Cocos to Phuket

A fearless man has no courage. He doesn't need it.
Courage is needed by the fearful, to do it anyway.

-Lauri G.-

Where are we?

Map of Thailand / Malaysia / Northern Sumatra

This is not a chart or a copy of a chart. This is not a story. This is not real, or an image of anything real. My world? Is it real? Or is it surreal? I did a surreal trip on surreal charts? I will try to use the Darwin Copyshop method in life too. Believe it, and it's there. Deny it and it does not exist.

A VOYAGE INTO MY MIND

Fear, anxiety, worry, depression, sadness, even madness come to people for many different reasons. The cause of an emotion is quite irrelevant. Some people take pleasure from doing things that push others over the edge. Some people feel anxious in places where others are at home. I'm sure many people would have gone insane doing a two week passage on Aliisa, even with no problems on the way. The motion, the heat, lack of facilities, confined space and poor quality of sleep that comes in a few hour blocks at the time... But I don't compare myself to those people. I compare myself to those who sit in Phuket with an American, Norweigian or French flag. They've done a lot more miles than I have, they look happy and relaxed and their yachts look clean white and tidy. My dear friend Pertti Duncker endured six years of every imaginable hardship - from Antarctica to Amazon with severe weather, number of breakdowns and emotional turmoil uncomparable to my wildest dreams. But he never had doubts about making it to the next port. Why would I?

1590 MILES - 240 MILES TO THE WRONG DIRECTION - 106 ENGINE HOURS - ONLY ONE MENTAL BREAKDOWN

We decide to leave Cocos Tuesday 13 October. I have a strange uneasy feeling about the passage. I am always a little bit nervous when I'm "out there" but this time there is a budding anxiety. I do my best to push it away as there is no option but to continue. Paula perhaps feels a little hesitant to leave too. We are in the middle of a relationship crisis. Upset and unsure how our joint venture will turn out. Pushing all the troubles away, we make popcorn and spend most of the day having drinks and playing backgammon. By three in the afternoon, we decide that tomorrow is a better day to leave. All other yachts have gone and we have Direction Island to ourselves.

Calm seas and spectacular skies around the equator. Each day produced a different display of clouds.

Next morning is 14 October. I remind myself about the necessity to move on. We have to go. I am trying to separate the unreasonable worries from the valid concerns. The cyclone season is approaching. Cocos had a close call with a category 1 cyclone early September, a month before we arrived. I know I have to get to less than five degrees from the equator as soon as possible. I look at the barometer every 10 minutes. 1017Mb. My mind is starting to create more fears. My mind becomes a fear-factory. Pirates in Sumatra, breakdowns, no wind for weeks and not enough fuel to motor a thousand miles. The fridge is already broken and so is my relationship with Paula.

In the three months of cruising, we have remained distant, emotionally. We are great friends, we have great beach picnics and sessions of drinks and backgammon and so on. But romantically we are not getting anywhere and it is bothering me. What would happen? Is it going to last? If Paula leaves, what will I do? Carry on happy or get stuck in bars, feeling lonely and depressed? Another failed relationship? I want this to be the last one for me. The one to last. Have to go. Have to leave Cocos.

I force myself to pull anchor and we motor out of the lagoon.

We enjoy good SE wind and suffer from seasickness. New motion, the swell is on the side, short sharp and steep. We live on bisquits and popcorn. We find it hard to get used to being out at sea again, but we're happy about the miles, 125 a day. On day four I look in the engine room to check on things. To make sure everything is in place. Everything is, except the starter battery, which has come off its bracket and is now lying upside down on top of the prop shaft. It has been sitting there for a few days, dry as a bone.

That's right! Paula only reminded me about fifteen times to tie it down, as she noticed it being a bit wobbly already from Christmas Island to Cocos. I forgot. I put it back on and fill it up with water. After a 48 hour charge from the solarpanels it is holding a respectable 10,5 volts. It is good enough to turn the engine. We're getting closer to the equator but the wind keeps blowing steady, a little less each day.

As the wind starts dying, we become more comfortable. Paula whips up fantastic meals and we spend afternoons playing backgammon. (We've kept a scoreboard from Cairns and after almost a hundred games, I have a narrow lead.) Nights are cool and we sleep well, four hours at the time. There is still an air of unspoken feelings, unspoken fears and an unspoken, unseen future for us. Sumatra lies somewhere to our right, 300 miles away. We're aiming at its northern tip, in the region of Aceh.

