CRUISING IN THE PIRATE ZONE
Liz Cleere and her partner Jamie Furlong sail Borneo’s notorious but beautiful north-east coast under military escort
Sailing Borneo’s notorious but beautiful north-east coast under military escort
With rainforest, rivers, the world’s top dive spots, unique wildlife, and sea-gypsy communities, the island of Borneo is a fantastic place to explore by yacht. So why are its north-eastern waters devoid of cruising boats?
The only way to sail safely is with a military escort by the Eastern Sabah Security Command (ESSCOM). And the only way for that to happen is to join the last leg of the Sail Malaysia Passage to the East Rally. Coves, mangroves, shoals, creeks and reefs make it tricky for pursuit boats to patrol this area. For cruising boats, though, it is a dream destination.
In 2020, with Malaysia in lockdown and international borders shut, the rally was cancelled. No tourists and very little shipping for the past few months meant nature had been making an explosive comeback. We persuaded the rally organisers to run the final leg for just six crews who were marooned in Sabah and desperate to get sailing. With luck, we would have the water to ourselves.
INTO THE DANGER ZONE
The downside of sailing in any rally is that there is a schedule and you have to get to your next destination whatever the weather. It was a windless day when we left from Kota Kinabalu, but we had three days to cover the 100 or so miles to Kudat, where we had an appointment for an ESSCOM briefing on protocols for sailing in the pirate zone.
Some boats were happy to crank up their engines and steam ahead, but we took our time playing with the Code O and catching fish. Our first night at anchor was spent tucked inside a protected bay, sheltered from the South China Sea swell. While Jamie barbecued the albacore, we watched small boats ferrying families and workers home just before the evening rain hit.
Usually swathed in cloud, at 4,095m Mount Kinabalu dominates Sabah, but as we set sail the next morning we had a spectacular view of the peak. We steered to Kalambu, the only place with any protection from the swell between us and Kudat, and inched into the shallows on the northern side of a sandy isthmus. Turtles swam on the reef, eagles and terns flew above the boat, fish jumped and the white sand beach looked inviting. We dropped our kayaks in the water for a closer look. That night, after another freshly-caught fish barbecue, we rolled and bucked while rain washed our decks and the swell wrapped round into the shallow bay.
It was then time for a quick sail around the northernmost point of Sabah to Kudat for the ESSCOM security briefing and a whistle-stop tour of the local sights.
When we left Kudat with two patrol boats escorting us, the mood became serious now that we were all on the lookout for potential trouble.
Esper took the first night watch of the rally just outside Karakit on the island of Banggi. Earlier in the day we had gone ashore to buy the juiciest mangoes we’ve ever eaten. It was a busy place with friendly local people and inquisitive kids. Eating nasi goreng (fried rice) on the ferry jetty, we watched people from neighbouring islands hurrying past with packages: a mattress, a consignment of fridges, a sack of vegetables, a rice cooker. Back on board, we sat clutching our night watch instructions and staring out to sea from Esper’s cockpit.
That first watch, which we did together, was adrenaline-fuelled. But it’s strange how quickly you can get used to a new situation. As the rally progressed the watches became routine. We listened to podcasts in one ear as we scanned for unusual movement, and divided the time in half so we could both get a decent sleep.
A quick stop at Jambongan, another pretty anchorage further south, spring-boarded us to the first destination we had all been looking forward to: Selangan Island, part of the joint Turtle Islands conservation project between Malaysia and the Philippines. It is illegal to anchor there without permission from ESSCOM and this would be an opportunity we would never have again.
The mood became serious now that we were all on the lookout for potential trouble
With calm seas and no wind, Esper motored along smoothly. Until a crunch had us both scrambling to get the boat into neutral. We put ESSCOM’S protocols into action and the fleet stopped. Jamie would have to get into the water to investigate. With the other yachts standing by, he employed our hookah system and jumped in to take a look. The rope cutter had broken loose and was rubbing against the shaft.
While the other yachts waited, and under pressure to get the job finished quickly, the situation was made more fraught because we had stopped in the most dangerous part of Sabah’s waters. We were sitting ducks. Three ESSCOM patrol boats stayed close. After the usual search to find an Allen key that would fit, Jamie managed to remove the loose pieces and we were off again with the broken parts back on board.
This was the first of several problems the fleet encountered over those six weeks: dirty diesel (which meant jury-rigging a fuel system); dragging anchors; overheated engines; running aground (and damaging a prop); temperamental wind instruments; hitting debris. One of the difficulties of sailing in remote places is having no nearby help, but the great thing
about being part of a group is having the help and encouragement of your sailing buddies.
