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Captain's Log:   

While we had been lucky with favourable winds on our approach to Oman, the winds had now died completely; and we needed wind to carry us through the Gulf of Aden, the southern gateway to the Red Sea. Sailing vessels proceeding north in the Red Sea usually attempt to enter the Red Sea before the end of February in order to avoid the usual contrary north winds developing in the Red Sea in March and April.
About 15 sailing yachts were quietly anchored in the harbour, all waiting for wind. The yachts contrasted sharply with the dirty rusting coastal freighters and the large Arab fishing boats in the harbour. The fishing boats were all similar. Although some of them were stuffed with cargos of hundreds of foul smelling live goats, all of them were large open steel boats about 60 feet long with powerful engines and crewed by gangs of 10 or 12 rough looking men.

Oman being an oil rich sultanate, Salalah harbour was heavily guarded by Arab police in smartly tailored uniforms in British military style, well armed and ready to use their weapons. But beyond Oman security did not exist.

Piracy was the principal topic of discussion among the yacht crews. Everyone was highly conscious of the numerous yacht boardings in recent years, especially in the previous 2003 yacht crossing season, and the pirates were undoubtedly aware that the 2004 Red Sea bound yacht season was about to start. Yachts are open season for starving people, so we stashed away our money and valuables in secret hiding places, and laid out cheap whiskey and fake wallets with expired credit cards. Some crews bought guns. Routes were planned. Convoys were organized.
The Gulf of Aden is a narrow stretch of water about 600 miles long and 150 miles wide, reaching between lawless Somalia to the south and lawless Yemen to the north. Poor crime-ridden Djibouti lies at the western end. An extremely busy shipping channel runs along the center of the Gulf. Numerous container ships, bulk carriers, and other mammoth ships plow through the center of the Gulf at incredible speeds. Most of them would not notice a fiber glass sailing yacht at night, even if they were intently watching their radar. Furthermore, most commercial ships in pirate areas rarely answer VHF radio calls from sailing yachts.
During the last several years, most of the recorded pirate attacks on sailing yachts in the Gulf of Aden have occurred within a fairly narrow 150 mile long zone mid-way down the Gulf. Many were carried out by Arab fishing boats illegally transporting Somalis to Yemen and happening by chance on one or two unfortunate sailing yachts caught in the wrong place. The pirate crews have always been armed with AK47's, machine guns or other automatic weapons. They strip their victims quickly and take off as fast as possible.

Most of us planned to sail at least 30 miles off the coast of Yemen, far enough away to avoid small Yemeni fishing craft and just outside the dangerous commercial shipping lanes. We all feared the 60' open fishing boats, however, as they roam the entire Gulf and can outrun most sailing yachts. We calculated that we could minimize risk by moving quickly through the historical 150 mile long piracy zone at night, without lights.
SOLARA left Salalah harbour in the morning. We wanted to sail as much as possible in Oman waters in the daylight, crossing over into Yemen waters in the late afternoon, and reaching our convoy rendezvous point just after dark. We expected to meet up with a few of the other yachts, rev up our engines and run the gauntlet as a closed group as fast as possible through the 150 mile danger zone, mostly at night.

At dusk, as we approached the rendezvous point, a terrifying Mayday call blared out from our radio speaker. One of the yachts about 10 miles ahead of us was being pursued by a large Arab fishing boat. At one point, the fishing boat was within 50' of the yacht and several armed men were on the bow poised to jump onto the yacht. We saw the yacht's warning flares in the dark. SOLARA and two other sailing yachts answered the Mayday call, but we were over an hour away, at best, and we might have been next! We tried to keep up radio communication in case it might help some. In the meantime, the targeted yacht used various evasive techniques and maneuvers and, thank God, finally escaped in the dark. We and the other nearby yachts then caught up and formed a tight little convoy.

Except for the sailing yachts in our little group, there was no response to the several Mayday calls from the fleeing yacht. I was able to place a satellite relay call to the international emergency pirate centre in Kuala Lampur and it alerted military authorities, but no warship or military vessel appeared until the next day, long after the pirates had vanished.
During the next few weeks we heard of several other pirate attacks on sailing yachts in the Gulf of Aden. Yachts were boarded at gunpoint and stripped of valuables and radios. The pirates were always Arab fishermen in large open steel boats and always armed with machine guns.
What a relief it was to reach Aden, near the west end of the Gulf. Other Red Sea dangers were formidable and still ahead of us, but nothing was as terrifying for me as the Gulf of Aden pirates, or so I thought.