A little bit of dark cloud and lightning to put me on my toes just before the equator. The event shows my state of mind. We have 10 knots of breeze and a moonless night. Full mainsail and full genoa poled out. One flash of lightning and a patch of dark cloud ahead. In 35 seconds I'm sitting in the cockpit with full wet weather gear, three reefs on the main and a storm jib. The storm never comes. We cross the equator in a 10kn breeze. I get hot in my wet weather gear.

PIRATES

I keep feeling nervous, with my imagination creating all kinds of fears. Thunderstorms, pirates, breakdowns, whatever. Since crossing the line, the wind dwindles away and we motor about six hours a day. The rest of the time we sit and wait for a breeze or sail at 2kn in a light breeze. The feeling is quite relaxing in a way. Playing backgammon and having drinks. Making popcorn. Reading. Sleeping. Phuket is just around the corner, 400 miles away.


Pirates approach	Pirates depart. What a story!

Two days later, about 150 miles offshore NW Sumatra, an Indonesian fishing boat with eight guys on deck makes a turn towards us. They come straight on from port bow and I am - again - anxious about what will happen. We are totally outside any help and even without weapons the boys could come onboard and do whatever they want. When their boat is alongside, I stand bravely on the deck, wave and smile. I shout "where's your fish?", stretching my arms to indicate a big fish. Stupid me, they wouldn't understand. No response. They come within five metres of us but continue to motor to the opposite direction. Just as they pass, a man sitting on top of the wheelhouse roof stretches his arms to indicate a much smaller fish and points to the cargo hold. He understood. They only caught small fish. We smile and wave to each other as they continue home.

HELL

The motor is leaking oil but not enough to demand a top up. Everything seems good. Only 300 miles to Phuket, which seems almost like a daytrip. I'm dreaming of getting there on Paula's birthday, 28 October. We are nearing 6 degrees north and I'm hoping for some wind. The remains of the SW monsoon? The beginning of the NE monsoon? Anything?

On the 25th October we come out of the shadows of Sumatra and enter the region of the Great Channel, the 60-mile gap between northern Sumatra and the Nicobar Islands northwest of it. Little did I know that those last 300 miles would almost cost me my sanity.

I have again made the mistake of reading cruising guides. The average horror movie would be more relaxing. My Indian ocean guide is talking about ball lightning, St Elmo's Fire and Pirate attacks. It tells me that October has the highest occurance of cyclones in the Bay of Bengal and that they form between 5 to 7 degrees north of the Equator. Even Jimmy Cornell's world cruising routes shows a picture of a cyclone area covering the whole northern tip of Sumatra. I have more cause to be anxious. I want to get the hell out of here. I look at the barometer every five minutes. It was 1017Mb when we left Cocos. It is now - in its daily variations - between 1007 and 1009Mb.

Wind arrives, 20 knots from ENE, directly on the nose. "No problem", I think. A couple of long tacks, the wind will change. I know that we are inbetween the SW and NE monsoons. We sail all day tracking as close to north as possible. At six in the evening going is still tough, punching in to 20kn and not making any easting. I turn the motor on and try motor sailing. We motorsail until midnight but for some reason keep drifting further west. Instead of northeast towards Phuket, we keep drifting northwest towards the Bay of Bengal.

The night gets worse. I hate the roar of the engine but the wind and the current is pushing us back and the waves are too steep to push into them. Then come the ships. According to the International Maritime Bureau, an average of 170 ships travel through Malacca Straight each day. (63 000 per year). Most of them pass the Great Channel north of Sumatra, either to turn out to the Indian Ocean or to turn into the Strait. Look at the world atlas and you can see how this is the hole that spits out or sucks in one third of the world's shipping.

I kind of anticipated a lot of shipping, but not like this. Huge bulk carriers and oil tankers travelling at high speed. They do not answer VHF radio calls. They do not slow down. They do not alter course. My anxiety is turning into higher levels. I have told Paula to wake me up whenever a ship is coming close. Tonight I don't bother waking up Paula at all because I know she'd be calling me up every 15 minutes. I stay up from 8pm through to 5am. Some ships come within a few hundred meters from us. In the dead of night I watch the dark shadows of the 50 meter high sides of a vehicle carrier. To see the the bridge I only have to look up. I am terrified.

