Cancelling Stop in Sri Lanka

To be safe; to minimize the risk to the crew and yacht, we have decided to avoid Sri Lanka the same way we would sail around a potential hurricane.

Prior to the recent escalation and southward spread of the civil war in Sri Lanka, Galle was a safe option for us to stop on our route west, as the conflict was isolated completely in the north and the history of the conflict showed that it was localized.

Now, the recent events show that the conflict does not have borders. They are using air strikes with an air force...Kamikazie style. They could easily get to Galle, which by air would be about 15 minute away from Colombo. Columbo is a major shipping port for the country and could be a logical target if a Tamil goal is to hurt the infrastructure and close off access to the country.

"Error on the side of safety always; live to sail another day"

Here is the News Story:

02/21/2009 13:36
SRI LANKA
Tamil Tiger kamikaze aircraft shot down overnight while attacking Colombo
by Melani Manel Perera
The two Zlin-143's went down under anti-aircraft fire near the general headquarters of the Sri Lankan Air Force and the Katunayake air base. The crew on board the planes were killed, as well as two people in the spots where the planes fell. 56 people were injured. It is the ninth aerial attack by the Tamil rebels.


Colombo (AsiaNews) - Tamil Tigers attack Colombo from the sky, and anti-aircraft guns in the capital knock down the two planes. Last night, two Zlin-143's belonging to the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) flew over the city in the southern part of the island, to carry out kamikaze attacks on strategic targets.

The two planes were Czech-made light civilian aircraft modified by the rebels to carry bombs. They were shot down while they were trying to carry out their suicide mission. The first was hit at 10:20 p.m. local time near the Inland Revenue Department, a building in front of the general headquarters of the Sri Lankan Air Force in the capital. The second fell under anti-aircraft fire at 10:45 p.m., near the air base of Katunayake. As a safety precaution, various parts of Colombo were put under blackout. In addition to the crews of the two Zlin-143's, two other people died after being hospitalized. Many have been injured: 50 at Inland Revenue, 6 in Katunayake.

It is the ninth aerial attack attempted by the Tamil rebels since 2007. Before this, the small squadron of LTTE planes had tried to strike a variety of targets, with varying results: Katunayake (March 26, 2007); Palali (April 24, 2007); Colombo (April 29, 2007); Anuradhapura (October 22, 2007); Welioya (April 26, 2008); Trincomalee (August 26, 2008); Vavunya (September 9, 2008). The most recent attack by the rebels was on last October 28: two planes struck the Thallady military camp in Mannar in northern Sri Lanka, and a power station in the suburbs of the capital.

The attack prevented by anti-aircraft fire comes as the government says that it has reduced the area in the north under the control of the LTTE to 103 square kilometers, and after the announcement of the destruction of six enemy aircraft discovered during military operations in Vanni.

"ya don't see this everyday!"

Wow, the Andaman Islands of India. Only 400 miles west of Thailand you feel as you are on the other side of the world from South East Asia and Indonesia. The guests aboard have had an amazing trip. We've seen an elephant walking down an amazing beach at sunset, swam with giant Manta Rays, Sailed by an active volcano then swam and dove at the base of the Volcano.

More to come. I am looking forward to editing and posting my photos.

Safety, Safety, Safety....

This happend a few days ago at our marina in Thailand. VERY, VERY SAD...



Unconfirmed reports suggest that a crewmember knocked the throttles of the yacht while putting a cover on the controls, causing the yacht to surge forward and snapping the bow mooring line, which in turn hit dockside spectators.

It is believed the yacht in question was the 50m Hakvoort MY JeMaSa, which was launched in 2006.



Here is the News Story as reported in the Australian.



A DARWIN teenager has lost her fight for life after a freak boating accident in Thailand.

The life-support system keeping 16-year-old Ali van Os alive was turned off last night, five days after she received massive head injuries when she was struck in the head by a snapped mooring line.

Ali, the daughter of author Joanne van Os and prominent Darwin barrister Lex Silvester, was in the north of Phuket island as part of a round-the-world sailing trip when the accident happened.

