Sailing back to Singapore for repairs to yacht Watermelon.

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BACK TO SINGAPORE FOR REPAIRS

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August, 1998
We left Redang Island on Wednesday, August 19. The day was overcast, but not threatening, and there was little to no wind. As the day progressed the wind, directly out of the South, in which direction we were heading, picked up until it was blowing quite briskly. Peter finally had to let out the Genoa and we motor sailed, so tight on the wind that just a few degrees too high and we'd luff the sail. But it improved our speed from a little over 3.5 knots to up to 6 knots, which was the only way we were going to reach Kapas Island before nightfall. But the brisk winds tore the Genoa. Drat! One more thing to go wrong. The rocks and islands to the North of Kapas are unoccupied and thus unlit. The channel between Kapas and its neighboring island to the North is shallow, and unoccupied to the South, so we did not want to go in in the dark. We made it with an hour to spare.
The anchorage was also quite rolly, but still better than being out trying to make way in it - of course, had we been going in the opposite direction it would have been a glorious sail - it's all relative. A few hours later, after dinner, we were reading in the cabin when we heard lots of yelling nearby. "Now what?"

It must have gotten quite rough out there, because eight fishing boats came in as well, anchored all around us. They went out, set their nets, and then came in to the relative shelter of the anchorage to wait out the night. I couldn't blame them, it was quite rocky and rolly the last three hours as we were making our way to Kapas. The yelling was due to the most recent fishing boat to have come in having a terrible time anchoring. These are peculiar looking boats, with very high prows and low freeboard so the crew can more easily pull in their nets. Lots of huge fluorescent lights, the boats are lit up like shopping malls. Hard to understand how the skipper can see where he's going, blinded as he must be by all the lights on the boat. Well, he probably is pretty blind, and all the yelling was the crew on the bow of the boat telling him he was headed right for that pretty white foreigner's boat, he'd better turn right now! Lots more yelling and arguing and the boat turned around in circles a few times before settling down and dropping its anchor.

Then everybody settled down, and we went below for a few more hours, until another fishing boat decided to get too close to us. Even though we turn on our anchor light, I'm not sure it's enough light for these guys, since their compatriots have such bright lights, that's what they are looking for, not the feeble single light that a yacht sets for an anchor light. On the other hand, they have lots of crew, so somebody must be looking out. We can't imagine how the boats are able to sleep all the crew they carry on board - they must sleep in shifts. Don't they? Peter counted 15 or 17 guys on one of the fishing boats, which was about 40' long.

The next day was spent sewing the sail - fortunately only the stitching on a seam had given way, the sail itself was not torn, so our repair should hold us until we get back to Singapore, or up to Thailand, even. The day was quite nice, but the barometer, after initially rising slightly, again dropped, and the swell started up again - something was coming. That night, sitting in the cockpit, Peter noticed a charter power boat, anchored near us, without any kind of anchor light. In such a busy anchorage that seems foolish, particularly in as dark a place as this is. As Peter says, even the tiny Malay fishing boat tucked all the way back, almost onto the beach, where no larger boat could possibly go, has an anchor light.

Sailors whose sole experience is in the civilized parts of the world such as North America, the Caribbean, or Europe, would have a difficult time adjusting to the absence of lights out here. Entire sections of the coast are dark, and small islands with villages frequently have no electricity and thus show a dark, obscured profile to the sailor at night. When anchoring we need to orient ourselves by the compass, noting our "escape route" before the dark settles in, because once the sun sets, if there is no moon it is really tough to see anything, and one's mind, anxious to make sense out of nonsense, will manufacture images. The human mind is peculiar that way.

Boy do I hate it when Peter is bored. Our galley sink had been leaking around the edges, dripping water into the cutlery drawer. Since I wash dishes with salt water, it was wreaking havoc with the forks and knives. They may be stainless steel, but they still rust when salt water just sits on them. So, waiting out another day at Kapas Island, Peter decided to pull up the sink and recaulk it. This is not a simple operation. We have four water hoses going up to the sink - regular tank hot and cold water, filtered fresh water, and salt water. It's a double sink, so there are two drains. And because it's on a small sailboat, there is very little free space - an inch here and there. So taking the sink apart is better left to a contortionist than to old ham-handed Peter and long-boned Jeanne. With a bit of grunting, a skinned knuckle here and there, and more time than one would expect, we finally got the sink up. Then the opening had to be cleaned of old grotty caulk and rust, the sink had to be cleaned and de-rusted, and new bolts had to be fitted to replace the old rusted, stripped bolts that were removed. This is an all-day affair, and because there is no way to turn off the water just to the galley, no running water while the work is going on. Although no matter when or where we did it, the work would be the same, doing the work at anchor in a place with no facilities whatsoever is a bit optimistic. Should anything go wrong, we are without water for quite some time. We can't eat out, because there's no place to go. We have to hope that everything goes smoothly or we're reduced to eating cheese and crackers off paper plates.

Smart fellow, Peter. But everything worked out okay, and after about five or six hours of work, the sink was back in place, and Peter was tired enough not to look for another project that day. With luck the weather will clear and we'll leave tomorrow and so he won't have to break anything in order to find a cure for another day of boredom.

Yup, weather looks nice, we decided to leave a bit before 7 in the morning. We made really good time for the first five hours, until the tide turned and the current was running against us. But we were almost to our destination, little Tenggol Island, and so we didn't care.

Tenggol Island is a little gem, but since it it exposed to the West, where all the nasty squalls come from, it does not offer a secure anchorage, especially since it's a deep and hard bottom. But there are several moorings, and on one of those we feel secure; that was the reason we had left so early in the morning; we wanted to get onto the good mooring before the fishing boats came in for the night, which we managed. Went ashore, there were only two guests, and so the meal that night was a bit sparse. But he only charged us RM 10 apiece (because we misunderstood - he said he was willing to accept RM 10 for the two of us) - that's a total of US$5.00.

Peter asked them to get us diesel, bread, and propane from the mainland, which they did. Now we don't have to try to go to the mainland to get enough propane and diesel to make it back to Singapore. But it was silly of me not to take advantage of their good nature and order even more stuff, fresh vegetables, particularly.

Peter had been craving a coconut custard pie for weeks, but we didn’t have enough propane, and he couldn't get a coconut. He finally found one in the Perhentian Islands, but it was already fermenting. So he started whining about a coconut custard pie, and finally I said that I couldn't make one now, even though we had propane, because we didn't have any more eggs, and we still didn't have a coconut. The manager of Tenggol resort said that was easy. He gave me the three eggs, and a good coconut. And so we went back to the boat and I baked a pie, just in time for dinner. Well, it was a hit with everybody - three Frenchmen, two Germans, two Englishmen, and the staff. I am now supposed to go ashore and give the cook lessons on making the pie. I asked if this meant that I could get a few more eggs - I have a large repertoire of appropriate recipes. But I'm very glad that the cook liked the pie - his cooking is uninspired - though sometimes it is excellent. The food was better the next night than just about any other meal we've had. But then, the owner of the resort, mother of the two men who act as divemasters and managers, came out with the supply boat. She was apparently checking things out. We know that the Austrians who were here three weeks ago hated the food, so maybe the complaints have returned to her.

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