Beat Through Makasaar Strait_______
Trip from Borneo to Bali
Lee-shored – broke windlass – coral maze – Lankayan Island – Sulu Sea – Sandakan Entrance – Kinnibatongan River - crocodiles – Celebes Sea – 1200 miles to Windward – phenomenal phosphorescence – Makasaar Strait – Lombok one last gale – near collision – mad current – Benoa Harbor, Bali.
Leaving the northern tip of Borneo, if your goal is the Indian Ocean, there are two possible routes: the east coast or the west coast. The west coast takes you past Singapore and through the Sunda or Malacca Straits and into the ocean. The east coast is the Celebes Sea and takes you past Bali, the Lombok Strait, and into the ocean. Borneo is the third largest island in the world (behind Greenland and New Guinea, just bigger than Madagascar), so it is no trifle to pass. Also the South-West Monsoon is in force, making the route dead to windward.
However I had often said that the most windless place I've ever seen on any chart is the Celebes Sea. In deliberating on which way to go, east or west, I was strongly against the eastern route for this reason, even though the strong winds on the western side would be straight in the face. I decided in the end not to decide. I sailed out and would go with the wind east or west, depending which way it blew that day.
The trip had an auspicious being: I got lee-shored. This means that the wind veers around and pegs you to the shore. This also means that it is blowing across the water (not the land) and building up waves to further its mission of setting you ashore. I left Disneyland and simply went across the bay. Oddly, it was blowing easterly, so I stopped against the western shore for the night so I could clean my hull in the morning in the nice clear water before setting off south.
Of course, just as I hop in the water the wind veers around to the SW. I don't notice at first, as I am working on the hull, until I notice that the waves are growing. By the time I am back aboard it is blowing hard and I realize I am in a real fix. There is coral all around me. Brillig was fetching so hard that when I tried to bring up the anchor, I broke the anchor windlass (winch). Now it gets dangerous; this is how sailors loss fingers: the boat is bucking madly, the chain I am partially hauling by hand and securing before it runs out. It was crazy. But I got it up.
Then I damn near clobbered a reef trying to tack my way out of the coral. If I hadn't had an engine that day, I would have been hard put to it. I was not very proud of myself, but I was at least glad to be safely away. Not a great start, but that seems to be my way: I am only competent enough as a sailor to barely avoid disaster.
Now the SW'erlies were back, so I trimmed my sails, tightened my belt and fell off to the east. This was intimidating. The north-eastern portion of Borneo is scattered with reefs. My navigation must be perfect. Having a fair wind was a great advantage, allowing me to trim my course perfectly. But I'd have to be on watch constantly for a full day or more until the waters opened up or I could find a safe anchorage for some rest.
The sailing at least was beautiful, many lovely rocks and islands passed through my wake, the wind held until early in the morning, as the worst was behind me. I cranked Yolanda the Yanmar as the sails fluttered and motored the last five miles to Lankayan Island where there was a shallow shelf that would hold my anchor for a few hours as I slept.
I felt so good, good to be sailing again after a month in Kudat, good to be sailing alone again after. . . over a year!, and good to have navigated such a treacherous bit of water. .And the waters of the Sulu Sea (which I would soon be passing out of for the Celebes) were so colorful and rich. Simply the best phosphorescence I've ever seen. I could see the glow even in the daytime. The rudder-wash looked like a green fire shot from a turbine engine.
As I rested in calm of Lankayan, the sea was as flat as a roller rink. In the afternoon yet another westerly picked up and I set sail to use what fair winds I could garner. It was shocking to have such fine wind, but, as I should have realized—and probably did—was that it wouldn't last. However, as irony rules, the fabled calms of the Celebes Sea I would have bet my keel on never came. Indeed, quite the opposite.
The day following my departure from Lankayan I made it to the mouth of the Kinibatongan River. Some friends had ventured up it and said the depth was fine and there were no obstacles. They should have said other than the entrance. I mean shallow, seriously shallow. I must have had a foot under my keel (and twice nothing!) But as the tide rose, and I eased through the mouth, the river deepened and the jungle opened before me, and together they wound inland through one of the last wild lands on Earth.
