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