Luckily for us, soon after we entered the bay, we spotted a couple of local fisherman in wooden canoes. One of them was nearby so we called him to come closer to our boat. He couldn’t speak English but using hands and gestures we somehow managed to explain to him that we were stuck on a reef and that we need him to row our stern anchor back to deep water and drop it there. We would then try to winch ourselves off the reef.

The skinny fisherman readily took our anchor, though when Petr was handing it to him while he was balancing on the bow of his canoe, I was convinced that they – i.e. both the fisherman and our stern anchor – would soon end up on the bottom of the bay. However, our fisherman handled it without batting an eye, rowed the anchor to approximately 20 meters off Janna’s stern and dropped it. Petr pulled hard on the anchor line to set the anchor properly. Then he lead the line through our stern fairlead and onto one of the winches in the cockpit, that we normally use for genoa sheet. I handed him the winch handle and after few turns Janna healed, I pushed the engine into reverse and not even 5 minutes after we hit the reef, we were back in deep water!

So in the end it all turned out well, though both of us felt a bit shaken for the rest of the afternoon, just as we did after our last close encounter with a coral head in a bay on Linapacan Island. Originally we planned to hike to a nearby lighthouse – there’s supposed to be a path that leads you there from Clarendon Bay. But now, our appetites for taking a walk were successfully ruined. The only consolation and excuse for our lack of vigilance might be the following confession of two Japanese sailors, whom we met back in Coron. Both of them were seasoned sailors and before venturing into Filipino waters, both could boast of never hitting a reef in their whole lives. Yet, before they finally anchored in Coron, they managed to hit a reef three times in one day! Their example clearly shows how treacherous the Filipino waters, and above all the not exactly well-charted reefs really are!

As a token of our gratitude, we emptied the rest of our Filipino pesos into our rescuer’s stretched out hands and presented him with two packs of sugar – before we left PP, our Kiwi friends, who already sailed through here to Kudat, wrote us email saying that we should stock up on sugar and similar commodities, since these are very appreciated in these remote regions. They said that locals would approach us and try to trade these for fish or their home-grown vegetables. Our rescuer then gestured to us that he also wouldn’t say no to T-shirts, shorts or a wet suit. We gave him several of our older T-shirts. As for spare shorts and wet suits, these were unfortunately currently “out of stock”.

And then the stream of visitors really started! One after another, the locals approached our boat in their small wooden canoes. First came the fishermen. With the first one we traded a pack of sugar and a pack of rice noodles for two nice little fish for our dinner. The second one try to offer us a tiny tiddler, but our dinner was already cared for, so we politely declined and gave him a pack of sugar simply as a present. This fisherman spoke some English and was kind of nosy. He made us feel a little uncomfortable when he started ask questions like: how long are we going to stay, how many people are aboard etc. Petr quickly answered that we sail with our child, but that the baby’s sleeping right now inside the boat. He was probably no gangster, but since Filipinos really love their kids, we thought a little white lie could do no harm…

Once the importunate fisherman was finally away and I put the fish on the griddle pan, we had a first child visitor, a small boy. Petr invited him to cockpit, where they chatted for a while using simple English – turns out local kids go to school (i.e. literally “go”, as on their feet) twice a week and their school is in Balabac town, 4 hours by foot! The boy asked us if we had any English books for kids or a vocabulary. Unfortunately all we could give him was a notebook, pencil and a ball pen – a real hit! Plus some sweets, of course. He also took a piece of the grilled fish but obviously wasn’t very impressed with our chick peas salad that he quickly spat out over the side!

Next round of visitors were also kids – a boy and a girl, possible younger siblings of the boy that just left, because they came in the same boat. Just as their older brother before them, they offered us some kind of pumpkin/melon, but since we already had two, we told them to keep it. The little girl was a bit shy, but her brother directly asked us for some fishing line. Petr dove into one of the cockpit lockers and found one for him, including some fishing hooks. That probably gave the little boy an impression, that our boat is some kind of a magician’s hat, that will readily spill out anything you ask for. So instead of thanking us, he simply cried out: “Television!”

