Robbed! Or why monohulls are better than catamarans

Incompetence isn’t a quality I appreciate in most people, but thankfully the thief who boarded our boat last night might want to consider keeping his day job. If he has one.

Despite traveling through some very poor countries, theft isn’t something we worry about very often. Like most cruisers, we’re aware our home can look like a floating department store to some people. So when we’re in a region is known for petty theft, we close our hatches and keep surfaces clear of easily-seen, easy-to-grab high value items like phones, cameras, tablets and cash. On occasions we even lock up the boat.

the closest locals to our boat are these guys--two baby herons

The kind of theft we tend to expect is opportunistic theft; like when our unlocked dinghy was stolen by drunks from the dinghy dock in Brisbane, or when tools were grabbed from the side deck in Mexico. What we don’t expect is to be boarded by a swimmer while we’re sleeping, have a thief enter our cabin and then rummage through our stuff. Not only is that sort of freaky—but I always assumed we’d hear if someone climbed aboard. Or that Charlie the guard cat would attack intruders, or meow or purr loudly in warning…

There aren't many signs of theft in town--just lots of signs that indicate people take fish into inappropriate locations

None of that happened though.

While Port Victoria on Mahe used to have a poor reputation, in recent years it's been pretty safe. But at some point late last night someone swam to our boat and boarded using our back steps. Then he came into the cabin (and missed the camera, laptop and tablet) but grabbed my phone, backpack and a couple of Maia’s bags. After taking the bags back into the cockpit and quickly rifling through them (finding Maia’s change purse but luckily missing my wallet—which would have been the jackpot considering I went to the bank yesterday) he took his little bit of loot, and our dinghy, and headed into the anchorage where he hit at least one other boat—grabbing a backpack and stealing a laptop and iphone from an Austrian catamaran.

Cats have a lot of great qualities (the two hulled, not the purring ones) and being easy to board and having wide open cabins are usually counted as bonuses. Except being easy to board and having wide open cabins also makes them attractive to thieves. My own informally gathered statistics seem to indicate that catamarans are hit more often than monohulls—and the fact the three boats that were robbed in this anchorage (including a French boat two weeks ago) are all cats reinforces it.

The second (that we know of) boat to be robbed last night woke up when the intruder left. He blew his airhorn (which we slept through) and then lost sight of the thief and our dinghy. This morning we were woken by a local guy who watches a couple of boats, and who noticed our dinghy wasn’t where it should be, but was instead on an empty catamaran. He and a friend brought the dinghy back to us and at that point we noticed the pile of bags in our cockpit.

A short while later the coastguard came by. It was nice to see how seriously the minor theft was taken and how mortified the locals were. Two locals helped with a search on the island beside us—with the hope the thief had stashed all our stuff for retrieval later. We also tried to call my phone—but just got voicemail. Later in the morning the Seychelles land police also came out to the boats—the locals who brought our dinghy back to us had called them and arranged for the visit. Finger printing is next. Seriously.

When we commented that is seemed like a big reaction to minor theft the police officer let us know any problem we have is a big problem--and in the Seychelles, they don't like theft.

Victoria is a peaceful moderately affluent town

In our case we were lucky. My phone was a cheap one that was due for replacing and the internet data that was on it was easily transferred to a replacement phone. Maia was bummed to lose the change purse that was given to her by dear friends in Brissie (Desire, she’s so sad…) but she was happy it only contained a little bit of money.

For the most part the theft was more of a lesson than a violation. We travel in a very trusting way—and we have no intention of changing the belief that most people we encounter are not out to get anything from us. But our belongings are equally (if not more) valuable to us as they are to potential thieves. And being an easy target is something we can easily change with a bit more diligence—especially with Comoros and Madagascar coming up.

From now on we’ll be pulling our dinghy up at night. The other cat that was boarded and robbed had their main cabin door closed, but the thief went through a window—so we’ll be closing our door and locking our hatches in their ‘ajar’ position (fortunately nights are cool here—the idea of needing bars on hatches is really unappealing). We’ve tried pressure mats before, but the cat tripped them, though we have heard some boats have had good success with motion sensors—so we’ll check out that option. Finally, we have personal alarms in the bedrooms. These are little self-activated alarms I picked up in Brisbane that I thought I could use if I heard someone board us—unfortunately I sleep better than I thought.

