Ship's Log

Out of Office: Gone to Kuala Lumpor

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 16:08:00 GMT

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year from SOS Childrens Village Bali

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 12:03:00 GMT

It has been almost eighteen months and nine thousand sea miles since I last visited an SOS Children’s Village. The last village on my route was in Tahiti in the South Pacific. That was until I made my first stop in Southeast Asia. My introduction into the region and culture started in Bali. With every new culture I must start over. I speak no Bahasa and had no contacts with which I could begin my search for SOS Children’s Villages in Indonesia. Luckily, using the SOS Children’s Villages USA site I found a link to the regional country page. Relying heavily on Google translate I made my way to the contact link and sent an email introducing myself in both English and Google's translation of my email in Bahasa. Sometimes I wish I could see the expression on the faces of those who first read my email and try to make sense of what I am saying.

Those emails go something to the effect of, “Hello. I am an SOS Children’s Village supporter currently sailing around the world to help raise awareness and donations for your organization. I’ve recently come to your country and if possible would love to schedule a visit to your village. You need not arrange anything special as my only wish is to see how SOS Children’s Villages operate locally. Afterwards, I’ll publish a small story on my website about my visit in hopes of getting more people involved around the world”. Usually I get a pretty good response. Sometimes I think the concept of sailing around the world combined with the language barrier makes my emails incomprehensible.

In this case everything worked. The national director forwarded my email to Novie, the SOS Children’s Village Bali secretary. If I’d done nothing more than meet Novie I’d have considered the visit a success. Novie is originally Javanese and started working with SOS in Jakarta. She spent several years in the organization there before moving to the private sector and teaching in a school populated with children of the wealthy. Novie spent four years in the private school, but never found either the satisfaction from her work or the connection with the children she had felt with SOS Jakarta. The income was certainly better, but Novie knew where she belonged. It didn’t take long for her to find the opening in Bali. Lucky for the kids and myself, she’d been there many months when I arrived.

I reached the village after a 45 minute scooter ride though the mountainous jungle covered hills of southern Bali. Novie and the village director, Mr. Agung Suweca, warmly welcomed me to the village. We started with a stroll around the grounds stopping at each house to meet the mother and children residing within. It was then that I met the newest resident of the village. The young boy had only been in the village for 20 days. How he came to the village speaks volumes for the credibility of SOS Children’s Villages.

The child was being raised by the sole effort of his mother. For one reason or another the woman became mentally unstable and had to be hospitalized for treatment. It was clear she could not nor did she care to continue raising her child. The boys uncle was aware of the situation and while unable to take on the care of the child himself, he knew who to call for help. SOS Children’s Village was the obvious answer in this case because the boys uncle had grown up in the same village some 18 years earlier. His own fondness for his village mother, sisters, and brothers gave him the confidence to bring his nephew to the very village he called his own. Now this child has a stable loving home of his own and still maintains contact with his extended family outside of the village.

Our walking tour got cut short when Mr. Suweca informed me he had a meeting he must attend. With a questioning glance he asked if I’d like to attend. What came next was the bimonthly gathering of the Family Strengthening Program (FSP). SOS Bali works hard with the local community to ensure that families in danger get the support they need to stay together. Often that support comes from a micro loan combined with micro business training. The smallest additional income can move a family from the edge of disbanding towards a stable foundation. Often these small business come in the form of petrol stops for scooters, snack vending, or even taxi work. Small sums of money make big differences in the lives of everyone here.

Everyone who in the community who takes part in the training was at this afternoons meeting. The primary goal is to solicit feedback on the program from the community, but also build communication across families. SOS Children’s Villages promotes strength in the individual, family, village, and community. The number of families and gratitude they had for providing tools otherwise unacceptable to them was heartwarming.

To say that SOS Bali had a lot going on would be a massive understatement. To top it all off, I arrived on the 20th year anniversary celebrating the day the village first opened. To celebrate, one of the village children had choreographed multiple traditional and modern dancers. Each dance, more than eight in all, were performed by the children themselves. The festivities were attended by the village children, staff, and many influential community leaders. These included military officials, parliament members, and famous local musicians. The dances done three bands and anyone who could play picked up an instrument and jammed well towards midnight. The children began to drop off by twos and threes either on the pavilion floor unwilling to quit the party or joining hands and walking back to their houses. It was a party to remember.

it has been a long time since I’ve called on those who follow this blog to help, but now is that time. You may also decide that giving a donation as a gift in someone else's name is the way you’d like to help. Instead of spending money on more things, make a real difference and sponsor a child in the name of a loved one for Christmas. Not only will they receive a thank you from SOS Children’s Villages, but they will receive detailed information and most likely correspondence from the sponsored child. You may specify an area in which you’d like to help or you may allow SOS Children’s Village to apply your donation wherever it is needed most. If that doesn’t move you, don’t forget you only have a few more days to secure charitable deductions for the 2011 tax year. Here are the easiest ways you can help.

Option 1: Please take a moment to email your friends and family about this voyage. The single most important thing I can accomplish is to raise awareness for SOS Children’s Villages. I know things are tight everywhere financially, but this only costs a little time.

Option 2: The greatest way to benefit SOS Children’s Villages is to sponsor a child. This is a monthly donation of $30 USD that covers the cost of caring for a child in one of their villages. You can specify in what country you’d like to make your donation as well as making contact with the particular child you sponsor. Click Here

Option 3: Donate any amount that you can afford to give. It doesn’t matter if it is 50 cents, the donation matters. Use the form to enter a preset amount or enter your own amount. Click Here

Option 4: You can donate directly to Sailing For SOS to keep this project sailing. However, I will not accept any financial donations unless you have donated to SOS Children’s Villages first through one of the means above. Additionally, unlike the two options above, this is not a tax deductible donation. Click Here

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Pulau Weh & A Backlog of Photos

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 07:18:56 GMT

Nine point eight meters per second per second. It starts with a click in the mind. Like a sparkplug firing in an outboard engine. Commit. Jump. The transition is a lifetime of its own. Rising. Rotating. Must get the feet clear of the life lines on the edge of the boat so push hard. My eyes see the spot on the blue surface where I will enter. Get straight. Stretch into the deep. There is no crash. The fingers tickle the surface and begin the push below. Water now rushes past the arms and the small splash of my head plunging below just before the press of my shoulders. It is another world that I am entering. There is no more falling sensation. I am sliding into the primordial home from which we all once crawled. Entering a realm that almost perfectly matches the chemistry protected behind my skin. The water pulls me deeper now as my feet just slide under. A slight arch of my back and I glide into a gentle u-turn. Air pours from my lungs as I exhale slowing my ascent back to the air water boundary. The cool water is delicious on my skin after almost three weeks at sea. I keep just enough reserve buoyance to very slowly allow the sea to push me back to the surface. I am of her, but I no longer belong to her and she sends me back to the upper region from which I came.

Pulau Wei has been an unexpected pleasure of surprising proportion. The islanders are the happiest, friendliest, most generous people I’ve met yet in SE Asia. It lies at the North end of Sumatra in the Aceh province. Aceh is different from the rest of Muslim dominated Indonesia in that the are the most devout, conservative Muslims in the country. They follow Shari’a Law and those who practice the faith are bound by their customs. That includes visiting Muslims from other nations. However, if you are not Muslim, have no fear. There is no judgment and you are free to be who you are.

There is great pride in the people of Pulau Weh. They take pride in themselves and in their island. Tourism is important to them, but they care for the island and the protected underwater reserve simply for the sake of protecting their home. Not just because it is an amazing dive spot. There is no trash to be found on the island. Corruption is not one tenth of what I’ve experienced anywhere else in Asia. A few of the locals have really endeared themselves to me. One is Echa, the owner of O’lala, the only café on Iboh beach that brings in black market Bintang for the Western tourist. As you might imagine every evening the visitors to the area come in for a $2.50 curry and $2.50 Bintang. The fridge isn’t big and the night usually gets called around midnight or one in the morning when the last cold one has been consumed. Echa even drove myself and another visitor into town with her friends so we could hit the only working ATM on the island and so that I could get provisions. Spending three hours with four not even slightly bashful Aceh women was an experience I’ll never forget. Their discussion could make many a men’s locker room seem tame by comparison.

The other is my black market connection, Iwan. Iwan saw me pull up at the main dock the same day I arrived. He has workable English and came to ask if there was anything he could help with in terms of boat supplies. I told him I did need diesel and he said to call him when I knew how much I’d need and when to deliver the fuel. 48 hours later Iwan brought his boat alongside mine with 15 gallons of fuel and siphoned it into my tank. He only charged me 1000 rupiah over the pump price of 6000 rupiah per liter. At 60 liters he made ~ six dollars for his effort. The guys in town wanted 9,500 IDR per liter plus a 500,000 surcharge for delivery. Needless to say Iwan saved me a ton of money. Where he came through in spades was the night of the big storm.

The tides have been severe and the winds howling stronger than normal the past few days. I got stuck without a taxi some 6 miles outside of Iboh and had to walk back with some other travellers. What I found when I got back was a main pier that had been largely washed away and my dingy taking a pounding by the incoming surf. I tried to get the engine running, but quickly found I was in danger of being rolled. The engine would not turn over either. I got to shore, dumped my pockets and waded into the surf. I found a parted mooring line and used it to secure the dingy in a manner pointing into the breaking waves. With the engine up she rode comfortably for the next few hours. I made my way to O’lala and curled up on a bench under the front porch for a few hours sleep. Echa woke me with a confused smile the next morning and chewed me out for not waking her for a blanket. I was soaking wet and didn’t want to disturb her family.

Back on the dock after a coffee and a doughnut Iwan and four buddies commandeered my dingy. I had no tools to speak of and couldn’t do much unless I got back to Jargo first. They wouldn’t hear of it and each man brought over his own tools used to service their outboards. These were the boatmen of Iboh. Within minutes we’d stripped the motor looking for damage or water, cleaned up the parts, and reassembled. The motor fired and ran. The guys wouldn’t take anything in form a payment but a thank you. I am hoping to see them again later so that I can at least buy them each a cup of coffee. Aceh coffee is a way of life and all movements revolve around the sweet black potion.

There is a magic here that I hate to leave. It has been many miles since anyplace has felt so much like home. Pulau Weh is well off the beaten track and you have to want to come here to get here. My own arrival being unusual. Travellers here are generally either hard core scuba divers looking for the best places to practice their sport or seasoned travellers looking for that rare gem of little explored paradise. Travellers here have usually covered some miles and are not the gap year spring breakers found on the backpacker trails of SE Asia. I believe it is this mix of welcoming locals and respectful travellers that builds the magical vibe. Although I barely had a week here, Pulau Weh will no doubt live amongst the top five spots I’ve landed around the world.