“Sorry, we don’t have television aboard,” was our bemused reply. Instead we gave them notebook, pencils, ball pens (of course!), crayons and each of them a hat against the sun.

Luckily for us, when they left the sun also went down and the stream of visitors ceased, otherwise by morning our boat would be completely empty!

But let’s not forget the crocodile adventure! After we managed to winch ourselves off the reef back into deep water, Petr was getting ready to jump into water to inspect the hull for any potential damages (we were driving real slow, so we didn’t exactly hit the reef, it was more like we comfortably “sat” on top of it, but a visual control means extra points to our black box). He was already putting on his fins when I spotted a dark shade moving in the water just behind his back. I immediately recollected the warnings of couple of fellow cruisers that rivers in the south of Palawan are brimming with crocs. I wasn’t exactly sure that “my shade” was really a crocodile, but if they are in Palawan, which is just “next door”, so to speak, then they might as well be here on Balabac, too! We decided to postpone the visual control until we get to some safer waters, just to be sure. We haven’t seen any crocks there, while we were there, but when we asked our little Filipino visitor if there are any crocks in Clarendon Bay, he replied that they often have them for dinner! – i.e. the fishermen the crocks, not the other way round…

Since we spent the previous night at sea taking turns on watch, we slept like babies, despite the shock after hitting the reef and the possibility of crocks swimming around the boat. The alarm clock woke us up at 5:30 next morning and since there was still no wind, we decided to pull up the anchor and have breakfast later on the way.  Not a smart move! Sure, it was really calm inside the bay, but once we stuck our nose out of it, we immediately got slammed by the first wave and before we even finished our breakfasts, we spotted the first squall approaching. We quickly devoured the rest of our porridge and poured the still too hot coffee into a thermos. Before the first gusts hit us, we had just enough time to pull on our raincoats and put a reef into both our mainsail and headsail.

Balabac Strait is infamous for strong currents and since at least two currents running in different directions meet here, it’s not uncommon to experience big waves and confused seas here. We can only testify to this because that’s what we had to deal with for the rest of the day.

At first we thought that the squall will soon pass away and enthusiastically showed each other whenever a new bright spot appeared in the otherwise overcast sky. Truth is the sky never really brightened and in the end we had at least five squall similar to the morning one. On top of that, the head winds and waves constantly pushed us towards the shoals southwest off Balabac Island. Our goal was to reach the sheltered waters between Balambangan and Banggi Islands, that lie 30 miles south of Balabac I., preferably before nightfall, anchor there for the night and during the next day sail the last 30 miles to Kudat, a small Malaysian harbor at the north-east tip of Borneo. In order to maintain a better course towards our anchorage and to reduce the leeway, we decided to motorsail.  Also, after one of the gusts during the first squall lay us abeam – fortunately everything inside the boat was properly stowed, so the only thing that fell out were the books from the starboard bookshelf, because we forget to set up the bracket, that’s suppose to prevent just this from happening – we put another reef into our main and took turns by the tiller.

And now one confession: in case we ever claimed here that our rigging doesn’t whistle, then we take it back. Maybe the whistling sounds are not that intense as on other boats but truth is after two squalls we quickly figured out, that although we don’t a dedicated wind meter, the whistling through the rigging is a unmistakable sing of an approaching series of gusts. An so as soon as we heard some whizzing around the mast, we let out a bit of mainsheet and tighten it back only after the whistling ceased. So you may say that it’s not exactly our rigging but our mast that whistles…

Although we were slowly but surely approaching our anchorage, we started to worry if we would finally make it before dark. Just when we were close enough to see the opening between the islands and started looking forward to our little shelter there, we spotted yet another squall coming right at us. It was nearly 5 pm, not even 2 hours before sunset. The gloomy squall line was quickly approaching and within couple of minutes our vision was completely obstructed by heavy rain. Instead of islands all we could see now was a grayish-white screen of clouds and rain. We didn’t want to risk another close encounter with a reef and so didn’t really have another choice but to tack and turn away from our destination!