For those who have prepped their boats for high theft areas—any tips for us?

Boat Bashing, Dinghy Thieving and Monkey Feet

Maia’s school throws an awesomely fun fundraising garden party. There was a petting farm, bake sale, sausage sizzle and a bar. The three of us had a lovely night—Maia volunteered to run the petting farm—then ran free with the other kids in the dark. Meanwhile Ev and I volunteered at the sausage sizzle—then helped clean up (which included assisting to empty the opened wine.) It was a great night—until my phone rang.

“Diane? There was a big yacht—it tried to turn but got caught by the current—we heard a lot of crunching and people are on their way to your boat to see how bad it is.”

I surprised myself by how calmly I took the news; and really that’s been one of my biggest areas of growth in the past few years. It seems if you throw me enough whoppers eventually I learn to take a big breath and start dealing. So I bummed us a ride home, all the while soothing Maia, and pondering what to do if the boat wasn’t habitable.

When we got to the boat the neighbourhood was out in force—and the consensus—no one knew how or why but we were unscathed—the crunching must have been the pile mooring astern of us. Our only casualty was a dock line.

learning to drive

 Bad news that turns good is a good thing, but unfortunately it turned bad again the next night. After a nice day that included a birthday party, circus class for Maia, followed by a lovely dinner out we got home an hour after dark. As Maia and I walked down the break water I couldn’t see our dinghy—Evan, who arrived by bike before us, confirmed that I couldn’t see it because it wasn’t there.

 Stolen dinghies are a bit of an issue in Oz. Actually they’re a huge issue—but all the dinghies we’ve heard of going astray have been stolen late at night. We wrongly assumed our combination of a unique—slightly battered look, older motor and locking at night was enough to protect us—but as we stood on the dock looking out at our boat we realized it obviously wasn’t.

groceries for a trip

 Dinghies are more than a family car to cruisers—they are a tether between land and sea. So they are a utility vehicle—but they’re also imbued with a bit of that magic that every boat has. And we built ours. Actually Ev designed and built it for our specific needs.

But it was gone. And we were still on the dock. And the only way to get home was to steal someone else’s dinghy. So we did. Actually Evan insists we ‘borrowed’ it—and just to ensure the owner understood the distinction I stayed on the dock while Ev and Maia went home to blow up our two-person kayak.

 Or kayak is a good kayak for a grown-up and a child—but it’s a bad kayak for two grown-ups and a very bad kayak for two grown-ups on a dark fast moving river. So it was clear even before Evan changed out of his wet clothes that we were going to need a replacement dinghy really very quickly.

Between talking to the police, “You realize this is a former penal colony? Amazing nothing else has been stolen from you before now. Hahahahaha.” And shopping for dinghies: Cheap tinny and oars? Cheap inflatable, small motor? Decent inflatable? Decent motor? How the heck are we even going to get a dinghy back here if we can find one? How are we going to get enough cash out on a Sunday to pay for one? We didn’t sleep much.

And when I did finally fall asleep I dreamed about living in a house; A nice stable house that other houses didn't run into; A house with streets around it and sidealks--not sharks; A house where if something was broken or stolen I could replace it without having to go through a logistical puzzle. But I woke up living on a boat.

And I woke up in the cruising community—and we had rides to shore, and offers of loner dinghies, and suggested ideas, and a lead on a dinghy that belonged to another Canadian cruising family who was done their trip and ready to trade a dinghy for a car. And the dinghy had the exact motor on it that we planned to eventually buy and it was only one year old, and the dinghy was also fairly new and in good shape. So we rented a ute and went to meet our new dinghy—and its family, SV Monkey Feet. And a deal was struck and Monkey Feet was happy to see Monkey Business go to a good home.

And so we drove our dinghy home—stopping first at the hardware store to buy a length of heavy chain and a very big lock.