And now, I must set sail for Thailand. Well, as soon as the rain stops anyway.

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Sailing Solo: Passage Log from Padang, Sumatra to Sabang, Palau Wei, Indonesia

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 02:18:12 GMT

November 12^th – 10:31

As I sailed out of Padang harbor the lightening expressed the feeling I had in my soul. Massive thunder heads billowed up into the sky. The moon should have risen at sunset, but the clouds reached up faster than the moon could climb and blotted out its light. Hell was raging over Padang.

I grew up in Missouri and always loved the spring thunderstorms. There was something about thunderclaps so loud they shook the house that made me sleep like the dead. It was a love that grew as I did. Unfortunately, with the transition from a cozy little house, comfortable couch, book, and cup of tea to a sailboat my love of storms has abated. That’s not true. I still get mesmerized by them, I just can’t enjoy them as I’d like.

Hell was gaining on me. In the calm before the storm there was no wind and the engine ticked over at 1800 rpm. I needed to put as much distance between myself and the mainland as I could before the storm hit. “Sumatra” means storm. The winds roll off the mountains with torrential rains. Storms with 50 knots are not at all uncommon. Call me a sham sailor, but I didn’t set a scrap of sail.

The effort of getting into and out of port in one day left me pretty dead. I ate a quick dinner of sardines and crackers with cheese then prepared for the wind. About 02:00 I got it all. The squall front had 35 knots and brought with it rain so heavy that it filled a five gallon bucket in less than one hour. Jargo hasn’t been in a rainy climate in so long I’d forgotten how leaky of a boat she can be. Not leaks like that will sink her, leaks that make it feel like it is raining inside. I got a few hatches tightened to slow the deluge inside the boat then began unplugging electronics. With no sails up, I had nothing to worry about on deck.

The lightening was generally all around Jargo and I consider it a lucky stroke that I didn’t take a strike last night. You know you are in trouble when there is no perceptible separation between the lightening and the thunder. More than one strike made me instinctively duck and cover my head. Not that it would help.

I’ve had a bit of a snooze this morning and needed the rest. I’ve just put down a massive breaky of corned beef hash with onion, zucchini, bell pepper, and onion. The feed was needed. One more sip of coffee and I’ll put a period on this update and go set some sail. Things are still a little unstable so I am thinking a single reefed main alone with a full jib should be about right. Good morning and welcome back to sea.

November 13^th – 14:00

Hell’s furry may have passed, but it is still as hot as Hades. I woke just after dawn to partly cloudy skies and no wind. I suppose I shouldn’t expect much else only five miles South of the Equator. The last time I crossed this big blue ribbon that runs round the world was on my way to the Galapagos Islands. That was my first and according to custom I did it right with a proper shell back party. Having just left Panama I was stocked with a nice strip steak and a bottle of champagne. This time will be a little more low key.

Luckily, I do have two cold beers in the fridge, one for me, one for Neptune. In another hour I’ll bake under the flaming equatorial sun and share a beer with the man down below. I hope he likes Bintong, the local beer of Indonesia. My meal will be a simple dish of bacon and fresh green beans sautéed in a skillet and served over some rice with a little soy sauce. The salty bacon and soy mixes nicely with the green beans. Maybe even a little honey if there is any left.

The engine drones on and I am making something right at four knots. I am now West of the islands of Sumatra and the current doesn’t seem to rip quite so strongly here. About this time tomorrow I’ll be around the North side of Nias. There is a little island there eight miles West whose shape I just can’t resist. It looks like an atoll, but seems out of place here. There is a small gap on the East side of the island that I may be able to slip into. There is one single depth reading of 7.3 meters in the center. If that is the case I’ve got a good 15 feet of clearance. The only concern is that the big quake and tsunami back in 2004 may have uplifted this part of the islands. I won’t know until I get there.

I don’t feel rushed or impatient, but am looking forward to making Thailand. It is supposed to be wonderful and is also a common cruisers destination. It will be good to reconnect with friends there. Until then, I’ll keep reading (just finished The Reluctant Mr. Darwin & No Country for Old Men), trying to catch a fish, learning to play a song on the ukulele, and scratching the backstay for a breeze.

19:30

I am agitated tonight. Not because I don’t have the wind I’d like or because I the seas are lumpy, but because of what I hear on the BBC. The HF is my source for news these days and I can’t even believe the conversations that I hear on the air. It seems that everyone is trying to fix the system that we are in, but no one is asking if the system itself is broken.

I have managed to live debt free for over six years. I do my own repairs and I do my own chores. Many boats cruising today are wealthy to the extent that they hire everything done right down to every day cleaning. I don’t fault them if they can afford it, but for the most of us, that is not an option. It is frustrating though that most people think you must be rich to travel the world by boat. It just isn’t so.

What it does take is something that the western world has forgotten. You must be self reliant and self sufficient. If there is a trade you don’t know, learnt it. If there is a task you fear doing, have it shown to you so you understand it. If you can’t navigate, ask someone for help or get one of the many self study books that will teach you. The sea, like death, is an equalizer. It does not consider how much money you have in the bank. Rich man, poor man, you’d better deal with matters as they arise or you jeopardize your life and that of your crew. Unlike life on land, you will be tested. Given enough time and miles, the sea will determine if you’ve got the right to traverse her waters or not.

It seems everyone is looking to someone else to bail them out these days. I’d recommend everyone steps up and take a bit more responsibility for their own welfare. Sure, today it may be difficult to begin saving. The best time to start was 30 year s ago. The second best time is today. If you are looking for a very basic introduction into managing your personal finances check out a book called The Wealthy Barber. I used to give it away to friends as Christmas and birthday gifts. It has about 10 dead simple strategies to secure your financial future. They work.

November 15^th – 09:15

I can say with near certainty that Neptune does not like Bintang Beer, the beer of Indonesia. Either that or I just set his expectations to high with the champagne from my last equatorial crossing and now he is disappointed in me. For the last 36 hours it has been nothing but calm, squall, set all sail for 20 minutes, calm for six hours, repeat. I’ve still got lots of fuel, but the writing is on the wall that Sabang will again be cutting it close if I can’t get a sustained sailing breeze. Like the sailors of old, I can just bob around on the sea until a breeze comes to take me North.

I sailed past the little island of Hulo Wunga yesterday and scoped it out. It does look like a pretty good natural harbor and the local fishing fleet agrees. The island was far from being the deserted oasis I thought I’d find. A half dozen fishing boats were moored and the shore was scatted with thatch huts. I was still tempted to explore the island and the people, but the effort of starting and stopping with so many more miles to go prevented me. The islands of Western Sumatra are beautiful and look to by idyllic cruising grounds. That said, poking into unknown shoals and poorly charted islands solo may not be the best of ideas. This seems to be a cruising ground for two.

The other concern I’ve got now is that my swimmers ear is back. I’ve never had an ear infection in my life but the bugs swimming in Serangan Harbor are resilient little bastards. I thought I had it licked, but two days ago the swelling came back and with it some pretty sharp pain. I’ve resumed a regimen of rinsing the ear four or five times daily with the acidified vinegar and hydrogen peroxide. The irrigation knocks the pain right out within half an hour or so. As long as I can keep it from getting worse it will be fine. I’ll hit the clinic in Sabang for some fresh antibiotic ear drops. Failing that, I’ll start an oral round of Cipro. It is just a nuisance health issue but in the middle of nowhere these things take on a greater significance. 300 miles to go.

November 16^th – 19:00

Not much to report. Had a 9 knot breeze on the beam for several hours and it was good to feel five knots of boat speed again. This is easily the slowest passage I’ve ever made. The motor is humming again and the GPS shows 4 knots. With no wind and little to tend to it has turned into a movie day. I’ve searched my old hard drive for movies not yet seen. A few gems, but mostly the things I’ve been ignoring for months.

In two more days I’ll have been three weeks on passage minus the 24 hour stop in Padang. Strange to think that if I’d taken that left hand turn at Christmas Island I’d almost be to Mauritius in the Southern Indian Ocean. Oh well, Thailand should be worth the trip

November 17^th – 13:45

My breeze is back! It is exquisite to feel Jargo power up under and into a 10 knot breeze. Now only 100 miles from Sabang I am making way under sail alone. If this holds I should make port easily tomorrow.

Checking out of Indonesia is a must before I depart these waters for Thailand. This may be complicated depending on the hour in which I make port tomorrow. Friday afternoons are not typically working times in Muslim countries. It is possible that I’ll either have to pay overtime fees or even be forced to wait until Monday. The later is unlikely, but possible. With a little luck I’ll get the hook down early and head directly to the customs and immigration offices before noon. If I can do so I’ll head right back to sea for Thailand. It is only a 200 mile jump from Sabang to Phuket.

Once in Thailand the pressure will be off. I’ve got some repairs I’ll focus on getting done over the next several weeks in preparation for the Indian Ocean crossing. That will allow me to fly home for Christmas and New Years seeing family without projects looming over my head. On my return to Thailand I’ll be able to cruise and explore the country without rush. Come March I’ll head for Sri Lanka.

I spent most of this morning pouring over Cornell’s World Cruising Routes and various world charts. I’ve had a rough idea of how and when I’d make it back home from here, but the route is much more tangible now. Here is the general timeline I am looking at if I want to make it back to the States by June/July 2013.

Depart Phuket to Sri Lanka Feb – March 2012; Sri Lanka to Chagos April 2012; Chagos to Maritius May – June or Sept – Oct; Maritius to Durban, S.A. early November 2012; South Africa to Tobago February – March 2013; Tobago to Jamica April – May 2013; Jamica to Isla Mujeres, Mexico May – June; Isla Mujeres to Kemah, TX June/July 2013. That makes the whole loop done in about 4.5 years and ~ 30,000 solo miles.

There are many more places, countries, islands, and people I’d like to explore. Sometimes though a thing as it is, is enough. While this dream is still being realized others are growing. I want them to have time and space to root and flower as this one has.

November 19^th – 08:45

I circled the port twice never finding water less than 70 feet. The shores of Sabang Harbor are steep too and I’d no choice but to let fall the hook. 250 feet of 3/8 BBB chain now connects me to the sea floor below. It is going to be a real chore to bring all that weight up with a manual windlass. Still, better than doing the job hand over hand.

Approaching Sabang I was taken with both the landscape of the island and colors of the Dutch colonial architecture. When the region was under Dutch control before WWII they used Sabang (Pulau Weh) as a trading post for ships going into the Malacca Strait. They brought trees in from other islands, built up infrastructure, and generally did a lot to make the island appealing.

Eventually the Japanese came and pushed out the Dutch. The Indonesians then pushed out the Japanese and fought the Dutch keeping them from retaking Indonesia. Then over the past 40 years the most conservative Muslims in SE Asia fought for a special region known as Aceh. Aceh is different from the rest of the Muslim dominated islands in that it enforces a fundamentalist version of Islamic Sharia Law.

