The Swan and The Bay of Bengal

A lot has happened in the last 2 years. Most of it was unplanned, and it has involved a lot of new experiences – mostly good ones, some less so.  When we left India in August 2020, we knew that we were not in control of when we’d be able to return.  In the early months of COVID, as most countries closed their borders to international travellers, India stopped issuing tourist visas.  While we were on lockdown there the Indian government had allowed us to extend our visas on a month-by-month basis – so while we could stay there, we couldn’t get back in if we left.

Back in 2009, as the world was thrown into an economic crisis, and Bryan and I lost our jobs within 1 month of each other, we optimistically thought that in a few months’ time the dust would have settled, and we would get back into paid employment.  We used this time and sense of optimism to sail for six months in what we jokingly call our “first loop of the Indian Ocean” cruising the Maldives, Sri Lanka and Chagos.  During COVID, we had taken a similarly optimistic view, and that 6-9 months after leaving India for New Zealand we would be returning to pick up on the journey half done and continue onwards to Southeast Asia.  We should have learnt our lesson from the global economic crisis.  Returning to normality often takes a lot longer than you think.

We certainly had not anticipated that it would be 18 months before we returned. Though this now seems like a long time, in many respects, for me at least, it was not long enough.  At the time we had opted to head to New Zealand, returning to the UK was not looking like a very practical option.  The strict lockdowns and travel restrictions would have made it almost impossible for us to travel to the places we needed to see family and friends.  As we discovered when we did get back in November 2021, not having our own base added an additional level of challenge to spend any extended time there.

After so long away from the UK, I admit that I was actually beginning to hope that there would be a delay in opening the Indian borders again.  After 14 months in New Zealand, spending just 3 months in the UK just didn’t feel enough.  It had been so long without seeing family that I felt incredibly guilty knowing that we would be leaving again within a matter of months. I put even more pressure on myself with an unending sense that I needed to make up for lost time.  In an attempt to spend quality time with as many of our family and friends as possible we covered huge distances (over 6,000 miles in 3 months) and we were constantly packing and repacking every few days. 

Returning to India not only meant leaving loved ones again, but it also meant facing another challenge.  My fear of long-distance ocean passage sailing.  Back in 2009, I had opted out of the long bluewater passages to and from the Maldives.  Bryan had completed those with the help of mates as crew – my contribution was more of a jet-set version, flying in and out of Maldives.  Admittedly, I did undertake a number of long passages in the process – including the trip to and from Sri Lanka and a couple of months within Maldives and Chagos.  When Bryan first proposed the Asia trip my first thoughts were to take a similar approach – avoid the long open water passages and join at different stages for shorter legs.

I have never been a thrill seeker. I am petrified of heights.  I avoid adrenaline activities at all costs.  I do see the irony in saying that.  Yes, I have skydived over the Palm in Dubai. I have abseiled off buildings and into caverns.  I have scuba dived in oceans around the globe.  I have facilitated workshops in front of hundreds of people.  I’ve done all these things – and mostly been terrified in the process but exhilarated when I’ve completed them.  It can be called imposter syndrome or maybe a case of “fake it until you make it”.  When you are married to the energiser bunny, you do tend to be taken to the edge of your comfort zone and sometimes pushed outside it.

Sailing is up there with some of my bigger fears.  Neither Bryan nor I enjoy the long passages, and now we had the additional pressure of returning to a boat that had been sitting for far too long without the usual care and attention that we would have given her.  Kochi International Marina is the only marina in the whole of India.  There is no significant pleasure yachting industry there, and therefore also little infrastructure for yacht maintenance.  While we planned to spend several weeks preparing Aroha for the onward travel, there was only so much we would be able to do – at least until we reached Thailand.  Fears tend to escalate when you have time to dwell so being as busy working on Aroha when we first got back to India did me a favour by leaving me with little time for overthinking. 

There were a number of boat jobs that we deemed as showstoppers – i.e., if we couldn’t fix or resolve would mean the trip was postponed. We slowly but surely worked through these.  Our autopilot issue was resolved just 3 days before we sailed, having involved a replacement control unit being shipped in from Dubai and then held to ransom by customs in Mumbai before finally getting to us at what was very much becoming the 11th hour. Not quite on the same scale, but our fridge was repaired just the day before.  Some might consider drinking warm beer on passage a fairly significant showstopper so definitely one we were grateful to have been able to overcome.

