Afleveringen
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You know those moments when everyone in the room has a different version of the same story⊠and every single one of them sounds believable?
That was Langkawi.
What started as a few beers between sailors quickly turned into the strangest conversation weâd ever had.
The Jade Lion wasnât just an old statue anymore. It had become the centre of decades of rumours, disappearances, betrayals, and secrets that refused to stay buried.
Every captain had a piece of the puzzle.
Every answer created three new questions.
And just when we thought we were finally getting close to the truth⊠one phone call changed everything.
Someone knew where the Jade Lion was and someone else was already on their way to find it.
The race had begun.
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You know that feeling when everyone keeps telling you not to trust someone⊠and then someone else tells you not to trust the people warning you?
Yeah well.. welcome to Batam.
Weâd gone looking for answers about the jade lion, but instead found an old American sailor whoâd been drifting around Indonesia for so long he seemed to know everyoneâs secrets.
The more he talked, the less any of it sounded like coincidence.
Missing boats. Smuggling. Familiar faces showing up in places they really shouldnât.
For the first time, we started wondering whether this whole thing had been planned long before weâd ever stumbled across that lion.
Naturally, the only sensible thing to do next was sail straight towards the people everyone told us to avoid.
What could possibly go wrong?
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Zijn er afleveringen die ontbreken?
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You know those days where you think youâll just tie the boat up, grab a beer, and head home?
Yeah, nah⊠this wasnât one of those days.
Weâd barely made it back to Singapore before one of the most famous yachts in the marina went up in flames right in front of us.
Then people started asking strange questions.
Too many people already seemed to know about the jade lion weâd just recovered. Some were a little too interested. Others suddenly became very nervous.
For the first time, we started wondering if the villains had been standing beside us all along.
This is where the adventure stops being a collection of strange sea stories⊠and turns into one big story.
Oh, and youâll also meet Captain Magic. Depending on who you ask, heâs either the greatest sailor in Southeast Asia⊠or a drunk pirate with terrible timing.
Probably both.
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People always tell you the same thing before heading to Tioman.
âWatch out for the monkeys.â
Turns out... the monkeys werenât the biggest problem.
We set off looking for an old jade lion after receiving some very questionable intelligence from Captain Sinbad. It sounded ridiculous.
Then the monkeys stole our beer before we found a yacht that shouldnât have been there.
Then we discovered it was empt and thatâs when things stopped feeling like another boating adventure and started feeling like a mystery.
Somewhere in the middle of it all we met Captain C, an English sailor aboard the ketch Mintaka, who seemed to know far more than he was willing to say. He gave us some advice, looked at the abandoned yacht, and quietly suggested we leave.
We probably should have listened.
By the time we got back to Singapore, weâd found the jade lion but the crew of the Bald Eagle were still missing and deep down, I think we all knew this story wasnât over.
Not even close.
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You pay a fortune to keep your boat in a nice marina.
Security. Nice facilities. Peace and quiet.
Nobody ever mentions the crocodiles.
Weâd barely settled in when someone pointed at our berth and calmly announced there was a crocodile floating around the marina.
Naturally, nobody believed them.
Until they did.
Within minutes, expensive yacht owners were looking a lot less confident, the Harbourmaster suddenly had the worst job in Singapore, and everyone became an expert in crocodile behaviour despite having absolutely no qualifications whatsoever.
Including me.
I was convinced I had a plan.
Finnigan was convinced it was a terrible plan.
For once⊠he was probably right.
If youâve ever wondered how quickly a luxury marina can descend into complete chaos, or why every boating story eventually starts with the words, âYouâll never guess what happenedâŠâ, this oneâs for you.
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Have you ever anchored somewhere that just⊠didnât feel right?
Not dangerous.
Just⊠like you werenât alone.
After a long day that hadnât exactly gone to plan, we finally dropped the anchor at Pulau Hantu, hoping for a quiet night, a cold beer, and a chance to forget about everything that had already gone wrong.
Instead, we met Captain Johnny.
