Keeping close to friends on the open ocean--and not too close--isn’t as easy as you would think it would be.

Cruising yachtsmen and women are notoriously independent individuals who set off into the world to do things their way—choosing their own courses, determining their own speeds, deciding their destinations. The most consistent assistance comes only from Mother Nature. Yet sometimes necessity dictates another course—one that includes making shared decisions with other such staunch individuals and often that one is a bumpy road. Crossing the Gulf of Aden on a sailing boat is one of those walks on the wild side that no sailor looks forward to due to the very real threat of piracy in that region. One endures the risk to make it to the Red Sea and ultimately on to the rewards of the Mediterranean.

In March 2003, our home-built 33-foot Roger Simpson-designed catamaran Imani made that passage, and we learned a thing or two about traveling in the company of other boats and how real the risk really is. Salalah, Oman is a delightful desert port city where camels dumpster-dive like stray dogs and where yachts from around the world gather to provision and prepare to enter the Red Sea. Forming ‘convoys’ is the number one topic of conversation as once the calm and security of Salalah is left behind, the road to the Red Sea passes through the Gulf of Aden, where a number of pirate attacks have occurred over the last 15 years. Just days before Imani’s departure word came of pirates attacking a British yacht, Bambola in the Gulf of Aden. No one was hurt, but cash, communications, navigation electronics, and jewelry were taken and the perpetrators were armed.

Sailors making this run through the Gulf are motivated to find company in the hopes that there is safety in numbers. Both speed over ground while under sail and minimum motoring speeds should be taken into consideration. For us on Imani it was difficult to find a truly suitable match. Being a small catamaran powered by a single 9.9 hp, four stroke Yamaha outboard meant we were in a league of our own. There weren’t any boats in port that matched our ability to sail at four knots in light wind and match our most fuel efficient motoring speed of 4.5 knots. Many of the sailboats we ending up crossing the Gulf with had difficulty running their diesels at less than 5.5 knots. But, of course, while we prepared to leave, we were not thinking about these issues so much.

Steady breeze from the stern allowed Imani to put the miles down and head to the front of the pack.

The most important thing was finding a group that would let such an ‘odd duck’ such as Imani join in. We lucked out when a group of four Australian boats—Penylln, Gipsy Days, Marena, and Sea Dove, and the Bagus Binyips allowed us to join them. Much planning went into figuring out how we would communicate with each other—we decided to monitor 16 and 71 on the VHF, using 71 as a hailing channel. Once a connection was made, we said “going down” and then moved our real conversations to the previously agreed upon low meg frequency on the SSB—making it extremely difficult for anyone listening to follow us. We also kept in contact on an schedule every three hours on our SSB frequency, so that all boats could check in with each other and discuss any changes or issues. Lights at night were another consideration. Bagus Binyips decided to run deck navigational lights and douse them if a fishing boat or other non-merchant vessel was sighted. Running with no lights was a real challenge in the dark while being in a group and a vigilant watch was necessary during those periods.

The first two days out were an adjustment for us all. No one was used to having to keep up with other boats and I must admit that for us it was a nerve-wrecking experience, as we worked hard to have the right sails up to keep us at the same speed as our little five boat fleet. During most of the day the wind was light from the stern, so the four other mono-hulls motored away. We put up as much sail as possible with our engine running and lagged at the back of the pack. Yet, in the afternoon the wind would often pick up. We could then turn off our engine and sail. Imani would leap to the front and want to pull away from the pack, but instead we would reluctantly reduce sail to let the others catch-up. As night fell the wind tended to drop and the engines would come back on. We would end up turning on our engine and flying spinnakers all night—first the asymmetrical then the full one. During this passage, even our two kids Maya, 15 and Tristan, 9 could muscle the big sails up and down at a moment’s notice--not to mention dealing with the inevitable forestay wraps. We all grew very adept at maneuvering our two big spinnakers.

Traveling in a convoy put a premium on sail handling skills, but as a benefit everyone--kids included--got good at hoisting and dousing the chute.

On March 9, 2003 the event that we were hoping would not occur did. At 8 a.m. at 13º 10 N, 48º 39 E we spotted three open identical boats on the horizon from Somalia, heading straight for us. They matched the description of the same boats that had attacked and robbed Bambola the week before. They were all the same color, blue with orange awnings. We realized what we were up against while they were still miles away, and the five boats clustered together and ran as fast as we could. The three boats pursued us. Maya was at the wheel and she immediately checked that our fuel tank was full and put our little 9.9 into full-speed. Imani was carrying our biggest spinnaker. With a little help from the wind gods, the wind came up just slightly from the stern and Imani flew to the front of the pack.

At that point all the boats were on VHF 16 calling Mayday and after several calls we finally we raised the US Navy. They responded that they would come to us, but that it would take three-to-four hours. Meanwhile, one of the three pursuing boats turned away from us and continued toward the Yemen coast. At this point, the two pursuing vessels were closer and through binoculars we could see that the boats were full of people. Some had automatic weapons and were shooting toward the two steel yachts that were at the back of our fleet, Gipsy Days and Narena. We all huddled inside, running under auto-pilot, still calling for assistance from any vessel.

Finally, a cargo ship, the Panama flagged Royal Pescadora responded. They were running just parallel to us going west. After hearing our plea, they changed their course and came toward us. Outside, the pursuit had dwindled to one vessel and that one was having a hard time catching Narena or Gipsy Days as black smoke poured out of its engine. With great relief, we all watched the final pursuit boat turn away from us and head toward the Yemen coast.

With the stress of being chased by pirates behind the crew of Imani, the wild and fascinating port of Aden waits ready to be discovered.

We continued to run downwind for an hour before we slowed down when the Coalition Aircraft flew over us. We spoke by VHF radio with him explaining that everyone was fine and told him which direction we saw the bad guys go. Even though we had called off our Mayday two hours after the chase ended, the warship we spoke to earlier did come and see us at the end of the day. The culprits were never found, but we later learned that the authorities in Yemen were very upset that all authorities were powerless to stop the people-smugglers from doing business in their country and wrecking havoc with their “yachtie tourists.”

The next day Imani left the convoy, relieved that we had lived through such a scare and happy to return to our own rhythm. We headed into the wild and fascinating port of Aden, Yemen to report the incident and to refuel. Attempting to stay within a half mile of four other cruising boats is a daunting task, yet when we experienced real danger it was comforting to be in a group, though none of us had any guns. We just knew we would be there to assist each other if the worst came to pass.