It is more foreign than anyplace I’ve been yet in SE Asia, but it also appears to be the most welcoming. There is zero trash in the harbor. The water is crystal clear. The streets are clean and tidy. People are friendly and although a bit timid at first, smile warmly when greeted with a smile and a hello.

There is of course the typical corruption within the government offices. A local explained that these guys are not welcome on the island and are sent here to do the administering by the government in Jakarta. He asked me not to take offense and understand that the locals hate the practice more so than even the tourists. I’ll have to pay some sort of fee for checking out of the country and the Customs, Harbor Master, Quarantine, and Immigration have all already made their presence known. I am a bit sick of the process, but may play hard this time. I may see what simply saying no does to the game. Worst case scenario I could up anchor and depart without clearing out formally and deal with the consequences in Thailand. A port much more familiar with cruisers. I imagine I’d still have to pay a few bribes there, but I’ve got to imagine they’d be cheaper than here.

Anyway, a strong wind is coming and I am not going to beat into wind and current. With that decision I’ve got four or five days to explore this island which I am looking forward to doing. I’ll leave the working port of Sabang and head 5 miles back to the West and anchor behind Pulau Rubiah. It is a spot with a beautiful beach, cafes, backpackers, and a few scuba operations. Looks like a nice place to hole up for a few days.

Imagine this, I am the only sailboat on the whole island. Beautiful.

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Sailing Solo: Passage log from Bali to Padang

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 08:47:30 GMT

Sorry, no pics. Uploading via iphone. Low Bandwidth. Leaving Padang in about 1.5 hours to head North to Sabang. May or not check out some of the islands. Cheers Everyone.

October 30^th, 2011 ~ 5:00 p.m.

It has been better than one full day at sea now. Somehow I’ve settled in a bit faster on this passage than I normally do. Relatively steady 10 knot winds from behind and a moderate swell have helped. Just before dawn the largest pod of dolphins I’ve seen on this trip charged the boat. They probably spent half an hour leaping and dancing across Jargo’s bow wave. I tried to capture a little video so I’ll post it along with this when possible.

I am in something of a strange mood. It must come from the combination of watching Zeitgeist 1 & 2 along with reading Steinbeck: A Life in Letters. The latter haunts me as Steinbeck is easily my favorite author. As someone who aspires to write something worthwhile I was hoping to regain the inspiration I got from the book the first time I read it. Reading the letters today seems to only manifest a bit of self loathing and insecurity in the fact I’ve not yet buckled down to write anything other than this blog. There are always excuses, but I don’t think any of them amount to more than procrastination.

Zeitgeist raises many good questions. I found myself arguing with the majority of the points made, but at the same time my arguments may only be small exceptions. I am not sure the bigger picture they present isn’t correct. Which is better, standing in limbo unknowing or taking a stand and believing in something, right or wrong.

October 31^st, 2011 ~ 2:00 p.m.

Happy Halloween!!! I don’t know what you did, but I celebrated with loads and loads of real blood and guts. Just after dawn I dropped my trolling lure back in the water. Not an hour later something hit and hit hard. Reaching down I knew it was large based on how much stretch it was taking out of the shock cord I use for a fishing snubber. Hand over hand I pulled the real life monster closer to the boat. The beast had a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, huge black eyes, black zebra stripes on a silver body, and a dark blue/black back. Wahoo! No really, it was a wahoo.

I think he is probably the biggest fish I have ever caught and kept. Conservatively, he’d go just better than four feet and 20 – 25 lbs. I even got photographic evidence of this one. Any larger and I don’t think I’d be able to eat enough of the fish to justify dispatching the creature. However, Bali isn’t the best place to pick up fresh protein. I made a chicken curry just before setting sail and it was beginning to smell dubious already. Unless I caught a fish, I was down to canned meats and one package of bacon. Thank you wahoo.

Jargo and I are still rolling along to the West, literally rolling. The winds are light from the East, I am sailing West, and the swell is from the South. Not a great combo for comfort. Every few minutes a good swell passes sending Jargo swinging like an upside down pendulum. With each tilt of the mast the sails dump their wind and snap taught on the reverse roll. It can be quite maddening. If I weren’t still averaging ~ 5 knots I don’t think I’ could take it.

I almost made a rash decision last night. Playing with my charts I realized I was going to pass within a few hundred miles of Christmas Island. For boats crossing to South Africa it is one of the first stops. If I just turned about 25 degrees to the South I could be back in Mexico or Texas inside of eight months. It isn’t that I don’t want to see Thailand, but that it sure does make for one hell of a long detour. For better or worse, the cyclone season begins tomorrow and I won’t put myself in a situation to get caught out in the middle of the Indian Ocean. So, home will just have to wait another year and a half.

Good, bad, and ugly it is a great day to be at sea.

November 1^st, 2011 ~ 10:00 a.m.

I can’t yet say I am becalmed. I have two knots of wind in excess. The sailors of old used to scratch a backstay with a fingernail or whistle for the wind. In my experience trying both methods near enough together is asking for trouble. I’ve tickled my backstay which given enough time should produce the required breeze to help me continue West. A bit of time will tell.

For as long as I’ve had the desire to write I’ve envisioned the result being a novel. Just like trying to surf goofy footed I may be fighting my nature. Fictional story lines, symbolic themes, and vehicles temporal and geographical don’t seem to manifest themselves in my mind. I’ve dozens of ideas to explore, but my best chance for text in print will be firmly based in non-fiction. My literary low hanging fruit lays in the realm I know best, sailing and the sea.

With every little brainstorm that comes I try to jot down a note capturing the idea. I’ll let them accumulate for the rest of this passage fermenting in my mind and on paper. By the time I reach Thailand it will be time to pick one and enforce some discipline. It isn’t a complete lack of ability that scares me so much as the fear I can’t simply master myself. Four to five hours a day at the keyboard five days a week should be enough. Even if the result isn’t worthy of the transition from byte to ink the discipline to put the words down will be worth the effort.

November 2^nd, 2011 ~ 2:45 p.m.

Slow day at sea. Working West by North making 5.4 knots in 10 knots apparent. Wind and swell from the ESE. Not getting a good charge off the alternator. Tried tightening the belt, but no good. Too worn out to tighten again. Have to pull off the refrigeration compressor belts to get to the alternator belt. Will let things cool off and get it done around sunset. Too hot to be wrenching on a hot motor just now. Coolant water was low and somehow the oil level was high. Hope I am not bleeding something into the oil system. Will be keeping a close eye on fluids.

Had a few fishing boats around last night, but none close enough to even force me off my course. They have so many lights on you can see the glow of them well over the curvature of the horizon. Still, I’ve been getting ten times the amount of sleep I’d have gotten going the other way to Phuket via Singapore and the Malacca Strait.

Lunch today was bread with cheese and tomato. Couldn’t bring myself to eat another piece of Wahoo. I am eating two to four, two inch thick steaks a day. There is so much left. I may debone the steaks and make a soup or at least poach a steak or two in coconut milk or some sort of tomato sauce. I can’t believe it, but I need something other than flash seared, rare wahoo with wasabi soy sauce.

November 3^rd, 2011 ~ 2:30 p.m.

I call yesterday afternoon a good days work. Around 5:30 in the afternoon I pulled the engine cover off, removed the refrigeration compressor belts, alternator belts, dug out new belts, and replaced the lot. Some people meditate, I turn a wrench. I think I got the notion from Zen & The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. The job usually starts with a cup of coffee and a few minutes thought while my noodle absorbs the caffeine. Plan laid, the work begins. When finished the productivity feels better than any therapy session I’ve ever tried.

Waking this morning my ear was screaming into itself. Everything sounded muted and the whole of the ear was excessively sensitive to touch. Not too surprised really. Just before leaving Serangan harbor I had to jump over the side and scrape the coral reef off of the propeller. Without question it was the nastiest water I’ve ever dipped a toe into let alone my whole body. As soon as the job was done I showered and dumped a quarter of a bottle of alcohol into each ear. I guess some damn dirty bug missed its dousing.

I’ve got an onboard medical manual, but it is far, far more limited in scope than what I’d like to have. Fortunately for this problem I found an entry on ear infection in children. Right on both counts. A quick mixture of acidic alcohol (50/50 isopropyl/vinegar) and a large irrigation syringe and the hearing was already much better. Luckily I found the old antibiotic drops left over from when I almost poked my eye out in the Society Islands. My doc friend informed me back in Panama that you can use eye drops in your ears, but not the other way around. Even eight hours later the pain is almost gone and I can still hear. Rinse and repeat.

I am craving ice cream damn it. I never crave things I don’t have at hand. Need to squash this quick.

5:15 p.m.

I fixed the ice cream craving with the closest thing I could find, an ice cold beer. It is after 5:00 after all and not far from sundown now. I left the corral gate open so my mind could wander for awhile. Ideas come and go and the interesting thoughts get scribbled down. Years ago when I started this voyage I was fixated on finding out what makes mankind want to explore and adventure. Out here off the Southern coast of Java I still don’t know.

One of the most common questions I get is, “how much does it cost to go cruising”. As cliché as it is, the only answer is that it will cost as much as you will spend. It might not work as book idea, but I may have one for a docu style travel movie. The challenge: What is the greatest adventure you can create for $10,000? The idea would be to find as many people willing to have an adventure, with their own money, and video all of it for a movie or series for TV. The trips themselves could be watched live via the web with updates coming in from all participants. A few good sponsors like SPOT Messenger or Lonely Planet may providing some basic gear, but also a $10,000 prize could make it go. If the idea could be sold it might make a great short series. I am thinking something like Ewan McGregors The Long Way Round where he and a mate rode motorcycles around the world. This however would be for regular people on limited budgets.

If I were participating I’d try to find a small, free sailboat and cruise down to the Western Caribbean. The funds might be supplemented along the way with passengers/backpackers looking for lifts. Alternatively, another long motorcycle trip would fit the bill. Five or more interesting trips could round out the story. What do you think? I might have to hit up the few TV people I know about this idea and see if it has legs. Could make for a really fun project: series, TV, or book.

November 3^rd, 2011 – ~ 3:30 p.m.

Still 415 miles to Padang or the first anchorage in the Mentawi Islands. The winds are really inconsistent blowing anywhere from the due East to Southwest. The speed tends to hold around eight or ten knots but rises to 18 and drops to five regularly. One good thing about a slow passage is that if you are willing to go slow, it gives loads of time for taking stock.

Two years and ten months have passed since I sailed from Texas. In the first two years I think everything was so new that I was constantly learning to live this lifestyle. Slowly things have been moved more and more into autopilot mode. The great challenges have mostly been worked out. The corral gate may be open, but the grey matter doesn’t want to gallop.