What a frustrating experience! Luckily after half an hour or so the squall moved away and we tacked back on our previous course towards the islands. In the end we dropped the anchor just as it grew dark, right next to a fleet of big fishing ships. We noticed another sailboat in the anchorage but were too tired to lower the dinghy into the water and pay them a visit. We figured they must have left from Kudat and were heading the opposite way – i.e. to Philippines. We made spaghetti for dinner, took a shower and hit the bunks – the odd were that we would have to fight the same elements the next day and so we wanted to take a proper rest.

The alarm clock was set for 5 am. This time we didn’t want to take any chances and decided to enjoy a peaceful breakfast in the anchorage. We left our shelter at the crack of dawn. The fishing boats were gone and the other sailboat had the running lights on. Apparently they were also getting ready to set sail. The sky was much brighter than the day before. Were our fears groundless? According to the grib files (which admittedly were 5 days old now and therefore not very reliable anymore), the monsoon should gradually pick up  starting from just that day, so we were getting mentally ready for the worse just in case…

In the end we were once again lucky. For the first two hours the wind was still blowing quite hard and Janna was climbing up what looked like 3 meter waves, but right from the early morning the sun was shining through the dispersing clouds and as soon as we reached the “shadow” of Borneo, the sea calmed down noticeably and out went the sunglasses, hats and sunscreen lotion. For lunch we had a quick risotto using up the last of our Filipino veggies and just after 1 pm we already spotted the entrance to Kudat marina.

It was still blowing more than 10 knots and so I must admit I was a little nervous before entering the marina. After all it has been a few months since we last maneuvered to a dock. Plus the pontoons inside the marina are really short and space between them so narrow that two beamier boat just won’t fit in… Later someone told us, that the marina was originally built for local coastguard and their small motorboats – that would certainly explain the dimensions! However, instead of motorboats, now the marina was full of sailboats, most of them yachts that were taking part in the Malay-Indonesian regatta and were waiting here for the two hosting countries to figure out some bureaucratic procedures. In fact, there was just one free spot in the whole marina!

Luckily, just as we approached the pontoons, we were spotted by Dave and Jackie, whom we met in PP and who were now waving at us, showing us where the last free spot was. They also stood by ready to give us hand with the lines. Petr was ready on the starboard with the bow and stern lines while I nervously held onto to the tiller. We just turned into a narrow space between two marina fingers full of boats. There, just to the left of us, was our spot. I steered to the right to allow myself more space for the final turn and just as I was getting ready to turn inside, a strong gust came in and we had to wait. Luckily we didn’t get blown on some other boat but it spoiled my original maneuver and I had to put the engine into reverse. Problem is, reverse is something Janna really doesn’t like to do… Yet this time it somehow amazingly worked and I managed to steer her right into the tiny slip by the pontoon and next to our new neighbor, who was watching the whole show with a fender in his hand. Phew! We were home and dry, or should I say by the pontoon and (almost) unscratched?

We tied the lines, greeted our friends and gratefully accepted each a glass of orange juice filled up with ice that Jackie offered us. So after 6 days we arrived safely to Malaysia. This time we survived the passage against the winds and currents almost unharmed. But what will it be like next week when we cast off to slowly sail towards Singapore…? Whatever comes, can’t wait to be back at sea again!