Passionate about yachts and the sea, Ali was at the Yacht Haven Marina, admiring a 50m super-yacht, when it is believed someone knocked the boat's throttles.

The boat surged forward, snapping a hawser and causing a 10cm-wide kevlar-composite rope to strike her across the face and head, throwing her into the air and on to the jetty.

Van Os and Mr Silvester rushed to their daughter's aid, joined by medical staff from other yachts at the jetty. They tried to control the heavy bleeding and to keep Ali breathing, before an ambulance arrived at the remote jetty about half an hour later.

Ali was taken to an emergency clinic at Thalang before being transferred to Bangkok Phuket Hospital.

Her mother, whose 2005 memoir Outback Heart told of her marriage to Rod Ansell, the man who inspired the character Crocodile Dundee, said she took solace in the thought her daughter's final moments were spent around the sea.

"We take some comfort -- a lot of comfort -- that she was doing something she loved and did the best at that moment, talking to someone and getting an invite on board a boat, making the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends ... something we all know Ali did better than anyone," she said.

Van Os said the US company that owned the superyacht had been supportive and a full inquiry was under way.

Friends of the gregarious teenager gathered for a farewell ceremony in Darwin last night. Her life support was turned off at 7.30pm (AEDT).

Message in a Bottle

I am knocked out of my chair reading the email below. I am reading this from the warmth of my hotel room overlooking the frigid, gale tossed English Channel. This email was sent from a tropical South Pacific Tongan beach area...

Hello,We have found your bottle on a beach in the north of Eua (Tonga) the 23rd December 2008 at 10.30 AM (local time). A long way...We hope that the champagne was good !Virginie & Fabien from France










This bottle and its contents where thrown to sea on 7 June 2007, at the half way point on passage from The Galapagos Islands to Nuka Hiva Marquesas (a 3000+ mile passage).



The bottle was found on 23 Dec 2008, it traveled 4,200 miles and was discovered 17 months after it was ceremonially jettisoned. Pretty darn COOL!

Burma and the Murgui Archipelago

Dec 30 2008 0430

My alarm goes off, 0430 is a rough one. We are anchored in a glass calm very protected inlet between Hastings and Barnell Island in the Murgui Archipelago. I pick up the anchor at 0500 while the guest and crew sleep. With no wind and glass calm conditions this is easy to do single handed. As the anchor lifts off the bottom the yacht slowly drifts towards the open water with the ebbing tide.

The early morning horizon is brightly lit with the lumen of a 100 squid boats. Above them is a thick blanket of stars including the Southern Cross. This is the first time that I have seen this majestically symbolic combination of stars since leaving the Southern Hemisphere a few months ago. It brings back many memories of the past year, and with the new year two days away, sparks the self reflection and goal setting inward thought process.

I slowly idle past the long tail fishing boats anchored along the sides of the inlet respecting thier last hour of sleep. Soon they will be up and buzzing around with the days chores at sea. We are on the way to Kawthong, Myanmar Burma to clear out of the country and make our way back to Phuket Thailand for the New Years Eve celebration off of Surin Beach.

I weave my way through the maze of squid boats as the carpet of stars overhead are slowly washed out by the first signs of daylight. I really love this time of day, it is very special to watch the night transition to day in a place like this. The rising sun over Burma highlights the rolling landscape, layers fog accentuate the horizon.

This is a country that is equally as beautiful and rich in resources as it is complex with corruption and gross human rights violations and oppression. You can learn more here: http://ethnicvoices.civiblog.org/

Cruising the Murgui Archipelago is really amazing. The Mergui Archipelago, is located in southernmost part of Myanmar (Burma), comprises over 800 beautiful islands. Due to its virtual isolation, the islands and surrounding seas are alive with an amazing diversity of flora & fauna and very beautiful underwater scenes and marine life. If I ever take a lap around the world in my own boat this is a place I would like to stay for several months.

