Queensland

 We - having swapped Danny for Kate in Airlie Beach- are anchored in the lee of Cape Upstart. And I have been very impressed with the Queensland coast so far. 

The actual sailing has not been a problem -pretty much downwind in 15 to 25 knots of breeze. But the weather in this ‘Sunshine State’ has let us down- there’s barely been a day without rain ( close all the hatches!) and the solar radiation that the boat relies on for electricity has been in short supply. To make matters worse, on the northwesterly course that we’re on the sails manage to shade all the solar panels when the sun appears between the squalls. 

First- the boat, I think I have chalked up the seven problems predicted. The monkey is off my back. The leaking watermaker and the blocked toilet were a day’s work, the leaking boiler has a replacement waiting for us in Cairns and the power generating issue in will hopefully be mitigated with a free-roaming 200W panel to be placed wherever the sun shines on the boat.

Percy island was great- a cruisers’s museum of memorabilia on the beach and we hiked up to the homestead to meet Don, we had sunset drinks on the beach: tick,tick, tick. Airlie- a night in the marina, dinner ashore, a courtesy car to get the spares for the leaks and blockages. Then to Hook Island to snorkel and potter. On to Glaucester passage , and visited the resort and the seafood banquet there. 

Back to the impressive bit- there is a river or headland or island to anchor behind every 10 or 20 miles and we have not spent the night in a plain or bland one yet- they’re all speccy in their own way. And we detoured a bit through Hinchinbrook channel. The mountaintops hidden by clouds, rainforest to the water's edge and we caught a glimpse of a decent waterfall too.

Thus we sailed Northwest for many days, some days covering barely 40 miles but we've also done nearly double that. A three-night stopover in Cairns for some to dive the Barrier reef and to fix and install stuff. Kate was swapped for brother Harry and supplies for a month or so were stowed aboard. A lively city, a beautiful waterfront with pubs, restaurants, a pool and a Ferris wheel. The tropical trees were lit from below and live music was heard on the boat at night.

I write this anchored off Lizard Island. The crew have gone off to climb the mountain, just like Joseph Banks ( the naturalist aboard the Endeavour) did in 1770, and from where he spied the gap in the Barrier Reef that now bears Cook's name.. It is a beautiful anchorage- clear water and a white beach, a lovely reef to snorkel on a stonethrow away. We have decided to spend an extra night here.  It is a bit sobering to realise that there's no supplies for the next 700 miles and no help for problems with boat or crew either. And all those fine anchorages and sheltered spots also seem to be in short supply for the next leg of the passage.

I remained behind to do some medical work which I have been procrastinating on and write this little update to delay the dreary task some more. I wish everyone well!

Underway

 As Bruce just said on an unrelated matter- it is coming together. We have set sail with Danny, Bruce, Mimi and I aboard from Gladstone. Mindful that a boat is at the mercy of winds and waters I hope to go westward eventually. But with Austrialia in the way we headed North, through the scenic Narrows which oddly reminded me of sailing through Friesland.

Mimi is in OCD heaven with supplies for a month or two all packed in new containers, and with everything logged on an app which - I have been ecstatically told a few times- tracks expiry dates, logs usage and can even suggest meals. But it doesn’t cook, so we’ve been taking turns at that.  And yesterday, at Great Keppel Island we woke up to a grey, windy, rainy day. We set sail nonetheless and under genoa alone still made 7 knots or more in the 20+ gusty wind to Pearl Bay.  It was an impressive anchorage in this blustery weather, a bay guarded by islands of dark and jagged rock.

Back to that coming together- after 5 hectic days in Gladstone of repairing this, and buying that, and stowing many, many different things I can now sometimes locate an item on the boat. It looks like everyone is getting the hang of things and we anchored twice without first having to call a committee meeting and haven’t required post- anchor debriefing sessions either. So far, so good. We’re aiming for the Percies for today and Danny is trying to catch a fish.

I would love to embellish this brief post with some images, but Blogspot’s new owner, Blogger, which is Google has thwarted all my efforts to achieve this simple task. 

An introduction to a new adventure

 Anzac Day. We have packed up the Pelican Point Shack, my home for nearly twenty six years. And are about to fly out to the other side of Australia, to Gladstone in Queensland where the new shack Jigsaw is berthed.

Like Tribute, Jigsaw is a Bob Oram designed catamaran: a 48C extended to fifty feet. And the extra 12 feet that she has on Tribute is what makes it a live- aboard, a houseboat. Bob reckoned that she was a top-notch build ( and of a brilliant design!) so I bought Jigsaw unseen before anyone else did.

She is similar to Tribute- duflex construction,  long and slim hulls, light,  and built for sailing. Everything needed is there and of great quality, but no frills. The previous owners- who were the builders too- have sailed Jigsaw around the world and said they did so safely, comfortably and at a very respectable pace. And we in turn are about to  attempt to sail her ‘around the Top’ to Carnarvon.

Jigsaw needs to transport, house, feed and water her crew for weeks on end. And getting ( and keeping) the gear and systems running to do that takes time and effort. I did what I could, remotely from Carnarvon.