Throughout my life I’ve had the despicable habit of returning to school. Working or not, I always seem to miss having a new intellectual challenge. I am missing it now I think more than I ever have. I’ve not found the next challenge, but I am clearly looking.

November 5^th, 2011 – 05:00

Well and Truly Becalmed

The air is still and heavy and the seas have gone flat. To the Northwest the stars and moon have been blotted out by clouds. On my current course I am still 450 nautical miles South of the Equator. I’d hoped to be able to sail much further North before hitting this kind of calm. Perhaps it will pass. If not, welcome to the doldrums.

When I clamored up on deck at 04:00 I was no longer sailing, but drifting at 0,7 knots towards the North. Jargo wasn’t cutting through the water fast enough to even maintain steerage. Normally I’d still sit back, have a snooze, and wait for a breeze, but not this morning. The tell tale glow of the fisherman’s flood lights are all around me on the horizon. Not close, but enough of them I am clearly in a fishing hot spot. I think it in everyone’s interest that I exit stage left.

A quick fluid check, release of the propeller lock, and Jargo us under power for the first time since I motored out of Serangan Harbor. She makes a much better sailboat, but she can do a pretty good trawler impression when I ask her. The old Perkins 4108 is ticking over smoothly at 1500 rpm giving me just under 4 knots. It isn’t fast, but it does get the job done and conserve fuel. I’d almost forgotten this was an equatorial crossing. I guess I need to start planning some sort of shell back party.

Same Day 23:45

No wind all day. No problem. The engine has been purring along making around four knots and when possible I’ve used the two to four knot breeze for a boost. Sitting just now in the cockpit I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing. The dark patch was surely a trick of the moonlight through dark clouds? No, that is effing land! LAND HO!!! Not where I expected to find it, but there sure enough. It is amazing how much light is gathered by a good pair of binoculars.

Eventually a navigation light just made itself visible. Using a combination of old and new I took a bearing on the light and plotted it along with my GPS position and the charted position of the island. Everything lined up. Even at 9.5 miles away the island looked like I could have thrown a stone and hit it. My course is good, plenty of sea room, and I’ll pass easily tonight. There is a bay called Kiowa Bay which I would love to put into being the tribe my Indian side is from. If the timing had been different I’d have done it, but I won’t stand off tonight. Best to keep moving. Fuel is a real concern out here and if I’ve really run out of wind this far South of the equator then I’ve got some tight figuring to do.

November 6^th, 2011 15:00

After a 34 hour diesel burn I’ve just shut the engine down. Not because there is any wind, but because there isn’t. I’ve still got 250 miles to Padang, the only sure place I can find more fuel. I could probably motor all the way there, but am unsure. Just having passed the island last night a one knot current setting southeast made itself known. Motoring at 1700 rpm with sails up to harness what I can of a four or five knot breeze I was only making 3.2 knots. Not good enough.

I’ll let the motor cool off to check the fluids. Crossing the equator and coming into poorly charted ports I don’t want to take any chances with having power when I need it. I figure conservatively I burn about 0.5 gallon of diesel per hour. With charging batteries and the fridge about 7 gallons got used from Bali to the time I started running under power. 34 hours run time gives another 17 gallons or 24 gallons used out of a tank holding ~ 70 gallons. 46 gallons remaining or around 90 hours motoring time. Padang is 250 miles out. At 3 knots that’s 83 hours. See what I mean? It is too close to cut.

Jargo can usually make good one half of the wind speed. With four or five knots I’d hope for at least two, but am getting one knot good. It slow going, but the sails aren’t flogging so there is nothing to do but sail on. I’ll at least make what little use of the wind there is until it drops off completely. It may be a very weak sea breeze that will die out overnight. I’ve poured over charts and Ocean Pilots, but there seems to be no escaping this current. More of this distance must be closed under sail. Onward we roll.

November 7^th, 2011 09:00

It is a line running East West. On the East side, the water appears calm and smooth. On the West side it is choppy and seemingly turbulent. Surface appearance makes for an interesting deception. The sea is a tricky woman.

The line itself is about 80 feet wide. Where the two different conditions meet there are very small wavelets jumping towards the sky. The line is littered with seaweed and plastics on the West side. I’ve crossed the line twice and conditions, though fascinating, are troubling for my passage. On the West side, my speed through the water is 5 knots which matches my GPS speed over ground. On the East side my speed through the water is also 5 knots, but my GPS speed over ground is 3.1 knots. The line separates still water from that water that is rushing southeast down the Sumatran Coast.

I am running just West of the line now hoping it will turn back North letting me stay nearly on course. Right now I am heading due West. No good. I may have no option but to cut back to the northwest towards Padang and plod through the contrary current. This may be the longest 1000 miles I’ve ever run down.

For any other boats that may take this route I’d strongly advise to stay well offshore to the West of all the Mentawi Islands. The Enganno Basin is no place to be working a sailboat North. Five to seven knot winds, a one to two not South setting current, and unstable equatorial conditions make for tough going. I’d close with the coast and try to get in the shallows to see if the current didn’t lesson, but the whole of Sumatra is a lee shore. If a big storm comes or one of the infamous Sumatran Winds I don’t want to be anywhere near the coast.

November 8^th, 2011 16:00

There is not even a whisper of a wind. The ripples do not dance on the water and the sea is flat and reflecting the surface of the sky. The air has weight and Jargo must force herself through the mass of air, parting it just as the bow parts the sea. Here just two degrees South of the equator the sun beats down with animosity. It is impossible to stand directly under it for any length of time. The current still runs contrary, the engine still burns diesel. 130 miles to Padang, but the fuel tank is rapidly decreasing in volume. I’ve never cut it so close.

22:00 – Had to cut the engine. Two problems now. First is the continuous problem of fuel. I may have enough to motor right into the harbor, but I could also easily run out just short of the distance. Falling just short would leave a very shoal, reef strewn entrance to navigate under sail. I can’t chance that kind of trouble. The second is that my engine keeps losing its cooling water and overheating. I thought I had the problem licked in Bali, but apparently not. Solutions for both.

A gentle, but lovely 4 knot breeze has sprung up and I am making way at 2 knots through the water and 1 knot over ground. It is very slow progress, but it is progress. Every mile I can run down without burning diesel reduces the risk of getting into trouble. It may take a few more days, but I’ll get there.

For the engine I’ll still have to charge the batteries and the fridge at least once a day. As long as the breeze holds I’ll let everything cool off overnight. In the morning I’ll refill the coolant and fire the engine on to charge. I should be able to track down the leak and rig some sort of fix. It is a bit elusive, but I saw some green coolant in the bilge so at least I know it isn’t leaking back into the engine or some other obscure problem. I’d guess either hard to spot leak in a hose or maybe another pinhole leak in the heat exchanger.

On the upside, it is slow going, but there is no swell at all. The boat is steady as a rock and the sails stay full even in a 4 knot breeze. It is rather pleasant believe it or not. 107 miles to Padang. Normally that would be less than 24 hours away. At this rate its two to four days out still. Good thing I put lots of nice food on board in Bali.

November 9^th – 06:30

Not much sleep last night. The four knot breeze I’ve been trying to sail by has shifted often. Even when I can gather the gentle puff of wind in the sail my forward progress isn’t enough to overcome the South flowing current. Every rising tide the current goes from 0.7 knots to almost 1.6 knots. I am losing ground.

I fired on the engine at 04:00, but it overheated almost immediately. All coolant was gone again. I got things refilled and let the engine run for a few minutes. Eventually I found a hose that has been cut by the stainless steel hose clamp holding it to the heat exchanger. As the engine got warmer the water began to boil out at a rapid pace. Now I am just letting it cool off so I can trim the hose end and hopefully solve the problem.

14:30 – It will be a sprint to the finish. The hose appears to be holding water now and the engine is running smoothly. Here are the back of the envelope numbers. 85 miles to Padang. At 3 knots/hour that is 28 hours of motoring. At half a gallon/hour I need a minimum of 14 gallons. I think I’ve got 17 in the tank and should have 5 gallons in a jerry can on deck. It isn’t much wiggle room, but time to get into port. I’ll feel much better about things if the wind would just give me a boost. As it is a light breeze is on my nose and slowing me down to 2.7 knots. Change wind. Change.

November 10^th 22:00

I’ve made Padang. I’d like to be more excited, but an ominous feeling has settled over me that I can’t shake. For the first time in two years I locked my dingy to the boat tonight. Thirty minutes later a local charter boat captain came over and said it wouldn’t do the job. He didn’t really speak English but he could say, “lift the rubber duck. You want rubber duck, lift rubber duck”. Needless to say the dingy and engine have been lifted onto the davits.

To say a place is bad because there is dingy theft would be to write off many great cruising grounds. I can’t say why this place feels wrong to me but it does. Prices are more than double what they were in Bali for fuel which feels like a scam. A harbor master who is corrupt wants 300,000 rupiah, or $35 just for dropping the anchor. More if I need paper work done.

I’d like to explore this spot, but when I ignore my gut bad things happen. Tomorrow I’ll pay more than I should for fuel just so I can go. I’ll find a wifi connection to post this and then I am off. The islands to the West hold some promise. The natives there still live as they have for hundreds of years and I’d like to meet them. I wish I was excited to be here, but I can’t shake this bad feeling.

Just across the harbor there are maybe 80 tanker ships waiting to load coal, cement, and oil pulled from Sumatra. No ships unload here, they only take on cargo. The resources are then sold to China and the goods purchased with the resources are then off loaded in Jakarta. One reason things are expensive here is everything is imported to Java then shipped overland here. The conveyor belts and coal dust may just be leaving a bad taste in my mouth. In the truest sense, I just want to cut and run from here.

I may be offline again for weeks or up to a month. I’ll visit a spot or two in the outer islands then head for Sabang. From there I am off to Phuket, Thailand.

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Hello Bali, Goodbye.

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 03:21:12 GMT

Jargo is full of food and fuel. The NW Monsoon is closing in and once again it is time to set sail and start making miles. In the past three weeks I’ve developed a love hate relationship with this island. It seems only fitting as the island itself is one very large contradiction. In the whole of the Indonesian archipelago Bali is the sole Hindu island amongst a thousand or more Muslim dominated islands. It is at once serene and chaotic, pristine and filthy, traditional and touristic, friendly and predatory. Each morning the women of the island prepare one off works of art as offerings to the many, many gods, both good and bad. The offerings litter the street bringing colorful splashes across the island scatted about like glitter. Offerings above the waist are meant for the good gods while those on the street are appeasement for the evils gods. In Bali religion permeates every day life and the living spirits must be tended on a daily basis.

