PIRATES. Firstly the news is that there are no real pirates left on earth. That is people who come aboard boats and steal, rape and kill. There are of course robbers, thieves and government officials everywhere.
The cost and pain of a pirate attack these days is about the same as a bad day at the dentist. Do not let the stories of pirates put you off as all the real robberies at sea that I have heard of have been gentlemanly affairs where the yachties have lost their radios, cameras and some minor cash.
I have been looking for pirates deliberately. I tried the Red Sea, Morocco, the Philippines, and Indonesia. I crossed the South China Sea five times in “Wallaby Creek”. I sailed to Pirate Island in the Southern Philippines. I have never met a pirate, never been seriously robbed, never even heard a first hand pirate story. A couple of burglars have got onto the boat over the years but all they took were clothes and shoes. Nothing of any value.
I do not carry a gun or a weapon. At first in the early eighties I did. I listened to all the bullshit. My first foreign land was Indonesia and for months as I sailed up the Australian coast I listened to the stories of what was going to happen in Indonesia. On the very first morning I arrived in Indonesian waters I thought I was finished when a small powerful boat came racing towards us with a wild looking fellow standing in thee bow shaking a gun (?) above his head. As they roared alongside I discovered that he wanted to sell a chicken.
Another night I was drifting becalmed in Indonesian waters with a Canadian crewman. It was a dark black night and all was still. Until we heard a motor boat approaching. My batteries were flat so we ran no lights. We thought we were invisible. Then the motor sound broke into two. One kept coming and the other swung out to approach from the other side. They also were blacked out. I said to my mate "this is it they will come aboard and cut our throats". He went crazy, started screaming at me to "do something". I couldn't think of anything to do. Then things went quiet and we drifted on. Nothing happened.
I met some Yanks who reckoned they had a problem with pirates. Apparently a boat came up behind them one dark night. They got out their gun and blasted away. The pirates left. Actually I have heard this story a few times; I reckon there are a few shocked and frightened fishermen left in the wake of these gun-totin’ yanks. Nobody else except Americans nowadays carries guns and very few of them do.
It is no use carrying a gun unless you are trained mentally to use it quickly before the other side gets on top. If you do this you will most likely shoot some innocent person and spend the rest of your life in a filthy foreign prison. Take my word for it there is no need for a gun on your boat anywhere on earth. There are no really dangerous pirates and if there were you would never beat them.
If a robbery does occur then guns can only escalate the violence. There is nothing on my boat that I am willing to die for. Thirty years ago and American couple were held up. The wife came up the front hatch with the family gun. She was immediately shot dead. The husband came up unarmed and lived. And of course we all know that a similar thing happened to Sir Peter Blake in South America. He died defending his outboard motor with a gun. Good idea Peter!
My most frightening experience was during the Arab/Israel war in 1982. I was heading into Beirut during the height of the Israeli blitz. I sailed from Cyprus and had to enter Lebanon through a five-mile wide corridor that was supposed to be safe. I sailed for three days in fog. In those days I had no electronic navigation instruments so all I could do was simply follow the compass. When the fog cleared I could see the buildings of a city. I closed in looking for landmarks. Nothing fitted and the harbor was not visible. Then the PLO terrorists arrived. Three small open boats with powerful engines. Each boat with four terrorists. Each man with shirt jeans boots, heavy automatic gun, gun belts across both shoulders, knives at belt. I had my old .22 rifle onboard at this stage of my life. I certainly did not get it out. As trained soldiers two boats stood off and one came in close. They rammed the side of "Scorpio" and yelled at me. I was in the open cockpit steering. I realized that I was in Syria not Lebanon. I brought the wife and kids, including baby Jane in to the cockpit and sat them quietly. With all sails up and the motor going flat out I headed for sea. The enemy cruised round me in circles. I kept my eyes straight ahead. I prayed that the Prime Minister of Australia hadn't said any thing bad about Arabs recently. They rammed me and clung on. It was a rough morning and the waves were moderate. They couldn't hold on. They screamed at me and I looked only ahead. I didn't say yes I didn't say no. Headed west. Around they went again. Grab hang on scream at me only 1.5 meters from my face. I looked only ahead. Around again CRASH SCREAM HANG ON TRY to get aboard. Now in the conditions it simply wasn't possible for then to get up on my deck. It was rough and they were trying to bring kilos of weapons with them. Once one crashed back full length into his boat, tried again, failed again. Now any practiced sailor unencumbered by a big weapon could easily have come up; but these guys wouldn't come without the guns and they simply couldn't get up. They screamed at me in their own language and I continued to ignore them and head offshore.
At this time the PLO were holding hostages in Beirut and Syria.
Eventually they simply gave up and let me go.
I got to Beirut and had a good week at the yacht club and in the snowfields. There were constant missile attacks from Israel. On the night I left to sail to Tel Aviv, the Israelis crossed the border with all guns blazing. As I sailed down the coast every aircraft and missile was blasting away into Beirut. An extraordinary laser light show.
Once again nobody took much interest in me. Only a yachtie. Except of course for the Israeli warship that, completely soundlessly crept alongside and hailed me in Hebrew at 0200. Sleepily I waved my Aussie flag at the machine guns dimly visible behind the searchlights.
Again I was let go.
I have cruised through the war zone in Southern Philippines where the Muslims are fighting for their independence from the Catholic north. The Catholics told me that for sure I would get my throat cut. They told me some terrible stories of what had happened to others silly enough to try. I met only kindness and happiness.
The Red Sea is another place that is supposed to be dangerous. One morning in force nine gales my headsail was wrecked; a sand storm was blasting all the paint off my mast and the chrome off the winches. An Arab family of fishermen from Egypt came out into that maelstrom to lead me to a tiny anchorage behind a coral reef where I could sort out the boat and rest.
Later one of their children got washed away in my dinghy. I went after him swimming. I managed to scramble onboard metres before the dinghy was about to be smashed onto breakers on the next reef. But I couldn't row back. The conditions were too strong for me. I struggled. I made some progress but was quickly running out of strength. This may be the end of me! Then the Arabs let out a floating jerry can on a long rope and I managed to reach it and they got us both off. I collapsed into my bed!
Months later off the Atlantic coast of Morocco I ran into another boat load of pirates and I was able to save the lives of a dozen Arabs who were broken down and drifting slowly across the Atlantic. I didn't want to take them all on board, so I took one. Sailed for 3 days back to Safi and reported to the Harbor Master. None of us had a radio of course.
As far as I can judge after all of my travel and troubles; the most violent places on earth are cities of the USA, and the most dangerous activity on earth is to travel by road.
The only weapon that we carry onboard Wallaby Creek is rum. That is right rum. It has worked with great results on a number of occasions. There was the case of the smuggled gun when I had to drink the Panama Customs man under the table in order to keep myself out of jail. Also there was the time on Pirate Island in the Philippines when the chief came aboard and we ended up finishing a bottle of rum together. Whooo!
I have never had any problems with robbery except of a very minor nature. If the day ever comes that I am faced with armed holdup there is nothing on this boat that I care enough about to risk my life for in a deadly fight. Also there is nothing much here that is of much use to anybody else. Anyway the problem simply does not arise. And I am the one person who has sailed to all the most likely trouble spots on earth.
I have never locked my boat. In fact the key to the cockpit door has not been seen for years. I meet other yachties who actually lock themselves inside their yachts at night at anchorage.