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Published: March 26th 2018
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Route map of first leg
A success. With rip tides between Rutland and cinque and north of sisters. As a mentor put it, “This should be a humbling experience, rather than a personal defeat.”
Humbled, I am. I did begin to get causelessly proud. With my guests giving me all those wonderful compliments, making me feel greater than I actually am, my head so high my feet left the ground, as a result - Icarus flying too close to the sun.
I have just returned from an unsuccessful attempt at kayaking from South Andaman Island to Little Andaman Island. A distance of approximately 140 kms. For me, it’s no easy feat in good weather, and terrifyingly humbling in bad weather. The funny part is, the weather came just for me. This month has had clear skies and no wind throughout. But during those three crucial hours, the three hours required to cross a rather notorious passage, known as the Duncan Passage, the weather came for me.
I was getting restless because of lack of sleep in the blazing heat after having successfully completed my first leg (50 kms) of the crossing. I started at midnight from Chidiyatapu at the southeast tip of South Andaman Island and had arrived quite tired at Sisters Islands just in time
Rough and tumble
Just as i set out from sisters toward the Duncan passage. This is just before i got caught in a squall. to catch a stunning sunrise. For some reason even as I unsuccessfully attempted to get some sleep on the boat, I couldn’t eat. Nothing was appetising. The sun was too sharp to sleep through. The constantly increasing rolling of the rescue boat wouldn’t let me relax for a moment. My brother was on the rescue boat, with so much food. Boiled eggs, cuponoodles, chocolates, biscuits, bread, spam, sausages, cheese and even milk. I wanted nothing. I had my own energy bars (made by Sai, the super-fab chef at Full Moon Cafe, Havelock) with me in my kayak, which I ate just after I beached at Sisters. The two islands themselves are beautiful, but the waters were full of terrible undercurrents. I couldn’t even tell which way they were pulling at me. Against. No matter which direction I was headed, the currents were against. A rebellious two, these Sisters are. (Must have given their mother a real hard time, eh?)
My next leg, were the brothers, 40 kms away. The plan was to give North Brother a passing wave and paddle on to South Brother where I’d rest till just past midnight and begin my final leg to Hut Bay,
After it passed
Once the squall passed the skies were blue and he sea turned flat again. in Little Andaman Island. But the brothers were separated from the sisters by the Duncan Passage which marks the 11 degree latitude. My father’s right-hand-man had warned me about the Duncan Passage while discussing my route plans a day before I set off. He spoke of ripping, unpredictable currents and random shallow grounds, of sunken ships and strange wave patterns. Why didn’t I pay heed? I was sure this would be the easiest leg of my crossing. It was the shortest; it was the only leg happening in daylight; and my direction would be southwest which meant that since the winds are blowing from Northeast I’d be literally paddling downwind. I was absolutely expecting nothing short of being delivered to South Brother. So many mistakes.
What I also failed to read very very carefully was the weather report sent to me from an officer at the Navy met dpt, where he clearly mentions ‘a moving trough in easterlies’. I should have called and asked him to expand on that. Instead I was just satisfied with the rest of his report where he mentions favourable winds blowing from north and northeast. So many mistakes. I should have asked for the
The start
My beautiful eco-bezhig. Just before setting off for the first leg at midnight. approximate time and location of this moving easterly trough. What even is a trough? I know now. I met it.
Started out like any gust before any rain. And then it just got progressively worse and worse. My brother said he took photographs of the start but once the rain started he could barely keep himself stable on the boat, leave alone handle a camera. He cut an bruised himself a couple.