We have  sailed for a week or two last year and everything was in perfect order. But I have reluctantly developed the notion that on a really sound and well- maintained  boat, only one thing goes wrong per month. And that this happens whether you sail or not; so I anticipate seven issues awaiting us in Gladstone. 

This idea that everything on a boat is in a fragile and temporary state of function is as old as boats are. Even a brand new boat has to be commissioned- sailed to find all the problems, then fix them. The struggle starts tomorrow and I’m excited!

High seas adventures

If the sea is known as a harsh mistress, then sailing upwind on her for 1400 miles may be likened to S&M with a particularly perverse dominatrix.

I get images of hardship, bravery and adventure- romance even- when thinking of sailing the oceans. Days of seeing only blue sea and sky. And starlit nights spent gazing at the waves and the softly glowing instruments and reflecting on being the only person awake and aware for hundreds of miles around. It is all very inspiring and there's a bit of danger too.

A friend has been selected for a stint in Antarctica. I must ask him if the tentacles of Australian bureaucracy reach that far South when he is back, because I have discovered that there is no respite from them on the ocean.

Below is a true, but unfortunately very boring account of my dealings with the public services.

The Indonesian lumbering rule & regulation juggernaut is no laughing matter but at least I pay or bribe on the spot, and just once. In Oz, I foot the bill annually for the politicians and the lawyers that invent the rules that require the departments that need the planes and boats and human resource managers and CEOs and their accomodation that send the public servants to way beyond mainland Australia to do their job which involves hassling me over and over again when I'm doing nothing more suspicious than sailing in an ecologically blessed carbon-neutral manner across the human heritage that is the ocean back to the place where the boat & I live. This all takes place hundreds of miles away from land and the nearest other human being whom I could possibly choose to bother. I could do no harm if I wanted to!

' If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face-forever', wrote George Orwell.

If you fly to Australia, you buy a ticket and arrive hours later. If you choose to sail to Australia the customs have to be informed one week in advance. If you ask why, the answer is that it is a rule, a regulation or a law. It is felt that is an explanation. And Customs don't monitor HF or VHF radio so you need a phone.

I called from Kupang, announced my intentions and was asked to call back the next day so that the officer had access to the computers. I was quizzed on last port of call and intended time and place of arrival, the size of the boat and number of people aboard etc, etc.

While minding our own business on the high seas 12 hours later we were buzzed by a Coastguard plane- and I mean buzzed. They flew low and noisily circled the boat in a large aeroplane while I relayed the same information again by radio. We were read a 'pratique'- a paragraph of instructions of which the main one is that you cannot set foot on Oz soil until you've been processed by the Agencies.

We arrived at Ashmore Reef. An isolated coral atoll about 100 miles south of Indonesia and 3 or 400 miles west of Oz. And yes, it is delightfully scenic and it would have been a very Castaway and Robinson Crusoe experience if it wasn't for a large military-looking vessel called the 'Ashmore Guardian' moored in the otherwise deserted lagoon. Four officials soon came speeding towards us, of whom two boarded. Nice guys mind you, but I did have to fill in about three pages of details including boat registration number, call sign and tonnage and the last four ports of call. They said they didn't mind us going ashore on one of the tree tiny islands that sit on the coral. I told them that the coastguard had forbidden this (a bit odd- Indonesian fishermen can go ashore without a visa, if you are outbound from Oz you're welcome ashore, but it is very illegal if you're heading to Oz). The uniformed gentlemen promised to find out the letter of the law for us and indeed returned the next day confirming that landing was out of the question.

I pointed out that under the watchful eyes of the Ashmore Guardian AND the two huge Oz navy warships that had appeared overnight and which patrolled the lagoons' entrance, we were unlikely to do anything naughty on the island...

We did a bit of snorkelling and caught up on sleep, I even managed a brief kitesurf there hoping to have been the first to do so. The next day the Coastguard overflew the atoll and this time grilled the Ashmore Guardian for 10 minutes on channel 16 regarding our details again.

We set sail for Scott's Reef later in the arvo and once underway US warship 732 announced their position and 'live firing exercises' on the radio and warned all shipping to stay clear by 5 miles. I must be very conceited in thinking that the onus is on the gunners to aim their cannons at the empty ocean rather than at me, but politely kept my silence. Two hours later this warning was repeated from a different, closer position and I radioed to verify the information and got a reply in a very abrubt manner. I didn't dare ask about my right of way as a sailing vessel either.

A beautiful starlit night followed, complete with the gentle lapping of the waves on the bows and the soft hiss of the wake and all. I had almost developed a sense of solitude and beauty when we got strafed by the coastguard plane once more. Again the whole shopping list was dutifully relayed but -rebel that I am- I volunteered that I'd heard the 'pratique' two or three times before. At Scott's Reef ( a horseshoe-shaped reef in the middle of nowhere) we anchored for the day and did some mildly disappointing snorkelling. The official boat lurking there left us alone until we were about to leave again, but then called with a request for the whole shebang. I was getting quite irate by these repeated calls and enquired if they perhaps shared information with their colleagues, this being the sixth time in four days that I was called to account. The official apologised that he did not receive our details & I reciprocated apologies for being flippant and we went through the routine again.

