TRAVEL + ADVENTURE

Part 2: Swarmed by
Pirates, and Shot
at by Yemeni Rebels

Words + Photos By: Will Pardoe

The Red Sea was calling.

Awaiting us beyond the Gulf of
Adens wicked waters lay an
oasis of Arabian culture and diving
fantasy. To reach the reward, we
would first have to sneak through
the 800 miles of Pirate Alley. We
were up for an adventure, but the
adventure soon became a whole lot
hairier than expected. It is one we
will never forget...
The voyage toward the Gulf of Aden was
the calm before the storm. We motored
through the warm and windless days, over
a sea so still that the horizon was lost in
reflection of the sky. At night, the Milky
Way blazed across the sky, so vividly I could
perceive the spiral arms and central clusters.
Stars were reflected all around and joined
with bioluminescence streaming from the

On the morning of that tenth day, a coalition destroyer came over the horizon and
shadowed us for two hours, then made off
back towards where he came. We had given
our position to the UKMTO (Marine Trade
Operations), who coordinate the anti-piracy
actions of the coalition. Just call us if you
see anything suspicious theyd said. At the
appearance of the destroyer, my American
captain turned to me, saying How does
it feel to have the might of your country
watching over you? A helicopter gunship is
just a phone-call away!
bow. Three dolphins circled, their bodies
glimmering like angels and leaving us with
trails of fairy dust disappearing into the
deep. To fall into this magical fantasy and
be left behind in such bliss almost felt
appealing. But there was greater fantasy
ahead.
Ten days out from the Maldives we were
nearing Pirate Alley. And when the seas
are calm, the pirates come out to play.

Escort Service

I was awoken the next morning by the

sound of an approaching helicopter. I came
on deck to find a Black Hawk circling low
around us. Amazing - we didnt even have
to call!

Sailing vessel, sailing vessel, came the

French accent over the radio. Are you
aware you are in a high-risk piracy area?
We are well aware of that! said captain
Zac.
They continued to take our details, then,
with a bon voyage, they flew off towards
a navy ship sitting on the horizon. It wasnt

Battle stations!

Pirates!

just the might of my country standing guard

we had all of NATO around us.
Later that day a long-range SAR aircraft
flew overhead, circled, and flew on.
I dont know about you, but Ive never
felt safer! said Zac, reclining in his chair.
He spoke too soon.

Surrounded by Skiffs!

A couple of hours after the fly-over, I saw

two dhows appear on the horizon. Two is
company, but at this stage I just assumed
they were fishermen. After such a show of
force, any pirate out here would have to be
truly crazy or totally cavalier. In hindsight,
though; just the right characteristics to make
a pirate! To be honest I was happy to see
these dhows they remind me of home, and
I was glad to be back in Arabia.
As we watched, however, there transpired

a sight I wasnt so fond of: skiffs. This was

quickly becoming a crowd, and one by one,
the horizon showed its cards. I counted five
skiffs through the binoculars, with three or
four men in each boat. Their behaviour was
weird and erratic, seeming to be playing
the rouse of fishermen, but with movements
that would catch no fish. Theyd shoot off at
speed, then stop, and be overtaken by the
next, all in a line. There was no mistaking
it we were their fish, and they were moving
to intercept. As we drew closer, so did they.
We called our buddies at UKMTO; backup
would be good right now.
We had company, so it was time to break
out the coffee. We stood on deck, brandishing AK-47s; we werent going to go quietly
especially with an American on board! The
main pack were within a mile now, racing to
cut us off ahead, while two skiffs and a dhow
had broken away and were making straight
for our position.
The MTO had said they would call back
for an update in fifteen minutes, and,
leaving Zac to hold the fort, I answered
that call now. Three skiffs stopped beyond
us, but we held our course. Twice we had
evaded, and they had adjusted. The dhow

was approaching fast from starboard, and a

skiff passed behind us. They were upon us
now, and Zac was aiming on them, ready to
fire. One passed right in front of the bow,
and the middle man held up his hands;
luckily for them.
It was surreal to have this playing out
around us. We were being preyed on by a
swarm of pirates, and it was no fantasy. I will
say that it was living! But there were at least
twenty of them, and they could overcome us
before the cavalry arrived. Soon it would be
time to start shooting.
Then came the final attack. The dhow
was gunning for us at speed, T-bone style,
with three men climbed out on the bowsprit, ready to board. At fifty meters, the
guys could clearly see our AKs, and they
retreated a little into the bows. At just a few
boat-lengths, the captain too saw the black
metal in our hands, and veered off past our
stern.
We watched them steam off into the shipping lane, following the skiffs. Wow - did
that just happen? The pirates had passed
us up. We shared a look of disbelief and

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Fleeing from Mordor

couldnt help but laugh. We seemed to be

in the clear, but it wasnt yet over the skiffs
were lining up on their next victim: the cargo
ship SC Mara behind us. The ship opened
up their water cannons and started evasive
turns. The hyenas were sizing up their next
prey.
After harassing SC Mara (who broadcast
that they had armed guards on board), the
pack disappeared over the horizon towards
the east-bound shipping lane. This whole
episode unfolded over about an hour; some
minutes much longer than others! It seemed
we had been in the wrong place at the
wrong time, and were just a target of opportunity; a couple of extra ransoms, with their
main target being the tankers. I do think that
having those weapons on board changed
the game. Otherwise I dont think youd be
reading this from me...
So, we continued on, with a sharper eye
on the horizon. It was a calm and uneasy
night on watch, knowing that pirates were
close and could return in the darkness.
Steadily the winds rose, and with them the
seas, until thirty-foot waves were heaving past. They picked us up, sending us
surfing down their face, then slipping off
their backs, fighting with the rudder to stay
straight and not be broached on our side.
We were balancing the sails, the seas, and
the wind on a knifes edge, but were grateful
for Poseidons protection against any more
pirates.

