Captain's Log #31, Heading North

t's been two months since we left Bali, seeking surf spots in the outer islands of Sumatra- Enganno, the Mentawais, Telos and finally Nias, which was close to the epicenter of earthquakes which rocked this region almost a year ago. Yesterday we sailed back into the Northern Hemisphere for the first time since April of 2001, on our maiden voyage across the Pacific from Puerto Vallarta to the Marquesas. We've had so many offshore runs since that initial step into the unknown and visited so many places and cultures, many distinct, many already becoming hazy but they all have a story, and here is our story of one of the most remote and unique regions in Indonesia.

Tsunami Aftermath, Hinakos

From Bali we really had one logical choice to reach Thailand- sail north up to Singapore and then through the narrow Malacca Straits between Malaysia and Sumatra to Phuket. This is the route that probably 99% of cruising yachts take, which is usually reason enough to follow. But recent reports of pirate activity in the Malacca Straits, dirty water, uninteresting stops and fickle winds kept us looking for a reason to go around the long way- and via some of the most renowned surf in the world. Surfer's pay as much as $1000 dollars a day to charter a boat to the Mentawais, so why not go around Sumatra and see what all the fuss was about?

"Cutback" Kel making for the exit

First there's the weather. The Indonesian guidebook warns that the outside of Sumatra is "no place to be in the month of October" being a transitional month (always bad) between the SW and NE monsoons, and that it lies on the equator, subject to huge southwest seas, as well as to the miserable sailing conditions which prevail the world over in this band of latitude- no wind, torrential rain, fierce squalls and horrific electrical storms. Named the "doldrums"- an area where a ship is likely to be becalmed, literally means dull and tantrums, as if the dullness of the area could drive one to tantrums. So the weather would likely be unpleasant, but still we pressed on- we could deal with a little rotten weather, we spent two months in Darwin this year! We already knew about the rampant malaria, much of it chloroquine-resistant and cerebral- the kind that kills you; and dengue fever, which leaves you listless and can affect your immune system forever. OK, we'd make bug nets for all the hatches, stay on the boat in the mornings and evenings and wear long cloths and apply plenty of DEET. And finally, the Lonely Planet guidebook warns that white people are viewed as "stupid and rich" by the people in the Mentawais, and therefore easy prey. All this for a few waves!

Local women, Mentawais

After a great deal of asking around we finally met a couple sailors who had spent some time in the area and gave us the needed push to go for it, but not without a few more warnings one night as we went over the charts, getting beta on surf breaks and good anchorages. "Never anchor without NW and Southerly protection. Stay clear of this area- and this- and this (as they pointed to various areas on the charts)." Why? "Bad people there- they steal everything…or worse." "And most of all, watch out for the Badais." What are those? "Literally, Badais mean bad air and usually come at night with no warning- squalls that can easily reach 60 knots and last for hours."

This sounded like fun- horrible weather, diseases that killed you, hostile locals, tenuous protection from the elements. Maybe a little overconfident from my return from Cape Horn, but we decided to go for it.

And now two months later I can say all of the warnings were justified and I certainly understand why people stick to the proven routes, but there are some epic waves out here and we've experienced some things…worth experiencing.