The next day-just as I was considering meditating my way unto higher planes of consciousness so that I could mentally snowboard down again - we were divebombed by this infernal red/white coastguard plane once more. I was enjoying some harmless nudism on the foredeck and realised that they deliberately flew low and from downwind so as to catch us by surprise. This time ( I am an anarchist! A guerrilla fighter on the barricades in the battle for freedom and privacy!) I hinted at a sensation of déjà vu. The public servant aboard admitted that she had been on the plane on one of the preceding days but nonetheless served me the usual questionnaire once more.

We skipped the Rowley Shoals-just couldn't lay the course in the incessant Southerlies- but once near Australia I contacted Carnarvon customs with a more precise ETA and I requested permission to spend a night at anchor at Coral Bay in view of the 'inclement weather'. We went through the list again, and to ascertain that Australian Bureaucracy missed not a minute mote of vital information it was requested that I email the info too.. But I did get a call back with permission to anchor and a reiteration of the pratique.

I got some mild enjoyment from the thought that high-level meetings were held in the Oz War Room regarding an armada of boats from Indonesia all confusingly called Tribute and probably with sinister intentions converging on the hapless town of Carnarvon.

Another 24 hours of upwind sailing alongside the Ningaloo Reef under a stormjib and three reefs in the main but we made it to Coral Bay where I asked Sea Rescue for permission to use a mooring and I admitted we had not cleared in yet. She conferred with the Authorities, found CALM or DEC unhappy with us being in the marine park but at the end of the day permission was granted. She also said that Carnarvon Sea Rescue was looking for us and if it was OK that she gave them a call.

Thirtysomething knots on the nose the next day, followed by a miserable sleepless cold wet night, but eventually we sailed into Carnarvon. The Customs guy came aboard with the familiar 3 pages of questions (this time including the last six ports of call) and he then handed me his phone so that I could be quizzed by a lady from the Quarantine Department in Geraldton who also berated me for failing to inform her of our arrival. I apologised for our sneaky and stealthy entry into Oz and arranged to meet for an inspection next week. 'With a bill', she said.

Once ashore I discovered that I was expected back at work four days earlier and thus gossip had spread that we were missing, so Sea Rescue had put out an alert and the police had interviewed our next of kin regarding our whereabouts.

I don't think Big Brother is watching us. But thousands of Little Brothers do add up.

Swings and roundabouts:

I spent weeks at Kanawa's charming budget resort where I developed a taste for the spectacular diving in the area. A holiday enlivened by a visit of the Hullett family and several diving and sailing and delivery trips in the Komodo Archipelago, but now Tribute is underway again and approaching Maumere.

Kevin & Kate are crewing and we've been following the N coast of Flores Eastwards for the past five days while slowly getting into a groove of sailing and anchoring, cooking, playing guitar and chess. Available charts are of too large a scale to be useful and what books I have on anchorages leave nearly all our sailing as a voyage of discovery. The winds have generally been light and the engine's been on half the time.

Because we are sailing into the sun we can't really leave all that early- the low sun reflecting off the the morning seas' mirror surface makes it impossible to see any shallows. And likewise, we aim to find a likely place to anchor by 4 pm. We discovered some excellent spots on the way but tonight's a pretty but shitty one surrounded by coral, I haver a stern anchor out and all alarms are set for depth and drift. The coastline has been beautiful and interesting, with lots of reefs and shallows and islands.

K&K went ashore at a small muslim fishing village called Rutang. They returned saying there'd be a wedding the next day and we were very much invited for the party that night. Ashore, a marquee had been built containing a small stage with three ornate chairs on it. A generator was humming and a wall of sound equipment was set up. Mind you, the village was otherwise quite threadbare with some 50 simple weathered wooden houses, unpaved paths, and no telephone or other signs of modernity at all.

There were about a hundred people of all ages gathered under the marquee who cleared a circle into which 5 chairs were lifted- for us and the two young men who spoke a bit of English. All watched intently as we tried to communicate, later some simple food was brought to us and on my request- the bride, who joined in our staged dinner with everyone watching and commenting on our every move or word.Later the Indo pop music was cranked up and feeling indebted we created much merriment by dancing-just us and the two young men.Everyone else watched.

Later we found Tribute had been burgled of cash and phones, but leaving cameras and computers.The remains of the satphone's credit was used up cancelling accounts. Everyone was apologetic, police arrived in force and for hours we sat through procedures before heading East again, penniless and incommunicado. We are heading for Maumere where I hope to procure a

phone, restock and to pick up Peter and Arnar. The struggle continues in high spirits!

Tribute to Indonesia

Back in LBJ, the noisy, colourful, dusty and bustling town built on green hills and overlooking 20 or so islands of the Komodo Archipelago. My little spot of 2009 next to the police station has been taken and I've tied up to some jetty remnants in the old harbour. There is a long line of food stalls ashore and boats of all sizes noisily come and go. Kids are flying little kites and fishing from dugouts, sitting on the trampoline under the shadecloth gives me a prime seat to watch it all.

