A False Start
It’s 4pm on Thursday 28th May – our scheduled departure time.
I start the starboard engine, while the wind gauge leaps to 30 knots as the latest in a line of squalls blows through the anchorage.
The rain drums off the saloon windows, and a steady drip comes through the hatch onto the nav table. After 10,000 miles of our circumnavigation, we’ve had to fix almost every hatch on the boat, but this one is stubborn and even after removing it twice and re-bedding it, we just can’t find the leak.
We’ve got used to it, and we have a towel ready to mop up the worst. While the engine is warming up, I turn to a blank page in the logbook, record our engine hours, and our starting latitude and longitude, while Jen grabs the windlass remote control.
We’re finally ready to raise anchor, and begin the 450 mile passage to Addu Atoll.
After 70 days here in Haa Alifu, in the north of the Maldives, we’ve been given permission to move. It isn’t free rein; the country is still in lockdown after all. But after intervention by our embassies, the authorities granted our request two days ago to move to the south of the Maldives to avoid the regular bad weather that strikes here in the north.
So we’ve spent much of the last 48 hours prepping the boat to leave. And after this long on anchor, it’s no small task, especially since we’re expecting 25-30 knots and 2-3 metre seas along the way.
We had a long To Do list before we could set sail
We’re allowed to make one stop en route, in the capital Male, where we can fill up with diesel and gas, and reprovision, before resuming the journey to beautiful Mulikohlu Island in the south.
The Male stop, while attractive in terms of much needed supplies, brings with it its own challenges.
The Maldives is still seeing large numbers of new Covid-19 cases every day, and the epicentre is Male. So there’s significant personal danger involved in going there.
The anchorage is also the busiest in the Maldives, with many commercial boats anchored right on top of each other, and not enough room to swing as the wind changes direction. So we spend some time preparing our stern anchor with extra chain and rope and get it ready to deploy quickly.
This photo of Hulhumale anchorage in Male is very poignant. It was taken by May-Lis Farnes, crew on the Swedish yacht S/V Hafsokestern. A highly experienced yachtswoman, she was originally crewing through the Indian Ocean, but the yacht she was on got stuck with us at Uligan in Northern Maldives due to Covid-19. The skipper decided to sail back to Sweden non stop (a mind-boggling undertaking on a tiny Bavaria 30 yacht), but May-Lis didn’t have the time to join him. However, she couldn’t leave either, as all flights were cancelled. After several weeks, she managed to fly home, albeit via several countries. She took this photo out the window as she was leaving. Hafsokestern is the smallest sailboat in the picture!
It’s important to spend the time doing this before we leave, as typically you don’t “get into the groove” on a passage until day 3. Since our anticipated arrival at Male will be after two days and nights of sailing, it is literally the worst time to try and negotiate a busy anchorage in the forecasted 30-knot winds.
Because the anchorage is so full, the water is too dirty to run our watermaker, so I’ve spent the last two days filling our tanks, and my last job is to “pickle” the machine (run some chemicals through it) so that it can sit unused for a week or two without marine organisms fouling the membrane.
I serviced one of the engines last week, and paradoxically my routine engine checks earlier today revealed a problem caused by the servicing – a fuel filter is leaking. I strip it down and sure enough, one of the rubber seals is cinched – I must have damaged the seal when reinstalling it. But these little teething problems are par for the course, and we’ve left ourselves plenty of time.
We’re one of three boats left in the anchorage, and the other two are our closest friends here. We sailed the Anambas Islands in NE Indonesia with Erie Spirit last year, and did some land travel together in Sri Lanka, so we know we enjoy spending time together. They’re also leaving at 4pm today for Male.
By contrast, Andrew and Leslie on Sonrisa are reluctant to stop at Male – they have less need than us from a diesel perspective, and so the risk/benefit equation with the Covid-19 situation doesn’t work for them. They’ve decided to sit out some forecast rough weather up here, and then sail direct to Addu in 10 day’s time, meeting us there.
That has given us serious pause for thought. Although cruisers are an independent bunch, most of us make friends among the other cruisers, some closer than others. From the moment we met them in Thailand 18 months ago and Andrew bankrolled me through customs and immigration, we knew they were “our people”.
We made our plans to sail through the Indian Ocean together, and it somehow doesn’t feel right to be leaving them behind.
Leslie half way up Sonrisa’s mast in our current anchorage
We know we’ll see them soon, but when faced between the choice of leaving right now on a testing passage to Male, with a dodgy, unpleasant anchorage and a high risk of Coronavirus infection, or hanging out for another 10 days up here with our besties drinking wine and playing cards, waiting for the weather system to pass through before sailing non stop to Addu, we’re heavily conflicted.
It occurs to me that perhaps we’ve been institutionalised, and now that the authorities have released the shackles and given us our freedom (or at least the chance to move), perhaps we’re too scared to face the outside world!
We go about our preparations anyway, putting off the decision to the last possible moment.
And now that moment has arrived.
While the engine is warming up, Erie Spirit raises their anchor and turn to the south.
Jen and I look at each other.
“Ready?” I ask.
“I guess”, she replies, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
The wind has died away but the rain is still falling.
“How about Rock Paper Scissors?” Jen says. “Best of three”.
I take “Going”, and Jen “Staying”. Going wins, but in my gut, I’m disappointed.
“Alright, let’s do it”, Jen says.
Just then, the radio crackles into life. It’s the Coastguard, checking in with Erie Spirit and confirming they’re on their way.
“Take care out there”, say the coastguard. “It’s rough conditions”.
Jen and I look at each other.
It’s not quite enough to tip the scales, but we’re now harbouring some serious doubts.
I go and check the weather for the tenth time today, I know what it will tell me – the conditions will be OK - a little boisterous, but nothing that Steely can’t handle. But I look anyway, in the vain search for some new clarity.
I don’t find it.
Leslie pings us on WhatsApp. “Are you guys leaving or not?” she asks, somewhat hopefully.
If we go, they’ll be left all alone here in Haa Alifu – the sole survivor from some 20 boats that have made their way through the anchorage in the last 70 days.
She knows it’s my birthday in a few days, so she plays her trump card – “ I’ll bake you a cake! What’s your favourite?”
I’m tempted, but it’s not enough. We’ve got to get going, don’t we? The rough weather up here is not ideal, and although the passage in front of us will be a little sporty, the prize at the end, after Male, will be a much calmer anchorage in the south.
Yup, we’ve got to go. Birthday cake be damned.
And then, out of nowhere, serendipity intervenes. My Facebook pings with an update. I’m reading it when Leslie sends me the same link.
Thailand has just announced they’re opening their borders on 1st July.
I look at Jen. Thailand or Malaysia is exactly where we want to be right now. And Addu atoll is 450 miles in the wrong direction.
I turn the engine off.
We’re staying.