French Somaliland

For the next three days we rode the

monsters to Djibouti, finally dropping anchor
behind a beautifully dry and dusty island.
Whew... wed made it to Africa. It had been
fourteen days since wed left the Maldives.
We put on the Eagles and sat back with a
well deserved drink and cigar, reminiscing of
that crazy voyage.
The next morning we made our way into
Djibouti public transport

the wide harbour city of Djibouti, coming

to rest in amongst the anchored dhows,
overshadowed by coalition frigates and
cargo ships. Taking the dinghy in to shore to
investigate, I was unnerved by what I found.
Djibouti is a French protectorate, called
French Somaliland until 1967. This is the
best way to describe it, and I did not feel
welcomed. Luckily, I was adopted at the
port by a little man named Rambo, and
he became my faithful guide and selfproclaimed bodyguard. I wanted to feel
what the place was like, so instead of taking
a taxi, we walked into town.
My first impression was of the Qatt. Men
lay about in groups, picking at stems and
stuffing more leaves into their bulging
cheeks. Some had tennis-ball sized wads
in their mouths! We passed the Qatt stalls,
where women in colourful garments sat with
blankets covering their produce. I bought
some for Rambo, at 12 AED a bundle. And
hey when in Rome...
Overall, Djibouti had a feeling of tension
and animosity; bad eyes and bad attitudes.
It was hard to find good vibes to engage
with. At one point I stopped to photograph
an alley, which happened to have some
men at the far end, sitting around a kettle
behind some rubble. When they saw me,
they shouted, angrily waving their arms for
me to be gone. The Qatt didnt do much to
mellow out a day in Little Somalia.

Through the Bab al Mandeb

So the Gulf of Aden was behind us, but

ahead still lay the Bab al Mandeb; the Gate
of Tears. This is the 16-mile-wide squeeze
point into the Red Sea, and another hotspot for piracy. Adding to this, the war in
Yemen has spilled into the strategic islands
of the area.
We set off in the morning from Djibouti,

timing our arrival so that we would slip

through the Gate at midnight, making
distance under cover of darkness. It was
a windy and moonless night, with a sky
full of stars. The waves rose until their
crests were breaking, passing in a blaze of
bioluminescence. All about us, star-blue
spirits were surging towards the safe waters
of the Red Sea.
All was well until just before sunrise,
when the winds picked up to 50 knots.
We needed to find shelter and wait out
the storm. There was an island nearby,
labelled Jazirat Hanish al Kubra, which
the shipping lane was split between, so we
headed there for cover. As we approached,
the sun rose above the mountains of the
island, and we found that the bay we were
heading for was in fact the huge caldera of a
freshly blown volcano. The island was black
with ash and totally desolate. We had sailed
into Mordor.
The wind blew fiercely into the caldera, so
we continued along the coast in search of a
more hospitable anchorage. In hindsight, I
dread to think what could have played out if
wed dropped our hook here...
Qatt merchants

Water cannons firing from SC Mara

Saudi Coalition

Yemeni Rebels

About halfway down the island, we saw a

flatbed truck following us along the beach.
Theres something on the back, but I cant
make out what. They pull parallel to us, and
stop. A few moments later, we hear two
great booms.

Those were gun shots.

Really guys... theres no need for that.
We hear another volley, and theres a
great eruption of water as a round blasts
into the sea beyond the truck. Thats a 50
calibre. Then we hear the tat-a-tat-tat of an
AK-47, and a few more explosions from the
50 calibre. The shore is half a mile off, and
a burst of water erupts within 100 yards of
the boat, in line with the truck. ****! These
are not warning shots theyre aiming to
hit us. We point our bow to the open sea
and throw out the headsail. More shots ring
out, but I dont see them hit water theyre
somewhere in our airspace. The hair stands
up on the back of my neck.
Getting shot at is very real. And they put a
hole in my towel.

Saudi Coalition

We make distance from that forsaken island,

watching behind in case were pursued.
Poseidon is with us again these seas are
too big for their boats. Before weve relaxed
our guard, a navy ship appears on the
horizon in front of us.
This is a Saudi Coalition warship. You
are in a prohibited military area. What is
your reason for being here? comes the
young captains voice, in perfect English. Zac
explains that we were seeking shelter from
the storm, and need rest.
After a lengthy back-and-forth, discussing
the formalities of our details, Zac asks
permission to stop at an island group further
north.
Understand, captain, that this is an
operational war-zone. For your own safety,
we cannot let you stop here. Good luck
with the seas. says the Saudian, in all
friendliness.
While Zac was talking with the navy, a
helicopter gunship arrived and started
doing circles around us - about as close as
he could without clipping the mast with his
rotors. After his screaming circles he comes

to a hover beside us, a few metres off the

water, creating a local hurricane. Spray is
whipped up and blown in our faces. I like
this guy.
I see the gunner sitting at his cannon,
wearing green fatigues, a big helmet and
aviators - of course. I give him a friendly
salute, and he returns it. The pilot has one
hand hanging out of the window - and
probably his foot on the dashboard,
balancing his dokha pipe and joystick in the
other. He takes off for a few more loops,
while the gunner films us with a video
camera, gesturing with his hand to
apologise for the hurricane. No worries,
my friend. We were basically in a hurricane
anyway.
So having escaped pirates, dodged Yemeni
bullets, and survived a brief stay in Little
Somalia, Sudan beckoned to us as an oasis
of peace from all this madness!

Mr. Rambo

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