We've put another 3,500 miles under the keel since the last update. We're now into the Indian Ocean, who's spiteful personality has dished out some of the toughest passaging conditions we've seen yet. This ocean is a swirling, angry mass of strong currents, floating garbage, and confused waves. We've dodged everything from floating trees to barnacle-ecrusted fishing nets, 50-gallon drums, and hundreds of slippers. It hasn't been unusual for us to battle steep whitecaps and 15' seas from every direction. These waves combine into breaking peaks or crash together sending spray and whitewater skyward; the surface of the ocean is constantly jumping, frothing, spitting and leaping. Orca is perpetually covered in salt spray—we had seaweed growing on deck when we arrived after one passage.
But the untamed Indian Ocean is also a place of great mystery and delight. 2,000 miles east of Singapore, the black spaces between stars filled with the white, green, and blue haze of countless distant worlds except where dark nebulae cast black shadows across the milky way. 2,300 miles due south of Bombay, a large meteor skipped across the atmosphere in brilliant flashes that lit the sea like lightening strikes. As we skirted below the pirate waters off Somalia, the sea life erupted. At dawn, the flying fish had to be swept from the deck to be sure of good footing. Flocks of squid flew down the wave faces like pelicans, their mantles flattened and tentacles splayed like a chinese fan to guide them through the air. We had escorts of dolphins and we hosted a dozen pilot whales in formation close around us.
Australian government burning refugee ships
After 1,300 miles of sailing from Australia we arrived at Cocos Keeling Island we anchored behind a palm-shrouded motu with a concrete jetty, a water cistern, and a swath of bombed-out World War II ruins. On another motu across the lagoon was the largest colony of Australian Border Patrol agents and attack boats we had yet seen. By some loophole in Australian law, refugees from Sri Lanka and Indonesia who are "in distress"—the ones who survive the 1,800 mile boat journey—are eligible for Australian social services and eventual citizenship. During our week stay, 5 small fishing boats between 30 and 50 feet in length arrived, each in various stages of sinking, and each packing between 30 and 60 battered people. The Border Patrol puts the survivors on a commercial airliner, soaks the fishing boats in gasoline and sets them adrift and aflame—otherwise the CKI lagoon would soon be filled with refugee boats. We were saddened but profoundly impressed by the courage it must have taken these people to attempt such a desperate journey for a better life.
Alone in Kara world
Another 1,800 miles of sailing brought us to the little backwater island of Rodruiges—a shocking contrast from the world of desperate refugees. A network of backyard gardeners, goat herds, beekepers, ranchers, and fishermen support the islands nutritional needs. An excellent public transit system, efficient and free social and health services, large open-air public markets, and a ready supply of cheap rum ensures that this island has the happiest population on earth. The mosty-African people live in modest cinderblock iron-roofed cottages but are fat, friendly and happy—and completely, unerringly honest. It was downright spooky.
Hermit Island, Rodruiges lagoon
We loved the bus system. Each driver had his own customized bus, hand painted in themed rasta motif. Mechanically, the busses were in questionable condition—particularly the brakes—but each had a high-end stereo blasting Bob Marley as the driver struggled for control on steep dirt switchbacks, slowing just enough for any pedestirans to leap aboard. At the end of each road the driver would downshift madly, pumping the brake pedal to stop from plunging into the emerald lagoon. At the beach he would kill the engine, put his feet up, crack a Guiness (the beer of choice on the island) and settle in for a siesta while we explored the countryside.
Goatherd with the million dollar view
The countryside was perhaps the only depressing thing about the island—it had been completely stripped in colonial times. At the 'museum' of endemic plants and animals, they had a large selection of displays, usually just a single precious bone or an artist's rendition based on early ship's logs for most species. Of 300,000 giant Rodruiges tortoises, none remain. Of the Solitare, a close relative of the Dodo--and nearly all other native bird life--none remain. Of the endemic stands of old-growth forest, nothing remains.
Hunting octopus in the Rodruiges lagoon
Kara and the big tortouse
With a full supply of rum, papayas, bananas, limes, and pomelo we set off for Mauritius, the main yachtie stop in the Indian Ocean at 450 miles off the coast of Madagascar. The island happens to be exactly halfway around the planet from Monterey; from here on we are homeward bound. Our plans are to spend another week here, then stop on Reunion Island before heading for Richard's Bay, on the East coast of South Africa.
We've put another 3,500 miles under the keel since the last update. We're now into the Indian Ocean, who's spiteful personality has dished out some of the toughest passaging conditions we've seen yet. This ocean is a swirling, angry mass of strong currents, floating garbage, and confused waves. We've dodged everything from floating trees to barnacle-ecrusted fishing nets, 50-gallon drums, and hundreds of slippers. It hasn't been unusual for us to battle steep whitecaps and 15' seas from every direction. These waves combine into breaking peaks or crash together sending spray and whitewater skyward; the surface of the ocean is constantly jumping, frothing, spitting and leaping. Orca is perpetually covered in salt spray—we had seaweed growing on deck when we arrived after one passage.
