By late morning we were well on our way. Our departure out of Kawthaung was worth a few celebratory remarks. Hard words spoken by hard people who lived on hard times, all existence seemed plagued by neglect on every level. Worn bodies trudged atop a red saliva stained roadway that fell downwards onto trash filled murky waters that were covered over by rainbow sheen of diesel fuel. An occasional corpse of a dead animal could be seen floating in with the building tide while a confusion of wooden long tails boats darted about. Occupants of “Farang” tourist applying for Thai visas merged side by side with Burmese nationals who were looking to escape out for the far side of the channel in hopes of finding a daily wage with equivalence of 10 USD, double of what was on offer here in their homeland. These abused waterways fed the trafficking of all things. Desperation seemed a way of life and yet among all the failings’ observed, an occasional human smile would emerge from the crowd that gave some semblance of hope.
The winds were blowing straight from the east and according to captain Bart, we would be right with full sails through the day. He quizzed me on what I thought of the fifty foot swell hitting Hawaii in a weeks’ time. He asked how this episode related to our present situation. Taking a long pull off his cheap cigarette, Bart went onto explain how a massive low had just departed off the Asian continent and that the winds we were being graced with was from that very system. With eyes closed and a sudden steady pause, as if studying the details written on paper within his mind, Bart’s eyes flashed open and seemed ready to divulge the details about the waves to come.
According to the weather charts of a week ago, a late season intense low had been sitting snug up against Madagascar. The north eastern push was scheduled to hit within a few days giving us aboard the “Infinity” ample time to get situated and ready to receive the waves at one of the more exposed locations of the archipelago.
In two evenings time, Bart, Bix and I relaxed on deck while our Burmese guide kept himself busy tidying up after our shared meal. An endless stream of large flying bats arced across the rouge skyline and was preceded by flock of hornbills that numbered in the thousands. Off in the distance, the local Moken or “Sea Gypsies”, were in caravan single file and appeared to be migrating elsewhere, remaining out of touch and range of the foreign invaders. It was hard not to think of ourselves as such, for what we on board of our sailing master piece were witnessing was yet the next culture in line for extinction and most likely within the next decade if not sooner. Leering out from just above the rim of his half empty cup of gin, Bart professed he had been of witness to the transition happening over the last years. The introduction to the engine and ice and other gadgets had been coming at this culture from the north as well the relatively new invites of sailing communities from the south. There was no stopping the surge of change now taking place here. From the westernization of its peoples to the dwindling fish stocks, these semi pristine islands were about to become the next great thing for the entire traveling world to experience.
.jpg)
Situated within the center of a horse shoe bay that was graced with three beaches, all facing in complete different directions, the three of us readied for our paddle out. The swell was running at a consistent head high and “middle beach” was getting it the best. Schools of fish swarmed and jumped as if excited by the new arrival of swell. From behind the breakers, white trails of foam spread out from a center point and brushed out to left and right. By the time we reached the takeoff point, honors of the first wave were granted to Bart. Bix leaped up on the next right hander and managed to stand backwards while facing the breaking wave. The laughter and stoke to follow carried on till words of hunger and exhaustion began to override all the pleasure.
To leave such a perfect setup seemed sacrilege but in the name of adventure and discovery, we headed further north to a place Bart had heard about some years back. “To get rewarded up in these areas is a rare deal”. As the strength of the east wind had fallen off over night, we decided on utilizing the spinnaker to help us on-wards. With sly expression, Bart spilled details on how we were heading into a zone not marked for cruising. We were entering forbidden waterways all on the hopes of scoring some innocent fun surf.
By dusk we had problems and were down to one engine. Limping in retreat, we had just come around the east side of an island that show cased no less then twelve untouched beaches in a row. Emerging from behind the latest piece of paradise, we suddenly noticed the flying flag of a military outpost. Within seconds, a speed boat full of armed men was racing across the glassy sea and rushed up tight next to us. Angry faces with reddened eyes showed a heavy trace of intoxication and made for moments of unsettled nerves. We were at the mercy of drunken Myanmar military and Bart knew the best way to remedy out this bad position was to offer more booze. Three bottles of fine whisky were quickly shuttled off ours on onto theirs, and with guns still held high, we were ordered to leave. A slow suspenseful departure merged in with the relief of a reinvigorated easterly air flow.
