Lombok to Bali

The title of our last post “Launching Turtlebones 2026” was somewhat misleading.  While we really were launching our 2026 cruising season, Turtlebones had not yet left the dock.  Since then, we’ve got ourselves underway. 

We’ve made only two hops so far.  Both of them short, and both motoring all the way. 

The first was excruciatingly short.  A one-hour sprint, picking our way carefully through the “Gilis” – from Gili Gede to Gili Goleng – avoiding the many hazards in-between, including pearl farms, aquaculture ‘fields’ and shallow reefs. 

As our reward, we arrived at a sweet anchorage – only four miles away from the Marina but offering a very different feel. A remote underway feel. A swimmable-off-the-back-of-the-boat feel. New scenery, new villages to investigate, new villagers to meet.  Loving it already! 

One obvious nice thing about being on the hook, compared to the dock, is that anchorages are typically free – decidedly nicer than C$40/day for berthage at the Marina.  But apart from free, there’s another benefit to an anchorage that money can’t buy – it’s all about the AIR! 

At anchor, Turtlebones swings around the anchor.  As the wind direction constantly changes, our boat direction follows precisely.  One thing never changes, Turtlebones is always pointing into the wind.  The result is a beautiful breeze that constantly blows in through the forward hatches, keeping our main salon fresh and comfortable, even in this hot steamy climate.  In the forward cabins, it’s always fresh and breezy.  And there’s always a cooling breeze on the foredeck.  No such constant joy can be found tied to a dock!

Bonus, we enjoyed two full days without rain on Gili Goleng.  Although pounding rain overnight made up for it – keeping the jungle green and everything else soggy. 

A short dinghy ride away, we visited Gili Asahan – with both a fishing village and two small eco-resorts ashore. 

We’ve been avoiding the heat of our cook stove by eating out at every restaurant we can find. When it’s good – and we haven’t yet found otherwise – Indonesian food is very very good.  Fresh, nutritious and delicious. 

Admittedly – compared to the embarrassment of riches, the vast array of choices and cosmopolitan cuisine that we enjoy at home – the range here is limited.  Nasi and mie (rice and noodles) – along with ayam (chicken), ikan (fish) and telur (eggs) – are widely available and dominate what’s on offer – any time of day – for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  The same classic dishes appear on every menu – nasi/mie goreng (fried rice/noodles), gado gado (veg with peanut sauce), sate ayam (chicken satay), sometimes ikan bakar (grilled fish) – everything served with a rounded scoop of nasi putih (white rice).

A bit repetitive according to my spoiled Canadian preference for endless variety.  But it’s possible that the sameness is more about being a newbie to these parts, haven’t yet been here long enough to appreciate all the gastro-nuances of Indo cuisine.  Just possible.  Anyway, this sameness, it’s  not boring – not boring because of all the flavours these spice islands have to offer and the unique way Indonesians blend their fresh herbs and spices.  Repetitive, yes, but the food here is spicy, satisfying and enjoyable – that’s my take so far.  Not quite hot enough for Bill though  – I think they must take one look at his porcelain white spf50 complexion and bring him extra bland – he always asks for sambal on the side.    

Interesting fact:  the same super-affordable restaurant prices appear on every menu – regardless whether it’s a chic resort-style resto or a local warung (a roadside stall), or anything in-between.   Meal for two, with appy, beer (for Bill) and wine (for me) – under C$30 – same everywhere!

BTW according to the various translator apps, the Bahasa (Indonesian) word “Gili” translates to “Gili” in English – not very helpful.  One app says it means “dyke” which just can’t be right.  So we’ve had to consult the linguists on board Turtlebones who’ve decided that Gili means ‘islet’ –  a small island, usually one of many, near to a bigger island. 

Our second hop from Gili Goleng to Bali was a little longer.  What started as a 10-hour daylight cruise in benign weather turned into 24+ hours in less-than-ideal conditions.

We’re in northwest monsoon season – meaning, winds are predominantly from the northwest – and ultimately we’re heading in a northwest direction towards Singapore.  So needless to say, in our weather watch, we’re basically looking for little to no wind when we can motor along in our desired direction without taking too much of a beating on the nose. 

That was the plan.  We set out in just 2-5 kts of wind.  A beautiful morning, no rain in sight, happy to be underway again – for real this time.  

First challenge involved crossing the Lombok Strait, between Lombok and Bali, a major shipping lane.  It was a busy morning for commercial traffic, big freighters 500-ft plus, steaming along at 12+ kts, following close behind each other – coming from both directions, fully loaded northbound and returning empty.  Quite a southbound current in there as well – 43-ft Turtlebones motored along at just 4 kts.  So we had to time our crossing carefully, adjust our course gradually to the edge of the shipping lane, and then make our ‘dash’ across when the nearest freighters looked to be more than 20 minutes away. 