The only human inhabitants in the area are sea gypsies, namely Salon in Myanmar. They live on boats during dry season and remain on land during rainy season. They still practice the same fishing and boat building techniques used for generation. http://www.mergui.org/

Burma Human Rights Violations

Reprinted from Reuters. This is an example of the human rights violations that are happening routinley in Burma. This happened last September and the Junta where not able to "contain" the story.

10/03/2007 11:33 AM
BURMA'S BRUTAL CRACKDOWN CONTINUES
'They Come at Night and Murder the Monks'
By our correspondents in Yangon

In Yangon the killing goes on. Opponents of the regime and monks are falling victim to the junta's special forces by night. Diplomats assume that several hundred people have already been killed. Now even China is putting the military under pressure.

Riot police and military personnel crack down on the protests in Yangon last week. There are reports of a brutal crackdown at night, with hundreds of people killed.
It is 9.15 p.m. on Tuesday evening in Yangon, the time of day when the stranglehold of fear settles across the city. The first heavily armed soldiers take position outside the few restaurants that still serve foreigners. Curfew starts at 10 p.m. After that, anyone who is still out on the streets is risking their lives.

"Take a bicycle to the street to grab a taxi," the manager of L'Opera, an Italian restaurant, yells into the kitchen. The foreigners, waiting in the courtyard, can't find any more rental cars. Someone dashes out to look for some kind of transport.

It is completely quiet for a moment in the car park. Then a young man emerges from the darkness. He was obviously waiting for a chance to be alone with foreigners. He is poorly clothed, but speaks English that is somewhat understandable. "Please don’t believe what the junta says," he whispers. "The repression is continuing every night. When there are no more witnesses, they drive through the suburbs at night and kill the people."

The young man wanted to tell his story quickly. He knew that he couldn’t let himself be caught doing so -- otherwise he could soon find himself in jail or dead. He comes from South Okalapa, a huge township east of Yangon, where there is hunger and misery. Most of the monks who demonstrated against the regime last week came from there. After the junta's troops finally crushed the unrest in the city center on Saturday, they took their brutal revenge in Okalapa on Sunday.

It was around midnight when the long convoy of military vehicles drove into the district. They contained police officers from the anti-insurgency unit and the so-called "Lome-Ten," a unit of gangsters and ex-convicts, who do the regime's dirty work.

They surrounded a monastery on Weiza Yandar Street. All the roughly 200 monks living there were forced to stand in a row and the security forces beat their heads against a brick wall. When they were all covered in blood and lay moaning on the ground, they were thrown into a truck and taken away. "We are crying for our monks," said the man, and then he was gone.

Four days have passed since the last shots were fired in central Yangon but normality has yet to return to Burma's largest city. Most shops remain closed today and the human rights violations continue. Horrifying rumors and news of further repressive measures continue to leak out.

These rumors are difficult to confirm as journalists are not allowed to work in the country. The few correspondents who are left in the country on tourist visas are being observed day and night. Secret service spies waylay them at their hotels. And even if the regime doesn't dare to execute another foreign journalist following the death of the Japanese photographer last week, it's still impossible to conduct normal reporting and research.

Every Burmese whose name appears in the international media has to fear for his life. Even foreigners living in the country are opting for silence, for fear of persecution. But the rumors and stories circulating in the city paint a horrible picture. It's clear that Yangon has done away with almost all of its monks.

In the huge monastery complex under the Shwedagon pagoda, only the red and saffron coloured robes of the holy men are left to blow in the wind. There are no traces of the several thousand monks and novices that once leant this place its unique and peaceful air.

A deadly silence has also settled into Yangon suburbs like Okalapa or Takada, where young monks from other provinces can normally come to learn to read and write at small religious institutions. But these have been shuttered, their entrances barricaded with iron doors and rubbish is piling up on the premises. The monasteries, temples, schools and orphanages in the surrounding area are empty.

"We are assuming that the number of victims among the monks and protesters last week goes well into the hundreds," says one diplomat, speaking on condition of anonymity. Clearly security forces in both suburbs have engaged in major crackdowns. As the junta's henchmen tried to remove the monks on Sunday and early this week, residents of both districts resisted, and many of the demonstrators are believed to have been shot.