Hutch & I chilled out on the Gillies for a good week, swimming to shore with our dry bags containing books, sunnies and rupias and just lazed the days away. We also discovered that the resurfaced road north of Sengigi deserves a mention with the worlds great motorcycling roads, both on account of the spectacular views and its curvaceousness.

The actual trip to LBJ was a rerun of 2009 except that we sailed Teluk Saleh, the big inland sea of Sumbawa where we snorkelled on the memorably named isolated reef of Aart van Nes- who turned out to be a Dutch captain in the 1600's. There is little dutchness that remains in Indonesia otherwise, but I discovered that an ashtray is called 'asbak' here, and an exhaust is a 'knalpot'.

I seem to be suffering from some sort of writer's block. I think I'm a bit in love with Indonesia and my writing does no justice to Indonesia's beauty. It is a great privilege to have the time and money (little as is needed here) to waft along the islands, to suck in the sights and take a digital snapshot every now and then.

Six days at sea

More complaints-The first couple of days there was too much wind, we had the hatches closed and water cascading off the roof every few minutes & spent our days and nights in the cabin. We did chalk up a 215 nM day though, which is more than respectable for a 38 footer. This was balanced by too little wind in the second half of the crossing- motorsailing. At first a blessing- the boat was cleaned, sumptuous dinners prepared, and books were swapped. Dolphins cavorting on the bows and stunning sunsets. We hit a log which cracked the bow and we ruined the screacher but overall made an uneventful journey to landfall under a bright moon in a bay on the South coast of Lombok. The next day we shot the strait and cleared in at Medana Bay.

It is good to be back in Indonesia. The polite and friendly people, the inquisitive kids, the nasi and Bintang, the surfbreak at Gili Aer- it is all still there. Hutch and I resolved to chill out majorly until we feel the need to head East & I will update this blog once the stresses of transoceanic voyaging have dissolved in the clear blue Indonesian waters.

Slipped the moorings

Just a quick note to say we've left and have checked out from the International Port of Carnarvon (Yes!)

We- Bruce, Hutch & me- used the paper-rock-scissors method to decide the watch- sequence, and I am on first. Everyone's asleep, and all is quiet but for the motor droning on. The loom of Exmouth is on the horizon.

It hasn't been an easy first day- last night off Coral Bay the wind wavered from all directions and ended up on the nose. In the process we've hoisted & downed all sails between a 90 m2 spinnaker and reefs on main and jib. By midnight things got very lumpy, and by morning we sheltered under the canopy because water cascaded over the roof and into the helmsman's hatch. And despite all the wind and spray we we weren't really getting anywhere, which was frustrating.

We've ended up tired, off food and sleep deprived, a state which can be produced much

safer & cheaper at home.

But there you are.

Kees

More possibilities

Hi all, and dinkum!

Some updates: the cumbersome but entertaining process of matching sailing intentions to bureaucratic possibilities has started. Going to straight to Labuanbajo is fading as an option but hasn't actually evaporated yet. A person in the know suggested that one doesn't actually have to clear in near landfall, as long as the vessel is en route to a place where the boxes can be ticked and providing one proceeds in an inconspicuous manner.

Next- there's grace on the CAIT- it can now be done within the month, so 1/4/11 is the new deadline and that's not a joke. Bear in mind the passport has to be valid for SIX MONTH AFTER ARRIVAL. This certainly screws me up, I have to go to Perth in person to get fingerprinted for the new Dutch passport.

But my demands remain! I shall not become an Australian citizen until I'm either excused voting duties or Australian politics become less of an embarrassment. Secondly, that a national bushflyexterminationstrategy be implemented- I think that civilisation cannot gain a foothold in a country where you need both hands (opposing thumb or not) to shoo them away.

Thirdly- There is the emerging possibility of making a one-way trip, and to keep Tribute in Indo for a season in Ace's new marina on Lombok. By the looks of the pilot charts (see http://www.offshoreblue.com/navigation/pilot-charts.php) the winds become increasingly southerly after August and certainly no sane Carnarvonite would ever encourage sailing southward from the Northwest Cape then on any sort of schedule.

So that may mean keeping Tribute in Indo for nearly a year. Assuming this is possible paperworkwise, it would also mean that the voyage would likely follow a similar route to the 2009 one. Having a boat in Indo is of course a good thing with lots of exciting possibilities, but not having a boat in Carnarvon sux.

Deliberations, negotiatons and peregrinations continue... Feel free to contribute to the cloud of uncertainties while I wish you all, unseen, the best of possible vibes.

If you don't shoot, you'll always miss

Hi all,

This short bloggie just to say that plans are underway for another Indo trip, provisionally booked in for 10 weeks or so starting May 2011.