Just after dropping the anchor near the small seaside village of Serangan I bumped into a tight knit group of Frenchman. They were six in total and to their great credit brought me into their group despite my distinct lack of ability with the French language. In what felt like the beginning of a good joke, six Frenchman and one American piled into a van. Our goal was the city of Ubud, the arts center of Bali. We got an early start on the day and found ourselves at the Monkey Sanctuary before the preserve had even opened. In the typical laid back Bali style the locals ushered us in, free of charge, to explore the park and greet the macaques who call the park home.

The macaques, apparently having already had morning coffee, raged around us as we meandered through the monkey village. Elders the size of Labradors battled it out in the trees for dominance. Youngsters wrestled and frolicked not yet seemingly aware of the need to establish a pecking order. Groups of two, three, and four monkeys would line up each grooming the other in turn. Watching their society it isn’t so hard for me to think of them as brothers from a different branch of the same family tree. From the news I’ve gotten lately on the HF radio I am not sure we have evolved so much further ahead of our furry friends as we’d like to think.

One of the big draws of Ubud is the ability traipse slowly trough the local countryside. Everyone was keen to get out and see the landscape an eight kilometer track would wind us through. Laughingly, we expected maybe two hours for the hike. Just like my cruising plans, everything we did took much longer than expected. Bali is a large rice growing island. The hills have all been terraced and the small streams of water diverted to cultivate paddies of rice. The native hillsides are covered with some of the thickest jungle I’ve ever seen. The effort required to clear, terrace, and irrigate these hillsides is beyond my comprehension.

Meandering slowly through the countryside we happened past a large temple. It was full of activity as a major Hindu ceremony was being celebrated over the weekend. Peering through the gates at beautiful Balinese girls making offerings and men slaughtering and eating chicken we were fascinated. Approaching the entrance gate we were advised not to enter as it was a sign of disrespect given we were in western tourist dress. To enter with respect we must find sarongs for the men and women and sleeves for the ladies. We were not going to be deterred.

Walking back to the closest small warang, or family store, we asked about the possibility of buying inexpensive sarongs. In seconds we were ushered past the storefront and into the living quarters of the woman we’d spoken with. She had no sarongs to sell us, but her family had dozens we were encouraged to wear. Like fish out of water we’d no idea the proper way to wrap, tie, and walk in the sarongs. One by one we were taken next to the family temple and dressed in traditional Balinese garb. The hour or so we spent being dressed to enter the temple consisted of one of those priceless moments that reminded us all why we had chosen this lifestyle. It was the simple type of exchange that warmed the hearts of everyone involved.

Properly dressed, we returned to the temple in our borrowed threads. The couple dozen locals inside the temple were clearly pleased and shocked at our transformation. We were welcomed inside amid many questions. Anyone would be hard pressed to determine who’s curiosity was higher, the locals or ours. Inside we were shown into the sacred areas where the various religious artifacts were kept for worship. Everywhere were the contorted, tormented faces of stone idols, dancing masks, and even dancing dragons. As we each quenched our thirst to explore the holy site we slowly congregated under the dance pavilion. The elder men present made gifts of a crazy spicy chicken coconut rice dish wrapped in paper. Again, the kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze.

Back on the boat it was time to keep a promise I made to myself years ago. Two of the Frenchman, Franck and Etienne, are mad surfers. I joined them for a paddle out to the waves just visible outside the entrance to our anchorage. It took no time at all to realize that not only did I have no idea how to ride my seven foot three inch board, but that I was miserably unfit for paddling. Enter Odyssey Surf School located on Kuta Beach. I booked myself in for a three day class knowing I needed all the help I could get.

Odyssey above all things has figured out the importance of customer service. They provided a van and a driver to bring me from Serangan to Kuta and back every day. With only three surfers per instructor the group lesson still provided more than enough personal instruction to get the greenest of surfers up on the first day. Geared up with a nine foot longboard, sunscreen, and rash guard we made our way to the beach. The first half hour or so consisted of learning how to paddle, stand, and posture on the boards. It all seemed too terribly easy with our boards still laying stationary on the beach. After leading us through a solid round of stretches we made our way into the water. At best, I can describe my first day of trying to ride as humbling.

For some odd reason I spent the first day trying to ride my board goofy footed or right foot forward. Naturally left handed, I grew up in a family of right handers. Somehow ignoring the fact I play all sports right handed I attempted surfing like a lefty would and failed miserably. A bit distraught, but undeterred I wrapped up the first day without catching one good wave. Day two however was a completely different story.

By shear luck I was the only surfer who’d returned for a second day of instruction. Even though I’d booked a group lesson again I found myself one on one with my instructor. After another good stretch, I leashed up to my board, but mixed it up and went normal or left foot forward. What a difference a day can make. On the second wave I was up, surfing, and managed to ride the wave all the way to beach stepping gently onto the course sand from the board. Completely stoked with the ride I made my way back to the break and repeated the performance several times over.

Day three was the return of humility. Now with two other surfers I’d brought my own board along for the lesson. An hour or so on the foam longboard had me off to a good start. Riding from the break to the beach I got hungry to learn how to surf my own board. It is still long at seven three, but at only 18 inches wide it requires a degree of balance far past my skill level. Undeterred, the instructor encouraged me to try and helped me wave after wave until I was standing on my own board. I say standing, not surfing. The balance is far more critical with my board and I somehow managed to stall out on nearly every single wave. That said, I am close. Very close to being able to manage a good ride on this bit of balsa. Fortunately for me Indonesia and Thailand have plenty of miles of coast with more waves than I could ever hope to ride. Now, three days out of Odyssey, all I need are more waves, practice, and the fitness that is slowly building.

In a long overdue return to the Mission of Sailing for SOS a visit was arranged with SOS Children’s Village Bali. The Village deserves and will get it’s own blog, but I can’t help but throw in a few highlights now.

The timing of my visit was fortuitous as they were celebrating the 20th anniversary of their opening here in Bali. I was informed there would be a bit of dancing and that a band would play, but I had no idea just how large a celebration they had planned. Arriving after a two hour scooter ride from Serangan I was greeted by Novie and Mr. Suweca, the secretary and director respectively. To say that SOS Children’s Village (SOS CV) Bali has a lot going on is a massive understatement. In 20 years they’ve built 12 houses with eight children living in each home. The village has two ponds providing fish for food along with banana, mango, coconut, and snake fruit trees. The whole village is Hindu which means it is as decorated with offerings as the rest of Bali and an intricately carved temple for religious ceremonies.

One aspect of the village that was totally different from those I’ve visited before is their Family Strengthening Program or FPS. Late in the afternoon a hundred or so families from the surrounding area arrived at the village for a meeting. The goal was to help unify the community and work to build strong families where poverty threatens the family unit. SOS CV Bali helps to provide work training and micro funding for small business that provide the financial means that allow families to stay together instead of breaking up. Unlike so many non profit organizations, SOS CV works hard in the communities they operate in to keep children from needing their services. Their greatest goal is to eliminate the need for the village in the first place. When they say their mission is a loving home for every child, they do not mean within their organization except as a last resort.

All of that said, I am touched every time by the happiness I find in these villages. The children are happy to laugh, play, and be themselves in an environment where they are supported and secure in their SOS CV family. As the evening grew late after many traditional and modern dances, music bands of all kinds, and speeches from community leaders the question repeated itself in my mind, “what is the value of a stable home to a child”? I don’t know the means or method to answer this question. I only know that with every interaction with SOS CV I know they have figured out a way to improve the lives of thousands of families and children the world around.

I’ve drunk heavily from the society that is Bali in all it’s forms, pure and polluted. With miles to make I’ll lift the anchor within hours of posting this blog. The next destination is Phuket, Thailand, but I’ll be exploring the West coast of Sumatra along the way. Less than five or ten boats a year take the Western Sumatra route, but I am craving the road less travelled. There is no guidebook or waypoint for the anchorages I’ll find. What I do know is that the water is clear, blue, surfing breaks abound, and traffic isn’t one tenth of that I’d find in the Malacca Strait. The next blog, tweet, or email of any kind may be long in coming. Until then, do something crazy and chase a dream. John Steinbeck wrote to Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, “it is a thing to put into the half sleeping mind, to think of in the half dawn when the first birds sing, and in the evening; they call it the dimpsy in Somerset. These are the times for the good and the permanent thinking which is more like musing – the garden path toward dream. I have always been at odds with those who say that reality and dream are separate entities. They are not – they merge and separate and merge again. A monster proportion of all our experience is dream, even that we think of as reality”.

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Sailing Solo Passage Log: Darwin, Australia to Bali, Indonesia

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 08:15:19 GMT

September 30^th – En Route to SE Asia

I’ve been on passage now for 32 hours. For some reason I have had to force myself to start the log. Conditions are not conducive for a sail from Darwin, Australia to Bali, Indonesia, but it is beautiful nonetheless. My course lies due West, but I am bucking a 5 – 10 knot Westerly breeze. The current here is strong and when it sets against me with the tide my progress drops to less than 2 knots an hour. Despite slow progress the sea is calm, the sky a pale blue, and the sun pounds down on everything in sight.

Most of the day was spent chasing a pooping petrel from the dingy davits and bow pulpit. He had a persistence I admired. A small pod of dolphins lazily kept pace with Jargo for almost half an hour. One daring soul showed me just how easy it was for him to jump clear out of the sea and do a mid air 360 twist before diving back in again. There is something about seeing dolphins around the boat that seems like old friends coming home again for a visit.

The flat sea let me put into practice an idea I’ve had for awhile. Three dollars at the Aussie K-Mart bought six tea spoons. A few minutes with a drill, some split rings, a swivel, and a hook and I have a new trolling spoon. Sadly at 2.5 knots I don’t expect to catch much, but maybe once the winds change my home made lure can entice something over for dinner.

October 1^st - Settling In

Maybe I lost my Zen or maybe not, but it sure does feel good to tick off miles in the right direction. Even if I am getting it done with the engine. I hate to burn the diesel, but until I push a bit more West I don’t have much hope of picking up a sailing breeze. It is hot cooking here under the tropical sun, but I still sit and wonder at the beauty.

My fridge and freezer started acting up just as I left New Zealand earlier this year. The fridge is limping along, but the freezer needs parts before it can go back in service. I can’t freeze meat for passages, but it does happen to hold a pretty solid 60*F. It just so happens that is the perfect lagering temperature for home brewing beer and sake. I don’t have all the ingredients I’d have liked to use, but the first batch of sake is in the fermenter. In about a month I’ll get to find out if it is drinkable or not. I catch so much wonderful sushi grade fish along the way it has been a shame not to enjoy it with a glass of cold sake.

It is another beautiful day at sea. Brewing days work done I am off to clean up a bit, read, and watch the trolling spoon swim behind the boat.

