In Bali, the rally sailors were given yet another full-color glossy brochure for a stopover to which the government wanted to lure us, this time for Karimunjawa, the aforementioned island archipelago. In expensive glossy blues (and typically random Indonesian English), the brochure depicts a refuge of sandy beaches and great diving.
We should really know better by now that these brochure do not reflect reality, at least not reality for cruising boats.
The diving in Karimunjawa, according to Lonely Planet, a far more reliable resource, is handled exclusively by the Kura Kura Resort, which turns out to be on its own island of Menyawaken. Using our state of the art resources, we looked up Kura Kura on the Internet and saw a nice areal view of the reef-fringed island and its little manmade harbor. I was suspicious of the scale.
Greg called the resort on the telephone (wonderfully convenient gadget!) to inquire about diving with them and of availability of a mooring or place in their harbor. Our dream was a wonderful afternoon scuba dive, capped by a meal at the resort's restaurant and a night at the dock. They said call back after 1pm because the seas was too rough to enter.
So we used the morning to clean the boat, forming a bucket brigade to sluice off the worst of the dirt. (Don and I were amazed that the boat didn't have a salt water wash down system...until we realized that with fresh water heads, there is no inlet for salt!) Greg and Don also took the opportunity afforded by the calm water to go up the mast and cut out the bit of chafed halyard.
As 1pm approached we raised the anchor and motored out to Menyawaken. The resort looked charming through the trees, but the alleged harbor appeared even more minute than we'd feared! No hope for a boat Ivory Street size to enter let alone turn around. At best, a possibility for her dinghy!
I expected we'd just motor onward, but, not to be daunted, Greg shut the engines down and let the boat drift on the slight swell, then launched the dinghy and loaded up gear for himself, Michael and me. Leaving Don and Chrissie in charge of the big boat, the three of us ran over to one of the dive buoys off the resort island. Man, it felt like shades of my old charter days...although it is a bigger dinghy!
It is always nice to get in the water, and, in Michael's opinion, the dive, his sixth, was quiet enjoyable. From the adult viewpoint, however, it was a pretty mediocre dive. Viz was poor, fish were few, and everything was monochromatic beige. The coral seemed healthy enough...in between chutes of damage (Whether the damage was natural or from dynamite fishing, I couldn't tell you.), and there were a few soft corals struggling to be pink and purple in the beige. In other words, much ado for not much.
Apparently, while we were underwater, the resort's dive boat whizzed by Ivory Street with one diver and a crew of three. Perhaps had we tried calling them again, we might have arranged a pickup and run to a better site? Perhaps. On the other hand, at least this dive cost us nothing but time and effort!
Gear and dinghy stowed away, divers rinsed and dried, we turned our bows toward the next stop, the island of Belitung, about 280 miles away. There was not a whiff of wind, not unusual for afternoons, but I can't say it wasn't nice to motor gently over the placid sea.
And I also can't say I was disappointed that the wind never came up last night or this morning. Ivory Street's rocketing speeds are exciting, but they are tiring! Instead, everybody has taken the opportunity to sleep well in their off-watch time. Because the distance is far enough we can't make it in one overnight, there is less pressure to push hard. This means we are proceeding at a more civilized pace, one in which there is a hope of catching a fish, should any be left in this sea. Also, this morning, Greg and Don put up the spinnaker, what the IS crew calls "flying the strawberry." I am hopeful that come the heat of the day, the strawberry will provide lots of shade!
Gwen Hamlin
Cafe Getaway
Sent from my iPad
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