Cocos Islands consist of two atol
ls in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Coconut trees, white sand beaches, clear blue water, and prospects of fish made the decision to stop an easy one. As a territory of Austrailia, the atoll is protected, resulting in an environment rich in wildlife. Spinner dolphins escorted us into the lagoon and several manta rays joined the welcome party.
We quickly made friends with the crew of Lady Amber, the other yacht who stopped for a diesel top-off during cyclone season. They collect deep ocean current data for the UN. We spent a couple days off the uninhabited Direction Island with crew and the captain, Peter Flannigan. Peter is one of the most wild men I ever encountered. His life story, including death row and lion attacks would humble the most imaginative adventure novels.
When our friends departed, we scoured the other islands for cold drinks and good company. The population of 600 is split 5:1 between the Malay and Aussies. The Malay inhabitants on “Home Island” are strict Muslims and generally kept to themselves. We found what we were looking for on “West Island.” We stumbled upon the Austrailian minority at tailgate next to a shack on the beach known as North Park. Bon fire on the beach and a rapidly declining cooler of beer, every story I heard in North Park involved at least one shark, a trophy fish, or a near death experience (occassionally all three). We were generously welcomed and even made an cameo appearance on the local radio station during our short stay. The area and locals has a rich history, orated at the bar by a descendant of the original Clunies Ross dynasty. The Clunies owned the islands from 1834 until Australia purchased the land in 1978.
Our stop in Cocos quenched our craving for an island fix. Activities included harvesting coconut trees, and exploring underwater via spearfishing. We like to consider ourselves top of the food chain, but find ourselves corrected after a large shark looks up from the depths. They maintain an unnatural ability to hover outside the border of visibility. For our week of spearfishing, we enjoyed the treasures of the reef and shot our share of fish. As a sig
n of gratitude (mostly curiosity) we tossed the carcasses overboard and emulating the shark divers in Fiji, dove after the fish entrails. Waiting under the boat with scuba gear, up to a dozen reef sharks approached. Reef sharks feature timid personalities, and several simply circled for a couple minutes before the first took a investigative bite. Each shark subsequentially consumed the carcass tearing off a small portion.
After a week of living off the land and a boatload of coconuts, it was time to move on. The trade winds summoned our sails with the promise of fair weather to Mauritius. We decided to sign the “island guest book” before our departure. On several uninhabited islands scattered around the globe, recreational yachtsmen keep various forms of records. On Direction Island, wooden signatures are nailed to coconut trees. Broken Compass left her mark a touch above the rest.
ls in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Coconut trees, white sand beaches, clear blue water, and prospects of fish made the decision to stop an easy one. As a territory of Austrailia, the atoll is protected, resulting in an environment rich in wildlife. Spinner dolphins escorted us into the lagoon and several manta rays joined the welcome party.We quickly made friends with the crew of Lady Amber, the other yacht who stopped for a diesel top-off during cyclone season. They collect deep ocean current data for the UN. We spent a couple days off the uninhabited Direction Island with crew and the captain, Peter Flannigan. Peter is one of the most wild men I ever encountered. His life story, including death row and lion attacks would humble the most imaginative adventure novels.
When our friends departed, we scoured the other islands for cold drinks and good company. The population of 600 is split 5:1 between the Malay and Aussies. The Malay inhabitants on “Home Island” are strict Muslims and generally kept to themselves. We found what we were looking for on “West Island.” We stumbled upon the Austrailian minority at tailgate next to a shack on the beach known as North Park. Bon fire on the beach and a rapidly declining cooler of beer, every story I heard in North Park involved at least one shark, a trophy fish, or a near death experience (occassionally all three). We were generously welcomed and even made an cameo appearance on the local radio station during our short stay. The area and locals has a rich history, orated at the bar by a descendant of the original Clunies Ross dynasty. The Clunies owned the islands from 1834 until Australia purchased the land in 1978.
Our stop in Cocos quenched our craving for an island fix. Activities included harvesting coconut trees, and exploring underwater via spearfishing. We like to consider ourselves top of the food chain, but find ourselves corrected after a large shark looks up from the depths. They maintain an unnatural ability to hover outside the border of visibility. For our week of spearfishing, we enjoyed the treasures of the reef and shot our share of fish. As a sig
n of gratitude (mostly curiosity) we tossed the carcasses overboard and emulating the shark divers in Fiji, dove after the fish entrails. Waiting under the boat with scuba gear, up to a dozen reef sharks approached. Reef sharks feature timid personalities, and several simply circled for a couple minutes before the first took a investigative bite. Each shark subsequentially consumed the carcass tearing off a small portion.After a week of living off the land and a boatload of coconuts, it was time to move on. The trade winds summoned our sails with the promise of fair weather to Mauritius. We decided to sign the “island guest book” before our departure. On several uninhabited islands scattered around the globe, recreational yachtsmen keep various forms of records. On Direction Island, wooden signatures are nailed to coconut trees. Broken Compass left her mark a touch above the rest.