Plans for this expedition include hopefully starting where we left off in 2009, the Komodo Islands and Flores. Then exploring Flores and Sumba (SURF!) and hopefully departing from Roti (SURF!) and to reef-hop back to Oz on a broad reach visiting Ashmore and Scott Reef, possibly even Rowley Shoals.

That is The Plan. Since ancient times it has been known that in sailing nothing is certain. We can add another layer of uncertainty in the form of the Indonesian Bureaucracy which almost did us in in 2009. But, as the title of this blog suggests, if you don't even plan you can be certain that a trip of this magnitude will not happen.

Joy to all! May your cumulative feet tread rose petals only and your faces forever be spared from acne!

Kees

Cooking up a NEW PLAN!

I have painted myself into a corner for 2010 workwise. No time for transoceanic voyaging. A lazy alternative is to slowly cruise from the Von, via Gnaraloo, Waroora, Coral Bay, Ningaloo Reef, Murion Islands, Onslow, Montebello's and the Dampier Archipelago to Dampier. Gently. Cruising style. In May or so - when the cyclones have receded but the water is still warm enough to snorkel, spearfish and (kite) surf. I'll start beavering away on the boat, slowly, and find out if anyone's keen for what and how long.

Thus Spake Obi-Wan-K’noathi

Back in Northwest Oz overything settled back into its usual WA rhythm. We are drinking like troopers and Louie conjures up huge cooked breakfasts before we even think of hoisting sails. We are getting bloody good at this! With Lisa aboard via Warroora to Cape Farquar, which is a bit of an iffy entrance and mooring. And no shootable fish inside the reef, the abundant large Grey Nurse sharks must have eaten the lot. Outside the reef we dangled on a long rope behind Tribute in amazingly clear but cold water and Mix was the lucky (and fearless) one to dance with a humpback whale which came to sniff us out. Crew additions at Gnaraloo- Nats, Megsie and Sandra joined and miraculously we were treated with another beautiful mellow downwind sailing day, with whales, wine and a big mackie. Once at Red Bluff, the girls had to swim in through the shorebreak. And the mackie was trussed to a surfboard to float in with them.
Anyway. The home stretch tomorrow.

Obi-Wan-K’noathi is a redneck philosopher/fisherman who lives- or ought to live- in a shack somewhere round Cape Farquar. He is old as the weathered red rocks and his language is colourful as the reefs. The fresh Southwester blows through his mind and I spend the days thinking up aphorisms to attribute to him. So far, they’re too rude to entrust to these pages so I must leave you, and this blog, and this trip and this ship with the observation that all this rah rah about the merits of travelling and arriving has really got to stop.

Come forward, you can see the end from here!

Almost home. .we sailed -upwind of course- via the Montebello's to Coral Bay. The Australian skies are clear and the air is crisp and chilly in a hard Southeasterly, blowing from the Great Sandy Desert over the Indian Ocean. And after pondering the meaning of life for three months, drenched by the ocean and scorched by the sun this realisation dawned on me: I am but a small cogwheel in life's vast machine and my purpose during this reincarnation is to host hen's nights.

Prenatal poultry calculations

To say that we have arrived would be premature. But were anything to go wrong now, we could swim to the mainland. It is just past midnight and we are approaching Dampier. The whole area is lit like a christmas tree with wellheads and drilling platforms, it is tricky seeing if any of them move or have navlights.

But be that as it may, we are expecting to make landfall just short of five days after hoisting anchor in Lembar. Five days of wet and bouncy upwind sailing, we had to park the boat for a while just off Lombok before we even dared to enter the cocktail shaker where currents, wind and swell collide. After that- shipboard routine of reading, dozing, cooking and being on watch. Every day at 1700 heaving-to for regimented callenistics and a saltwater shower. We made a 183 nM day, not bad if you consider that the current downwind record for Tribute is just over 200 nM. Highlight was a marlin, hooked, landed and released by Marlin today.

The wellheads turn out to be a traffic jam of huge ships. Cheers!

PS- Made it! Moored at 0500, customs phoned at 0615, by 0700 we had the officials aboard. Remember the race between Oz & Indo bureacracy? Everyone was friendly and efficient. And dare I say it, two of the customs officers were actually rather dishy. But the quairantine officer removed a bag of garbage plus an apple that we had overlooked and then charged $680 for the honour while apologising for these government regulations... It is a draw, I think.

Meanwhile back in Oz for three hours, and we already have four thwarts under our belt:
- The $680. Ouch.
- Our first encounter with an Australian native, a burly bloke in a fishing stinky did not acknowledge my friendly 'g'day mate'. But he could be deaf or distracted of course, so I repeated the greeting with the same result.
- A bit later a very pumped up grumpy bloke told us that we were not allowed, 'under no circumstances!' to tie up to the jetty. He was about to untie us, but we managed to delay him by a minute so the officials could get off.
- If we want to see the Monties at all (with Nathalie's enticing offer of using Tribute as her hen's night venue with 'fourteen bikini babes supplied to the boat' in mind), we have to make a move again tonight and into a headwind as well .But the shops are closed, and a taxi vv to Karratha is $100. Which means that 1/2 a day in Oz costs more than a month in Indo. Kenoath!

