How to chase waves while dodging pirates
Sailing from Darwin to Indonesia to go surfing
— Guest Post by Annie Laurence
Picture this. We’re anchored in the most isolated bay on the west coast of Lombok, the landscape rocky and bare. A few palm trees line the shore, and three tiny villages are scattered a few miles in the distance. The only sign of life a few late fishermen cruising for morning fish. We are sitting in the boat cockpit with our espressos, catching the breeze, listening to the world news on the BBC and both working at our computers, one positioned either side of the cockpit table. Later we’ll log on with the satellite phone and send off the emails.
Although we have done our best to marry up the surfing guide and the cruising guide it’s been a fairly futile exercise and we’re cruising where no cruisers go, dropping anchor where no anchor has been dropped before. In search of the perfect wave. We did the coast of Bali by car, to the beach breaks at Dreamland and Bingin. The south coast at Medewi. But right now we’re travelling by boat to the difficult to get to breaks on Lombok. Today is Desert Point, a famous left-hander, which unfortunately, despite a big swell in the middle of Lombok Strait, is a lake. Hence the computers.
Just after breakfast the fishing fleets from the villages returned from their nightly expeditions, rounding the corner of the bay and gliding towards us like a fleet of 16-footers. A hundred or more brightly coloured outriggers, looking like enormous stick insects, skimmed across the surface of the water, making a beeline for us, curious to see the newcomers. The boats are simple in design, built to sail in just the slightest puff of breeze. A canoe, pointed up at both ends, with two bamboo pole floats held by wide, angled outrigger struts. A cone shaped sail stitched from vibrantly coloured pieces of heavy duty plastic and a putt putt engine.
They are mostly solo sailors, lying back in their canoes for the home trip, resting on their nets, in cruise mode after the night’s work. But each one has raised his head as he’s passed by, his face tired but friendly. All morning we’ve been greeted with waves, the shyest of smiles, sometimes even a hello, “pagi”. Incredible as it seems to us, sweating and limp most of the time, they are wrapped up for the chill of the night. Favoured headgear seems to be a motorbike helmet or a full-faced balaclava.
All the boats have been styled with care, each one painted a different colour and the sails stitched in cubist blocks. My favourites this morning have been two. One an old man, head wrapped in an orange turban, his boat painted a pale pink with a contrasting burnt orange sail. A mystical sailor. Just a tired raise of the hand in greeting from him. And the other a young blood out to make a statement. His boat a wild green and his sail a complicated pattern of blue, green and white stripes. Energy flowed from him as he perched on his net, hand on the tiller, and he sent us a big wave and a cheeky, white-toothed grin.
The last couple of days we’ve been at Nusa Lembongan, where the surfbreak Playgrounds is aptly named. The bay is full of day tour boats from Bali, the resorts serve tempura and hot chips and the activities are endless. Paragliding, surfing, snorkelling, diving and endless loads of Japanese tourists being towed around on inflatable sausages with the inevitable tip in to the water, girls screaming and boys yelling and punching the air. We were approached immediately by a local fisherman who offered us lobster at 100,000 rupiah each (about $15) and by a group of local boat boys who came up to admire the boat, “it’s beautiful, just like you” one said. These guys have had plenty of experience with tourists!
We’re not doing too much sailing. The currents around the islands are tortuous, sometimes changing strength and direction in a matter of just a few hundred metres. We’ve had five knots against us, then a few minutes later two or three knots with us. It has meant a lot of shore hugging and a lot of motoring through the worst stretches.
Luckily we hardly had to motor at all during the passage from Darwin to Bali. Despite warnings of little wind at this time of year, we had light but steady breeze, flat seas and an easy, seasick-free trip of five and a half days. Travelling fairly close to land, our first sighting of Indonesia was the western island of Sumba, an area known for Muslim unrest. It was my watch, and the sun rose red behind the boat, a lone bird flying across it in silhouette. As the light grew Indonesia loomed from the early morning cloud. Revealing itself slowly. A gradual outline of ancient peaks, rising steeply from the flat sea, the shape of the land evoking thoughts of times past, of tribal rites and witchdoctors.
The wind was light and fluky, pushing us towards land. And as we got closer, modern times replaced ancient in my mind, and witchdoctors became pirates. Despite our consistent requests not to hear pirate stories, some inevitably filtered through, and now they welled up, unwanted, unneeded. Every fishing boat was a pirate ship and I watched each one doggedly, to make sure it wasn’t giving chase. Close to land there were quite a few, from square rigged sailboats to modern motor launches. And alone in the early morning, I made a list of things to grab if we were lucky enough to get cast adrift in the liferaft. Water, sunblock, hats, long-sleeved shirts, sunglasses, the bag of oranges from the fridge and a disk with my manuscript files.
One boat in particular was a problem. It tagged us and we couldn’t seem to get away. Whatever we did, the boat was next to us, performing the most complicated manoeuvres. We got closer and closer, eventually near enough to see it was a longliner, the crew busy paying out the lines. But the manoeuvres weren’t explained until later, when we read that Indonesian fishermen believe they can cast off bad luck if they cross another boat’s bow. And it’s happened repeatedly since, boats going to extraordinary lengths to cross in front of us. So much for pirates.
The new crescent moon rose last weekend. It sits at a different angle up here, a saucer of light at the bottom of the circle. The appearance marked the beginning of Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting and every morning at 4.30 am we hear the singing, the call to rise and pray. It’s strange and beautiful, a reminder that we’re in a different country and once again of how lucky we are to be exploring the world like this. I’m off to make lunch now. We did a cooking course in Ubud and bought turmeric, galangal, lemongrass, kencur, chillies, limes, tamarind and shrimp paste at the local market before we left Bali. Today we’re having red hibiscus tea and snake beans in coconut milk. The kitchen is calling.
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