Map of the passage (including our current GPS position)

Back in Taiwan when we were still repairing and upgrading Janna – by the way it’s not that long ago since most of our days were spent sawing, drilling, fiberglassing, mounting and assembling – in other words during those days that we were still repairing fulltime, I used to dream about the day we’ll finally be finished and will be just enjoying ourselves and the boat. Reading the whole day or going for an afternoon sail without first putting away boxes of tools and spare parts. Will it ever come? Sometimes I almost started to doubt that it ever will. Don’t take me wrong, I am not complaining here retrospectively. In fact, it’s the other way round! Both of us agree that there are not many things that give you such strong sense of accomplishment like a job well done. But beware, it’s actually highly addictive!

Janna is far from perfect. There’s still plenty of items on the future to-do list, always something to repair or upgrade, like when you suddenly discover a new leak, especially when it blows hard and the rigging chainplates, porthole gaskets, etc. start to “move”.  In other words there’s still a lot to be done, as it always is on a sailboat (or a house, an apartment, etc.), but luckily we already got to the point, when we can take a day off, just read or explore the surroundings of a new anchorage. We can even take two or three or even more when we are not currently translating of writing. A few days back, fastening some odd screw, Petr asked me astonished: “When was the last time we fastened something with a screwdriver?”

On the other hand, now that the amount of physical work on the boat has significantly decreased and we spent more time by the computer translating and writing, I’ve begun – believe it or not – to really miss all the mounting, drilling, sending, simply all the hard work! Every couple of days I suffer from a serious fit of restlessness and try to come up with something that could be done.

Last time it was our engine who became the victim of my maintenance mania. Fully armed with WD-40 and a bronze wire brush, I descended into our engine room and minutes later the rust was flying everywhere. Since the unfortunate day some five years ago, when mechanics in Lumut drilled a hole through our hull during the engine mounts installation, whereby giving them a saltwater bath in the process, we have to occasionally spray all four of them with generous amounts of WD-40 and clean the new layer of rust that tends to develop there no matter what. Next item on the restless day to-do list were the cleats and some other stainless steel fittings that needed polishing. Finally, I scrubbed the nonskind and scraped off all the algae that previously decorated our waterline. The next day, pleasantly tired we contentedly sat down to the computers again and resumed the intellectual work.

On my birthday, my hands were itching once again, and it was more than obvious that I was suffering from yet another of my I-can’t-just-sit-there-and-do-nothing fidgety moods. The first symptoms manifested themselves right after breakfast, when I started pulling out buckets and made odd noises rummaging through the cockpit lockers.

“It’s got into you again, hasn’t it?” said Petr, who was already sitting by the computer dutifully punching the keyboard. What could I say? I gave him an innocent smile and disappeared on deck with a bucket and scrubbing brush. After Janna was all clean and shiny on the outside, I grabbed my cleaning gear and proceeded inside in the following order: closet area, main cabin, our Force10 stove and finally our SS teapot and pressure cooker. In the afternoon I took out our Singer sewing machine and sewed new curtains for the portholes above stove and navigation table – another one of those “cosmetic” to-do items for which there’s never enough time.

At around 4 p.m. we had a coffee and were about to set for our little walking trip to KaLui restaurant, where we celebrated my birthday four years ago, when we sailed through Puerto Princesa on our way to Hong Kong. Since then the city changed almost beyond recognition but KaLui is still here and still retains the reputation of one of the best restaurants in town. We had a reservation there for 6. Since we ride our bicycles all the time, we decided that this time will walk for a change and take a tricycle on our way back. We assumed it’ll take us about an hour or so to get there.

The minute we got into our dinghy and started to row towards the yachtclub, the previously bright skies suddenly turned black and when we approached the club’s pontoon, I was already pulling out our raincoats. We literally ran to the club and just when we were safe under the roof, the tropical downpour began. Usually they don’t last long so we joined a few friends who were already there for a beer.