"Our students have gone back to their home villages for the time being," the abbot of one Okalapa monastery says. But that's only half true. Diplomats here have fairly reliable information that the junta has built at least three internment camps in recent days in Yangon, where it has placed opponents of the regime.

One is located near the old British horse race track, between Yangon's 50th and 51st streets. Another camp is located near the Mingala international airport. The worst conditions, though, are to be found on the grounds of the Yangon Institute of Technology.

In the north-western part of the former Burmese capital, very close to the notorious and overflowing Insein Prison, about 300 cells have been erected in recent days -- each measuring 3 meters by 3 meters (9.8 by 9.8 feet). Close to 800 monks have been imprisoned there. Sanitary conditions are atrocious and the monks are engaging in a hunger strike. Just as they did during their protests, the monks are refusing to accept any food handouts from the military. Meanwhile, the armed soldiers have stopped locals from trying to bring any food to the monks. And if the authorities don't provide international organizations with access to the camps soon, it will be a matter of time before there are further deaths.

But although the situation appears hopeless, the British ambassador -- of all people -- sees a first glimmer of hope in the chaotic situation. Mark Canning sits in his high security office with a view of Yangon port. He is a large man with a youthful face, and wears a white shirt but no jacket or tie. He is surely not a typical representative of the Foreign Office. Canning appears to regard finding a solution to the conflict in the country, which was once Great Britain's wealthiest colony in Southeast Asia but finds itself today in abject poverty, as his own personal mission.

Canning exploits his room for maneuver right up to the limits of what is possible for him as a diplomat. During the uprising, the ambassador constantly gave live interviews to the BBC about the situation in the country. "If the events achieved one thing, then it is the fact that the international community is now united in its condemnation of the regime," he says.
He repeats the word "revulsion" several times. It was the word used by the otherwise very reserved ASEAN, the community of the Southeast Asian states, to condemn its member country Burma over its crackdown on the uprising.

For that reason, Canning believes that the process of dialogue which the United Nations has initiated with the Burmese military regime could soon show its first results. After his arrival in Burma on the weekend, the UN special envoy for Burma Ibrahim Gambari met with opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi, who is under house arrest. Then he met Tuesday morning with junta leader Than Shwe in the new capital Naypyidaw.

Canning pins particular hope on the Chinese. The generals could not survive for long without the economic assistance of Burma's northern neighbor. "The Chinese have made it clear to Burma that they want stability and peace on their southern border," says Canning. Admittedly the Chinese aren't talking about democracy, Canning says, but perhaps they can help to establish dialogue between the military and Aung San Suu Kyi. That way, the hunger and misery in Southeast Asia's poorest country could be alleviated -- which is exactly what the demonstrating monks had been demanding from the junta.

Editor's Note: For security reasons we are not naming our correspondents in Burma

Life on an Very Large Container Ship

Guest Post From Zac Watson: Zac is a good friend who has sailed with me from Hawaii to Los Angeles and From Galapagos to Marquesas. He is in the process of completing his Maritime Academy Studies and currently doing a practical and internship aboard a Very Large Container Ship. I've always wondered what life is like on these monstrous vessels as the pass by on the ocean. Zac provides a nice perspective and insight into life aboard....


