Cocos Keeling Islands

Cocos Islands consist of two atolls 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 sign 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.

Bali

Bali
It’s not difficult settling into a place like Bali. We rented motorbikes and explored the land. Makai loves the motorbike, riding up front with her paws on the handlebars. The locals can be creative in how they pack the little motorbikes. We witnessed 5 person families to the casual mobile kitchen. On one occasion we looked like locals sporting two people, surfboards, and backpacks with a dog on the handlebars. It worked fine until Makai apparently had enough. She hit the key to “Stop” with her paw, leaving us immobile on a busy highway.
About 90 minutes north of the anchorage is an area known as Ubud. It is an artist’s dream destination: laid back lifestyle with a variety of talented painters and sculptors. The main attraction is a sacred monkey sanctuary, where the Bandar-log leapt from trees to temples and climb onto visitors who trade the local currency: bananas.
Bali has more than just great surfing. The nightlife is crazy. Sky Garden, the main club, has fire dancing performances and multiple floors of bars and dancing. The down under equivalent to Cancun or Cabo San Lucas, drunken Australians inundate the streets and beaches of Kuta attempting to forget the better part of a short lived vacation.
Bribes in Indonesia are commonplace, especially with the police. During the two months I was stopped 4 times for virtually no reason and paid a ‘ticket’ anywhere from $1.50 to $10.00. Sometimes you have to know when to just pay the “fee” and stop negotiations. I was a couple days late in applying for a visa extension (an illegal immigrant). Accustom to flexible Island life, they were half-way through processing my deportation before I submitted by paying the $100 late fee.
A few days before our departure, a 6.0 earthquake rattled the city of Denpasar damaging several buildings. I talked to a couple locals about the earthquake. Even the elderly said that they have never felt anything like it. According to all our neighbor sailors we have missed the window to cross the Indian Ocean. No wind and Cyclone season is approaching. Just in time for our passage to Coco’s Keeling. Pray for wind.

The Arafura Sea

The Arafura Sea. This stretch of water between Australia and Indonesia is 40 feet deep for hundreds of miles. Stereotypical of the nearby coast of Australia, the creatures are deadly. Shark sightings were common and appreciated until one decapitated a large tuna leaving only half the head on the hook. Once an old desert now covered in water, we witnessed about a dozen sea snakes over a hundred miles offshore.

Despite the dangers, we did have watchdogs in the air. The Australian sea patrol plane hailed us on the radio, presumably to verify we did not deter from our Bali destination. We did not relay our fishing report which was noteworthy. We caught tuna on request along with one large wahoo weighing 38lbs. Stripped and dried, wahoo yields some pretty tasty jerky.

Days are easily lost out at sea, however, one was celebrated. August 2nd, our (including Makai’s) birthday. We found Makai in California the first week of October; she was eight weeks old at the time. She did not come with a birth certificate so naturally, we fabricated one. She celebrated with the jerky and we ate a chocolate cake. The attendance was lean this year with family and friends to be desire. The wind and sun were guests gifting sail and solar power respectively. The generosity ended with the Arafura Sea.


Entering the Timor Sea, the wind ceased to exist for 5 days. A surprising number of people ask us what we do out at sea when there is no wind. Well… we wait. Most sailors go crazy not moving, we see it a vacation from sailing. Reading books, laying in the sun, watching movies, casting for fish, isn’t a bad way to spend a few days. No wind or swell, the sunsets, sunrises, and stars all seem better. One of the world greatest destinations is the middle of the ocean with no wind, waves, clouds or moon. The stars are so bright they reflect off the water. It is nearly impossible to tell where the reflection ends and sky begins. I imagine is similar to being in space void the view of the earth. It is also quiet... so quiet it takes a little while to get used to it, like being underwater. These rare moments never last forever. The wind revived and whisked us off to Bali.

Pacific to Torres Straight

It took just over a month to sail from Fiji to Bali. We ghosted by the Vanuatu’s Makura and Mataso Island on a rainy morning and, unfortunately, continued West. Consistent wind and moderate seas, we averaged 135 mile days for the last leg of the Pacific Ocean.

We were looking forward to the Torres Straight after rumors of scattered coral islands, strong current, and congested shipping lanes. With a fair SSE wind, we decided pave our own way. Minding the easterly current kept us out of the shipping lanes we kept our distance from the shipping lanes. We were making great time and life was good until a gale forced us to drop sail a few hours after sunset. Lacking a working jib as a result of an incident in Fiji, we hove to with a reefed mizzen. We drifted slowly towards the shipping lane eight miles away, we felt pretty uncomfortable tuning into the VHF radio for cargo traffic and popping our heads into the gale every five minutes. I took a nap as Chad was on watch knowing it would be a long night. I’m not sure when exactly I woke up. It could have been the noise, but I would like to think I awoke while flying. Either way, my flight crashed landed after only 8 feet. I hit the starboard cabinets while shielding my head from airborne books, laptops, and Chad’s throwing club from Africa (I have to find a new storage place for that). A wave broke over the beam and mizzen sail. I was sure our mizzen mast was gifted to Poseidon. Chad and I looked at each other thinking “Where the hell did that come from?”

Throughout the night, the wind continued to build accompanied by rain as the current graced into the danger shipping zone. Visibility dropped significantly rendering watches all but worthless. Around 3am Chad came down below for a few minutes from his shift and disappeared again out into rain and darkness. “Hit all the lights! Get on the radio! Three hundred foot cargo ship is going to run us over!” is all I heard. Every light we own was on within seconds. I grabbed the radio following protocol by announcing our location off the ship’s port bow, stuttering through rough coordinates and desperately seeking a response. The ship immediately veered to starboard missing us by “a football throw” as Chad so described. 4am I made coffee and blueberry pancakes to shake off the night and start the day off right before the sun lit the sky. By 5am the wind had settled to 30 knots, so we rose a double reefed main slowly pinching upwind.