One day Jody and I took the dinghy 4 kilometers up a completely over-grown murky brown river at daybreak to a small Christian village to see if we couldn't scrounge up some fresh supplies, which are almost impossible to get throughout the outer islands of Sumatra. Rotten-toothed kids met us at a little landing and did what kids the world over do when strangers arrive- stare and laugh. Then they yell whatever English they know. In this case we got what adolescents to adults yell in most of Indonesia, "Hey Meester!" and "Gib Money!" The village was clean, orderly and quite quaint with a long cement pathway leading right through about 50 huts to a newly constructed church on a hill overlooking its "congregation." Smiling kids flew homemade kites made from plastic trash bags and others had small stick push carts with wheels made from tired thongs, cut into circles. Oh if our kids at home could experience this. If I handed one of them a Gameboy they'd have no idea what its purpose was. Even being prodded incessantly for money we felt welcomed and comfortable, but as in most other villages there was no food to be had. Eventually "HEY MEESTER!!!" was going to get old, so we decided to go farther afield. We rented a motorbike for 8 bucks and rode two hours through dense jungle on a narrow overgrown footpath to a larger town called Sikakap. Unfortunately there was more mud and mudholes than 'path' and at one point I lost control of the bike on a corner and gave Jody and I a nice set of bloody gouges on our legs and feet. This short trip to the market quickly turned into an all day expedition to acquire just a small sack of potatoes, a pumpkin, a dozen eggs, some onions and a few papaya, but we returned with weary smiles. These are the experiences we seek and more importantly, the experiences that stay with us long after our departure.

Check out those teeth!

Unfortunately there's an uglier side of this area, and that will stay with us as well. Besides horrid weather, with rain most days and nights; besides dynamited reefs and completely trashed coral (the water temp is 87 degrees, well above what most coral can survive- global warming taking its toll?), which means no fish and a desperate future for people already living in appalling conditions; we haven't enjoyed the majority of encounters with the locals. Day after day men approach in canoes and demand we give things. Money, cloths, food, softdrinks, beer. And if you don't they become angry and unattractive, and refuse to leave. It's easy to understand and empathize- we've got a nice boat and obviously have many times over what they do in material goods. We are rich compared to them and they want their share. Fair enough, but like aid in Africa I feel handouts do no good and only exacerbate an ongoing problem, and make it worse for people in our wake. "We don't need to work, just beg from the rich white people!" If you give one person a Coke, another 20 people paddle out with hands out too. Three times we've had cruel looking people actually sneak onboard and when confronted and asked to leave they don't even make eye contact. Just stare at our things and don't budge. Over the weeks we've lost fishing gear, sunglasses, clothing. It was our carelessness and the loss meant nothing- except to our attitudes. By no means is this the rule, we've met many smiling people who are just curious and inquisitive and harmless, but we haven't met many who seem genuine. I'd like to somehow teach them that they're going about it the wrong way. When people approach and expect nothing, just offer a coconut or papaya, or just conversation, it's so much easier to be gracious with what we have and everyone benefits. After awhile you feel you are prey and as hard as we try, unconscious barriers go up before people even get to the boat. Our anticipation of being harassed makes us behave in a cold and unwelcoming manner, which simply completes the circle rather than breaking it.

And finally there's the surf. In two months we've had waves almost every day at dozens and dozens of breaks. We gaped at pros on famous breaks like Macaronis and Lance's Left and surfed with no one but the fish on breaks hardly discovered and rarely visited by the charter boats. Hollow scary tubes way out of my league, and thankfully soft gentle longboard waves that are more my speed and everything in between. When I left California back in 2000 I imagined we'd surf waves all the way across the Pacific and I'd eventually become a decent surfer, being as I was from the mountains and was a lot more familiar with surfing waves in a river kayak than on a surfboard. But the reality is the South Pacific is no Indonesia and this place has a reputation for waves that is wholly earned. I remain a pathetic surfer, but after this trip I finally got a taste for the beauty and simplicity of riding waves, the rush of dropping into something way over your head, and will continue to seek out the chance to ride more. We shared various stages of the journey with friends and a few clients and while we all left with a few dings and damage to boards and bodies, we also left with plenty of smiles.

Some good waves up north

In many ways we're happy to leave the equator behind and be forging into new waters. Thailand is getting closer every day and with it the promise of sailing instead of motoring and sun instead of rain. I swam across the equator as we did back in 2001 going north this time instead of south. Our friend the North Star, Polaris comes back into view, anti-cyclones spin to the right instead of left, weather patterns will all have to be relearned and we will have to figure out what we always do when we make landfall. What's next?

Nearing Phuket, Thailand October 2005