BIOT Chagos: Four Weeks of Birdlife, Sealife and Slowlife

Part One – Îles Fouquet –  Île Salomon · 005°19.951′S, 072°15.859′E

We sailed out of Addu Atoll, the southernmost point of the Maldives, just below the equator on our way to Chagos via a slightly circuitous route.  The currents here run faster than an airport travelator, so we had to head east to make sure the current didn’t push us past the Salomon Islands — our destination in the Chagos Archipelago.

After heading towards Western Australia for 24 hours at a healthy average of 6.5 knots, we tacked west and headed directly for Chagos – give or take 100 miles.

The reason we headed east towards Australia was to get a better angle on the wind so that we could sail all the way from Addu to Chagos. That approach proved to be the right one. If we hadn’t turned left towards the Antipodes, we would have struggled to make it to Chagos purely under sail.

After a few days of bonkersness, we made it to Chagos – one of the most remote, almost uninhabited places on earth. It was a bit feisty coming in though: 28-knot winds and breaking seas, but the reward was a flat anchorage and being greeted by the sound of welcome horns blowing from SV Allora and SV Ocelot.

Four Weeks in a Protected Anchorage

What can I say about living for four weeks in a protected anchorage, surrounded by uninhabited islands, an abundance of birdlife, sealife – and dolphin life? Not a lot..actually.

Apart from one bit of boat maintenance, life was slow and relaxed. I do have a lot of pictures, though, so I have split this into two reports.  The other being solely about our day trip down to the bottom of Îles Salomon to Ile Boddam – the ex-HQ of the island. But first, here’s what we got up to around our anchorage:

With the trade winds continuing to deal a heavy blow from the east, there was no way we could have moved to our designated anchorage at Ile Boddam. That would have put us on a lee shore for the whole four weeks and that’s if we had made it over there. The sea was as lumpy as a cobbler’s thumb, and the bommies would have been very hard to spot. We told the authorities, and they didn’t seem to mind at all. After all, the place was hardly crowded. After another departure, only SV Allora and SV Jamala remained.

Before we started exploring the area, there was a boat-related thing to do – the fridge. I don’t think it liked the battering it took on the way to Chagos, but after a bit of treatment, it is back in chilling form.

Even more concerning was the depleted ‘wine cellar’. The last time this was full was in Thailand.

Circumnavigation around Île Fouquet

The Black Rose washed up on the beach back in late 2011 when the catamaran dragged anchor onto what was then a lee shore. I doubt the owner was impressed; this was a delivery trip – and the boat looks like it was pricey.

There used to be a small settlement in Île Fouquet farming coconuts for copra. That was abandoned along with the rest of the archipelago in the 1970s, and any buildings must be long hidden or completely given up to the jungle. The only residents now are seabirds (mostly red-footed boobies and noddies) and crabs of all kinds. And the vegetation is so dense that there was no way through to see what else might be lurking in the interior.

The walk around the island is less than two miles, but it has to be done at low water to avoid hacking through that dense jungle. It isn’t much of a hike, but there are plenty of sights to see with baby sharks in the sea and baby red-footed boobies in the trees.

As we walked around, it became clear that it was nesting season for the boobies. We spotted them all around the island and some made their presence acutely felt. It was like being in a remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s Birds.

There are thousands of crabs here of all kinds, mostly these fellas – hermit crabs – although this particular specimen was a bit of a whopper.

Crabbiness at Takamaka

It is possible to get inside the island of Takamaka, at least just a little bit. Here, these strange-looking crabs rule the turf. The darker brown land crab is the adult, and the one that looks like a singed bun is the juvenile.

The last one is a whopper. It’s a hermit grab with heft. With no shells around that are big enough to accommodate that unit, he has chosen to sport a large coconut-shell number as a house.

Île Sépulture

Out of pure luck, we arrived at Île Sépulture at low tide and came across turtle tracks in the sand. Because of their size (they resemble the tracks of an amphibious vehicle), they are likely green sea turtles. And they are likely to have laid their eggs the night before in enormous pits near the foliage line.

Dolphins were a recurring feature of our stay here. They often came around the boat and stayed for most of the day.

Île Anglaise

Near the pass is Ile Anglaise, where there is a small beach which seems to be the main stopping point for flip-flops from around the world.

Île de la Passe

And on the other side of the pass is the aptly named Ile de la Passe, with its meeting place for noddies. Here’s a place for fishing gear.

Île Boddam.

Boddam was supposed to be our home for the month, but with the trade winds firmly set in their ways, anchoring there would have put us on a dangerous lee shore.  The other part of our stay is covered in the next piece about Ile Boddam, but after exactly four weeks minus one day, we headed out of here towards the Seychelles in slightly boisterous but good conditions. At least the wind was in the right direction this time and the engine could stay blissfully silent.

Allen and Maria Wadsworth
SV Jamala

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About the Authors

When we set off from England, we genuinely thought we would be back home after five years with our feet up and the telly on – adventure done and some salty yarns in our repertoire to share with anyone with open ears. So sure were we of our timings, that we drew up our expected dates in each country on a world map for everyone to see at a party at our home six months before we left. According to that map, we should now be on our sofa glaring at a widescreen tv.

Now, we are more than halfway around the world, crossing the Indian Ocean. We have been idling along at less than half speed. If we carry on at this rate, we won’t be back until 2029. But who knows? We certainly don’t. There could be another pandemic; it might be challenging to transit some areas because of political instability, or the weather could become even more unpredictable. Or it might be that we like somewhere so much that we want to stay longer, as with French Polynesia. Or we might get a move on.

We have met people who have taken 20 years to complete their circumnavigation and some who have whizzed around in three. We stand a fair chance of being somewhere between the two. But as long as we enjoy it and can do it, we will continue blundering our way around the world.

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Follow their circumnavigation voyage at:

• www.untilthebuttermelts.com

Other Noonsite Reports from SV Jamala:

• Malaysia:  Six Months in Friendly, Convenient and Well-Equipped Pangkor
• Singapore:  Efficient and Easy Arrival and Departure
• Indonesia:  The Positive and Negatives of Joining a Rally
• Kei Islands to Riau Islands and Stops Along the Way
• Australia, Torres Strait:  Entering Australia at Thursday Island
• Fiji:  Anchorages Update from SV Jamala
• Fiji, Savusavu:  A Relaxed and Friendly Bula Welcome
• Tonga, Vava’u:  Local Customs, Laws and Cruising Options
• Niue:  Visiting the Biggest little Yacht Club in the World
• Pacific Crossing: Farewell to French Polynesia and Bora Bora
• French Polynesia:  Tuamotus, Tahiti and Gambier Islands