We were quite thirsty and quickly finished our bottles, but it didn’t seem the rain’s going to stop any soon. The club house is open on all sides except one and though the bamboo blinds and later also the exterior canvas awning were all put up, sheets of rain were still pouring inside. Everybody started to shift towards the rear of the room. It was clear that we won’t be able to make it to KaLui on time, even if we had a tricycle to pick us up in the club, because we would be soaking wet before we even got in, not to mention that the tricycles are also open from the sides. Luckily we were able to find KaLui’s number on the internet and changed the reservation to 7 p.m.

At about 1830, after hour and a half, the rain finally abated, so we put on our raincoats and set off for the main road to catch a ride downtown. After the second turning, already partially wet, we managed to stop Roland, whose high spirits obviously couldn’t be ruined by some minor rain.

“It’s raining, in Palawan always rain, Luzon, Mindoro, they don’t have, but here always raining!” said Roland, broad smile on his face, his eyes nearly glued to the front window as he was trying to pierce through the falling rain. Suddenly he lifted his legs, knees almost touching his chin. We were just driving through a huge puddle and the water was flying everywhere. The wild ride was further livened up as he sang “Happy Birthday to You” for me.

The dinner in KaLui was a success, though the style of the cuisine seems to have moved more towards “Chinese” since our last visit. When we finally cleaned all the plates and looked around, we were surprised to notice that we were having dinner with quite a few Taiwanese tourists! No wonder, the fried cuttlefish and the vegetable stir-fry looked and tasted so familiar!

Yesterday was another B-day. This time it was John, one of the yachtclub owners, who had birthday. It has been a couple of days since my last fit of restlessness and already in the morning I started to experience some of the familiar symptoms. Desperate for something to do, I took out the sailing kit for our dinghy and decided to go for a sail. Of course, the minute the dinghy was all set up, the little wind there was before, completely died. Luckily, after the big buffet-style lunch in the club, the wind picked up a bit, so I was able to burn some of my restless energy on the water. Withdrawal syndromes temporarily overcome, but for how long…? Probably it’s really high time to heave the anchor soon and move to another anchorage!

I use the word regulars, because most of them have been here for quite some time. Some of them long enough to eventually get the local version of what in Taiwan is called alien resident certificate and even bought themselves a bike. In the afternoon few of them usually hang out in the yacht club to share a beer or two, simultaneously browsing on the internet using their smart phones. Quite a funny view, apparently it’s not only the teenagers! With the exception of Klaus, most of the regulars are single and as such they cruise singlehandedly the waters of South East Asia, though one of them sails with his son, who is currently in Australia earning some more money for their cruising kitty before they depart through southern Indian Ocean heading towards South Africa. Interestingly, they cross oceans on a smart racing boat and maybe it’s not entirely a coincidence that their slim vessel with quite a long mast bears the name Why Do I Do It? including the question mark at the end!

We are real comfortable here, indeed. Puerto Princesa is but a small town and thanks to our folding bicycles we can easily get wherever the whim and sometimes quite jammed roads take us. Last week we took our bikes and cycled out of town to visit the famous butterfly farm. Unfortunately it was closed (same as the museum in town) and so we pedaled some more to see the crocodiles instead. The visit in the Palawan Wildlife Rescue & Reservation Center came as quite a shock! We weren’t so much horrified because of the crocodiles, after all the fences and barriers didn’t allow us to approach the crocs close enough to get scared, what terrified us was the style of the tour and the touristy atmosphere of the whole place that first jumped out at us right in the parking lot that was surrounded by numerous stall selling souvenirs and other kitsch. For every living croc in the center there are at least five stuffed croc toys and on every corner you bump into one of those wooden boards that have infantile croc pictures painted on them and large hole to stick your head in to take some memorable pictures.

“Hello! Would you like to try the exciting experience of our zipline?” Before we even parked our bikes, we were immediately surrounded by a group of young Filipinos in green T-shirts.

“Thanks! We came just for the crocs,” replied Petr with a smile.

