Crossing the Indian Ocean
Part 2
January 17, 2021
In 2019 Eric and I had the opportunity to help crew the sailboat Anjo across the Indian Ocean. Last spring we wrote about the first leg of our trip which took us from Phuket, Thailand 1100 nautical miles west to Galle, Sri Lanka. It was our first time heading offshore, and what an experience it was. Large pods of dolphins, dodging tankers in the shipping lanes, and some great fishing were just a few of the highlights (catch up with that blog post here). After a short stay in Sri Lanka, Anjo was ready to untie her lines and carry on towards Cape Town, South Africa, before the monsoons switched and the weather turned for the worse.
Sunset and tuna off the coast of Thailand
Leg 2 - Sri Lanka to The Maldives
Depart: Galle, Sri Lanka 6° 1'34.90"N, 80°13'39.72"E
Destination: Uligan, Haa Alif Atoll, Maldives 7°04’56.43”N, 72°55’46.78”E
Distance: 512 nm
With tanks full and provisions stowed away, Anjo cruised out of Galle Harbour (thankfully without engine problems this time) with her bow pointed southwest to our next destination: Malé, the capital city of the Maldives. It would be a 400 nautical mile trip to the islands, and we were excited to be back out on the open water for the next 3-5 days. The crew had grown by one with the captain's friend Mark who joined us for the rest of the trip. The forecast was calling for light to moderate winds from the northwest, so we were optimistic that we’d have the chance to cut the engine and raise some sails en route to this remote chain of tropical islands.
The Lost Dorado
After leaving Sri Lanka in our wake we crossed back through the wall of tankers making their way to the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean, and we were back in open water with high spirits. Since the first tuna was brought on deck back off the coast of Thailand, the captain kept telling us of his dream to eat freshly caught Dorado on his boat. Dorado, or Mahi-mahi, are highly sought after due to their beauty, food quality, and exciting acrobatics when hooked. The name Mahi-mahi comes from the Hawaiian language meaning “very strong”, and their bodies have dazzling colours - golden flanks, and bright blues and greens on the sides and back, with iridescent blue pectoral fins. Later that day I was sitting at the bow looking out at the water watching schools of flying fish dart out of Anjo’s path when I saw a flash of yellow and green. I continued to watch as one of the flying fish jumped out of the water, followed immediately by a full-grown Dorado in hot pursuit. After the Dorado made a few failed attempts to grab the flying fish out of mid-air, the two took their dance below water and I scurried back to the stern of the boat to put out the lines. Later that day, the bungee snapped and moments later a beautiful golden fish was leaping out of the air behind us! The Dorado fought much differently than the tuna, zig zagging back and forth while putting on a full aerial show. Eric wrestled the fish closer to the boat while I readied the gaff, and It seemed the captain's dream might finally be realized! The fish was thrashing around wildly making it difficult to hook with the gaff, so we grabbed the line and yanked the fish over the gunwale into the cockpit. Right away hell broke loose as the meter-long fish spat the hook and went berserk, flopping around, knocking over buckets and tangling lines as Eric and I both tried to grab it. Moments later the fish had somehow lodged itself in the wheel well, temporarily jamming up the steering and evoking true sailor's language from the mouth of the captain. Eric dove on the fish and yanked it free only to watch as with one graceful leap the fish was back in the water, swimming freely. This would end up being the one and only encounter with a Dorado we would have on the entire trip, and the captain’s dream of eating a fresh Dorado remained just that - a dream.
Dorado - slippery buggers!
Raise the Sails!
Heeled over and flying along!
We were cruising at 8 knots and it was a great feeling! 8 knots may seem slow when compared to land travel (about 15 km/h), but for some reason everything seems faster when you're heeled over on a boat. We were experiencing the harmony that comes by moving through the water from sail power alone. Not only was it remarkably quiet with the engine off, but the boat moved with a much more natural rhythm through the water, matching the tempo of the wind and swell, as opposed to forcing its way through by the engine at a constant speed. This was what sailing is all about. Open ocean, a steady breeze, and blue skies!