A bit challenging, but not at all scary – more exciting than anything.

After crossing the Lombok Strait, we motored along the north coast of Bali, on the look-out for a decent spot to tuck in before sundown. 

But by 5 o’clock – surprise! – we’d been banging into unexpected 17-kt winds for several hours, and the Captain had to call it.  Well, I too had some words for it, but that’s irrelevant.  Couldn’t possibly anchor in that wind on an exposed coast, and we decided to soldier on through the night, adjust our speed, slow ourselves down, so as to arrive not-too-early, in daylight, shortly after sunrise, at a super-protected harbour further west.  A disappointing passage, that’s for sure, but it had its moments.

In and of itself, an overnight passage is no-big-deal.  We’ve done many.  And just one night this time – not difficult.  But we’ve always been out in the open ocean where, with the benefit of AIS (Automatic Identification System) and the most basic night watch attention, it’s a relatively carefree journey.  This time, it was different in so many ways. 

First of all, the overnight journey was unexpected – not totally unexpected, but not planned either, and certainly unwelcome.  Secondly, our route was unlike anything we’d done before in the dark – hugging the mountainous north coast of Bali, just a couple of miles offshore – the entire north side of Bali being heavily populated, so unexpectedly urban, all lit up from the shoreline to the tops of the mountains, without any break along the entire 90-mile-long coast.  An uneasy feeling, definitely more unnerving, compared to the open ocean – felt like the busy shoreline posed a greater risk of encounter with small (unlit) vessels or other obstructions.   

Thirdly, the biggest factor by far was the looming menace of the FADs – fish aggregation devices, big floating platforms set out by local fishers to attract fish, littered all along the north Bali coast.  The FADs had me almost in a panic contemplating my upcoming night watches.  Not equipped with AIS transmitters, FADs don’t show up on our chartplotter (navigation screen).  And, as we were warned by other cruisers, they’re unlit.  So, you travel at night in FAD-infested waters at your peril.  Hence our plan to limit ourselves to daylight travel, using good ol’ fashioned eyeballs to negotiate FADs and other line-of-sight hazards.

But as it happens so often, we were pleasantly surprised.   7 o’clock rolled around.  Dusk, getting harder to see.  Then nightfall.  And there it was.  A single light came on out of nowhere – 200 metres away, in the general vicinity where we’d earlier spotted a FAD.  And then, like fans at a rock concert, over the next 5 minutes, they all lit up! 

Attuned as we were, we’d been searching for FADs all day, and we knew from other cruisers’ reports and from Noforeignland that there were a couple of FAD clusters along the way, each with 5 or 6 FADs.  But nothing had prepared us for what was revealed in the dark – literally hundreds of FADs sprinkled all along the coast, most of them favouring the 1,000-metre contour, a mile or so to starboard. 

We had closely examined the FADs we’d encountered earlier in daylight, and Bill had mused optimistically, “is that FAD sporting a solar panel?”  Well, yes indeed, as it turns out, the advent of small cheap solar technology has completely changed the boat safety risk posed by FADs.  Lit FADs are the new normal – at least in these parts!

The next morning, we arrived safely and without incident at Banyuwedang Bay in the northwest corner of Bali. 

We’re very comfortable in here and well-protected from all directions.  Thank goodness, because the NW monsoon is on a rampage.  Seven days and counting, as we watch for a weather window to escape.  In the meantime, we’re enjoying the sights and sounds of the Bay and the people who call it home. 

Hundreds of local fishing boats in the harbour, but only a few yachts – and all but one is unoccupied.

No less than four luxury resorts on the Bay. Very few hotel guests this time of year, but still they keep their restaurants in full swing, much to our delight. 

Our new favourite resto is the Pasir Putih (white sand) Beach Café, a casual community-run warung on the beach – next to a local dive shop and an anchorage for local fishers.

One day, as a special treat, we indulged in day passes at the Mimpi Resort. Full-day access to warm and hot plunge pools – fed from the nearby Hotsprings – a cool pool, beautiful gardens, and includes a nice lunch.  Cost: 500,000 IDR (Indonesian rupiah). I know, sounds extravagant – but for all of that, it’s just C$20 each!

And then there’s an entire Mimpi Spa menu, including a 75-minute Balinese massage for C$32 and an hour-long jade stone facial for C$40.  If that northwesterly keeps on howling – and I almost hope it does – there’s definitely a Spa visit in my future.