MORE HELL

No one told me about the currents. The pilot charts show them as 0.4 kn flowing to NW. But they're not. Try three knots. I'm not telling a fishing story here. When I say three knots, I mean excactly three (3) knots, to the northwest. No wonder we keep drifting west all night. I finally give up and change tack. We manage to head to 160, almost south, although the speed against the current is now only less than 2kn. We follow the same line back to where we came from. In the morning, having managed to make about five miles easting, we try again. Another 24 hours through the shipping does nothing to relax my nerves. I am ready to quit, but there is nowhere to go and more to come. On a routine engine check - after 10 hours of motorsailing the night before - I notice that the altenator belt has come loose and has rubbed itself to a water hose, eating away the best part of the hose and shredding black rubber dust all over the engine room. The belt doesn't look too good, maybe 20 minutes of life left. Phuket is 290 miles away. Anxiety grows and desperation arrives.

Self portrait at the worse part of the voyage. The seas were stormy in my head. Everything else was ok.

I pull the water hose away from the belt with a couple of cable ties and decide to change the belt to a new one. I have two spares. I had all the numbers on the original belt when I walked into Northern Truck Spares in Cairns. (1118Li A13 1150) The guy in the shop commented on the odd lenght of 1118 and sold me two belts of 13A 1120. They are both too short, the correct lenght is 1150. Anxiety grows again. I am in this shit-channel with 170 ships, my last altenator belt is about to disintegrate and we are being pushed out to the Bay of Bengal by 3kn currents and a 20kn easterly wind. After another 12 hours Phuket is still 290 miles away. I've slept 2 hours in the last two days.

Then comes the squalls and thunder. Second morning, 48 hours in the channel, we have made about 10 miles more east and ready for another 24 hour nightmare, trying to get away from the current. At 4am I see a black band of cloud that I can not avoid. I put two reefs on the main and furl in most of the genoa. The storm jib is already on, assisting in windward work. I'm not afraid of the wind, I know Aliisa can take it. I'm afraid of being pushed back, losing the few miles that we've gained so far. The worse happens. 50kn of blow from the east. I take my gear off and stand in the cockpit having a much needed freshwater shower. Paula stays inside. There is heavy lightning and finally I chicken out and move inside. The one-hour blow takes away every mile we have made in the last 12 hours. I am getting close to a nervous breakdown. Seeing bright shafts of lightning shooting down to the ocean around me doesn't help.

LA - LA LAND

On the third night I remember the cruising guide and read the cyclone part again. No good. Nervous breakdown is imminent. The barometer goes down to 1005Mb and refuses to rise on its highest (at 10am and 10pm daily variation) to more than 1007Mb) More ships coming close. I have slept for about 4 hours in the last three days and both my body and mind are entering the twilight zone. La-la land. Paula is urging me to sleep. When I'm on deck, I can distract my mind by the ocean and the battle with it. When I lie down, hell enteres my head. I start sobbing. I lie in bed, crying and every sorrow, every sadness, every pain and every grief in the world starts to pour out of me. I feel like a million gallons of tears. There is another journey - an inner journey - that takes place. I've bottled up a lot of things in my life and now - right fucking now - in the worse possible moment, the lids start blowing off. I'm losing my nerve. I'm falling apart.

There is no way out of this place. We're on our fourth day of going nowhere. I decide to head straight to one of the islands just north of Sumatra. The wind must have turned just a little more NE and we are making a steady 2,5kn against the current, towards the island. A large bay west of the island would allow me an easy sail in and there we could rest and get a new altenator belt - the only thing that might see us out of here.

At four in the morning - up all night again - I speak to a ship on the VHF. A lovely Greek captain takes pity on me and has a chat, gives me a weather report and confirmes the strenght of the current. I ask him if skirting around very close to Sumatra would be better, if the current would be less there. He seemes to know the area well. The reply on the VHF still rings in my ears. "Hey skip, do not - I repeat - do not approach the Sumatran coast. There has been a large number of pirate attacks and there is an international exclusion zone around the coast. It is the region if Aceh, there is civil war and you are not safe there. Get as far from Sumatra as you can."

