J. S. Callahan

Swellnet Dispatch

Sunday, 25 November 2018

It had to be. After last week's news about the fiercely insular tribe guarding North Sentinel Island comes word that the tasty left off its southern shore - which we assumed had never been surfed - has hosted a boatload of sponsored surfers.

The following story comes from John S. Callahan, a fella who's pioneered many waves around the world, though the wave in question isn't one of them. The story was told to John, yet it's also been been verified by the photographer on board.

As perhaps the only person on this planet, Indian national or otherwise, who has been from the northern tip of North Andaman Island to the southern tip of Great Nicobar Island at Indira Point, I have knowledge of perhaps the only time North Sentinel Island has ever been surfed.

In 1999, after our first trip to the Andamans ex-Phuket, I received a request from XXXX, then working at XXXX, for some info how he could send a crew of surfers to the Andamans. I gave him the name and contact of the company we had used in Phuket for the boat charter and some tips on where to look for waves. I also specifically said not to try to go to North Sentinel, as it was off limits to everyone as the tribal people, unlike the Jarawa and Onge people, were well documented to be hostile and known to attack any visitors with spears and poisoned arrows.

From what the captain of the boat told me after the trip - a UK fellow and the same captain we had used for our trip to Little Andaman in 1998 - they did go to North Sentinel and they surfed the same pass in the satellite image, with the left on one side and the right on the other.

According to the captain, the surfers and the photographer on the trip knew nothing of North Sentinel, Little Andaman, the Andamans in general or anything else. Some of them were so clueless they thought they were in Indonesia, not India.

The captain said they left Port Blair - the capital of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands - and anchored in the area around Hobday Island, in legal waters, with the idea of pulling the anchor at 3am and making a pre-dawn run the short distance to North Sentinel to avoid any possible early morning Indian Navy helicopter patrols.

Everything went well and at dawn they dropped the pick on the inside of the bay, with a view of both the lefthander and the right, which were head-high and glassy. No-one surfing of course and no-one on the beach. No smoke from campfires, nothing.

The crew had a quick coffee and toast breakfast and got in the dinghy, with two to three people on the right and three people on the left. I don't know why they were not all on the same wave, as that is the procedure for a photo trip, but this was not my photo trip.

The captain said there were only two people on the boat - himself and Nong, the Thai cook. The captain was in the wheelhouse and Nong in the galley, preparing the late breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage and more toast.

The captain said he had the binoculars out, and had been scanning the beach of this most mysterious island every few minutes for any sign of the tribals and had seen nothing.

Suddenly, a group of six to eight men emerged from the forest, carrying a large canoe. They dropped it at the shoreline and returned to the forest, emerging several minutes later with bows, arrows, and spears, which the captain said he could see clearly through the binoculars.

Fuck.

The captain called Nong into the wheelhouse and said something along the lines of, "We may have to move and fast. Bring the anchor up to three metres of chain" and Nong went forward and turned on the anchor hoist and the rattling noise of the chain began.

Following the canoe with the binoculars, the captain said they ignored the surfers and were headed straight for the boat.

Anchor up, Nong returned to the wheelhouse and asked who the locals were - he didn't know they were some of the world's last uncontacted pre-neolithic tribal people and considered to be extremely fragile - and extremely dangerous.

The canoe full of warriors continued to paddle with intent towards the boat, so the captain started the engine, in neutral. Boat drifting slightly with three metere of chain out on the anchor but little current present and no significant wind.

The canoe was now within fifty metres of the boat, still paddling. The captain was watching through the binoculars, ready to engage the engine if anyone stopped paddling to launch arrows or chuck a spear.

Suddenly, the warriors stopped paddling. Gliding towards the boat they looked transfixed. With no engine noise from their canoe, the captain said they could hear the music from the sound system on the boat.

Now, if you are a pre-neolithic tribal person, living in complete isolation for perhaps 50,000 years or more on a single island in the Indian Ocean, you have never heard any form of recorded music. Ever.

The captain said he reached for the knob and slowly turned up the volume on the music - specifically the opening keyboard riff from 'La Femme 'd'Argent' from Air, their 'Moon Safari' album. If you know the record, it's a compelling piece of instrumental music and if you have never heard any recorded music before in your life as a pre-neolithic tribal warrior...well, you might stop paddling also.

The canoe glided towards the boat, not paddling and not talking, just looking. They started paddling again, slowly, making a wide circle around the boat, more than six or seven metres away.

Meanwhile, the captain had pulled the shotgun out from under the bench and loaded it with two shells, with two more shells ready - with Plan A being to fire a warning shot overhead or into the water if they got too close. Plan B was if they tried to board the boat, give them both barrels.

"We could see them clearly and they could see us," the captain told me. "Nong now knew they could throw spears or shoot poisoned arrows at any time and was scared shitless. But they did nothing, appearing to be listening to the music. After three slow circles around the boat they paddled in the direction of the beach, reached the sand, carried their canoe up past the treeline and disappeared into the forest"

The surfers were surfing the entire time, oblivious to this encounter with one of the last uncontacted groups of tribal people anywhere on earth.

Crisis averted, they dropped the anchor, had breakfast and a second surf and did not see any of tribals again. They pulled the anchor after lunch and headed off in the direction of Little Andaman, to make it there before nightfall.

// J.S. CALLAHAN

https://www.swellnet.com/news/swellnet-dispatch/2018/11/25/escape-north-sentinel-island

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5531313&forum_id=2...id#47682190)