Anyway. A luta continua.

Huu

For reasons not quite clear to me we are travelling under assumed names. ‘Yella ‘ after Louie’s yellow Corona-filled Esky that he’s effectively twinned with. ‘Marlin’, presumably because Mix would like to catch one. And Seuss, as in Doctor. But not much else has changed in Tribute’s travelling routine. From LBJ to Kanawa, then to Komodo where we trundled for hours through the shrub and bush without seeing a single dragon. The guide was apologetic but laughed away our suggestions of a refund.
Anchorages on Sumbawa’s South coast are rare, but I spied some promising features on the chart so we checked it out and found a village hidden deep in a narrow bay. Fishermen pointed us to an anchor spot and we took the duck ashore where M&L were a bit overwhelmed by their sudden popularity- all 150 kids in the village swarmed around them, pointed, chattered and laughed while I took pictures. We were lucky to watch the weekly soccer match with 12 very fast players on bare feet seemingly unconcerned about the rocks on the dirt field.
From there we followed the rugged coastline with a pit stop at Huu, where the presumably famous ‘Lakey’s Pipe’ is with its attendant tourist infrastructure. Mix & I got a very pleasant surf in the next morning with three Americans on ‘Nanga’. We even tried to kitesurf for a brief while until the wind died, much to delight of the villagers.
Supplies are low. In most villages there is a small toko where eggs, rice, coconuts and sometimes cabbages are available. We’ve been trying to make our own roti’s out of flour and essentially live on this with pot noodles for lunch. But for even simple things like canned tuna we have to wait till Lembar, with luck. And I have run out of books.
This morning- with trepidation- we shot through the Lombok Strait once more and made arrangements to clear out of Indonesia. But the forecast looked a bit iffy (not that I’ve ever seen it favourable for getting back to Oz), we cancelled Abou- our Agent -and are now storming North at 12 knots to await better weather on Gili Air. Again.

PS-Actually set sail on the 14th, early am. Hoping for a five day crossing, six more likely.

All the way to LBJ

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the captain should go down with his ship. To Davy Jones' locker, or to Labuanbajo for the fourth or fifth time. In hindsight Tribute could have travelled further through Nusa Tengara if there weren't three separate crew movements through LBJ.

Ever since the owner of a mooring demanded money, Tribute's been strung between its anchor and a stern line which is tied to a lamppost in the police station's garden. When leaving for the morning's nasi, the gentlemen in uniform and I exchange selamat pagi's. And likewise malams at night. They made a handy profit out of our last fuel transaction and now often ask if my jerrycans need refilling. There is a mosque just up the road and both Peter and I are impressed with its imam. He has a good strong voice with range and passion and there is variety in what we presume are prayers. In the distance we can hear his colleagues but they don’t have a patch on ‘our’ guy. Little things like this matter, especially at five a.m. And just behind the cops is the harbourmaster's office whose inhabitants have yet to bother us.

Back in Oz, many commented on my Indo plans by saying 'piracy'! Some skipped that word and simply asked what guns I'd be taking. The sailing press was reassuring on the piracy front but pessimistic about another scourge, the bureaucrats. As I understood it an official of some flavour would row, swim or motor out of every hamlet and village to demand copies in triplicate of all possible paperwork as well as arbitrary fees for this honour. Now, it is unwise to sell the skin of the bear before one's shot it but so far this has happened only once. And there’s the possibility that on our return the Australian Customs and DPI will outhassle Indonesian Officialdom. Any takers for a bet?

But I digress- the friendly humans in uniform are as the rest of LBJ's citizens. Not a grumpy Indonesian have I met, and the ones who speak English cross the (currently broken up) street to get some practice in. LBJ is a bit of a transit port for dive charters and visits to Rinca or Komodo and it has some low-key tourist infrastructure. A couple of simple restaurants, a few dive shops and a souvenir store where wood carved dragons are displayed. And secluded in the forest up the hill is the Paradise Bar.

Paradise has a colonial atmosphere. The entire clientele is Caucasian except for a gaggle of local boys who all have Rasta hair and who seem focused on meeting girls. For the others there's food, Bintang and live music. On guitars which are out of tune in themselves and between each other a selection of world music is performed. The artists swap instruments, the waiter joins when he's free, the audience is invited and overall (like I noticed in the Philippines) there seems to be a refreshing lack of ‘look mama I can play' attitude.

I rented a small motorcycle to explore the hinterland of LBJ. Without a map I followed my nose until the road or track petered out, and then returned to repeat the same in another direction. Eventually I found the main road to Ruteng which was so rutted and gutted that I took it for a dead end. You'd think that off-road bikes would be very popular here, but strangely the roads are swarming with the standard issue Asian motorcycle. The type that can carry an entire family. I am unsure what they are-there's no markings apart from the brand. How can anyone own a motorcycle that is simply 'Yamaha'? Where do they get their bragging rights from-the colour? Is there no need in Asian society to be able casually mention that your Howazuki GXR-Z 1100 Mk II has not only got ABS but also RSVP? It is all very odd and I cautiously made my way up a distant pass where the air was cool and bamboo grew four stories high.