Like I needed to hear that. I turn north again. A new day is breaking, the dark grey sky is getting lighter for the fourth time in four days. The photocopied chart from Darwin, like everything else onboard, is becoming wet and turning to paper mache. I have long stopped putting more crosses on it. My mental state is worsening. I hardly eat, I make no log entries, I don't sleep. Slowly I start to realise that the situation is bringing out much more than I ever thought was inside me. 30 years worth of grief is coming out. Seven years of being bullied as a child, my sister's death, my Mother's death, my failed marriage with Sonya - everything that I have packed away is exploding inside me. This is not a good time for it, but maybe it is the only time.

Paula becomes a nurse. She makes sure I eat something and we speak about a lot of things. We become closer. Out of the hell, comes something good. I feel humbled. I decide to sell the yacht in Thailand and sort myself out mentally. The inner journey becomes more important than the outer one. But the outer one is still unfinished. My shoulder is sore, the muscles in my right arm twisting in pain. I am all fire and brimstone. Lets get the fuck out of here and away from Sumatra!


Going windward became the norm for a week.	A little bird lands on and disappears soon after. 200 miles offshore.

That morning - the morning of the 14th day out at sea - we make it out of the Great Channel. Only just east of Nicobar Islands. Phuket is now 250 miles to the east of us, 40 miles less than four days earlier. Wind is getting lighter and I began to relax. I haven't ran the engine for four days. How much life is left on that altenator belt?

ANDAMAN SEA

On the 16th day, at four in the morning, we hit another thunder storm. Again, it isn't much of a storm. The wind is not bad at all, but because it looks so menacing I put two reefs on the main and roll up the genoa. Drifting back with the storm jib and main is frustrating. I wan't to get some "value" out of reducing sail. "Give me 50kn please. Give me a good blow, I'm all ready for it." But the blow never comes. Just 20kn of cold wind, a little drizzle and that's it. But it gently takes back the five miles we had gained towards Phuket. I get the shits. Fuck this. With the old half-shredded altenator belt on I turn the key and push the throttle. Straight to Phuket, 201 miles away. The wind will change, for sure. Or the belt will last.

Self portrait number 2. This is bullshit. Should I sell the boat? Wouldn't it be nice to live in a house instead...?

In the evening I feel like an idiot. The engine has been running for 15 hours non-stop. I realise that saving the belt was a mistake. It will probably go for another 100 hours. Should the belt finally give up, the water temperature alarm would give us a warning. By late evening we have only 150 miles to go.

I wake up Paula at 2am and we sit in the cockpit talking. I've spent the night trying to avoid lightning storms. I tell Paula what an idiot I've been, not wanting to run the engine earlier. We have done over 19 hours of motoring towards Phuket. Paula and I keep taking in through the roar of the motor. Autopilot - as usual - is steering. The belt has one hour and 14 minutes to go. But I don't know that.

Just after three in the morning I tell Paula good night. Just as I am descending down to the aft cabin for a sleep, I decide to quickly have a look at the engine temperature. The gauge in the cockpit has no light, so I pick up a torch. The needle is resting on zero. "Shit, the wire's come off" I think and go down to pull the engine cover off. Behind the cover I find a problem. The engine temperature is not showing and the alarm is no longer connected because the altenator belt has just shredded itself and on its departure, has whipped out whatever wires that came out the thermostat housing above it. We are about to cook the Yanmar.

GETTING THERE

I shut down the motor and put on a bungy cord. The motor is not over heating - the belt must have gone only moments before I looked at the gauge. A lucky break. Going straight to bed would have meant disaster with no alarm other than a smoking motor. I reconnect the wires for engine temperature, showing in the cockpit. The capillary of the Murphy Gauge which operates the engine alarm, is beoynd repair. Paula starts to pull up the sails. There is about five knots of breeze, on the nose as usual. I spend the morning trying to extend the spare belt, but I can't make it strong enough. We're down to a collection of bungy cords with no engine alarms. For some reason I feel quite relaxed. The strain on my mind is perhaps transforming to anger and a will to battle. We're fucking gonna get there!!