With certain doubts we bought our tickets and sat down in a small gazebo nearby to wait for our “intensive tour”. At least that’s what it said on our tickets. Tired and sweaty after the trip, we almost started dosing. After couple of minutes we were startled back to life by a piercing voice coming from the loudspeakers announcing that the next tour will start in five minutes. We headed towards the main building and suddenly were surrounded with flocks of other tourists. A few minutes back we were amazed that we were the only people in the gazebo, also the parking lot seemed quite deserted. Now the place was bristling with people. Obviously the tourist buses brought herds just in time for the tours.

“Do you remember the last time we took part in something touristy like this?” asked Petr, while we nervously squirmed amongst mostly Filipino tourists.

The intensive tour was basically a two minute speech by a young female guide, during which she told us something about the center and the crocs. Unfortunately her speech was so intensive that all we remember is that one by one the old crocs die because of too much stress. After that she lead us to the hatchery where she reminded us several times to “keep our hands away”. That was the end of the intensive guided tour. Several steps took us to a platform over the concrete pens where crocs of different sizes and shapes that would no longer fit in the hatchery are kept. Most of them looked like stone fossils or they were just stiff because of all the stress…

We quickly threaded our way through the crowds, declined another offer to take a picture with a croc, this time a real living crocodile baby, and headed towards a park where about a dozen of other animal species, most of them endemic to Palawan, were kept in cages and aviaries. The overall atmosphere was kind of dismal so we quickly passed through and went back to our bikes.

The landscape along the road to Puerto Princesa was quite spectacular though and so we tried to admire the local natural beauty, traditional architecture as well as the cows grazing on the lash green pastures while at the same time keep out of the way of trucks and tricycles that constantly dashed by.

The next day we had the pleasure to host Dave and Jackie of Brigadoon who came to have dinner with us on Janna. Dave and Jackie are from New Zealand but lived in Hong Kong for quite a while, where Dave taught English and Jackie ran photography courses and tours. After searching for their dream boat for some time, they finally became owners of the beautiful 45′ Van der Stadt “Pimpernel” steel yawl Brigadoon, quite infamous in the local waters, we hear. Apparently, it was once owned by some mafioso, who used her to smuggle drugs. There is even a whole book written about it, that Dave proudly showed us the other day in their saloon while Jackie served us a delicious spinach chili and tortillas. They sail together with a teenager named Fergus, not their grandson, mind you, but a loyal dog companion, whom they brought to Hong Kong from New Zealand but who is not allowed to return to his homeland after staying for some time in Asia. And so they are heading home, but they take it slowly, because Fergus is still quite fit and apparently enjoys life aboard. And since they have so keenly observed how nice people we are, we can’t but repay by the same. We will miss you, guys!

Before they headed further south, we invited them to have a meal with us on Janna and shared another pleasant evening in the yacht club just before their departure. The next morning we waved our good-byes, us eyeing them rather enviously as Brigadoon slowly sailed towards the horizon.

The truth is that although we are comfortably settled here, both of us have been fidgety these couple of days. More and more often we catch ourselves longingly staring towards the horizon. On the other side of the bay the view of the green hills beckons us, especially in the morning and late afternoon when the hills partially disappear clouded by the dense, snow-white blanket of fog. Janna also seems to be tugging at the chain more eagerly, almost as if she was trying to free herself from the shackles that bond her with the anchor and the ground below her keel. Or are we just imagining things? Most likely we’re suffering from yet another fit of travel-fever and the time is coming to heave the anchor once again and leave for another anchorage…

You wouldn’t find happier people when we make port. We drop the hook, exhale — yay, we made it again — explore and enjoy the delights of land like fresh veggies, cold beer and, yes, the company of landlubbers (in small doses).
But after few days the shore keeps creeping towards us, even closer, the karaoke from the nearby bar become so annoying, never mind the roosters showing off in the morning — finally, you got up, we’ve already had our breakfast — and squealing pigs being tortured and butchered in the village (remind me if I ever have cravings for some pork).
So we loaded our little boat with water and fresh produce, cranked the windlass and we sailed away.
This time of year in the Philippines is rather funny. You get a little breeze, sometimes, then it dies, you start the engine, so that you can turn it off again in about half an hour when a big fat black cloud starts approaching and the first tropical bullet-like rain drops hit you in the eye. That’s because you are staring at the windex at the top of your mast all the time, instead of feeling the wind on your face as the true mariners of the past did. Not to mention the pain in the neck. The wind in the Philippines is simply a big pain in the neck.