As we approached Selangan we were hit by a gale. All the boats got their anchors down, but even though the wind lessened, only two boat crews felt confident enough to go ashore. With just one night scheduled, we weren’t going to miss those turtles.
Watching a turtle laying her eggs is an intimate moment, and releasing 90 babies into the waves warms your heart. On Selangan, we witnessed the 3,778th egg being moved to safety this year.
From Turtle Islands, we sailed south to the historic town of Sandakan where we re-fuelled and provisioned in a well-protected anchorage. The Sunbear Conservation and Orangutan Rehabilitation centres were uplifting, but we were overwhelmed by the horror of the Borneo death marches of the Second World War at the Sandakan Memorial Park.
With full larders and full tanks, we left beautiful Sandakan behind, determined to go back one day, even if only by land. Now we would be entering an entirely new experience for Esper and her crew: rainforest river sailing.
The Kinabatangan, at 342 miles, is the second longest river in Malaysia. The entrance is shallow, with a shoal running across it. We arrived at high tide, so we navigated with careful eyes on the depth. Our charts were inaccurate but the satellite imagery was good, though neither showed any detail beneath the silt-filled water.
Once over the bar, we nosed our way around bends, heeding the advice we had been given to stick to the outside corners as much as possible, because that’s where the river’s meanders are deepest. Bordered by mangroves, rainforest, caves and swamps, it’s a window into prehistory. We made our way through the orange water and occasional squall, looking out for logs hurtling towards us in the strong current.
ADVENTURE OF A LIFETIME
That five-day stop in the Kinabatangan is near the top of our all-time favourite experiences since we started cruising in 2006. There was no sailing, of course, but every day we took our tenders into the tributaries to sit quietly and observe what was going on around us. Proboscis monkeys stayed higher in the trees while pig-tailed and long-tailed macaques made good use of the ropes strung across the river. A shy croc dipped away underwater. We didn’t see any orangutans, for whom the rope bridges had been constructed, but we were lucky to spend an hour with a group of critically endangered pygmy elephants. We found them taking a bath before ambling along the river to graze on fruit.
We could have stayed for weeks exploring the Kinabatangan but we had to stick to the schedule. Three fast day sails brought us to Lahad Datu, where we took an overland trip back into the jungle.
At the Tabin Wildlife Reserve we trekked through a recovering secondary rainforest and walked across Lipad, Malaysia’s only active volcano (this one is
Turtles swam on the reef, eagles and terns flew above the boat, and the white sand beach looked inviting
mud, so it didn’t feel too dangerous). On display in the small museum we found the stuffed remains of Iman, Borneo’s last rhino, a sad reminder of the devastation wreaked by logging.
In the still anchorage of Silam, after a dive trip to the Blue Hole, a huge outdoor party was thrown for the fleet by one of the rally sponsors. Along with home-cooked food, the home-made rice wine went down very well. Unfortunately it meant several crew lost the ability to control their limbs, and getting into tenders resulted in two phones and one camera ending up in the drink!
With just one week to go before we had to turn back home, our sojourn into this multi-faceted part of the planet saved the best till last. Bohaydulang, part of the Tun Sakaran Marine Park is at the end of an archipelago of extraordinary beauty. Off limits to boats and accessible only on short day trips by tourists, Sabah Parks had given us permission to anchor in this beauty spot for a week.
The anchorage approved by ESSCOM is deep, quickly shelving to rocks and reef. The water is transparent, the visibility superb; we jumped straight in. This would be the perfect place to relax and swim.
It was on the outside of Bohaydulang that we met the Bajau Laut, sea gypsies who have been displaced people for generations. They don’t go to school and have no access to medical care, but live on their boats and frail stilted houses, bartering and fishing for food. We spent time with them and took anything we didn’t need (clothes, medical supplies) to distribute to the families. NGOS are helping, but it’s a hard life.
From here we took a fast boat trip to Sipadan (no yachts allowed), one of the world’s best dive sites. The island was described by Jacques Cousteau as ‘an untouched piece of art’ and was like nothing we’ve ever seen before. Sharks, barracuda, turtles, all kinds of reef fish filled the water. Snorkelling through crowds of jacks was like being in Piccadilly Circus.
We combed the archipelago, returning to the hundreds of turtles we found in one spot. Shallow reefs, teeming with life, dotted the bay and we spent our days snorkelling. In the evenings, we met on the deserted jetty for ‘pot luck’ food and bring-your-own beer. We had found every cruiser’s dream destination.