Bungy chord ready for work. I bypassed the altenator, solarpanels looked after the charging.

Occasionally a wave of pessimism hits me with the thought: What if this is just the beginning? We haven't even been hit by lightning yet. What more can there be before Phuket?

The next day Paula and I whip five bungy cords into a loop, to replace the altenator belt. (The altenator is not important, solarpanels can keep the batteries charged. Unfortunately the same belt also runs the water pump which keeps the engine from overheating.) I add up the miles. 20 miles per bungy cord. Maybe five will be enough. If need be, I'll tow Aliisa in with the Zodiac. I could always swim with a rope in my mouth, to do the last mile.

We start motoring again. There is no wind and whenever there is a light breeze, it comes excactly from where we so desperately want to go to. We keep the engine cover off to keep an eye on the motor as there is now no alarm, should the cord break. The first cord snaps after 10 hours. I feel hopeful. Maybe we'll get there. My mental state is getting better. Fewer miles on the GPS make arrival to Phuket imminent. Maybe one more night. The sun goes down on a clear sky.

At 8pm I'm still waiting for the moon to come up. Full moon was only a few days ago and in an hour or so we should have a better view of the sky. The air gets heavy and the stars disappear. Lightning fill the sky ahead. I am sick and tired of false storms, stuff that looks terrible but never delivers anything. We motor into an area of grey. There is not a breath of wind and the ocean is so calm I keep looking at the stern with a torch to confirm that we're moving. The lightning comes without thunder, there is no rain and everything seems eerie. I feel quite relaxed. All the action is up in thin whisps of dark cloud. I feel like being in a grey concrete cubicle with lots of broken fluoro lights in the ceiling, flashing away.

This chop is in 5kn of wind. A strong northerly current created some weird conditions in Andaman Sea.

Slowly the lightning becomes more severe. By 3am I start to feel funny again. I've been driving past a particularly heavy area of lighting for about three hours, but it remains in the same spot, just right of us. The air is heavy and thick. The barometer sits in 1005 after a short high of 1006. Not a ripple. The Yanmar is roaring, Phuket is still 70 miles away. I want to get away from the lightning. I want to get to Phuket. I want to sell the boat and settle somewhere with no stress of cruising.

The lightning gets worse. Thick forks and shafts bolting down to the ocean next the boat. Not just flashes in the sky. Still no wind, no rain. Just high voltage electicity. I wake up Paula. I need to sleep. Paula drives through the wee hours and I stay awake, taking compass bearings to work out the direction of the worse part of the storm. We get out into a grey morning. Arrival is close. I go to bed at 9am. Phuket is only five hours away and we can see land. How long will the bungy cord last?

I sleep for three hours - longest sleep in a week - and wake up to see the high rising hotels in Patong Beach. I feel emotional. Paula has already shed a few tears of relief. The straight forward approach to Chalong Bay turns confusing. I'm tired and Paula suggests the laptop / C-map. I push the 12v plug in to turn on the machine. As I do so, all the power goes off. The GPS goes blank, the power to the main switchboard is cut. I frantically disconnect and reconnect wires. Suddenly power comes back on. The bungy cord breaks. Paula notices the raise in water temperature and I put our third rubber band on. Fucking hell, does it have to be hell all the way? As we are approaching Chalong Bay, the wind picks up to 15kn and an incoming tide against the wind creates a large chop. We push and push, smashing into the waves. The last hour feels like another week. The bungy cord lasts.

So, on 1st November, 18 days after departing Cocos and after 25 hours of bungy cording we drop the anchor. We've done 106 hours of motoring since Cocos. I cry. Not from stress, but from relief. I arrive in Thailand feeling incompetent, exhausted and doubtful of the whole excercise. I have no life raft, I have rusty decks, non-functional reefing system, paper-mache charts, dodgy wiring and little money. I have had an emotional episode worthy of not repeating. I need to sort myself out and sort out the yacht. Do I have the money and mental resources to do that? I don't know. I hope to continue.

Self portrait number 3. See a little smile there? Hmm... maybe selling the boat is not a good idea after all. I wonder where I can get altenator belts. Better start tidying up ay?

We take the dinghy ashore and stand in a tourist driven Thai suburb. We walk into a bank, change some currency and then make our way into a bar to have a meal and a few drinks. New smells, new smiles, new feeling. The following day we buy a pre-paid kit for my old mobile phone. I feel better.

