The Arabian Sea and Gulf of Aden

Engine problems, encounters in ‘pirate alley’ and herbal Viagra

26 February 2007

There had been a lot of chat amongst the yachties in Phuket who were planning this same trip to the Red Sea. Almost everyone planned to stop in the middle at either Ceylon (Sri Lanka), Cochin in India, or the Maldives, and then possible stops in the Gulf of Aden at Oman, Yemen and/or Djibouti before entering the Red Sea. Most of the chatter, naturally, was about the problem of pirates, with some sailors even preferring the beat around the horn of Africa to taking their chances in ‘pirate alley’ as that part of the Arabian Gulf was referred to. A cruising net was set up and many boats planned to travel in convoy, hoping that would provide some protection or at the very least moral support in the event of an attack. We were as concerned as the rest of the boats, but there’s always a second opinion and in this case it was that a group of boats travelling together is an easier target than a lone boat, and that radio chatter provides organized pirates with a good indication of your whereabouts. Rightly or wrongly, we decided to sail alone and take our chances. We did, however plan to make no stops in the Arabian Gulf and plotted our route right down the middle of that body of water. The pilot book showed that most of the reported attacks had occurred within 20 miles of the shore, particularly on the Somalia coast.

This trip was not as pleasant as promised, our pilot book speaking of perfect sailing conditions with useful but not too strong trade winds. Those nice north easterlies never really materialized and we were left with feeble variables almost all the way though it picked up a little after the Laccadive Islands. We didn’t completely fill up with diesel in India so we tried to use as little as possible to ensure we’d have enough to get into Aden - not to mention make a quick getaway in the event of an attack. We didn’t talk about that. The trip was long and hot and windless. We tried to monitor the other boats on the SSB net and heard both Aliesha and Cap d’Or on a couple of occasions, but our reception was bad and got worse, so we gave up.

At 3.30 am on the morning of the 4th of March we were treated to the wondrous sight of a total eclipse of the moon. The next day Mike caught a tasty Dorado. We were worried about pirates and Mike even removed our little cockpit solar light so we were sailing completely blind at night. That freaked me out completely and he eventually put it back again. On the 8th of March, at about the half way mark, in the Arabian Gulf but not quite yet in ‘pirate alley’, we hit a patch of dead calm. Forever swayed languidly in the ocean swell, but with no wind and no waves, it was eerily quiet and we found ourselves straining our ears, imagining the sinister sound of an approaching diesel engine.

Always reluctant, but fed up with our lack of progress, Mike put the engine on and had trouble starting it. It did eventually start, but later stalled and then wouldn’t start at all. We finally worked out it was the fuel feed once again, but weren’t sure how to repair it. Having checked the horizon was totally clear we both put our noses in the engine room and got the fright of our lives, some while later, to hear a voice suddenly shout ‘Hello’ outside. Hearts in mouths we rushed up the companionway to see a large fishing boat filled with swarthy young men grinning toothily. Between us and the horizon were four more boats steaming up. We felt very vulnerable.

They introduced themselves as Iranians and asked if we wanted some fish.  We said no thanks, we have engine trouble.  They asked if we’d like some help.  We debated the issue of letting this big ugly ship come alongside, but were desperate to fix the engine. Despite their size and number, we decided that they weren’t acting in a threatening manner so, with some misgivings, we accepted.  Fending their ship off as best we could we let this one guy (chosen we think for his ability to speak a little English rather than his mechanical prowess) to come aboard and he and Mike busied themselves with the motor.  The other four boats had arrived by then and we had five boats circling, the turbulence generated by their engines rocking poor little Forever.  Suddenly a chap from one of the other boats threw himself into the water and skimmed up our swimming ladder triumphantly brandishing a monkey wrench.  Encouraged, three more now swam over and clambered aboard, one of which was actually a mechanic. Those that couldn’t fit into the tiny space that houses our engine sat in the cockpit entertaining me! The initial diagnosis was lack of fuel and despite our protests, they insisted on bringing aboard 20 litres of diesel in a jerry jug.  We offered to pay for it but they just laughed.  I suppose they get it almost for nothing, but for us it was a precious and much needed gift.  Three hours later the real mechanic had fixed the problem – a pre-pre-fuel filter had completely bunged up so he simply disconnected it and chucked it overboard.  I took some photos, which pleased them inordinately as they will never see them, gave them a beer and a packet of fags each (from our supplies of ‘baksheesh’, vital in the Arab world) plus a few of Mike’s manky old t-shirts and they were as pleased as punch.  They managed to return to their ships with no damage done to Forever and then passed over a huge frozen yellow fin tuna fish on departure, which fed us for days.  Quite the most charming encounter.  So much for pirates!