Blind as I am, I saw no orang-utans this time, (remember, I've already once been to the Kinibatongan, but without my boat) but I saw monitors and crocodiles and kingfishers and monkeys. Just motoring up stream, being somewhere other than in an open sea with my sailboat was such an exhilarating experience. It didn't last, or I didn't let it. I was keen to cross the Indian Ocean, to make landfall on African soil. I spent only a few days on the river. Long enough to kill all the remaining growth on my hull. Going down was far quicker. . . duh.
As I eased into the Celebes Sea, my fair winds passed away. Yet the calms I expected were usurped by something altogether more predictable: the South-West Monsoon! And, of course, in force. So, though I sought to hide from them to the lee of Borneo they came for me all the same. And with a vengeance. I beat and beat, day after day. For every mile I'd sail I only would make half that distance or less toward my destination. I was lucky to make fifty miles a day. And I had a thousand miles to sail! Suck it up and trudge on.
So, what I had naively assumed would be a ten to twelve day trip turned out to be nothing of the sort. I had current, significant shipping traffic, not too much rain thankfully, but I had plenty going on without that nuisance.
The Celebes Sea narrows into the Makaasar Strait. It was here that I was concerned with current and safety. The Strait is narrow enough that it you were to fall asleep at the wrong time there would be the reality of an imminent reef to wake you from any pleasant dreams. However, once the southern portion of the Makasaar Strait is won, several things happnen: One, I cross the Equator. (Yah!) Two, I reach the southern boundary of the SW Monsoon. There the SE Tradewinds start to show. A much fairer wind, because, and Three, my course now bears off further westward. (I have been on a southerly course.) This allows me to sail off the wind, at least in theory.
In practice however it worked for only about. . . a day, or two. Bali was in my sights. The worst was surely behind me. But as I approached Lombok Strait, separating Lombok Island from Bali, my last obstacle between me and Benoa Harbor on the SE corner of Bali, the winds again quartered around to, of course, my nose. And, of course, they blew a gale.
So I sat for another day in a light gale within sight of Bali. My spirits were good. I could still laugh. I never expect to arrive until I have arrived. And so it was. The winds moderated. I had been hove-to. I set sail and with very very light winds and entered Lombok Strait. What I found there was shocking.
Though the winds were light, I was flying through the glassy water at five knots. Current: the northern waters, like me, yearned for the ocean beyond. All the northern seas: Java Sea, Celebes, ect north of Indonesia flow south into the Indian Ocean. I was thankful to be on the right side of that current. At one point just before dawn, I hove-to to slow down so I could arrive in the light—I was still doing 4.5 knots! Wow.
I should note that during the night I had an extremely close call with, luckily, a very small fishing bonka. I was strumming the guitar on deck with a bit too much attention, and their light was far too faint (as is mine I might add). As my song ended and I noticed the light, I shined out with my spotlight—and their entire hull lit up like Christmas. I went into evasive action and disengaged the windvane and jibed the boat as they crossed the bow. In the dark it is hard to say how close it was, but it was close enough.
All the same, just after dawn, I cranked up Yolanda and made my bearing for the harbor entrance and the winding channel markers beyond. By eight am I had dropped my hook in eight feet of sand and mud in a very strange harbor indeed, man-made, shallow, a bit crowded, dirty. Not the touristy-paradise one thinks of as Bali.
My first impression would not be my lasting memory of the place. I made good friends there who took me around and showed me the beauty of the island. We climbed a volcano; we ate and drank, we saw stunning beaches, (covered with stunning. . . . . . tourists.)
It was not an easy passage.
24 days and 1200 miles to windward, with one island and one river thrown in for measure. The windvane broke three times! I broke the windlass and took on a goodly portion of water. My stay'sle was unraveling in three places. My computer died. There was work to be done before I could enter the Indian Ocean and attempt the long miles between Bali and Kenya. But Bali was as good a spot as any to do it. And the passage behind me was just that, behind.
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