Crew's control
Conde Nast Traveller (November 2001)

Even at night, we in the rearguard could tell when the next squall was coming: the squid boats on the horizon would douse their lights. Five minutes. Just time to check the moorings on the tent and the tarpaulin over the galley, ready with buckets to catch the run off, me and Gordon and Neeah the cook, Ay Swe and Thien Win. It was our second night stranded on Taw Wet island, one of more than 800 lumps of jungle rising out of the Andaman Sea that make up the Myeik Archipelago off Myanmar's Tenasserim coast. Things were not going according to plan.

The plan was an ambitious one: to paddle kayaks 160km in 10 days through the archipelago from Tan Shey to the town of Myeik. It sounded tough, but the expedition was to be supported by a 'five-star, safari-style camp' that the nine SEAL crew would move from beach to beach. That was the hard part. I know, I signed on with the crew. 

It was the last trip of the season for Graham Frost, co-owner of SEAL, a Phuket-based operator with a pioneering reputation. It was the first to receive a licence to run cruises into the Myeik Archipelago, and is the only company with permission to camp on the islands. Remote, rocky and malarial the islands are cut off for four months of the year by the south-west monsoon, and have only recently been opened up after being closed to outsiders since the 1950s. They are sparsely populated, supporting a few villages on the inner islands, while the Moken, a group of maritime nomads, range among those farthest from the mainland. Graham is familiar with much of the archipelago, but even for him this was to be a journey into the unknown. 

Kawthaung, 3km away across the Pakchan estuary form the Thai town of Ranong, has become the major port on the Tenasserim coast. The markets of Ranong are full of Myanmarese and Chinese goods, form green tea to nail clippers, the hubbub punctuated by the beeping of Chinese alarm clocks, The water-taxi jetty is a scrum of long-tail boats and passengers. Myanmarese fishing boats belly up to the wharves to unload their catch.

Out on the water it's hard to say where the border lies. As we set out, the smudges of yellow on the hills behind Kawthaung took shape, golden stupas and a reclining Buddha smiling down on another waterborne melee. Graham eased our speedboat alongside a rusting pontoon, and we entered a world where men wear longyis and the smells are reminiscent of India. 

SEAL's boat can cover the 95km to the base camp on We Ale island in two hours. The seascape is vast, the silhouettes of islands on the horizon giving a sense of distance and mirroring the hills of the mainland. The jungle canopy runs unbroken down to the shore and the beaches are deserted, but as dusk closed in, on arc of sand showed a fire-light and figures appeared from among the trees. We landed the supplies in a crashing surf.

It was an exercise that would be repeated on an almost daily basis for two weeks, wading through the surf between boat and beach, laden with fuel, food, water, tents, bedding, ice-chests, crockery, tables, chairs, mats, a gas range, a shower, even a portable lavatory. When the 10 American guests arrived two days later, their heavy bags were added to the inventory.

The logistics of the journey were complicated by the need to hire a supply boat. After we had loaded up a Thai craft, the Kawthaung authorities changed their mind and denied it entry. They offered, in its stead, a leaky tub that could do six knots, just, and a tattooed captain. We left him with orders to transship the supplies and the guests' collapsible kayaks. It arrived at base camp 12 hours late.

This delay jeopardized the success of the whole journey. Graham wasted fuel searching for the boat, and when it did arrive, the sight that greeted Gordon and me filled us with dismay. The open hold had been packed with no thought at all, heavy boxes placed on top of vegetables, fruit left uncovered to bake in the sun. We rigged a bamboo frame, stretched a tarpaulin over it, and salvaged what we could. As the days passed, it became clear that Graham would have to make a run to Ranong to restock. 

Now the guests had their kayaks the journey could begin. They paddled off to explore the narrow strait that separates We Ale from Tan Shey, an enchanted stretch of water, jungle towering up on either side, circled by hornbills and sea eagles, meanwhile, we packed up the camp, loaded it onto the speed boat, raced round to the next beach, unloaded and set up again. The beer was cold by the time the kayakers arrived. Then we cooked and served supper, ate, showered and sat sown at last with a tot of Myanmarese rum, telling ourselves it would get easier.

It did feel easier in the morning, until it came to finding the next beach. The horse shoe bay on pa Lei island had been chosen from the chart, but we found it occupied by a pearl farm and a naval station. There was no time for formal introductions, but we had been seen, and, pulling into another bay along the coast, we saw three figures in longyis waving from the beach. We waved back. They fired shots in the air. They were Myanmarese navy, and they wanted to talk. 