And that’s what we got when we sailed north around El Nido. But at least you get moving. The squall mind blind you for bit, so you head offshore, but these squalls have a short life. Before you get too far from your rhumbline, they die and you get to sail straight into your intended anchorage with a beautiful breeze on the beam. It might drizzle the rest of the day, but you are snug in the cabin, anchor dug deep in the mud, because you just found one of the few anchorages with a good holding ground.
You sleep well and get up in the morning full of life and the breeze gives a promise to kindly blow you out of the anchorage once you heave the hook. There’s no indication that the breeze should die when you are just passing that rock in the mouth of the bay that provided such comfortable lodging.
You keep fighting. You sail/drift wing-and-wing, pass the rock, avoid the fishnets set by the fishermen and you hypnotize the horizon looking for any signs of wind. But you are looking in a wrong direction. In the meantime a big mean squall just crept behind you. You are sailing hard at it’s edge, hoping for the wind to last without getting stronger. May be it could shift to the west just a little bit, so you can pass the little island in front of you. And it does, yes it does. Even though only for couple of minutes before it start dying off. You shake off the reefs, hoist a larger jib. You want the get the most of the wind that you have.

You’ve been paying too much attention to the sail and suddenly you find yourself blocked off by a field of buoys — a pearl farm. You don’t want to entangled in that! The guards don’t mess around. But you clear them, even if only by few feet.
A bay full of reefs and submerged rocks opens up in front of your eyes. All you see, however, is water. You know what the chart says. There are rocks that can tear a hole in the belly of you floating home. The sun is tired, it’s falling towards the west horizon. There’s not much time to linger. When you left your last anchorage you expected the wind to be from the south-west, but here the conditions are different. The anchorage you have chosen is exposed. Quick look at the chart. The options are few. The best one is soon discarded. Pearl farm all around.
Finally you drop the hook in 7m above corals right next to a beautiful coral head surrounded by colourful fish and underwater vegetation.

This is the east side of Palawan. Two days away from Puerto Princesa.
Morning breeze takes you out to sea. You are still in the protection of a group of small islands connected by a reef. Once out of the hiding, the sea swells up, the wind picks up. This might finally be the monsoon. And another squalls approaches. It misses you just right to give you a lift and then you continue, first in fluky winds, but you stand your ground and the monsoon kicks in again, it’s on the nose, mind you, but the heading you are able to keep is not too bad. Not too bad at all.
The night falls and it’s going to be an interesting one. Squid fishing boats rim the horizon, nowhere to hide. The moon is still week, but the bright lights from the boats light up the night, you are not alone, not tonight. Surprisingly, you pass right between them, no need to change your heading, no need to mess with the trim.
Another watch change takes you down into your bunk, little tossing and turning and soon you slip into another world until the other grabs your shoulder and mercilessly drags you back.

The sunrise is quite ordinary. It’s cloudy, drizzling from time to time and you are just couple of miles away from your goal. You ran out of wind and with the wind you patience has gone as well. The engine has to be turned on from time to time, basic maintenance, you tell yourself as you are streaming toward the comfort of another anchorage. But this one is unlike the other before. This one you know. You’ve been there before. The name brings out good memories, people you’ve met, the atmosphere of those days.
You’re almost there. A worry creeps up. What if you have too many expectations, what if you’ll be disappointed. But you already know a remedy for that problem. There’s nothing simpler than lifting your hook and sailing to a place down the road…