Meanwhile I'm on my own and moored in a pretty bay on the Northern tip of Komodo. I set a new Zen record by taking 8 hours to cover 17 miles- and that is as the fish swims. Until half an hour ago it was idyllic, half a moon and a glassy sea and silence except sounds of splashing fish and indeterminate animal noises from the land. Pure tranquillity. Then a small motorboat came into the bay- I suddenly thought of pirates and guns again- but they scouted a mooring for a large and brightly lit tourist barge which motored around the headland later. The sanctity of nature was shattered, the music and laughter carried miles across the water and I thought fuck you too & started the generator after all.

So, back to LBJ to pick up Mix and Lou. I hope Bali doesn’t damage them too badly. The clock has started ticking again. There’s a mission and a schedule and there’s the wild South coast of Sumbawa and Lombok, and after that the Indian Ocean.

...I once travelled with a Swede who took his time to deliberate the postcards he wrote. But he always settled on the same phrase, which he explained was the nicest thing you could wish someone and that he couldn’t think of anything better to write:

‘May all your dreams come true’.

Do the Sumba and the Tonga

Tribute's crew is down to two and the boat has grown, partly because Peter and I travelled together for 25 years and have reached that matrimonious nonverbal state. With no-one to please but ourselves and 10 days to do that we tacked and gybed and plotted our way through the Komodo archipelago, doing a bit of reading, photography and snorkelling on the way. To translate Nescio: 'I am nothing and I do nothing. And even that is doing too much. I don't think either, thinking is for dumb people. It is best to gently fade out'.

Excitement there is little, although I came close to suffocating in an attempt to have some scuba-divers discover me sitting on the seabed at 14 m in lotus position, hidden just around the corner of a bommie they dived on. And at an anchorage on Rinca there were SIX dragons on the beach. A plague of them!
With so few goals in life we created some. And curiously, after not meeting a boat for over a month we immediately ran into the Dutch crew of 'Kolibrie' at Komodo and quickly broke our vows of not smoking or drinking. And the next day the Oz crew of 'Bonnie' left a pack of cigarettes behind for Peter which was the end of his asceticism. It obviously was not meant to be and he has accepted his karma.

Karma,dharma and general laid-backness have a numerical value on Tribute, it displayed on the speedometer. I have not been able to help BUH understand that if you're going nowhere in particular, then there is no need to rush the departure or to laboriously squeeze every fraction of a knot out of the boat. Just accept the number on the screen, om mane padme hum. The quickest way to get to a destination anyway is to decide that it is here. Consequently, the boat has two speeds under motor: 6.5 knots is cruise, 4.5 knots is a psychological band-aid. The latter has been used a lot because it is so hard to lie still or go slow. Peter and I have now managed to endure hours of sailing at four knots which is a new Zen record.

These biodegradable non-directive wanderings have landed us on Sumba, an island where headhunting was practiced in living memory. The Lonely Planet is lyrical about it but there is not much I can say yet except that the coastline looks a bit like the landscape North of Geraldton. We spent the night anchored near a ferry terminal and were not keen to go ashore. There are no published anchorages so we are feeling our way along the coast, making sure to inspect possible spots that we could get back to later. With the promise of a fuller report later I wish everyone fair winds, I trust that 14 knots just aft of the beam would suit all?

PS: That was it for Sumba. No anchorages in the past 30 miles, three hours of light left, nothing conceivably anchorable within range. C-map useless, the pilot written two centuries ago 'Anchorage achievable with local knowledge... line up a conspicuous tree and a rock and anchor in 60 metres of water' and even the paper charts were published in 1904 by the Nederlandsche Hydrografische Dienst. We have tacked, turned North and are preparing for a night-sail across the Sumba Sea!

And pix can fly

Hi all, nothing's happened really. Moored in Labuanbajo in sight of the local police station. At night we chain the dinghy to the station's fence before pottering off to the Paradise Bar. It is stinking hot, we still have to organise fuel then we're off direction Sumba . By the sounds of it that will be very remote! Tribute's resident artist has made a collage of some pix so I thought I'd post them here, for your enjoyment and comfort.

The day of the dragon

Well hello, all!

It has taken us over a week to get to the Komodo archipelago, home to 'some of the most tempestuous waters in Indonesia' according to the Lonely Planet. It has been pleasant all along. Most days tacking along the Northern Sumbawa coast in a F5 headwind, sometimes motoring through the lenghthy calms. We stopped for a restocking session in Bima, the capital of Sumbawa. Hustlers on motorcycles greeted us at the dock jostling for our business. Peter and Kate went off in a 'Ben Hur'- a horse chariot- to get food, and after some negotiations in which I only got badly ripped off I left with a little fleet of motorcycles each with an empty jerrycan on the pillion seat. Loaded with money I rode through the seedy parts of town with a motorcycle gang. After the fuel & food was sorted both Peter and I made another raid into town for a box of beer, the purchase of which is probably similar to scoring drugs in the Western world. My 'fixer' spoke to some people, who directed us into the slums, where other people were questioned until we got to a small shop where a tray of Bintang was dug out from the stores.

