Anambas Voyage June 2025
On the morning of 6 June 2025, nine voyagers cast off from the edge of Singapore, en route toward the Anambas Islands, 180 nautical miles Northeast of Singapore, a hidden constellation of paradise adrift in the South China Sea.
Delays at Nongsa Point did little to dull our spirits as we passed the time befriending dockside cats while waiting for our McDonald’s delivery, our final indulgence of fast food (to the disapproval of our neighbours at Vega, another ship at the marina), and dancing as violin music lilted across the marina, serenading the start of something unforgettable.
Unfavourable winds sent us veering off course towards Mapur, an island that welcomed us with thorny reefs. We circumnavigated its shallows, snorkelled through clear waters teeming with life, and an unexpected army of sea urchins.
Then came Tokong Malang Biru (or bird shit island), where five-metre waves hammered our kayaks as we fought through crashing waves across the island. The sharp, slippery ascent to its abandoned lighthouse at the peak (and seabirds) reminded us why it had been left behind by Indonesian authorities.
Next was Sota Archipelago, where we were met with the wrath of 30-knot squalls. But the old schooner held fast, and so did we, white-knuckled, soaked to the bone, laughing through the salt and fear. We also started drawing nemos here. Re-energised, we took out the launch to explore surrounding uninhabited islands, then made some cup noodles and lost a couple of kayaks (Captain, till this day, never noticed).
At Moonrock Lagoon, we docked beside unfamiliar yachts (much to our captain’s disdain, who claimed this place as his secret). We summited Moonrock, standing breathless at the immensity of its beauty that boasted various shades of blues unimaginable to our eyes hardened by urban glare and city lights. Having been through 3 voyages, I was reminded of similar times where the group stood silenced, taking in the moment as we felt our own two feet on the talus, reaffirming our presence amid the grandeur. Also thankfully, everyone survived the abseil, albeit some left with broken bones, numerous scars, mental trauma and other minor injuries.
Below the surface at the lagoon were colourful coral palaces, sea turtles gliding through cathedrals of blue, and schools of fish flickering like silver fireflies in the sunbeam.
At night, the moon rose slowly as if summoned by Nemothan’s violin, glowing, enormous, illuminating the rock in silver sheen. We bartered tuna with local fishermen, “partied” with Coconut Lady and fellow yachtspeople. Later that night, we debated feminism in which I shall not further elaborate on.
We sailed deeper into the Anambas and a waterfall emerged on the horizon. We took the opportunity to induldge in that sweet and cold water, washing away the salt and sweat of the days behind. It seemed as if the voyage could not be better than this… until we *** some ***** and *** and then had to .. and … and we were much wiser the day after to chart a more cautious route across deeper waters.
Battered and bruised, we decided to take it slow the next few days, as we fished and explored the untouched mangroves of Buan and what we thought would be a casual stroll through through Rupong’s dense, wet undergrowth. Rupong, interestingly, boasted gigantic 3-metres pandan trees which is very uncommon. A certain geophysicist was almost as excited as Captain was.
On the sail back home, we were guided by pods of dolphins. We came back changed, tired, bruised, sunburned, but overflowing with a kind of joy that only the sea can offer.