Whale Song IV

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In our July issue, Tom Zydler recounted Part Three of his trip around the world aboard Whale Song, a 94-foot Trinity Halter expedition yacht. We left Zydler, who captained the vessel, first mate Nancy Zydler (his wife), owner Grant Wilson and cook Barbara Parks in Phuket, Thailand, undergoing a refit before their last big push around the globe.

Phuket to Maldives
Two and a half months after her haul-out in Phuket, Whale Song slid into the sea, firecrackers blasting and rainbow-hued prayer wraps fluttering around the bow. The paint on the hull gleamed, as did the engine room and the engines. Things looked auspicious for crossing the Indian Ocean.

In September, Grant Wilson returned and we spent some time exploring the islands near Phuket. One day the smell of burnt rubber wafted through the engine room. Minutes later our speed dropped. The starboard propeller wasn’t turning, though the engine was running. The silicone rubber coupling joining the engine to the gearbox had disintegrated after 6,000 hours. While we limped on one engine to Ao Chalong anchorage on Phuket, Wilson e-mailed a parts distributor in Singapore and ordered a new coupling for each gear box. Our good Thai mechanics worked through the weekend, and by Wednesday Whale Song was on her way to the Andaman Islands.

Slab-sided trading vessels from Tuticorin, India, lined the Port Blair wharves on South Andaman Island. Large naval vessels lay at anchor in this important Indian naval base. Visiting yachts are tolerated but not warmly welcomed. An enforced ban on logging made the islands look splendidly green. Fish flitted over coral reefs fed by the confluence of the Indian Ocean and Myanmar’s rivers.

Now, in September, the southwest monsoon had arrived with strong winds that pushed an impressive swell into Duncan Passage, where we turned westward into the Indian Ocean toward Sri Lanka.

After banging into mad chop all the way from the Andamans, we expected some rest in Galle in southern Sri Lanka. The Sri Lankan navy opened the anti-frogmen barrier to let us into a basin protected by a breakwater. Not finding any explosives attached to our bottom, navy divers removed a bunch of netting from one of our propellers, smiled and refused a tip.

Thousands of years ago Galle prospered as a trading post, and the town has many faces. A grand, immaculately white Buddhist temple overlooks the bay; gaudy paintings of men and beasts adorn the walls of a Hindu temple; our crew joined an end-of-Ramadan feast with a family descended from 15th-century Arab traders. The surge in Galle basin gnawed through our mooring lines. After days of keeping 24-hour watch just to renew the chafing gear, we were relieved to cast off for the Maldives.



If sea levels rise as forecast, the Maldives will vanish in the next 100 years, except for the high-rise buildings in Malé, the capital, which is built on a coral outcrop. There is so little land that even major international resorts stand over water on stilts. Wilson engaged a divemaster who had grown up on Miladummadu Atoll, at the north end of the 600-mile-long chain of Maldives atolls, to point out the best scuba sites. Not fond of crowded Malé, he took us to Maahlos, a village in Ari Atoll. In the harbor, lateen-rigged boats bobbed alongside open cargo vessels. Villagers strolled the streets rimmed by walls made of coral blocks. Muslim women with covered hair, Hindu couples and children enjoyed the cooler air brought by the setting sun. Two sisters, one in fifth grade, the other in seventh, showed me the sights. They spoke perfect English and shared their stash of muraki fruit. When the crew dived at Fish Head Reef off Ari Atoll, a giant Napoleon wrasse joined us, apparently to have its stomach scratched.