“Rebecca, QUICK, I need another flare from the hanging locker!”
The jib alone was just barely pulling Brick House southward at a pace slower than a lame lamb, but there was no hurry, we were saving diesel fuel. The south west coast of Vietnam was 100 miles to our east and the coast of Thailand lay 125 miles to the west. Here at the southern edge of the Gulf of Thailand, the hundreds of traditional wood fishing boats have thinned to a very few.
From several miles away, I monitored our approach to a group of three anchored fishing boats. Depending on the type of fishing they do, some boats anchor during the day and fish at night.
With the slight wind out of the north west, I adjusted the Monitor self-steering’s windvane to sail a safe quarter mile off their sterns, in order to pass the boats on our starboard side. Read more.