According to Johnny, the ghosts around Pulau Hantu are actually quite reasonable. They donât mind visitors. They just appreciate a bit of respect.
Apparently loud music is frowned upon.
Cheap whisky is offensive.
And if something knocks on your hull at three in the morningâŠ
âŠyouâre supposed to knock back.
We laughed.
For a while.
Then strange lights started appearing across the reef, boats began leaving the anchorage in the middle of the night, and we started wondering whether the old bloke on the beautifully kept Grand Banks knew something the rest of us didnât.
Some stories from the sea get bigger every time theyâre told.
This one got stranger.
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You know that feeling when you leave the marina convinced youâve remembered everything?
YeahâŠ
We hadnât.
What was supposed to be a straightforward trip to the Anambas started with one very important thing being left behind. Unfortunately, we only discovered that after weâd already committed to the voyage.
From there, things somehow got worse.
There were permits we should probably have had, decisions that definitely sounded better at the time, and at one point Finnigan calmly informed meâŠ
âThereâs a tentacle on the roof.â
Oddly enough, that wasnât the part that worried me the most.
Sometimes experience gets you out of trouble.
Other times it just gives you the confidence to get into much bigger trouble.
This was one of those trips.
If youâve ever come back from sea thinking, âWell⊠that couldâve gone a lot worse,â youâll feel right at home with this one.
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If youâve ever taken your boat to Batam, youâve probably said the same thing we didâŠ
âWeâll just pop over for cheap fuel and be back before dinner.â
Famous last words.
The plan was simple. Fill up the tanks. Have a decent seafood lunch. Maybe a couple of beers. Head home before dark.
Instead, we found ourselves wondering why everything was so cheap, why nothing seemed to make sense, and why every local skipper has that look in their eyes when you mention a âquick Batam run.â
Then the sun went down.
Container ships appeared out of the darkness. Fishing boats seemed to be playing hide-and-seek without navigation lights. The refinery lit up the horizon like something out of an apocalypse.
Naturally, I decided it was the perfect time for a nap.
Which left Finnigan driving.
At night.
Near Batam.
What happened next started with a voice on the VHFâŠ
âŠand ended with us realising that some stories get told in yacht clubs for years.
This is one of them.
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Youâd think coming back to the marina would be the easy part.
No waves. No storms. Just tie the boat up, grab a beer, and catch up with everyone at the yacht club.
InsteadâŠ
The marina had been taken over by otters.
Not one or two. An entire furry crime syndicate. They were sleeping on boats, stealing fish, terrorising Pontoon C, and generally behaving like they were paying the berthing fees.
Naturally, the committee responded the only way a committee knows howâwith meetings, maps, signs, PowerPoint presentations, and enough discussion to almost frighten an otter into leaving.
Almost.
Meanwhile, Finnigan couldnât even get into the bar because heâd forgotten his shoes, Uncle Steven was rapidly losing faith in humanity, and someone genuinely thought naming the otters would improve the situation.
Then the lady in red arrived.
What happened next proved that sometimes the quickest solution is also the one nobody else would have dared to try.
The otters eventually leftâŠ
âŠbut they werenât the only unexpected visitors waiting for us back at the marina.
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You know those Saturdays where all you want is to anchor off Lazarus Island, have a cold beer, and mind your own business?
Yeah⊠so did we.
About forty-seven boats had the same idea. By lunchtime there were hundreds of people partying, someone had brought an inflatable flamingo for reasons nobody could explain, and somehow our boat became the one everyone wanted to climb aboard.
Finnigan found himself defending the Noordic 26 armed with nothing more than a boat hook and poor life choices, while I did what any responsible skipper would doâŠ
âŠoffered running commentary from the helm.
Then the lady in red stood up.
What happened next is still argued about in marinas across Singapore. It ended with a stolen bottle opener, a very confused flamingo, absolute chaos, and seven words that brought an entire anchorage to complete silence.
To this day, nobody can agree on what those seven words actually were.