Having been told to move on, we found the best campsite yet, where we would spend three nights. We worked in the afternoon sun, putting up the guests' marquee in a near-perfect space between rocks and overhanging trees: the kitchen found an equally promising spot. The sleeping tents nestled together in indents in the bushes. As I watched a spectacular sunset with Nat, on of the paddlers, I realized that I had become so absorbed in the work of creating a settlement on this desert island that I did not even know its name. Something like Taw Wet said Nat, but it used to be called High peaked Island. The sun sank behind a cluster of islands on the horizon, and that was the last we saw of it for a week.

The first rain arrived at midday. Sweeping in from the west. We could see it coming from a long way off, a bruise across the horizon. The intensity of tropical squalls is humbling. But they usually pass quickly: however, this downpour didn't let up for three hours, drumming on the marquee where we sheltered.

Meanwhile the kayakers were on foot, walking through mangrove on Pan Daung. They turned back when the water rose a metre in half-an-hour.

Gordon noticed something orange washing about in the surf: his camera case. I followed him a moment later to find the topography of the beach much changed. A stream had materialized out of the jungle and cut a channel over a metre deep and six metres wide through the sand. The tent I shared with Gordon was slipping into the trench.

Squalls continued to blow in through the night. The supply boat did not fare well and the hold had to be reorganized. It was a dirty job in a heavy swell, and when Graham returned from Ranong I was on board again helping to transship the supplies. And then the worst squall yet raced in.

We watched in horror as the crew on the supply boat failed repeatedly to start the engines. The anchor was starting to drag. We circled it in the speedboat, ready with a tow-line, but fortunately the squall passed. The only thing that was lost was my breakfast
The kayakers got away the next morning, and the supply boat left soon after them. Five crew were left to pack up the camp and wait for Graham's return Except he didn't come back.

We watched the horizon all day, suppressing that childish fear of being left behind. We were in no distress-we had the galley, supplies, water and shelter, as well as a kayak. But what had happened to the others? They had their tents with them, and the until the following afternoon. Talk of death was jocular, a conversation about which one of us would be eaten first. 

Another rainy morning found us sitting glumly in the kitchen tent, watching the tide come in. The gully cut by the stream gave the sea an edge to work on, and each high tide would devour another metre of beach. Soon there would be nowhere left to camp, but just as we were planning to move further up the beach, the speedboat appeared around the headland.

There was no time to hear Graham's story. We loaded the boat and motored to the beach on Pyin Sa Ba where the others were camped. In the grey afternoon, I went for a walk along the beach, driving swarms of tiny burrowing crabs ahead of me, We were home ward-bound from that point onwards.

Over a bottle of Johnnie Walker, Graham told us the saga of the lost supply boat, The kayakers had arrived at Pyin Sa Ba just as a fierce squall hit. They watched large branches break off the jungle trees and blow about like leaves. The supply boat did not arrive, and Graham had only five-minutes - worth of fuel left. He hailed a fishing boat and it towed him to a nearby naval base where he scrounged some petrol. He then put into a Japanese pearl farm to beg some more, and got word there that the supply boat had taken shelter on the east coast of Letsok-aw. There ensued a night-time chase form one settlement to a prawn-packing plant, to another village where Graham arrived to find that the boat just leaving.

Back at the camp, local fishermen were barbecuing squid and lobster for the kayakers, which some of them declined to eat. Curiously, one was heard to remark that they ought to be conserving their energy now they were in a ' survival situation' - this with a tent to sleep in, a change of clothes, a stream nearby and squid on the fire.

It took two long days to get back to Ranong, two more days of heavy seas, wet and cold, and we arrived just in time for Songkran, the Festival of Throwing Water Over Everybody, which marks the Buddhist New Year. Needless to say, drying out was delayed somewhat.

It took two long days to get back to Ranong, two more days of heavy seas, wet and cold, and we arrived just in time for Songkran, the Festival of Throwing Water Over Everybody, which marks the Buddhist New Year. Needless to say, drying out was delayed somewhat..

It has taken much longer to get the beach out of my belongings. In fact, if I were to go downstairs and look, I know I could find some grains of sand from an island in the Andaman Sea right now.