Like it or not, our stay in the Northern Atoll of the Maldives is coming to a close. One morning during our daily weather check, we note a swirling mass of color just above our anchorage - another cyclone predicted. This one would form just North of us and skitter North and East as it developed into a bigger storm to eventually make landfall in India. We knew we weren’t going to get hit by the cyclone, but we’d already sat through drawing winds of the monster cyclone Ampham in the Bay of Bengal, and even though that cyclone was much further away, it still made our anchorage uncomfortable in the extreme, and at some times dangerous. We felt we were out at sea riding bucking waves, and our ears grew accustomed to the constant sound of howling rigging. In that round, all we could do is grit our teeth and hope no one's ground tackle would part, no one would get struck by lightning, or worse. We didn’t want to go through this again.
This is our anchorage! It looked like we were out to sea!
Some boats had reached out to their Embassies, hoping they could help negotiate a move to a more protected anchorage. And, just as the week-long storm blew itself out, we received a call from the US embassy in Sri Lanka letting us know they’d secured permission for us to move to an anchorage five miles South with better protection from the West winds. We didn’t need it anymore, the storm had calmed and we only had permission to go to shore on this island, so we elected to stay until problems cropped up again - as they were bound to do.
It wasn’t nearly long enough before we saw the next colorful, swirling mass on our weather forecasting system. Of the remaining five boats, two peeled off immediately to make a beeline down to the big city of Male - leaving Steel Sapphire (Pete and Jen), Erie Spirit (Mark and Susan), and the crew of Sonrisa enjoying a cocktail on the Innofinolhu beach.
“Let me guess,” Andrew says, “Whenever you guys go to a party, you always seem to be the last ones to leave, too.”
We all laugh and confirm as much, reminiscing about old parties and the Oddgodfrey’s failed attempts at mastering the more polite strategy known as the Irish Goodbye.
“I think we will head to Male, tomorrow, leaving around 4 p.m." one set of friends says.
“Yes, we will, too,” the other set of friends say.
They’ve been warning us of their impending move to Male for about a week now, and in response the Oddgodfreys have been digging their anchor into the sand even deeper than normal. Male. The big city. The hot spot for Maldives (relatively small number of) Covid cases, and the place where all the safari dive and holiday charter boats and anchored in place behind a breakwater, packed like sardines according to reports and pictures we’ve already seen from those who have sailed on ahead.
“So, are you coming with us?” four sets of heads swivel in the direction of the Oddgodfrey crew.
Andrew gives them a flat lipped smile.
I continue chopping the re-make of our Wild Greens Maldivian Salad and the refrain I've been singing for a week: "I remain unconvinced. Why would I leave Innofinholu? I’m going to stay here forever. I live here, now.”
Everyone grumbles, and I admit my Innofinholu days are numbered. This anchorage’s protection from Western and Southwestern wind and ocean swell is not as good as we had all hoped, and the season is now pushing the weather to a W/SW wind direction, leaving this anchorage rather uncomfortable.
“You don't want to stay up here alone, do you?” Steely-Pete prods.
“I don't want to, but everyone keeps leaving!”
“I can’t leave until I get my BBQ Smoker back,” Andrew explains.
As I knew he would, Asad and his brothers on the Maldivian police force located the BBQ within hours of our inquiry, and as we suspected, the culprits thought it had been abandoned as beach garbage. They were so cheerful about their find, we felt bad asking for it back, but “I just barely figured out what to do with this otherwise useless thing!" Andrew complains. We weren't ready to abandon it as it is one our “redundant" systems that could bail us out of a pinch if our stove suddenly went on the fritz.
Yet, once found, the BBQ still had to make its way through the authorities route of approval for re-delivery to the quarantine anchorage. Despite the fact that this atoll is probably only twelve miles in total circumference, I did not have hope that this process could be completed in any time frame reasonably expected to allow our departure in the ‘morrow.
And, indeed, the BBQ-Smoker-Abandoned-Beach-Garbage was weaving its way through this circuitous and unpredictable delivery route. At first, Asad hoped we could go pick it up at the dock in Huvahandoo, but then he said it would be better to let the BBQ return to Uligan on a ferry and we could pick it up from him in the Uligan anchorage on our way out of town toward Male. Then, we received word the BBQ had missed the ferry and would not arrive in Uligan until at least Monday so we were back to the possibility of retrieving it from Huvahandoo. We need only arrange permission for us to approach the dock through the quarantine department...