We continued to have trouble with the engine, but that was our fault having omitted a washer on the fuel filter. Once we sorted that out and properly vented the system, it all worked perfectly again. Even after five years at sea, we still managed to find new things to learn on our boat. We thought we’d always been so careful with fuel, straining it through a pair of my old tights to remove impurities, but obviously we’d not been vigilant enough.

A few nights later (on my watch naturally) motoring slowly and cautiously threading our way through endless fishing boats at 2 am and worrying about the propeller, we hit a net with a long juddering clatter along the hull. I switched off the engine quickly and waited, hoping we’d drift off. At the time there was only one light far away on the horizon to starboard and although I had thought to be well out of their way, figured it must be their net. When it became apparent we weren’t going to drift off the net and that we were stuck, I woke Mike up. He declined my suggestion to dive in and try to unhook the net. Instead we called the fishing boat on the VFH but received absolutely no response.

An option would have been to go down and cut the net away, and some boats do that. However, such imprudent actions enrage the fishermen, quite rightly, and they would be likely to retaliate. So, we had to just sit there and wait. Much later another light popped onto the horizon dead ahead, coming steadily toward us. I continued to call on the radio, but to no avail. The boat to starboard disappeared off the horizon so we worked out that it couldn’t be them. Bizarrely, it had to be the boat in front. Slowly, slowly, he advanced. He had obviously laid his very long net and was now coming back on it, reeling it in full of fish. Mike got bored and retreated back to his bunk, whilst I sat in the cockpit and imagined pirate scenarios. It took two hours for this enormous fishing boat – this time filled with grinning Pakistanis – to come up, engine revving, brilliant spotlights blazing in my eyes, whilst the skipper continued to reel in the net. Their boat got dangerously close to ours, it was rather hard on the nerves and I was so worried about banging Forever I totally forgot any thought of them being pirates. Those fishing boats are huge and made of steel and they don’t care if they get a few bumps here and there, whereas Forever’s delicate teak toe rail splinters if you just look at it too hard – as we know.

The skipper rather comically shouted out to me “So, what’s your problem, huh?” Once they’d worked out what the problem was, three or four young men flung themselves overboard, their voluminous white gowns billowing out like mushrooms as they hit the water, dived down and unhooked the net. It was quite a job, having threaded itself between the keel and rudder. Mike had woken up by then and joined the party. There was a lot of pleasant shouting and exchanges of Where are you from? Where are you going? They asked for whisky and beer, but there was no way we were going to get our boat close enough to do an exchange so we just laughed, waved and pretended we didn’t understand. In the end, it was all done with no problems, but a bit scary at the time.

We continued on our way, feeling rather world weary and ready for anything. The wind evaded us all the way, and we were almost out of fuel by the time we reached the so called ‘danger zone’. To add to our woes we hit a strong counter current which slowed us up terribly, but we passed the area without further mishap. Later we heard that some boats claimed unpleasant ‘encounters’ but to our knowledge there were no actual pirate attacks that year, certainly not amongst the large group we knew.

The trip to Aden took us 23 days to travel 1850 nautical miles. It was good to see friendly faces on Aliesha and Cap d’Or in the anchorage at Aden and we met a few new boats.

I personally found Aden an extraordinary place. Check-in was simple enough and the people were courteous, though we only saw men. The few women were all covered in dead black from head to foot with only the eyes showing and they mostly seemed to come out at night. This is hardly surprising as it was exceedingly hot during the day and it must have been torrid for them in that long black garb. We took a meal in a restaurant one day and some of the tables were set in enclosed cubicles so that women could eat with their families without being seen by other people. We walked up a street one evening and were startled to see in almost all the shop windows a dazzling array of evening gowns, beautiful, elegant and incredibly sexy. And I mean really sexy! Life was obviously very different for these women behind closed doors but the feminist in me rebels at the double standard. Visiting these countries one only ever meets half the population – I found it unbalanced and sorrowful.

There were very few animals, a few nervous looking cats and sad donkeys – almost no dogs. The place was dusty, scruffy and barren looking. I imagine it was once rather grand, but now everything is falling into the inevitable decay, rubble and rubbish everywhere. The men went around with an enormous wad of qat (green leaves with stimulant properties) stuck into one cheek, making it bulge out most unattractively. I enquired about it and was told it is the local equivalent of Viagra and should get some for my husband!

The Yemen is a turbulent country and we felt no desire to explore but a few of our friends toured inland and visited the capital, Sana’a. Monte Cristo showed us hundreds of photos of this beautiful ancient city famous for its architecture. We only stayed three days and they passed pleasantly enough. The anchorage was sociable, shopping was reasonable and things were relatively inexpensive, including fuel. We dinged our nice new teak toe rail (again) going alongside to get water at the dock. Bugger!

Here’s the map of our journey across the Indian Ocean. We had travelled a further 4048 miles, bringing our new total over the magical 30,000 mark to 30290. Two more countries, India and Yemen bring that total to 35. (I can’t count South Africa as we didn’t sail there.)