Welcome to Pacific Bliss

September 9, 2005

Passage to Singapore
by Lois Joy

Part 1: Birthdays at Sea

Part 2: Pirates and Pennzoil
September 12, 2005

It was a long and eventful day, this our fifth day at sea, one that we will never forget. We had been motorsailing under a light southeast wind for the past few days. In the early afternoon, a 12-14 knot wind shifted to a beam reach, our fastest point of sail, and we could finally silence the drone of the engine. “We are sailing!” High fives all around. Simpatica, with their longer hull (47 feet to our 43), breezed by. I called them to take photos of Pacific Bliss under sail, and we would do the same. Simpatica slowed down and we sailed along side by side, having a blast. “We are sailing, we are sailing,” everyone was shouting and singing. Pure joy.

Simpatica turned up their sound system and played Latin songs. Belle danced with 2-year-old Dios on their trampoline. Soon all of the crews of the two yachts were dancing as music blared from Simpatica’s speakers, each attempting to out-do the other. Noen took the prize, performing the chicken and then the monkey dance for Dios, up on the cabin roof of Pacific Bliss (see photo album following this section).

Our Captain was pleased. After days of motorsailing, he had been worrying about our fuel consumption. If this wind speed and direction continued, perhaps we would be able to shepherd Simpatica straight through to Singapore, without stopping for fuel. His back-up plan had been to have Noen’s buddies bring fuel to us at an anchorage off of Bintan or Batam, before crossing the Singapore Strait.

But of course, our luck didn’t hold. After a few pleasant hours of sailing, the iron jenny was droning on again.

At 1600, I noticed a rather large fishing boat heading toward our starboard beam. At the helm, Gunter sped up to make sure that she would clear our stern with plenty of room to spare. She would most likely pass behind our stern, ahead of Simpatica, following behind. But the more we sped up, the more the fishing boat altered course to meet us mid-ship. As she came closer, we could see that she had a well-weathered wooden hull, with a freeboard twice that of ours. She passed closely to our stern and then turned toward our port side. Three men on board motioned toward us, holding out a red jerry can. I woke Noen out of a pleasant afternoon dream to translate.

“They want diesel,” he said.

“That’s the one thing we’re short of,” said Gunter.

“They say only 10 liters.”

“Perhaps we can give them ten and Simpatica can give them the other ten. Tell them to go to Simpatica first while I think about this.”

They headed toward Simpatica. With their run-down hull, Wences didn’t want them coming too close. He tied a 25-liter can to a dock line. Smart. The vessel picked it up with a fishing hook, then turned to lumber on a southwestern course.

“They said they are headed to Jakarta,” said Noen.

“Strange. With only 25 liters of fuel, that won’t get them far,” I replied.

“Perhaps their plan is to keep getting more fuel like they just did,” he answered.

“I would think they would go to Bawean.”

Just then, the boat turned and headed back to Pacific Bliss. “What on earth…,” I began.

“Perhaps they just want to return the jerry can,” said Gunter.

But the can belonged to Simpatica. Gunter suspected that they might have other motives. He loaded a cartridge into the flare gun that we keep at the ready. The boat was almost touching our stern.

“Load it, but don’t show it,” cautioned Noen.

Back on Simpatica, the wheels were already turning. From their vantage point, it looked as if the men were boarding Pacific Bliss. And if this boat was on the up and up, why didn’t they offer some fish in return for the 25 liters of diesel? Perhaps they were not fishermen, but pirates—so went the discussion on board. The boat had no name painted on the hull, but a license was displayed. The crew wrote it down. Who did they know in officialdom in Indonesia? Aha! They knew the mayor of Kupang, our first Rally stop in Indonesia, but he would be too busy. But is wife…she had been so nice…and they had her home number. They called her. She was concerned and became immediately involved. She called Jakarta to be on stand-by. “They could send a Navy ship, but by the time one came out, it would be too late, perhaps a helicopter,” she mused. “I’ll wait by my phone for word from you.”

Simpatica called me on the VHF. “We’re coming up alongside.”

“What do you want?” Noen yelled to the approaching boat. He turned to Gunter. “They want motor oil.”

“That we have,” said Gunter, and went into the engine room, coming out with a full can. “Do NOT let them raft up,” he said. He handed the can over to Noen, who tied the can to a long dock line. Then Noen stood at the starboard helm seat, and with a mighty throw, heaved it up and onto the ship’s deck.

“Good job!” said Gunter, relieved. “We can all go now.” But the boat still wasn’t leaving. What now? The men on the boat were hoisting the full 25-liter jerry can over the side. We picked it up. They had really wanted engine oil and were giving the diesel back to us. The three men were all smiles now—waving and yelling “Thank you” in Indonesian. The vessel turned around—this time for good, heading southwest as we continued northwest.

We caught up with Simpatica as we continued along. “I carried Theo, the baby, on deck along with Dios at my side,” said Belle. “I thought it would prey on their sympathy if indeed, they were pirates,” she added. “Perhaps they have families too. Now, we are all having a good laugh. But we wanted to warn you, don’t be surprised if you see an Indonesian plane buzzing overhead, just to check things out.” We never saw one. This isn’t Australia.

Noen, Singaporean by birth, Malay by descent, laughed about the paranoia cruisers have about pirates. But as a consultant to SailAsia and the Malaysian Dept. of Tourism, it was a revealing first-hand experience for him.
Photo Gallery to Part Two

Go to Part 3: Crossing the Equator