Which brings me to the subject of alcohol- Tribute is a sort of Big Brother setup, with three people marooned on a small boat in a foreign country. On our involuntary teetotal days we play chess. When there's beer aboard, everyone becomes more amicable and we even had a Latin Party in the cockpit, illuminated with headtorches. I have long thought that it is an evolutionary oversight that we all aren't permanently at the one or 2 glass level socially speaking, but there you are. Quite another thing is that the hassles in the Middle East may just be better approached through the opening of bars rather than starting another war.

Be that as it may, we've pottered gently (headwind & adverse current wherever we go) through the archipelago of hundreds of rocks and islands which rightly is a World Heritage area. Shallow reefs and raging currents in the sea and the sawtoothed spines of mountain ranges on the islands mark the horizon. Very varied- yesterday, in the area between Komodo and Rinca the landscape was more like I'd expect of Cape Horn, with towering black granite cliffs and jagged spikes of rock poking through the surface of the clear blue water. It is only fitting that Komodo dragons live in a prehistoric area like this.

This morning we are moored in Teluk Ginggo on Rinca which 'ranks up there with the best anchorages worldwide', according to our cruising guide. Just after sunrise a 2m dragon sauntered onto the nearby beach so Peter and I launched the dinghy and armed ourselves with two big sticks hoping to get a better picture of it. Yesterday, in Komodo, we saw about 6 dragons on a guided tour and they seemed pretty docile. But this one was alone on a deserted beach in a rugged, uninhabited area. We approached with caution, the dragon licked the air with his forked tongue and slowly disappeared into the bush again.

It is a magical area and it is surprising that we have seen only two other cruisers since we left Bali, and very few tourists at all. The guide said there were only 10 people on the island most days and I remember knowing about Komodo since Primary School, it is that famous. Meanwhile the wind's picked up and it is time to move. We are dropping Kate off in Labuanbajo on Flores in a few days time, Peter and I hope to have a look at Sumba after that. Mix & Louie- I suggest you get a flight to Labuanbajo as well, because this area is not to be missed. I'll be in contact later.

Slogging Eastward

Sumbawa:
As I write this in the port hull of Tribute I hear Peter and Kate teaching each other to sail and having lively arguments about the readouts on the instruments in the cockpit. They are both wrong, but on the calm waters, and without any fixed plans for any day- who cares? Since the last blog we've picked up Peter from Gili Trewangang. The Lonely Planet warned that it was a bit of a party island, so Peter and I retired to the boat. Kate however went hunting in the pubs for the elususive Two French Doctor Chicks that are so vital for my future plans. She later thought she managed to find one, but got very drunk in the process and fell out of the dinghy and wrecked her phone and whatnot.

The whole crew decided to aim for a life of moderation and contemplation for the rest of the trip. And remarkably, that is what seems to be happening. After a bit of snorkelling and wandering on Gili Air we bit the bullet and sailed to the other side of Lombok. Near a nameless village we dropped the anchor and went for a sightsee to find we had left the tourosphere. Between Peter and myself there's a 20 word vocabulary in Indonesian, but, to parapharase Chairman Mao: with a smile and a background in charades you get further than with a smile alone. A boy cut down some coconuts from a tree for us and someone else showed us how to skin them with a machete. Everyone is smiling and helpful. The daily chores now include swotting Indo from a phraseboook.

The next day we travelled to some uninhabited islands between Sumbawa and Lombok that looked really good on Google Earth but are otherwise not mentioned in any of the guides aboard. It was magnificent, we snorkelled in water with 30 m visibility over imposing reefs and I wend wild with the camera. We crossed the strait, spent hours finding an anchorage on Sumbawa and were the main event of the week for the many kids in the village we visited this morning.

...Two days later, and we lie moored on a coral reef. Directly below Tribute there is a near-vertical, coral encrusted precipice going down to unmeasurable on the depthsounder. The water is incredibly clear- often I saw the crew's bright fins underwater in the distance before I could see their heads above it. Snorkelling over the wall felt like taking off on a hangglider. The moon is full and there is a warm breeze coming off the island, carrying wafts of woodsmoke with it.

We seem to make slow progress Eastward. There has been little wind and so many distractions! We anchored in Tor Potopaddu yesterday, an almost fjordlike indentation in the Northwest Sumbawa coastline. The fishermen pointed out a good anchorage and hung around the boat for an hour or so, later replaced by all the kids from the nearby village who paddled out in their little outrigger canoes. They were mainly curious, but also hoped to get a pen or a magazine or sweets. I dished out some of each but soon realised that the demand was endless.
Today we made it in a nice breeze to Moyo Island by lunch. Despite lots of healthy snorkelling, and being up before dawn, and playing chess, and meditating a bit at sunrise- the absence of vegetables and beer will drive us toward some sort of town. But of course, there's a volcanic island with a saltwater lake on our way and probably more reefs and sights. It may just take a while.