Initially I thought I’d ride it straight down, since it was pushing me south toward my destination, but then it started coming at me from two sides and I wasn’t sure which one I was riding anymore. And then one direction started dominating over the other, unfortunately it wasn’t in the direction I was headed. It was pushing me west. Fast and hard. So I tried to cut across and nearly capsized in giant seas. Decided I had to ride it out hoping that the squall would end quickly. It did. Followed closely by another. This one started pushing me northwest, And when I looked behind to see if the horizon was clearing, it wasn’t. There was one more. By then it had pushed me so
Big sea
Notice the direction of the waves...oh wait a second, there is no direction! It’s coming at me from all directions!!! far off course that I had to either abort and climb into the rescue boat or turn into the trough and attempt to paddle out the other side of it. I did finally turn, but only to be hauled into the rescue boat. It took them three attempts to align with me. And if my brother wasn’t on the boat I don’t think they would have even known I needed rescuing because only after repeated high-pitched cat calls that dad taught us did I see the boat approach close enough for me to hear him yelling, “Wrong direction!!! The other way!!!” And when I yelled back, “I can’t! Rescue!”, is when the first of the rescue attempts began. I later asked my brother if he heard my cat-calls and he said he did, that’s why he approached, but he wasn’t sure if I was asking for direction or help.
The sea was so pushy if I took my eyes off the wave I was riding for even a second just to look at my gps screen it would catch me and turn me. That’s her plan, see, the first always tries to turn you such that she hits you
The ones that got away.
Duncan Passage and Little Andaman’s giant coastline. in the beam, and the second catches your beam and sends you over. Even if you manage to withstand the second or the third beam wall, it’s only a matter of time before she’s got you. I had to keep my kayak riding straight through the crests. There was a point where the rescue boat was leaping and rolling so much so close that I had to separate out of fear that the rescue boat was going to climb on top of me. Tried to tell them I’d approach from the windward but they refused and as I came nearly under their boat the captain hauled me out and then he, his son and my brother pulled in my kayak.
We were safe - me and my flooded kayak. We were out. Engine’s started. Ten minutes later the engine stalled. Adrift, my brother got worried. Then 10 mins after restarting, it shut off again. My brother went to have a word with the boat guys. Apparently dirt in the fuel was clogging up the filters. We engined to the leeward of North Brother where we waited out the trough. Then we had a decision to take.
Either we
The rebellious sisters
Approaching Sisters Islands just in time to catch a beautiful sunrise. could engine back to Sisters from where I re-attempt my second leg in post sunset darkness, which would result in cutting my rest-time short by 4 hours (leaving me with just 2 hours of rest) and then attempt my final leg to Hut Bay (50 kms) at the scheduled time of just post midnight which could not be altered due to tides, currents, weather forecast etc. And all this, with a rescue boat that was suffering from engine trouble. Or, Go home, Train harder, pay more attention, come back when I’m stronger.
I chose the latter. And a journey that should have taken us 3.5 hours to get back to Chidiyatapu took us 7 hours because the engine kept cutting off. Surprisingly the swells were a lot bigger on our return that night as compared to when I paddled out the previous night. I guess I got lucky there.
Exhausted and half asleep we lugged all that food back home where my mum is still trying to figure out what to do with it.
So that’s that.
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Tot: 0.084s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 10; qc: 30; dbt: 0.0414s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Dani Gorgon
non-member comment
100 KM mark for Indian kayakers
Hi Tanaz, it is great to know that you attempted kayaking 100+ km (140 km). I agree what you wrote above. It is no easy feat in good weather, and terrifyingly humbling in bad weather. I did 100 km crossing in Estonia but it was not sea, it was downstream, it was freezing with sub-zero temp, it was never-ending meanderings, it was composed of a few rapids, and it was almost non-stop except two slots of 20 minutes break for food/loo. It was a Marathon which I went to participate without any fitness training or paddling trials. I thought this would be an exciting trip for brews and meeting new friends and a couple of kms later, I could quit and get ride to base as I was told. But things changed drastically as I got into the kayak and down a few miles, saw men and women in their 70s racing. For some it was racing for winning, for some it was taking part in it to complete it, for some it was a social gathering as the winter giving way to summer. What kept me going for 100 km - I have no idea. I still cherish the good memories of the trip and loss of a damaged waterproof camera and a pair of polarized shades. I like to do it in India, and would want to do it without any landing until completing the 100 km mark. But the 30+ ºC temperature is going to be a serious deterrent for the trip. I would do it probably two years later. Best regards Dani Gorgon