Passage to Indonesia — Part 4 Enu

Enu wasn’t on the plan.

It wasn’t a waypoint, or a penciled-in stop, or a place we had talked about in our planning. It appeared only after we began looking, not for progress, but for pause.

On the chart, Enu came with a small cautionary note: squid fishing boats. Possibly many. Something to be aware of. When we arrived, the note proved accurate. The ocean around the anchorage was dotted with them, clusters of boats rafted together during the day, quiet and still, resting up for another all nighters chasing squid.

The water was calm in the anchorage. The wind softened. The boat settled in a way it hadn’t for days. When the anchor went down and held, the motion was reduced to a gentle sway on a quiet swell. The constant bracing, the unconscious tightening, finally let go.

Enu, our temporary anchorage

For the first time in days, the boat rested.

So did we.

Enu offered no services, no docks, no people. Just trees, water, and boats that came alive after dark. At night, the squid boats separated and headed out, each one glowing. Sometimes individual points of light. Sometimes entire strings of brightness stretched across the water. The anchorage was anything but dark, but it was calm, and that was enough.

Once we’d slept, really slept, it was time to deal with the most pressing issue: fuel transfer.

Opening up the fuel tank

The reserve fuel tank sits under a plywood cover, which meant everything stored on top of it had to come off first. Then the plywood had to be unscrewed and lifted. The tank itself was very full, which added a layer of difficulty to the process, open it slowly, minimize spillage, don’t make things worse than they already were.

Siphoning out the fuel, using a flashlight to see how much diesel was in the can.

We siphoned fuel out by hand into 5 gallon plastic containers, carrying it carefully to the cockpit and pouring it into the primary tank. Again. And again. It was awkward, smelly, oily, and deeply unglamorous. But it worked. And with every transfer, a low-grade worry loosened its grip.

This is what our living space looks like when we have to access the tanks to work on and have to remove everything that was stored on top of it.

Other things were laid out too, not fixed all at once, but seen. Our backup devices to the chart plotter were charged and tested, but the growing list of small failures was no longer theoretical or lurking. It was tangible, waiting, and shrinking with each completed task.

Meals were simple. Movement slowed. Even basic tasks felt easier when the deck beneath us stayed where it was supposed to be, gently swaying instead of pounding up and down.

Part of the reason Enu stretched into two days and twonights wasn’t necessity, it was relief. Relief at being still. Relief at giving the boat the attention it had been asking for. Relief at replacing urgency with intention.

Soon enough, we would move again. The rest of Indonesia was still out there, unchanged by our pause, waiting for us to discover.

But for now, Enu held us still.