Sailing the Malacca Straight - A Close Call!

As we were sailing to Singapore, the city known for the most lightning strikes of any city in the world, we received a text from another cruising family.  They'd just been struck by lightning while they were in a marina in Singapore, of all places.   Everyone was safe, but the boat had multiple issues that would keep them there much longer than they'd planned.  They wouldn't be able to join us in the rally anymore.  My heart sank and raced.  I was sad and terrified at the same time. Is that even physically possible?  My eyes searched the skies and our radar screen for any sign of a squall or lightning among the traffic of cargo freighters and tanker ships as the news settled in.  Needless to say it was not a restful night on watch.

Our radar had been giving a false reading right in the center of our track.  Most of the time we could decipher the blip on the screen, but with all the other ships and fishing vessels, the blip became an added stressor.  I began my night watch at 9:00.  There were tankers on my radar coming directly behind me on either side.  The light wind Code Zero sail was up, along with the main.  Ahead of me lights flashed on the horizon.  I struggled to reconcile each one with its corresponding spot on my screen.  Which was closer?  Which way were they moving?  Were they even moving at all?  In the Malacca Strait, the vessels are required to have AIS, but as we motored out of the busiest section, we encountered many smaller fishing vessels pulling nets behind them with no signal and no clear, consistent course.

I looked out into the dark, then back onto the screen.  Out and back.  Out and back.  Time seemed to tick by in slow motion.   By 10:30 more tankers were closing in on either side and there was a blip on my screen directly in front of me about 1.5 miles away.  Was it the false blip?  Was that light out there far away or something closer?  I stood from the helm to peer behind the enormous sail.  There were more lights, and I couldn’t make out which was which.  The tankers continued their forward approach.  With the sail out, my maneuverability and sight was limited.  I needed to eliminate some of the complications and simplify the situation.  I hurried to reel in the fragile sail, careful not to let it flog.  The boat immediately slowed down, giving me a moment to think.  I started the engines to maintain steerage and looked again out at the line of lights in front of me, down at the busy radar screen, and behind me as the tankers flanked my stern.  Only their massive silhouettes, white running lights, and telltale navigation lights shown in the black night.

They had nearly passed me now, and I slowly pushed the throttle to regain my speed.  Ahead, the line of lights still loomed, but now I had more control.  I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath.  The radar blip cleared, and I settled back into the helmseat, exhausted and still a bit shaken.

This was no night for podcasts or audiobooks.  My senses were on high alert and my pulse raced on.  Again and again cargo ships would barrel up from behind me and pass me within a half mile, blocking the city lights on shore completely.  I yearned for open waters, for an empty radar screen, for a silent VHF.

The minutes crawled on.  My eyes swept the horizon, then the radar, always trying to decipher the signals, lights, and blips.  It was intense.

At around 11:15, that ghost blip appeared again.  I still refused to put up the foresail, so I motored cautiously forward.  I turned sharply to the right and the blip followed.  Must be that glitch.  I looked out into the dark.  Yes, there was a light there - how close was it?  I watched the radar again to see if the blip was moving in any direction.  It seemed to be coming straight towards me.  I turned to starboard again.  Still it came.  The blip was inside half a mile from me and coming at me!  A bright beam of light shone at me.  Then flashed quickly on and off as a warning.  Where do I go?  He’s right at me!  I slammed the engine into neutral and stared wide-eyed as a local, jalopy fishing boat passed right across my bow.  So close that I could see the ripple of its lights reflecting in the wake alongside its hull.  I could see the man standing along the rails lighting up the stern.  And finally, I could see the taut, thick lines of his fishing nets being dragged behind him.  I watched as the boat motored away, tensely waiting for the nets to get caught on my keel or rudder.

I waited, once again holding my breath.  The nets slid under me without catching.  I waited long after he passed, not knowing how long his trailing nets were.  I waited some more, processing what had just almost happened.  Trepidaciously, I looked again at my radar, the horizon, and my stern.  Then I looked at the clock- 11:45.  Only 15 more minutes left of my watchtime and I could be relieved of this heavy responsibility. My mind replayed the event, trying to figure out what I could’ve done differently, doubting my sailing experience and cursing the day I’d signed up for this whole thing.  Emotions ran rampant - fear, guilt, self-doubt, anger.

When Mark came up to take over, I was so glad he didn’t ask, “Why isn’t the foresail out?” or “Why are we motoring when we’ve got good wind?”  Instead, like the wise captain he is, he simply asked, “How was your night?”, and then he silently listened as I replayed the scary encounter aloud.  “Wow - that must’ve freaked you out.  You did good, though.  We’re safe.  You did good.  Those fishing boats are all over the place.”

I sighed, relieved to be heard and understood.  Side by side in the helmseat, we sat silently for a while.  My nerves needed some quiet company and I think he knew that.  Eventually, I asked if I could or should have done anything differently.  On the screen, I set up the situation and we talked about possible options should this ever happen again.  Maybe turn up sharply to be parallel with the oncoming vessel?  Definitely give these fishing boats plenty of room.  And then we checked that ghost blip on the radar to see if we could find out what was causing it, so that I wouldn’t mistake it for an actual vessel again.

Okay, time for some sleep.  It’s been a doozy of a night, and I happily hand over the helm to the captain, slip out of my safety harness, and crawl into bed.  This girl is officially off watch...