October 2^nd – A Beautiful Day at Sea

Some days at sea are better than others. The wind finally picked up a bit and shifted further South allowing me to head nearly West. With 10 to 15 knots of breeze Jargo can point into the breeze and make 4 – 5 knots comfortably.

The poop filled petrel must have pooped an H with a circle around it because my solar panel has become the landing pad for all kinds of birds. Today a large light green footed boobie bird made a home of my power source. Sitting in the cockpit I was zoned out watching the waves when he squawked at me and nearly made me jump off the boat. Finally looking aft he looked at me as though I’d intruded on his personal space. As it turned out, after posing for a few close ups, he became shy and flew the silicon table. Looking into his eyes I still can’t shake the theory that not all dinosaurs died at the end of the Cretacious period. That eye easily convinces me the survivors evolved into the winged beasts we see around us most every day.

As tuna go he would not win a fishing competition, but he was proof positive my Mock One trolling spoon works. A small tuna, maybe weighing 3 pounds hit the lure and now sizzles in a bit of olive oil in my pan. I’ll lightly sear the outside leaving the inside of each filet red raw. The wasabi past is building flavor in the soy sauce. Ah, if only the sake was ready to drink.

October 3^rd – Could someone please move Timor?

I’ve sat most of the day watching my compass and wind gauge like most guys watch Sunday football. The winds have pushed me more than 100 miles North of my original course. I’ve been agonizing over the need to tack back to the Southeast so that I can clear the islands of Timor and Roti. Little did I realize there is a six mile gap between these two islands that will save me a 120+ mile detour. Unfortunately it means running in close to land and dodging local fishing craft, but the short cut should be worth it. I am just barely holding course to cut through the gap. If a little luck will hold I can sail right through. If not, no worries, I’ll just fire up the engine to cover the 5 – 20 miles I am off course under power.

As the fermentation in the sake pot builds so does my excitement. The last time I brewed anything was back in graduate school almost a decade ago now. With each

bubble of carbon dioxide in the air lock I know my yeast is turning the rice sugars into delicious sake. If this batch turns out I may try my hand at some red wine or a nice Sierra Nevada style beer. Alcohol in all its forms has been a big expense across the Pacific. Tomorrow the brew pot gets the last addition of steamed rice and water. The day after it goes in the lagering fridge (my broken freezer) to ferment out over the next 2 – 3 weeks. Mmmmm…..sake.

October 5^th – Damn Short Cuts & Sketchy Fishing Boats

The past 48 hours have been a little too exciting. The short cut between Timor and Roti saved lots of sea miles, but could have ended badly. Halfway through the strait the tide turned against my route. For the first time I found myself stuck in tide rips. The path led through the lee of Roti which should have left me settled seas and easy sailing. When the tide reversed direction a massive swell seemed to come from directly below me throwing Jargo about like a dandelion seed in a storm. With no good wind for sailing I powered up the engine and motored for a solid hour through the tumultuous waves before getting clear. Luck brought me through the channel well clear of any dangers, but I’ve earned a new found respect for tide rips. Sadly these were not noted on any chart or guidebook I’ve got for the area.

Once through the channel I began making way for the next set of islands to the West I’d need to clear. The wind helped shifting South allowing me to make good progress. Several boats dotted the horizon as usual, but one seemed intent on closing the gap between us.

After crossing my bow not 200 yards in front of Jargo I thought I was done with this local fisherman. Dropping below I made dinner and only came back up 30 minutes later to check my progress. Sure enough the same fisherman was crossing my bow again. I was forced to alter course to give us adequate space, but once across, the vessel tacked again. Now, inexplicably, the captain was on an intercept course 500 – 600 feet away. For the first time on this voyage I began preparing for the worst.

Immediately I fired the engine, tacked, and sheeted all sails in tight. The move quickly put some distance between us and set Jargo up for future evasive maneuvers. A mile clear I dropped below and prepared my firearm. Never before have I even considered pulling it from the hidden locker where it is stored. Sadly, and for the first time, I was running through scenarios in my mind for defense.

The sun had just set and I’d put two miles between the vessel and I before he turned again and began closing the distance. I hailed him on the VHF not expecting a response, but because I wanted the shipping traffic in the region to hear my vessel name in case they heard it again later under distress. I’d made up my mind that I’d evade as long as possible with maneuvering. If the boat closed close enough to board I’d fire warning shots. My hope was that the firearm would be deterrent enough to prevent them from boarding.

Just as quickly as the perceived threat came it vanished. The boat closed to within a quarter of a mile. I was running black at 6.2 knots, but still plainly visible in the bright moonlight. All of a sudden the boat turned across my transom and sped off to the South. His lights dropped below the horizon within 15 minutes. My guess is this boat never intended any harm at all. I just couldn’t understand his actions and not seeing any nets or lines out from his boat I couldn’t excuse the constant closing of the distance between us.

This is a very well beaten path for cruising boats and I’ve not heard of any problems in recent years. Timor used to be under much unrest, but I understand it is settled and prosperous now. For better or worse, the scare has left me more prepared for any real trouble that may come in the future.

As I sail now making 5.8 knots under all plain sail I am relaxed and enjoying the reach. Today has been beautiful and clear. I hooked an 8 – 10 lb great barracuda off of one of the islands, but threw him back for fear of ciguatera in specimens that large. I am reading the ships log from Cpt. Cooks first voyage around the world. He’s just completed his exploration of New Zealand and is rapidly catching up to me. I think he and I shared a certain relief and joy at quitting New Zealand. Around 350 miles to Bali.

October 6^th- Fishing boats on sea moorings?

Shifty light winds kept me from getting much rest last night. No big deal. It happens. The sails just needed lots of trimming and I couldn’t find a course that would keep the sails full when rolling on the swell. That left me a bit dozy today. As usual, that is typically when I need to be on my toes.

Unknowingly I ventured into a local fishing hot spot. The horizon has been dotted with a couple dozen fishing boats from smaller pangas to larger trawlers. Most of them seemed to be standing on station which made navigating through them fairly easy. Passing by one I could see large mooring lines leading from his bow to what looked like a sea buoy. It is possible I guess, but the depth is over 3000 feet deep here!

Most were within a few hundred feet of their buoys but I noticed one boat fire on its engine and begin charging towards me as I approached. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing until I caught site of his buoy directly in front of me. It had been hidden in the swell. The fisherman was charging forward to his buoy to ensure I didn’t collide with it and entangle myself in his lines. He must have been 1000 – 2000 feet from his bouy. Fortunately he was the only boat not in close proximity to his mooring.

After that a few of the smaller boats passed heading in the opposite direction. Unlike the boat that scared me these guys where no cause for alarm. I think they are satellite boats operating in conjunction with the larger trawlers. One was close enough to give a friendly smile and a wave as they motored past. A good catch to you gentlemen.

October 7^th – 0 – 5 Knots, I hate you.

The winds have been mostly perfect for three days or more. Sometimes a little light and variable, but very workable. Today I am in those condition that nearly drive me mad. The winds are boxing the compass and howling at between zero and five knots. Not nearly enough of a breeze to keep the sails full. The swell isn’t large, but more than enough to roll the boat from side to side. When this happens the sails “pop” snapping full on one side and then the other. It is hard on the sails, the rig, and my mental state.

Instead of listening to the constant banging of the sails I just doused everything but the mizzen and kicked the engine on. I’d rather burn the diesel than let the rig work itself to death for no good mileage. The frustration is compounded due to the fact that I am only 140 miles from my anchorage in Bali. With even a 10 knot breeze I can average 5 – 6 knots and would easily make port tomorrow. Under engine alone I may have to heave too outside the harbor and wait for dawn the next day before proceeding to the anchorage.

To compound matters something seems to have gone wrong with my brew pot. What was a very vigorous fermentation has dropped off to almost nothing. This came with the last addition of malt rice and regular rice. I pitched some more yeast, but may have to dump this batch. We’ll see if it picks back up or not.

On a lighter note, Cpt. Cook noted a ships prank off of Australia. Apparently one of the midshipman had a beef with an able seaman. The seaman got drunk to the point of unconsciousness at which time the midshipman cut his clothes off of him. I couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of waking up and having to sew all your clothes back together. The obvious seam a constant reminder to all on board of the prank. Matters became a little less funny with the prank turned malicious and the midshipman cut a part of the seaman’s ears off. I’d say that was going a bit too far. I like a good prank, but come on. That’s a little too Reservoir Dogs.

October 8^th – Torture

For a time the winds picked up and I made six knots. I was happy for the progress thinking I’d easily make port before nightfall today. I now lay 32 miles from my anchorage, but might not make it in today. A wild current is coming out between the islands of Lombok and Bali. As I try to move Northwest it is pushing me Southwest. Running with 10 knots of wind and 2000 rpms on the diesel I am still only making 2.5 knots good towards my goal. Oh well, what can one do?

My hope is that once behind a small island, Nusa Lembongon, I’ll be hid from the current a bit. If I can up the speed just two knots then I can sneak into the anchorage before night fall. If not, I’ll get as close as I can and heave too until morning. Trying to keep it together on about 3 hours sleep in 36. Lots of fisherman and shipping traffic in the area. I am thinking the Malacca Strait from Bali to Malaysia might be a good place to see how I’d get on with crew. An extra eye to keep a watch in these waters would not go amiss.

Cook just finished repairing the HMS Endeavor in some islands just North of Bali. He took 16 days to move inland 120 miles against the same current I am fighting now. Fortunately for me Jargo is fitted out with a 50 HP diesel and I’ve got fuel to burn.

Bali. Maybe today, maybe not.

Around Noon: What a difference a change in tide makes! Over the course of three hours I watched my knots made good climb from 1.8 up slowly to 7.1! I am now just about 12 miles outside the entrance to the anchorage. I got something of a second wind with the excitement of finally making it to SE Asia. The boat is put together, the dishes have been done, ears cleaned, shower taken, and clean underwear on. Amazing how a good scrub can change how you feel. I am itching to get the anchor down and see if a few of my cruising friends are still kicking around Bali. Either way, I am going to have some fun today.

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Torres Strait Cruising Log: New Caledonia to Darwin, Australia Part 2

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 03:02:10 GMT

Fatigue and wind were to be the words of the day. The SE trades get funneled between Papau New Guinnea to the North and Australia’s Cape York to the South. The Torres Strait is a mess of scattered coral islands, narrow shipping lanes, and heavy cargo traffic. Not a place a solo sailor is going to get a lot of rest.

Luckily, the horror stories of strong currents and crazy traffic were well over exaggerated. Maybe this place seemed terrible to other sailors, but having cut my teeth around the tankers in the Houston Ship Channel and ducking the drilling platforms nothing seems too busy anymore. Real frustration didn’t build until a wind shift forced me out of the main current going against the tidal flow. Losing the sail power I had to kick on rusty and motor into wind and current. Even then progress was cut to about two knots. Pretty miserable.

