from our boredom.
The long days and nights dragged on and they seemed to
become longer and longer. At last we noticed clouds building
up in the west. A breeze picked up and we were blessed
with a few scattered squalls which allowed us to collect
water off the sails. This was a Godsend as by now we were
down to 20 bottles of drinking water. Thereafter we got
regular daily showers and whenever the rain started we'd
tear below to fetch buckets, basins, pots and any other
container we could lay hands on. It was such a pleasure
to have something to do! Then at long last, after having
been becalmed for eleven days, we were mobile again, with
30 to 35 knts of wind within the squalls.
Finally at 23h30 on Saturday night 28 October 1995 we
spotted the loom of Phuket Island in the distance. The
water traffic increased and we had to be on our toes again
as before long we were surrounded by fishing trawlers.
As it grew light we were dismayed to see the vast quantity
of flotsam in the water. It was the rainy season and the
rivers had spewed muddy water, tree branches and foliage
into the sea. But it was the rubbish that dismayed us!
The sea was awash with plastic bags, cardboard boxes and
polystyrene containers of every conceivable size and shape
- floating about in their ugly, filthy abundance.
At last we rounded the Southern point of Phuket Island
and sailed Northwards to Ao Chalong Harbour. Finally,
at 13h35 on Sunday, 29 October 1995 we dropped anchor
in the bay. The crossing had taken 35 days. |
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