Late morning we caught the tidal current and favorable wind. We paid our respects to Twin Island as we cruised on past. Records were broken as we hit 12.5 knots through the Prince Wales Channel. I have to attribute at least 5 knots to the current. It felt like sailing down a river as we were swept into the milky green waters of the Arafura Sea. Goodbye Pacific, hello Indian Ocean.

Last Days in Fiji

The west side of Fiji is beautiful. We grabbed a mooring ball in port Denerau and scheduled to haul out Broken Compass (This is the first time we have taken her out of the water since purchasing her). As waves of tourists and honeymooners passed through the marina in transit to the outer islands, we shifted to work mode. The bottom was caked with a half-inch layer of algae and barnacles... No wonder we have been sailing slow. Our rudder had her own issues. Unbeknownst to us, she was harboring a worm, who had eaten its way through the wood. With a piece of wire, we traced and ended the path of the worm. The list of repairs grew with every nut inspected. BC turned into a chemistry lab with mixtures of epoxy, paint, hardeners, thinners, cleaners and resin. Potential hazards and breakdowns were eliminated one by one until Broken Compass splashed 2 weeks later with a new colors.

Joining the ranks of cruising yachts, we motor/sailed to Musket Cove. They call Musket Cove “The vortex” due to the world class surf and island comforts that can trap sailors for years. We hooked up with our friend Mark, captain of Northfork, and hit the reefs. Spending over a year in the islands, dinner by spear was like picking from the menu of a seafood restaurant. After a couple days we sailed to Lautoka, pulling ourselves from our friends and the vortex. All aspects of our sea trial seemed perfect until the new clutch on our recently rebuilt starter made a grinding noise and snapped. Replaced once again and Fiji astern, we are off for Bali. Estimated trip time is 36 days crossing the Coral Sea, Torres Strait, Arafura Sea, and Timor Sea.

Pray for wind!

Sail to Nadi

Continuing to rely solely on the wind, all of our sails take longer than expected. The first few hours down the southern coast were pleasant with following wind and seas. We decided to take a short cut through Beqa passage close to where we went shark diving the previous month. Short cuts typically increase risk. Well, the wind switched then died, leaving us in the middle of the passage. It returned heavy on the nose with rain. Due to our limited navigation equipment coupled with Fiji's reputation for shipwrecks, it was a little unsettling sailing along the coast on a moonless night. The abundance of reef patches and strong currents running through the passage gave the night some flavor.

The next evening we hooked into a tuna. We were a little out of practice. I saw the rod bend and per procedure, screamed, “Fish!!!” Chad flew on deck from a nap, realized it was dark, and bombed down below to retrieve a headlamp. I had left the helm to work the fish and the boat self tacked back over the line, causing it to tangle under the boat. Rigging, sails, solar panels, Firefox, and Makai all posed unique challenges to the procurement of this fish. I pulled it alongside before we remembered our gaffe deficiency. No problem, wire leader... just haul it up when the boat heels over. One... two... wait... three! The fish came aboard surprisingly well with the motion of the boat. A little too well. I stepped aside to watch Chad trip over the cooler while bear hugging a 45 pound yellow fin tuna. As they landed, one of the treble hooks caught Chad's calf, further connecting him to the fish.

I dove below to the tool box and after two unsuccessful attempts with wire cutters and pliers, grabbed the bolt cutters. In all my life, I have never seen a landed fish so calm. Chad sat quietly with him, knowing a crazed tuna would cause a few deep lacerations in his leg. The bolt cutters worked just before the fish began his final flipping fit.

The next morning we positioned ourselves to sail upwind through Navula Passage. We were sailing confidently through with plenty of wind, then a loud cracking noise followed by a splash. The jib sail along with the entire forestay/roller furling system ripped out of the mast and fell in the water. We lashed the sail and hardware alongside as we limped on the mizzen and a double reefed main. Threading breaking waves on either side of the pass added to the excitement. We anchored for the evening in Momi Bay to assess the damage in and devour some yellow fin. The next day, with fairer winds, we continued up to Port Denarau to haul the boat out of the water for some much needed repairs.

Suva

It took us three (more) long weeks to realize Suva is the unlucky side of Fiji. It rained almost every day we were anchored, and if something on the boat wasn't broken, it happened there. Our outboard engine took another 2 week vacation after the starter coil burned out.

The toilet joined the outboard, leaving us scrambling to find specialized parts.

Our engine led us through the fuel system to the injectors to the timing back to the injectors to end ironically with the clutch of our brand new starter breaking due to a manufacturing defect. We discovered sending a new starter to Fiji is equivalent to purchasing a round trip ticket. We were left searching truck graveyards of Fiji.

Breakdowns are not uncommon in Suva. One not need look far to see wrecks and remains of boats around the harbor. The frequent sinking of boats and close calls discussed over Fiji Bitters at the Royal Suva Yacht Club were a strong omen to leave. One of our friends, Troutbridge, hit the reef coming in the Suva harbor. His boat was stuck on the reef for over two weeks. We departed shortly thereafter.

All mishaps aside, Suva is a fun city. The people stop you in the street just to talk to you, and there are a lot of great bars and clubs. We made many friends quickly and enjoyed the simplicity of the Fijian lifestyle. We were picked up by a couple cute Fijian girls at a bar and found ourselves playing squash at the university and learning local agricultural techniques for fish and prawn farming. Tired of the rain, we picked up the anchor to head over to the Western side for some sun.