Our Long Tail Boat Trip

There was the spray of salt water, the whir of the propeller hitting the water, the soft thud as we skipped over waves. (It was rough the day we ventured out from the hotel to the neighboring islands.) The snorkeling when we arrived at the bigger island, Hong, was a little disappointing. The water was still churned up from the recent winds. The typhoon that pummeled The Philippines and Vietnam did not pound the Thai coast in the same way, but it spawned some strong winds that made our air travel turbulent and our sea trip choppy.

There we were our family of five, a gourmet picnic lunch packed by the kitchen, with a wind weathered barefoot captain who expertly navigated rough waters. He stood, sure footed and stocky, with wise eyes gazing into the horizon, gentling ferrying our family.

We've made a similar trek on previous Thai trips, but those were with groups, and in speedboats: where the fiberglass frame slammed against each wave and the trip was anything but pristine. When we reached our destination the islands were crowded. And loud. The shouts of one tour leader calling his group to hurry back to the speed boat so they could hurry back across the water, would be drowned out by another leader reminding people not to forget their snorkels. And, there were Chinese tourists, in World Vision life jackets left over from the 2004 Tsunami, attempting to snare fish in plastic bags.

But not here. This is the beauty of Krabi. It's unhurried. Pleasant. Quiet. The long tail captain was not hellbent on getting there as fast as we could. He was patient, and purposeful. He acted like we had all day. We did have all day.

The hum of the polluting outboard motor, which is elevated much higher in a long tail, since the propeller extends so far behind the boat, was loud, but lulling. We skipped over the waves, across them almost, he gently going left and then right to ride the waves rather than crash into or over them.

But let this be said: their is no delicate way to alight from a long tail. It involves jumping and splashing, or if your a child being lifted and hoisted. It involves wading through thigh high water.. which is then ankle deep if you return after a long relaxing afternoon on a private(ish) island; the tide having slowly receded as you lingered on the beach (no longer caring you are clad in a second hand swimsuit), and pondered the possibility of becoming a beach combing family that lives out of backpacks, survives on simple Thai dishes and relies only on long tail transport for a year or two.