Yeah.
There is no way we are leaving tomorrow.
Chatter turns to other topics while Andrew pokes at his bon fire. White light flashes behind our backs, causing us to watch the Western horizon turn black with a tall, bulbous, billowing cloud.
“Do you think we should head back to the boats?” Someone asks.
“Naw, that’s going to pass to the North of us. The bad weather isn’t slated for at least another three days.”
Sip-sip-sip...
“Yeah, I think we’ll head back." Our friends leave Andrew and I on the beach still tending the fire, watching the lightning storm build up. Instead of flying horizontally as clouds often do, these clouds were growing tall and angry, pink endges curling around black and blue boils. “I’m waiting it out!" I declare until....
Suddenly, the temperature drops and we scramble.
I look back at the beach as Grin whisks us away, “Bye Innofinholu! Thank you for all the good times!” I know it is very unlikely that we will be able to return.
We make it back to Sonrisa just as the pouring rain, thunder, lightning and heavy winds start. “I do not understand why everyone is wanting to rush down to Male for this,” I tell Andrew. “That anchorage has to be chaos with all the safari boats stuck in there. At least up here, we could drag for six miles before hitting anything else.”
Andrew nods, watching the barometer tick a smidgen lower. We keep anchor watch through the wind, but eventually the storm settles in place and we are left with a long, slow rain that patters against the hatches and cools the night air.
The next day dawns cloudy and dark, but the wind is still mostly NW at only 15 knots. We review the weather predictions again, and it still looks like while the weather will be grumpy for about a week, it won’t be chaos. 15-25 knots of wind from the South, Southwest, and West with rain on and off. We review the anchorage our Embassy had negotiated for us and decide it will be a lovely little place to sit out the bad weather.
“I think we should stay here protected by Huvahandoo until the bad weather settles, and then we can have a nice sail South to Male, restock and re-provision, then sail into the Southern Hemisphere where we will be good and safe from these tropical storms at least until November.” I say, reading the weather from over Andrew’s shoulder. “I hate a soggy night watch.”
We deliver this decision to our friends via WhatsApp text - with Erie Spirit certain of their plan to head South at 4 p.m. this day, and Steel Sapphire still “haverin’” about their decision. A raoucus debate ensues between the crew of Sonrisa and Steel Sapphire. A mud wrestling pit was being constructed on Sonrisa's foredeck until Andrew’s adjudicatory gavel came down and we returned from whence we came to a location lovingly marked on the chart as “each Captain must follow his own heart.”
“We aren't sure what we will do,” Pete confirms, “but we think we are leaving around 4, still.”
“It’s okay! Don't worry, we'll meet you down there after the bad weather passes.” I say.
“I don't believe you. I don't think you will ever come. You seem to hate moving!”
“And yet, I am somehow exactly half way around the planet from home. Stop fretting, we’ll see you further South.”
Hours pass, and we hear nothing from Steel Sapphire.
“Do you think they will go? The weather is miserable!" I say. I peer through the long lens of my camera trying to focus on Steel Sapphire through rain drizzling in the foreground. “Oh! I think they have their navigation lights on. I see red and green. They must be going.” I see Jen fussing with something on deck.
Erie Spirit's bow falls off the wind and turns toward the opening of the atoll. “Off they go!” I say as Erie Spirit radios in to the Coast Guard to confirm their anchor is up.
But Steel Sapphire continues to bob bow into the wind.
I decide to send a text.
“Are you guys really going? Pete! Your birthday is in two days. You don't want to be soggy and out to sea for your birthday do you?”
*Crickets*
"I’ll bake you a birthday cake!”
And then, as the clock rolled over 3:56 p.m., a headline flashes through my Facebook feed. “Thailand Plans to Reopen Its Borders July 1.” I smash the forward arrow with my index finger: “Did you guys see this!”
Bribery (and the promise for an opened border….) never fails.
P.S. I shamelessly stole these last two photos from Pete’s Facebook Page because I forgot to take my camera to the birthday party.