One hundred and five days. That's long enough to become accustomed every creak and groan of the ship's roll, to know the shudder she makes when she pitches forward and the prop comes near the water's surface. Long enough to only slightly wake when the engine goes into an automatic slow down, sending vibrations through the steel hull, or to know how to step when a wave breaks into the bow and in a revolt of momentum she bodily staggers and everything not fixed by at least two corners shifts.
My room is beige and has alternate layers of bleached white streaks where rags have been wiped across in a rush, black soot, and cigarette smoke stain. There are two outlets on every wall, so at no point are you more than an arm's length away from plugging something in, which I find handy, but a little strange. I have a rotary telephone that rings every morning at seven twenty and I answer with 'Cadet,' and the A.B. on watch tells me that 'it's zero seven-twenty' and I say 'Yes, thankyou.' And then I climb back into the warm covers of my bed and wait for my watch alarm to go off in ten minutes, and then I either lay there for a half hour rocking with the ship, or get up and brush my teeth, then head down to breakfast.
I have oatmeal almost every morning now, I've lost interest in trying to come up with strange things to have the cook prepare. I don't even know what eggs florentine are, but that's about the only thing I haven't ordered. I keep thinking one of these mornings I will, but I've taken a liking to my morning oatmeal.
I eat with the Chief Mate, Captain and Chief Engineer, and I don't say much at breakfast. They'll ask me things occasionally, but rarely do I engage in conversation, my brain is still idling and not at full temperature to engage the gears yet.
Then up to the bridge for coffee and to check our position on the world. I like having to look at a chart encompassing the entire North Atlantic to figure out where I am. This trip back we went through Pentland Firth, which means we went up and over England and through the Isles of Scotland. I didn't see any of it, crossing through the Firth at five in the morning there's only a few flashing lights to witness, but it's an interesting route on the chart and I like having been this far North. No iceburgs though.
Then I head down to the Chief Mate's room and ask him what the plan is. Every morning for the past sixty days or so I've done just that, knocked on his office door as a courtesy, step into the office whether he responds or not, and I yell into his connecting room “Hey Nick. What's the plan for today?”
Nine times out of ten it's simply to just go out and check the reefer temps. We carry about a hundred refrigerator units aboard and every morning we have to log the temperatures. That's my job, walking around with the log book and a mechanical pencil so I can write small enough to get the temps in the little boxes.
It takes an hour and half, and it's one of my favorite parts of the day. The idea of it makes me recoil and dread it. Putting on my carhartt jacket and red wool winter cap, lacing up my work boots and pulling the legs of my jeans down over them. It's cold and damp and the wind can snap back at you with malice, like it's angry I'm out here under the power of engine and not canvas.
And the containers all have strange smells, rotting vegetables mixed with transmission fluid and stale air. And the reefers all whir and are constantly in states of kicking on or shutting off and they spit water the wind whips up and pelts into your eye.
But it's me and Nick out there, and we inspect everything regardless of the weather. And I'll stop and look out, look up from from my log book with the broken left hander's handwriting that looks like a five year old filled it out holding the pencil in a fist, and I'll lose my breath in the horizon.
I forget where I am, the vastness of the ship and the duties required while working don't allow for much time to be outside looking at the horizon, and I'll go long stretches in the day where I don't look up. And then like a beautiful woman is walking by, my head lifts up and I follow with my whole being the contour of the horizon.
I really am too sentimental. Out here with all these rough characters, never read a poem in their lives and here I am, this tender hearted poet sailor who is overcome with the beauty of a horizon. I don't know why I chose these jobs. Its firefighting all over again. All these tough guys who see this tree hugging hippy with bags more full of books than clothes or work gear, and they all think I won't last a week. They thought that when I was a firefighter, didn't expect me to be able to work past the first fire. By the end they were calling me a badass.
Same out here. The captain at the beginning of the trip was only on for five days, and he said I didn't stand a chance. Three months later he came back from his vacation, and I'm still here, not only surviving, but thriving. He acted pretty surprised when he asked me if I was ready to get off and I told him I'd rather stay aboard than go back to school.
But I'm ready to get off. It's time to see the family, have a beer, wink at some girls, go snowboarding with my buddies.
I've been standing the eight to midnight watch. Standing in the light of radar screens telling stories with the AB and the third mate. Keeping quiet and watching the dark go by. It's been about twenty thousand miles since I've slept on land. When Frost wrote that he had taken “the road less traveled by and that has made all the difference” I have no doubt this is what he meant.

________________________________________________________________

I'm in Holland right now. Just spent the first part of October steaming across from Norfolk, and here I am tied up at the dock. Actually, sitting in a bar in Brielle, near Rotterdam.