Somewhat ironically as it turns out, the forecasted weather for our route was looking pretty benign and helping to allay some of my fears.  We were being forecasted what I refer to as my perfect sailing conditions. Low wind, flat seas. These conditions do come at a cost though. You either need to rely heavily on your engine or accept you are going to spend a very long time sailing to your destination.  Weather for sailing tends to be a very fickle beast.  It often seems that there is either too much, too little or it is coming from the wrong direction.  As is usually the case, we got a bit of everything on this trip.  Big bumpy, messy seas or flat calm.  And, just to add excitement to the mix, engine failure – twice.

I’m aware that some of you may be surprised by me revealing this more nervous side of my personality. Part of my coping mechanism is to avoid showing any outside signs of my inner turmoil. One conversation while in the UK a few months back with dear friend Alison (wife of crew Peter) stands out.  While walking and talking and me trying, awkwardly, to express some of my ever-building angst about returning to the boat led her to liken me to a swan – graceful and composed on the surface, with little legs moving frantically under the surface.  An apt description that played out as we struggled our way across the Bay of Bengal with my recurring thought going back to an image sent to me by our outstanding shore support Joff which showed, through the thoroughness of his research, the large area of no-mans-land (or sea as it happens) that was not able to be reached by land-based search and rescue teams from Sri Lanka, India, Indonesia or Thailand.  I had responded in my typical calm exterior fashion that we were planning to stay close to the main shipping lanes en route to ensure that, if the need arose, we would be able to seek help from passing ships but internally I now had a worry worm burrowing in my head the whole time once that seed of doubt was planted. 

So, of course, our engine decided to splutter to a halt pretty much as we hit the no-man zone.  This is, you would think, the time when I would now go into total meltdown.  All my worst fears playing out.  Strangely, and I can’t quite explain this myself, though it was incredibly worrying and stressful, I think my inner swan decided now was a good time to make an appearance.  While Bryan and Peter went into full diesel mechanic mode working to identify and fix the issue working to clear any potential contamination in fuel lines and swapping out the filters, I took over the watches, kept the boys fed and watered and ensured we were moving gently forward in more or less the right direction.  Bryan admitted a few days later that he had prayed to gods he didn’t believe in, and I had a few mental conversations with loved ones sadly no longer with us willing them to see us safely onwards.  My fears were playing out, but I felt surprisingly calm. 

All of Bryan’s and Peter’s efforts so far had potentially fixed any blockages in the engine system but resulted in trapped air that needed to be bled. It was stubbornly refusing to do so.  As night fell, the boys finally admitted defeat and we agreed that no harm would come to us in the light winds and calm sea so long as we maintained our overnight watch system ready to contact any passing ships that came too close on the VHF radio.  The following morning as diesel engine air bleeding recommenced, we did begin to consider that we might not be able to fix it.  It was during this time we sought advice from shore supremo Joff to try and work out which was a better option – try and return to Sri Lanka with the wind against us or continue on for another 1,000 miles relying only on sail power – potentially adding days or even weeks to our passage. 

Hours passed and our onboard diesel engineers became more and more innovative. Bryan rigged up his electric power drill to pump diesel through the system to ‘push” the air out.  It did exactly that, but also revealed that a couple of the filters they had replaced were not seated quite right and they were the cause of air leaking in. It was nearly 24 hours after the engine had first stopped that it finally spluttered back into life.  The decision was made that we would continue on to Thailand.

We weren’t aware until later that night that what is called a Hydropac message had been relayed to all ships in our vicinity alerting them to our engine failure, and requesting them to offer assistance.  During my night watch, a passing ship – the “Ice Transporter” (transporting oil, not ice…) called us up on VHF to check that all was OK with us, mentioning our engine failure. No man’s land did not seem so vast and empty anymore.  In the middle of the ocean, days away from the nearest land, that human connection and concern meant everything.

And so, the days passed, seemingly endless at times.  I fought the compulsion to constantly listen to the engine fearing it choking to a halt again.  When it did, we all seemed ready to assume our respective roles again to get it back in action much quicker this time.  There were several more moments and incidents that got my inner swan paddling like mad and it was with a huge sense of relief when we eventually spotted land for the first time. 

We’d crossed the Bay of Bengal, spending over 20 nights at sea. I’d faced my fears.   It hadn’t made me any less afraid of the long passages, but it was a huge relief that we reached our destination safely.  Finally tied up at the marina, my inner swan was feeling just a little more serene and the legs paddling just a little less ferociously. We had made it to Thailand.