By that time it was around 3:30 in the morning and I was really tired. Looking at the charts I found a course cutting North of the Great Northeastern Channel that ran behind a few islands. With a good handle on the set and drift of the current I let the autopilot run and dropped down for two consecutive 45 minute naps. It doesn’t sound like much, but even a brief REM sleep can change everything.

Refreshed from the snooze I got serious about getting the sail pulling again. Motoring into the wind I set the sails and sheeted them so that I was about 35 – 40 degrees off the wind. I felt Jargo accelerate from two knots up to five. Curious to see if I could hold the course I cut the engine and carried on under sail alone, close hauled, at 4 knots. It is amazing how much I still learn about the abilities of this old boat. Sometimes she reminds me that her only limitation is my ability to command her.

Conditions stayed boisterous for the 36 hour passage of the strait. When I finally crossed the last buoy into the Arafura sea everything just went quit. It was a strange sensation to suddenly feel wind and wave die as though someone had turned a switch. Motoring in the calm I went forward and was treated to one of the greatest sunsets I’ve ever seen in my life. It felt as though I’d just been welcomed with open arms into the Indian Ocean portion of this voyage. One chapter closed and another has opened.

I used to get anxious to make landfall and hated to see Jargo drop below 5 knots average speed. Something in me has changed and ghosting along comfortably at two to three knots I was at peace. After a pretty good slog to the Torres the calms of the Arafura Sea were a welcome respite. Eight days blended into one dreamlike trance. Maybe it was the smoke from the aboriginal fires or heat of the sun blasting down, but nothing could shake the tranquility I found in those waters.

The good ship Arctic was still within HF radio distance and the cigy net continued each night. Once a day an Australian Coast Watch airplane would buzz my masts and confirm my vessel details. The pilots were friendly as could be and in time we began to know the personalities of the three pilots. Each sunset was an epic event and I was treated to the brightest, most mind boggling green flash I’ve ever witnessed. It was truly like a laser beam shooting into the sky. I’d heard of the phenomenon, but never dreamed it could be so striking.

Now many weeks out of New Caledonia the fresh provisions were pretty much gone. Two fish graced my line. Once made it into the frying pan, the other I didn’t have the heart to dispatch. Hearing the fishing alarm snap violently I knew something big was on the line. As usual I was hoping for my favorite, a yellow fin tuna or similar. Pulling in the line I got the fish one quarter of the way towards the boat when he did a runner and ripped the line from my gloved hands. This was a first. Never before had I hooked something that I couldn’t bring in by sheer force hand over hand.

Instead of trying again I let the shock cord fight the fish for another minute. To my complete astonishment the creature swam to the surface, broke into the sky, and flashed all of his brilliant marlin colors and bill to me. It has long been a dream of mine to catch a marlin and now I had one on the hook.

He was a powerful beast, but eventually I got him alongside Jargo. He was too large to easily hoist aboard and I didn’t want to gaff him doing any damage. Slowly I worked a loop of line around his bill and pulled him just enough that I could get the hook from him. Free again, he slowly recovered himself and dove back into the shallow depths. Watching him go I wished him many years of growth, health, and reproduction. What an amazing fish.

The next day the rubber band fish alarm sounded again. This time I got my wish. A perfect little six pound tuna was on the hook. The water was so calm I cleaned him up on the swim platform off the back of the boat. That sushi dinner with wasabi soy was one of the best meals of my life.

Sixteen days out of Chesterfield Reef I made port in Darwin, Australia. The people are friendly and warm like the weather. Many repairs have already been made on Jargo and I am now waiting on my cruising permit for Indonesia. Southeast Asia awaits.

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A Memory for Mom

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 07:53:17 GMT

Some readers may wonder what this post is all about. In short, it is my mom’s birthday! And I kind of screwed up. No one in my family really does presents. None of us want more “stuff” in our lives so we make it a point to talk and wish each other well on these special days instead of adding to the stuff we don’t need.

What my mom has asked for are stories. Stories about anything from our lives, but mostly stories from our time spent together. These are written refreshers from days past that stick out in our minds, but may not be as vivid in hers. My sister in law, being the wonderful person she is, had everyone write up their memories to put together in a book. I went sailing and got side tracked and didn’t get mine done in time to make the publication. Sorry Jennifer.

So here is my story for you Mom, out loud online, in public, and with a big Happy Birthday from Darwin Down Under.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I must have been in the fourth or fifth grade that year. We were in the old house on Devonshire and I don’t think the garage was filling up with belt buckles just yet. You and Dad had told me not to do it a hundred times, but being my mother’s son I had a stubborn will and a mind of my own.

It should have been easy really. Two hands on the rail, a little hop, one foot on the rail, and over. I’d jumped that fence 10 times for every time you’d told me not too. This time my foot slipped and I flew belly first into our own backyard. Nothing hurt at first and I don’t remember any pain from the fall looking back from today. What I remember was the panic that hit when I realized a flat cut stump of a rose bush stopped my hand and wrist from falling while the arm continued down.

Looking at my hand up on the woody pedestal the only word I could scream was, “Ma. Ma….MOOOOOOOOOM”! You came running from the house and dropped down instantly beside me. I watched on as you reached to the stump and broke away a thorny branch struggling to grow, but now blocking the retrieval of my hand. As you helped me stand I dropped the first F-bomb of my life. For a split second I was more afraid of your reaction to that expletive than I was worried about my arm. If you heard me you didn’t blink an eye and we moved towards the car. I think now maybe I only vocalized what was running through your mind but never uttered.

You’d always driven faster than Dad, but what I saw that day on the way to the hospital was a work of art. With the horn blaring and hazard lights flashing you tore through the traffic like a tornado daring anyone to slow you down. Eventually a policeman took that dare and almost lost. I vaguely remember commenting on the red and blue lights coming from the police car with the siren on behind us. I believe you told me to ignore him and that he didn’t want anything that mattered.

I remember us being in the old Oldsmobile, but can’t be sure. Anyway, I think you gunned the engine even harder trying to pull away from the squad car only pissing off the officer even more. Eventually, he caught up again and something made you stop. I am still not sure if he forced you or something else? Regardless, the policeman came to the car, saw my arm, gave you a two second reprimand for not stopping then gave us an escort into the emergency room.

The details in the hospital aren’t so clear from there. I know at one point you attacked my upper lip with a wash cloth trying to remove what you thought was a bit of food or kid grime. It wasn’t easy to explain to you that it was a blister from playing with a heating element for a cup of tea and hurt to be scrubbed on. Eventually, because I had a full stomach they sent us home, arm very broken, but spliced, and advised us to come back the next day. The last thing I can remember clearly is you and dad making me as comfortable in bed as possible with a busted arm.

The kiddy drugs must have worked well because it seems like I slept soundly that night. The next day we went back to the hospital and the doctors set me straight.

Thanks Mom. I love you & Happy Birthday.

Lee

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Coral Sea Cruising Log: New Caledonia to Darwin, Australia–Part 1

lee.winters@sailingforsos.com — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 04:43:12 GMT

7/10/2011 – Anchored off Isla Amedee, New Caledonia

I slept like the dead last night. Jargo slowly rocked me like a child in a crib through the night riding to the anchor in a gentle breeze. It was the first night I’d anchored out since picking up the hook in Tonga so many, many months ago. Much time has passed since the anchor has bitten into the sea floor and I’ve almost forgotten what I am supposed to be doing with myself. Waking this morning I remember, enjoying the peacefulness that abounds in and around these shallow, blue waters.

I’ve just finished a relaxed breakfast of hash browned potatoes, fried eggs, an orange, and coffee. Van Morrison’s Moondance is motivating me to action from the stereo. Another coffee then I’ll tidy up a bit and sort a few things that still need stowing before heading further South in this massive reef complex. My friends on s/v Arctic are still somewhere to the South of me. Looking for them gives me a reason to go poke my stem into a few more anchorages until I find the next one that suits me. Last night found me in the lee of an 1880’s French lighthouse. Beautiful.

I’ve been terrified I’d completely lost the urge to write. I was pulled to the keyboard this morning and I couldn’t be more thankful for the return of the words.

7/12/2011 – Waiting on a breeze

Wow. The water here is cold! The sun is hot and I wish the water was a bit warmer, but the combination works. I spent a pleasant evening with Arctic doing in a box of French wine and killing my standard dish for company, Thai red curry. I’ve moved a bit further South and Arctic is anchored just behind the reef to get some surfing in. Sadly, I’ve no skills for reef breaks and had to bow out of the surfing safari. I’ll make up for it in Bali. Per is the same guy I bought a board off of back in Tonga. It is a mini Malibu long board and perfect for me. There is a pretty well known school in Bali and I think some lessons are probably in order. Plus it gives me an excuse to stick around for awhile.

I’ve been pulling weather fax down almost daily until today when I may have killed my computer. It works, kind of, but I accidentally transmitted while connected to the radio and I think the 100 watts of outgoing power fried my computer’s sound card. The images are a bit fuzzy but workable. We are still in a big flat pressure zone with little wind. Maybe day after tomorrow I can jump. SE Asia is calling like the sirens to Odysseus. I think it was Odysseus….

7/14/2011 – ON Passage!

It feels like I just got hit with a ton of bricks. I’d been planning the offshore jump to Chesterfield Reef for many days now. All available weather said the winds would build to a 15 knots today making for a perfect 550 mile run. I woke up ready to rock and roll and sticking my head out to greet the sun found no wind at all. Now what?

Five knots did eventually show itself like a civilized breeze should after morning coffee. Having no desire to act like a coral and stay put I upped anchor and ghosted along at 3 knots North. If I couldn’t sail offshore I’d ghost along in the right direction inside the reef anyway. Luckily the wind built all day and by the time I’d run the 25 miles back to my lighthouse I had two hours before dark. What the hell, right? Normally I do reef passages at slack water or with the tide in my favor. No such luck if I wanted to go now. I usually also douse all sail just to make sure no lines can foil my plans or trip me up unexpectedly. With tide against me I used all sail to reach along at six knots through the pass. Waves were breaking on both sides of the pass and the current slowed me down to 4 knots but we pushed through and now I am rolling gently in the offshore swell. Amazing how nervous I get before a passage. Now that I am out here in deep blue water the stress has fallen away and I’ve relaxed. Chesterfield, here I come.

