Text: Franz Schmitt
It runs from south-east to north-west between the Malay Peninsula and the island of Sumatra, which belongs to Indonesia: the Strait of Malacca. Two cities with populations in the millions mark its entrances: Kuala Lumpur to the north and Singapore to the south. For us, the Strait of Singapore marks the entrance to this ‘highway’.
It’s all about the timing
The problem: we’re on the wrong side of the road! So the first thing we need to do is get ‘across’. Singapore has the second-highest volume of shipping traffic in the world; only Shanghai has more. So we have to cross this six-lane motorway. The huge vessels travel at speeds of up to 20 knots in two directions, each on three ‘lanes’ – 100,000 ships a year!
Early in the morning, we set off from Nongsa Point Marina on Bantam. The island belongs to Indonesia and lies on the southern side of the Strait of Singapore. To begin with, we stay in the southern lane on the opposite side of Singapore, motoring along in our ‘Holly Golightly’.
Apart from us, there are a few fishermen, anglers, tugboats with huge barges and speedboats constantly making the crossing to Singapore. We’ve picked out a specific spot on the nautical chart for ‘crossing over’. Once there, we wait and try to assess the cross-traffic of tankers, container ships and cargo vessels. Timing is everything.
The traffic separation zone
Thanks to AIS, we can gauge the speed of the big ships quite well and wait for a gap. The first attempt doesn’t quite work out – the freighter in lane two is too fast and we don’t manage to get past it. The second attempt goes better: a gap opens up and our old Volvo Penta gives it its all. Right behind a tanker and in front of two other giants, we cruise across the traffic separation scheme at our top speed of a modest six knots.
Everything’s going well and we make it onto the ‘central reservation’. What surprises us during our short sprint are the local fishermen, who are calmly fishing in the middle of the fairway in small wooden boats just three to six metres long. Apparently, they’re convinced they have a sort of customary right and seven lives. We really admire their courage!
Now we wait for the oncoming traffic from the east to pass and look for the next gap. We then cross into the opposite carriageway in the wake of a tanker and are very lucky: the other two lanes are clear and we can switch over to the Singapore side without any trouble – we’ve done it!
Entering the Strait of Malacca
We set a westerly course and sail unhindered past the hundreds of cargo ships at anchor. Just a few nautical miles later, we have to alter our course by 70° to enter the Strait of Malacca. A large tanker travelling alongside us is planning to do the same and kindly informs us by radio of its manoeuvre so as not to cut in front of us.
We sail in and out of Singapore’s enormous harbour without too much hassle and reach the small island of Pulau Pisang in the evening, where we drop anchor and take a deep breath. The first leg is done!
Whilst a third of the world’s freight traffic is passing by on our port side in one direction or another, the following day we continue our journey along the edge of the strait, heading north-west. Although sailing doesn’t always go to plan. The reason is often a lack of wind and, just as often, the strong counter-current, which is, unfortunately, typical of the strait.
Challenging nights
The nights are where the real challenge lies. As soon as the sun sinks behind Sumatra – that is, the western edge of the waterway – the spectacle begins: a seemingly endless number of lights flash on, illuminating the waterway in ever-changing patterns. Anyone who thinks they’ll be able to make out a multitude of position lights showing who’s moving and how is sorely mistaken.
Cargo ships, tankers and giant container ships, all of which are ploughing their course obediently through the VTG, are of course easy to spot. Many others, however, which like us are travelling between the VTG and the coast of Malaysia, remain a complete mystery.
The easiest to spot are actually the many squid fishermen, who, bathed in the glaring light of thousands of watts, attract curious squid. These islands of light are everywhere, and you have to manoeuvre around them in a frantic slalom. The good thing is: although they’re constantly in the way, they stay still!
No lights, no AIS
By far the greatest challenge is posed by trawlers which, apart from a few small red LEDs, are unlit and glide through the night like giant shadows. They don’t even have a light in the wheelhouse, and, like all the others, have no position lights whatsoever.
The wild card in the night-time scene is the multitude of small fishing boats drifting about without any lights at all, only switching on a few spotlights at the very last moment. Of course, none of the fishermen have AIS.
Waiting for dawn
This traffic chaos on the water means we spend hours gazing out into the night – often in pairs – and only breathe a sigh of relief as morning approaches. As the sun rises, the fishermen miraculously vanish from the watery scene, and we can at least spot the few remaining ones early enough.
However, currents and thunderstorms are impossible to predict. Whilst we can see the former on our charts, we still have to take them as they come, and there is little we can do about the latter either.
Off the coast of Malacca, we’re caught in the middle of one of those violent storms at night – the sort that almost always come from the direction of Sumatra. Mareike, who is on watch at the time, watches the countless, massive flashes of lightning with concern, but steers the boat safely through the inferno, whilst Skipper Franz is completely oblivious and sleeps the sleep of the just.
Christian Tiedt
Editor Travel