Just to keep us on our toes later that day we received an email letting us know that we were missing certain documents needed to clear customs in Malé, and would have to check in at a different port of entry in Uligan, a small island on the northernmost atoll in the archipelago. Although the captain wasn't pleased, the idea of visiting a small, remote island instead of the bustling concrete city of Malé was appealing to Eric and I. We happily altered our course setting a waypoint on the east side of the atoll, 200 nm away.
Marking noon positions on the chart.
A Spot of Weather
We experienced our first taste of inclement weather on night two. With our course altered we were now heading northwest, right into the weather. It was early evening when a wall of black clouds started to form ahead, and the whitecaps of breaking waves could be seen in the distance. The wind picked up as the night went on and by morning the seas had built and were confused, with the short interval swell coming from multiple directions and making for a rough ride. By this time we had our foul weather gear on and safety vests clipped into the jacklines while above deck. A jackline is a rope or wire that runs from the bow to the stern. When there is a risk of falling or being swept overboard, clipping in allows you to move around on deck safely.
The wind was bearing down right on our nose and forced us to reef our sails and go slightly off course. The wind and swell continued to build to a consistent 25 knots with white foam crests forming on the waves around us and spray coming over onto the deck. The dense cloud cover blocked any light from the full moon and by 20:00 we hit the full force of the system. Gusts over 33 knots rocked Anjo as we forged ahead into the dark. Not only was it blowing hard, but the wind was switching up to 60° on us, back blowing the main sail and rolling the boat from one side over to the other violently. Your adrenaline flows when you find yourself in heavier conditions, but as time goes on and you realize the boat can handle it, you get used to it as the new norm and start to relax. I found this was a theme for me throughout the trip as my tolerance level would build as we were exposed to different conditions. That being said, I was very grateful that we had switched to having two people on watch at a time!
After a long night, the morning came and the wind settled slightly, but the seas remained confused and the crew was tired from lack of sleep. Throughout the day the wind continued to drop, the seas laid down, and we collected ourselves from the previous night’s bashing. As we ate our dinner of seared tuna, creamed corn, and Ding’s perfect rice, we watched a glorious pink sun set over the horizon and marvelled at how different this evening was compared to the last. The full moon showed itself for the first time and as we were about to bring in the fishing lines the bungee snapped like a whip, indicating a fish was on. Shortly after we brought a beautiful Wahoo onboard. Wahoo’s are another prized game fish and are among the fastest fish in the sea. Their flesh is delicate and dense, and highly regarded in many cuisines around the world. Their elongated bodies are shiny silver with irregular vertical blue bars on the sides, and their large mouths host razor-sharp teeth. This was a great way to end the trip and the wahoo would turn out to make the best fish and chips we've ever had. We were scheduled to arrive to Uligan a few hours before daylight and would wait for the customs office to open in the morning.
Fresh wahoo and a full moon above.
The Grand Entrance
As the sun rose the next morning we were offered our first views of the tropical atoll. Swaying palm trees stood tall on coral white-sand beaches and the ring reefs were visible through the clear water surrounding the islets. Paradise was found!
Sunrise over palms.
The cruising guide recommended anchoring off the south end of the island to wait for customs, but after a few hours of dodging coral heads in the pass the Captain became impatient and insisted we try and enter a very small looking port close to shore. The only access was through a narrow channel cut into the reef not much wider than Anjo’s beam. The chart showed depths of less than 2.0m, which was too shallow for our draft (distance between the waterline and the lowest part of the boat), but the captain insisted on going in. With no other choice but to hang on and hope for the best we watched in wonder as the captain steered Anjo through the narrow channel, barely sneaking past the submerged coral heads on either side of her. As we neared the end of the channel we watched with bated breath as the depth finder rang off warning sounds indicating we were too shallow. Suddenly, the boat lurched to a stop as the keel dug into the sand and Anjo became grounded. Unfazed, the captain cranked down on the throttle and after some resistance, Anjo pushed through the sand bar and slipped into the little port.