7/20/2011 – Rewards for the Adventuresome

Paradise. Heaven. Nirvana. Utopia. There are a great many words mankind has used to describe that perfect state. Chesterfield should be added to the list. This atoll has maybe a dozen tiny islands and a rather large barrier reef. The guidebooks say nothing of the place and one can enter as long as you are brave enough to go off the beaten track. My friends on s/v Arctic and I are anchored in crystal blue waters teeming with fish of all kinds surrounded by a vibrant, healthy coral reef. The islands serve as a rookery for thousands and thousands of birds. Walking on the broken shell beach the faces of boobie birds stare out with their blue beaks highlighted against the green background of the struggling foliage. Frigates, terns, and storm petrels perform acrobatic maneuvers in the sky just above us that any dog fighter must envy. They have no fear of us and float on the sea breeze not 18 inches above us. This place is magic.

Yesterday I was sitting on my side deck drinking a strong coffee and day dreaming. Whoosh! I knew the sound, and I saw the beast, but I still couldn’t believe my eyes. Not 100 yards from our boats a massive humpback whale cow and her calf were lazily swimming through the waters of the atoll. I’ve seen a dozen or so of these gentle giants, but the childlike exuberance that fills my heart with each encounter never fades.

Even when nature is calling to come play Jargo still has her own way of demanding my attention. As I went to brew the coffee mentioned above I discovered a seriously dangerous failure. Turning on the propane solenoid I heard the subtle but deadly hissing of leaking gas. Luckily, the hose had ruptured just below the hose fitting where it connects to the stove. A slight panic set in as I faced the possibility of needing to either return to New Caledonia for repairs or brave 2000 miles to Darwin without the ability to cook. Neither option was acceptable to my morning mind that was still screaming for its coffee. Weighing the options, I decided I’d have to break the oven further to rig a fix.

A sharp knife took the end of the broken hose off easily. A hacksaw is what I took to the gas pipe on the stove to remove the threaded pipe fitting that now stood in my way. Lucky again, the outer diameter of the gas pipe on the stove was roughly equal to the inner diameter of the gas hose. Three hose clamps now secure the coupling and everything seems to be working. Some soapy water was added to the connection while in service and no tell tale bubbles were born. I’ll have to find a welder who can replace the fitting I hacked off once I reach Darwin, but for now I can carry on. Thank God for coffee.

It isn’t the sailing part that’s hard about this long distance cruising. It is the constant engineering and troubleshooting that really makes it a challenge.

7/23/2011 – It’s good to have friends.

Our first anchorage got really choppy when the wind shifted out of the SSW and forced us to find a more protected spot. After a quick trip ashore to say goodbye to our new booby bird friends we set sail for the Western Islands of the Chesterfield Reef Complex. It took most of the day to get across the system and frustration set in when the planned destination turned out to be unsuitable. Scattered, shallow coral heads made the anchorage difficult and wrap around swell from a nearby passage in the reef made it extremely rolly. The trick to safely navigating these shallow waters is to do it when the sun is high in the sky providing good visibility into the depths. Not at 4:30 p.m. when you get an eyeful of glare.

In quick order I started heading SE down the reef keeping the sun behind me so that I could at least see the dark masses of coral below even if I couldn’t tell how deep they were. With minimal light left I dropped the hook in 30 feet surrounded by coral heads. Nothing for it, but to jump in and swim the coral heads to see just how deep they were. To my great delight I easily had 10 feet of clearance over each nearby head. Not only was I safe, but these coral heads are spectacular. Each head is alive with red, green, and blue polyps. Sea fans adorn the figures like jewelry. Numerous large grouper, snapper, and shark swim around and around the heads and along the clean sand bottom. I only had a quick look to check my anchor, but there was a fix for that.

Per, my buddy on Arctic, has two sets of diving gear on board and a compressor to refill the bottles. Lucky for me his only crew member isn’t a diver. Down we went in 12 meters to hover along and inspect the coral, fish, and bottom dwellers in neutrally buoyant comfort. It has been more than a year since I dove Gordon Rocks in Galapagos and what a welcome treat it has been. The only real frustration we’ve found, if any at all, is the lack of the spiny lobsters that are supposed to feed here in droves. We’d been told by a cheeky Australian that all you had to do was flip over a few rocks and the cook pot would be full with the tasty red crustaceans. Even with bottles of air on our backs we couldn’t locate our elusive dinner. Maybe tomorrow, or with a bit of courage, on a much discussed night dive.

July 25^th, 2011 – Ciguatera: Curse of the reef

Per, his Polish crewmate, and I are all a little under the weather at the moment. There is a dinoflagellate called Gambierdiscuss toxicus that grows on marine algae. Small reef fish eat the algae and begin to concentrate small doses of the toxin. Big fish eat little fish and a classic case of biomagnification ensues. Usually it is advisable to be the biggest link on the food change. This little bastard is a game changer.

The bigger the fish, the greater the concentration of ciguatoxin. Per is a fish killing machine with a spear gun. For several days we’ve been eating beautiful steaks from snapper shot just on the coral heads below our boats. After concluding a night scuba dive we all ate a huge meal on s/v Artic and we must have hit the critical dose for the toxin to take effect. It varies a bit between us all, but I was down all day yesterday with muscle ache, fatigue, diarrhea, itching, and severe tingling in the hands set off by cold objects.

The symptoms will fade over time and I am already much, much better. It is a shame that the reef teeming with life below us is in fact a toxic wasteland. Two + weeks out of Noumea we are pretty much out of fresh protein and low on veggies. The fresh fish was a real bounty for the dinner table. Back to canned tuna and corned beef until we are offshore again catching clean pelagic fish like tuna, mahi mahi, and wahoo.

Some reefs have this toxin, some don’t. There is not yet a test that can be done to find out if the reef you are anchored next to is clean or toxic. If you could commercialize a cheap, disposable or reusable test for the toxin it would be on every boat with a fishing line or spear gun.

July 26^th, 2011 – The Ciguatarians

This sucks. Muscles ache, skin tingles and itches, and anything cold touching my hands still sets me off. It is a little scary to be out here in the middle of nowhere knowing a toxin is playing havoc on my nervous system. I dove into my onboard library and sadly even my medical manuals had next to nothing on this illness. Finally, The Cruisers Handbook of Fishing filled in a few gaps in our knowledge. Turns out, lethal doses can be fatal by shutting down the respiratory system. Red snapper, our last eaten species, in the Indo-Pacific region is the worst offender for ciguatoxin. Luckily our cases appear to be of a less severe nature. Normally, local knowledge seeps in and lets cruisers know what fish are safe and which are dangerous. With no inhabitants of Chesterfield Reef we rolled the dice and lost.

Apparently someone has developed an onboard test for ciguataria. Once I get back to shore and find wifi I’ll be having a look at Cigua-Check at www.cigua.com. Apparently they sell a small lipid based strip you soak in alcohol with a small piece of a fish for 20 minutes. You then remove the strip to another solution that will die any toxin that has adhered to the strip. i.e. if the strip turns blue, eat corned beef sandwiches. This isn’t something I’ll mess around with again. The worst symptom is that my eyes burn every time I close them for long periods like when I try to go to sleep. Damn you delicious red snapper!

July 28^th, 2011 – Das Boot

Just watched the director’s cut of the old German WWII submarine movie Das Boot recut in 1981. It is three hours long, but very well done. There is one scene where the captain looks at the small quarters surrounding them and comments on how cozy it is. No telephone, no radio, wood paneling, why would you want anything else?

Sad, but I guess my definition of paradise is fickle. Ciguatera symptoms continue, but boat prep for passage is in action. I don’t want to stay here any longer. It has been cold and cloudy for a week, the water is too cool to swim without the sun to warm up by, the fish are toxic, and I recently found a couple ticks sucking blood on my neck. Must have picked them up from a tramp across the island. I don’t like the idea of sharing blood sucking parasites with a bunch of island birds, but all I can do is hope for the best. One toxic poisoning is about all I can handle at a time.

I did a transmission inspection today, retuned the rigging on the mizzen mast, changed the jib furling line, and completed my route planning to Darwin via the Torres Strait. Tomorrow I’ll check the engine fluids, rerig the spinnaker pole, and swim the hull inspecting the propeller. My transmission is a little tricky and it stayed in reverse when I came up to drop the anchor this last time. Since it was only an eight mile run I towed the dingy. Yep, I cut the dingy painter with the propeller. Fortunately, the anchor was well down so I just stripped down, jumped in, swam to the escaping dingy, and motored back to Jargo. Crisis averted. The plan is to weigh anchor day after tomorrow, Saturday. I am ready for warm weather. Heard it was 31*C in Darwin today on the HF. I don’t know what that is in *F exactly, but I do know it is hot. Damn hot. Bring it on.

July 30^th, 2011 – Here we go!

What an absolute treat. I woke up this morning to a sunbeam poking me in the eye. The mischievous character took every opportunity to momentarily look deep into my retina, but he was a welcome scoundrel nonetheless. I wish I understood a bit more about my relationship with the sun. When it is present I am full of energy and motivation to tackle any challenge before me. When several days of grey clouds roll in blocking my yellow orb from view it is all I can do to make a cup of coffee. I stop well short of calling it a depression, but a mild lethargy certainly takes hold and only gets scared off by that radiant ball of plasma.

The dingy is on deck, I’ve made a large Spanish tortilla for lunch and breakfast along with a pot full of home made beef stew for dinners. That should keep me well fed for the next two or three days while on passage. There are a few more odds and ends to stow and get ready for sea then I should be weighing anchor. The HF/SSB seems to be working well so s/v Arctic and I will be running the Ciguatera Radio Net once or twice daily in route to Darwin. This will be the first time I’ve ever had radio communication at sea. Should be nice. That and I finally found a weak BBC signal to catch a bit of news. Scary stuff in Oslo and with the USA debt crisis. Strange how far away such things seem when bobbing in a boat in the middle of nowhere.

August 4^th, 2011 – Rough Seas and Squally Breeze

I’ve already made 650 miles good towards the Torres Strait. The Coral Sea consists of steep to waves with short periods that make me long for the South Pacific swell. The winds are unsettled trades and squalls of 30 – 40 knots roll through at least once a day. I am still moving along at around 6+ knots under a double reefed main and about 60% jib.

I heard a cruiser say once that a cruising sailor should try to perform at around 85% efficiency of a racing boat. Bullshit. Fatigue can really set in on passages like this with uncomfortable seas and unstable weather. I let most of the jib out during the day, but do not hesitate to bring it back down to 50 – 60% at night. I could make better time, but more importantly I need to conserve energy in case it gets really bad. Not only may further sleep deprivation come due to weather, but I expect heavy shipping in the Torres requiring an almost solid 24 hour watch.

I’ve had twice daily radio contact with s/v Artic since leaving Chesterfield. The HF is great toy to have aboard. We call our little radio discussions the Cigy Net and is open to anyone sailing poisoned. So far no new comers.

270 miles to the Eastern Fields coral patch. That is the entrance marker for the Torres. I am ready to be done with the Coral Sea.

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