I buy a new starter battery and two altenator belts. Tomorrow we might clear Customs. Nobody seems to care about that, not even the customs. Paula and I are closer than ever before. All the pain in the voyage seems to have transferred to the strenght of our relationship. Whatever happens, I am with someone who cares. Paula has done a fantastic job in learning the ropes, sailing the yacht, tolerating my ever-changing moods, and so on. She has also done a fantastic job in allowing me to be me. I feel ready to allow her to be her. And then from there.... everything is possible. One adventure is behind us. More to come.

EPILOGUE

There is nothing more terrifying in human life but fear. I don't mind being pirated. I don't mind drowning. I wouldn't care less if I was kidnapped by some terrorist and then hacked to pieces. I don't mind head winds, head currents, broken gear and squalls. I don't mind torture. If I could only NOT have fear, it would all be a walk in a park.

A fearless man has no courage. He doesn't need any.
Courage is needed by the fearful, to do it anyway.

PHUKET

I arrived in Phuket feeling tired, humiliated, humanised, battered, de-motivated, desperate for a rest. The smallest things had become the biggest problems. The first person we speak to is a 40-odd-year-old lady who has arrived in Phuket only two days before us. In addition to the same that we experienced, she had a broken autopilot and diesel soaked through every cushion and bed in the 32 foot yacht. In the next few days we meet a few others who tell about the difficulty of rounding the north coast of Sumatra in the wrong season. I listen to myself, telling about the hardships. I feel stupid. All the things that at the time felt like the world falling upon me, were nothing but little hardships that made the trip a little more difficult.

Do others feel desperation? Do others have feelings like I do? Or do they just laugh at their hardships and carry on? Do others feel fear and do it anyway?

A "Longtail" resting in shallow water, off one of Thailand's many beautiful beaches

I change the oil in the engine. I do five trips with two jerry cans to the fuel jetty and put 180 litres of diesel in the tank. I wait for rain each afernoon, but end up filling the water tank from jerry cans as well. Each afternoon-storm blows off too quickly, with too much wind or doesn't bring enough rain to fill the tanks from the sky. I buy four altenator belts. I clean the engine room. I find a new Murphy gauge for the water temperature alarm. I drink and smoke and sleep late every morning. I relax.

I go to the hospital with a terribly sore shoulder. It has been sore since leaving Christmas Island and it's only getting worse. The Phuket International Hospital is very modern and more than half a dozen people deal with me before I see the doctor. Blood pressure, weight, personal details. When I finally sit infront of a thai female doctor, I present my problem. My shoulder has been totally fucked for two weeks. Sleeping has become very difficult. During the consultation, I try to bring up another issue. I tell her about the anxiety. I tell her that I nearly had a nervous breakdown during our sail and that I am worried about the emotional state that I was in. She replies in broken english, tapping my shoulder gently: "Don't worry about your shoulder, we give you some physical therapy."

I feel that my shoulder is nothing but my body's response to an emotional problem. She thinks that I'm feeling anxiety about the shoulder. A pretty thai girl walks me downstairs, where a pretty-boy physical therapist aims microwaves and electric heat into me. Finally I walk out with Nurofen and muscle relaxants, total bill AUD $70.00. Nobody wanted to hear about my anxiety. For a three dollar bottle of thai-whiskey, I can cure myself every day. And I do.

At the time of writing this - 12 November - everything is much better. The boat as well as my mind is tidier. We have fuel, water, fridge, fresh food, engine working etc. etc. We are ready for a trip to Langawi and a cruise through the islands. My only remaining concern is money, which may not last for another 20 months. I'm contemplating the Red Sea route, which will cut a year off from here to Finland. We'll see.

Paula still dislikes this website. It is a very one-sided account of my feelings. (How can there be more than one side to my feelings?) It is time for me to say sorry and thank you to Paula. Sorry for the shit you've endured. Thank you for enduring it. Life is amazing. In addition to keeping the yacht going, I'll have to learn how to love again, and how to be loved. I need to deal with some old baggage that I still carry around. In the meantime, both of my journeys continue.

About Phuket On to Langkawi, Malaysia