This has been an excellent trip so far. I've put in a few days with long hours, but nothing bad. It's mostly doing paperwork and chartwork and that sort of thing, so it's not like it's exhausting or anything. But I get a call at 7:20 a.m. every morning, and then eat breakfast and get ready and am ready to work by eight.

The Chief Mate and I walk the decks checking lashings and temperatures for reefer containers, and that takes about an hour and a half. We carry containers, lots of them, back and forth between the U.S. and northern Europe on this 950 foot long ship.

It's a comfortable ride, even in some ten foot swells it doesn't rock or roll bad at all, just a nice gentle shift at most. It's warm, quiet at night, and full of reclining chairs in the lounge and good food and a refrigerator full of icecream whenever I want. It has a weight room and exercise bikes and a bowflex. It has an elevator that stops at all six decks including the engine room.

Really this is a posh ship compared to anything I've seen on the lakes. The guys aboard have all been good. I got a lucky crew in that the Chief Mate is a great guy who's good to work with from 8 to 11:30 every morning, and then I eat lunch. Then I head up to the bridge and work with the 2nd mate standing a 12 to 4 watch. We do chart corrections and plot positions and courses and calculate speeds needed and propeller efficiencies and take weather reports and stand around telling sea stories.

The 2nd is a curmudgeon who's been sailing for 45 years and is really a walking encyclopedia. He doesn't just know something about everything to do with ships, he's been there and used them and has a story for anything I've been able to think up to ask.

The 3rd mate then I only really see when we're each off watch. So far we've been playing basketball (yeah, there's a basketball hoop welded up on main deck) every night after I get off watch. He's just a few years older than I am, and we get along well. He bought a Wii at the last port in the states and we've been getting into some fairly intense tennis games. I'm afraid someone's gonna get hurt because we're both a bit competitive.

Life is pretty good. I've dabbled at my sea project, not doing as much as I'd like to be doing, but I'll get to it.
Not too long ago was a full moon in the middle of the Atlantic. It's easy to get lost in the beauty of this world. Maybe I'm a touch sentimental, but I get overwhelmed by how expansive and powerful and gentle this world can be. Soft moon glow lighting up the sea from horizon to horizon, reflecting and refracting so even the crisp night wind seems to be made visible in the luminance.

Whales and dolphins are as regular a sight out here as deer and squirrels are back home. I've seen a flash of something jump or a white spout every day I've been on deck.
And coming through the English Channel, we had a clear warm sunshine, which I'm told is pretty rare, and The White Cliffs of Dover were shining in the sun. I've always read about them and heard about them, watched scenes in movies with them, but they really are something special. France on one side of me, England on the other, wind ripping twenty-five knots tearing at my hair and clothes, I just felt envigorated and fortunate and excited to be alive.

But make no mistake, this is no pleasure cruise. It's a floating factory. It spews out diesel exhaust and soot and there's always somebody running a grinder on something, and it stinks of chemicals and toxic substances, and there's grease on every chain, turnbuckle, holding rod and deck shoe can see. Which in turns means there's grease on you, which means it's on everyone else, which means it's worked it's way onto and into everything on the ship. My shower handles have black grease on them right now. There's no getting away from it.

There's 23 men aboard and they all have jobs that require constant awareness and care. There's a professional manner projected at all times, and no one forgets that a mistake at sea means there's no doctors to help you, limited medical supplies to help you, and however many days of being in pain before we even get to a place where getting you to a hospital is possible.
Someone said they'd like to be in my shoes. Yes, I love where my shoes are and where they've been, but out here, I'm wearing work books and stomping around in rain, wind, sea spray, whirring container fans, clunking metal joints stressing and popping against each other, creaking turnbuckles that weight 25 pounds each, and however untold many amount of stuff to be careful about I can't even describe.

But it's a good experience for me. The knowledge and hands on experience is truly awesome, and though at times I'm really missing home and the fall colors changing, I'm out here with the wind and tides and I can't help feeling that all is as it should be.

Zac zacinthewind@yahoo.com