We entered the Red Sea near Djibouti and proceeded north on the west side of the Red Sea. Private yachts from non-Muslim countries are prohibited in Saudi Arabian waters on the east side, and large ships stream up and down the middle, so we had little choice. In any event, the west side was our preferred route. At first, we saw little habitation in the anchorages and very few fishing boats. We were later told that Eritrean and Sudanese governments have severely restricted or banned fishing boat activities for military reasons. The land was barren and brown, but beautiful in a rugged haunting kind of way. Our convoy had separated and we were all alone most of the time. Although we had some radio contact, I felt very isolated and was quite nervous.

We entered our first Red Sea harbour at the ancient city of Massawa, Eritrea. I could not believe the devastation! Eritrea is just emerging from a 30 year war for independence from Ethiopia. The people are fiercely independent. Some blame the British for assigning Eritrea (Italian Somaliland) to Ethiopia after the Second World War. They worship their freedom fighters, who beat off Ethiopia's Soviet-made tanks with molotov cocktails and sent the Ethiopian army packing back to Ethiopia. The government is unfortunately turning the country into a Marxist police state. Fifteen year old freedom fighters saunter around the streets carrying machine guns slung across their breast as a badge of honour. These young armed men blindly enforce arbitrary rules handed down by the new rulers.

Massawa is a bombed out city. Its ancient Turkish and Italian buildings are now mostly ruined hulks of crumbling mortar rising out of muddy streets. Yet, life goes on, and cafes and bars and cell phone shops have sprouted up. Although much of the fighting was in or near Massawa, the port seemed busy. The people are strong. The interior of Eritrea is beautiful and prospering so there may yet be some hope for the country. 
After a couple of sobering weeks in Massawa, we continued our sail and headed north toward Sudan, anchoring each night by little islands off the Eritrean or Sudanese coasts. We eventually entered the amazing natural harbour of Suakin, Sudan, a fascinating 1000 year old port. Before the construction of the Suez canal Suakin was one of the richest and busiest ports in the Red Sea. As late as 1947, slaves were auctioned and sold to Arab purchasers from Morocco and Saudi Arabia. But the buildings are now in complete ruin, although not from war. They were built of coral brick and have crumbled from neglect. Camels, donkeys, goats and chickens wander through the dust. The poverty is overwhelming and heart-breaking. While our stay in Suakin was extremely interesting and educational, it was hardly enjoyable.

We had to get up to Egypt. The winds against us were fierce most of the time, but lulls occurred every few days. So we motored north whenever the wind lightened, and we listened intently for radio reports of returning winds. We got caught one Wednesday, however, when we had a lull in the wind and believed a report predicting that high winds would not return until Thursday. To make distance we motorsailed across the Red Sea towards Saudi Arabia on the other side, a long tack, with a view to coming back on the opposite tack and finding an anchorage well up on the western coast. Well, the weather fooled us. About half way across, right in the middle of the shipping lanes, the wind began to strengthen. The waves grew from one meter to two meters in a few minutes. Our speed dropped from seven knots to one knot and the spray was blinding. We had been able to see ships clearly and stay out of their way, but now visibility was down to a fraction of a mile, and we had difficulty making any headway at all. Huge monsters rumbled past us in each direction, oblivious to our existence, as we struggled to get out of their way and return to the safety of an anchorage on the west side. We ran downwind, motoring, and finally, at about midnight reached the coast, about 30 miles south and back from a point which we had crossed earlier that morning. But we were safe. We could not enter the anchorage, because of reefs hidden in the darkness, but we heaved to in the lee of a small island and entered the anchorage safely at dawn. The ship encounters and frights on that sail made it our worst moment of the Red Sea.

We made our way up to Egyptian waters a few days later. We anchored off deserted islands, heeding warnings not to go ashore because of land mines, and to stay outside rifle range of all the disputed mainland border points. The winds continued to be strong on our nose all the way up. Sand and dust permeated everything. Our sails were dirty and grey. Our winches were layered with a horrible greyish-brown cover. It was into our cushions and bedding. Yet, as we reached the Gulf of Suez, the water became crystal clear and tourist dive boats began to appear. We cleared into Hurgada, Egypt, and felt a tremendous surge of relief.
I found the Red Sea to be a tough sail, one of our toughest. We visited some unforgettable places and are glad to have done it, but I don't want to do it again.

Turkey,
May 1, 2004