Eventually the helicopter pilot called us back to tell us how beautiful our boat was. He asked if he could bring some beers and sail with us on Seachild for a few hours.
After all the commotion of having a navy helicopter hover over us for 20 minutes to hand signal us a phone number, the pilot simply admired our boat and wanted to go sailing with us. It was a relief but also an irritant all at the same time. In the United States a navy helicopter hovering over you is never a good thing. In India, it just means they like your boat.

After the commotion, we anchored for lunch off Cinque Terre, a beautiful beach with lush trees and turquoise water. Not even an hour after the helicopter incident we found ourselves the unwanted hosts of the Head of Forestry. He rode up in a boat with five other people and forced himself on to Seachild to “see our activities.” He forced us to take awkward photos on his cell phone and asked us repeatedly for foreign alcohol. He implied that he was in charge and that if we wanted to be in his good graces we would need to bribe him. He helped himself to our lunch and seemed baffled by our sandwich bread. 

While in hindsight the situation is comical, at the time it felt degrading and a bit scary. As tourists we had no idea what was appropriate or what was allowed. As we had just dealt with the helicopter incident less than an hour prior, we had had enough of Indian officials to last our entire trip. 
After the Head of Forestry left we talked to our local agent about the situation. He had never heard of an incident like this and wanted us to file a complaint with the police. While this whole situation was less than favorable, the agent finally got us to agree to submit a statement. The following day we met with the police, the agent, and his family on the beach at Cinque Terre. While we were dreading the meeting, it actually turned out to be a positive experience. The police were very nice and even invited us over for dinner. Everyone was professional and wanted to ensure that we felt comfortable about being in the Andaman Islands. They brought chai (indian tea) for us to drink and we chatted about other things. 

  
We left Cinque Terre on a positive note. After a few hours we were on our way to Rutland Island, 20 miles due south from Cinque Terre.

The shoreline of Rutland Island is home to thousands of hermit crabs in various colors, shapes, and sizes. They spooked very easily so I sat very still in the sand to observe their behavior, coating my body in grey sand. 

  
The hermits became comfortable once again and scurried around using black antennas to search for food. As I became enthralled with one in particular, a small white hermit scurried over my hand in search of it’s next meal. Their antennas tickle, so I involuntarily jerked my hand, scaring the hermit so it retreated into it’s shell. A few seconds later I felt another tickle on my foot. I jerked around to see a huge hermit the size of my hand. His earth-red shell was rigged and jagged, a perfect replica of Sebastian from the Little Mermaid. Startled by my sudden movement, Sebastian found solace in his spacious home. I picked up the shell in awe and examined Sebastian closely. He retreated further into his home, his claws a hard barrier against my probing fingers. 

I put him back in the black sand and waited patiently for him to regain face. Eventually he crawled out of his home and scampered off.

You never really know what is ashore until you explore it yourself.

This area is incredibly desolate. Not another human besides us for miles, although we do see footprints hardened in the sand.

We continued to walk along the beach until we discovered a fresh water estuary. There we find a preschool of 30 prepubescent hermit cards, all no bigger than the fingernail on my little pinky. Frightened by our goliath form, they began to run off as quickly as their minuscule legs could manage. 

  
The formidable trees embrace the sandy coastline. They stand over 100 feet tall in the unaltered, pristine beauty. The bark blazes white hot, as if the harsh sun has bleached their essence, purifying them against the stain of human interference. The trees grow to enormous heights before they splinter and fall to the test of time. The fallen comrades stand half-mast along the beach, guarding their deceased brethren, exposing their impressive root system.

The roots burst white fusion over 8 feet in diameter. They are designed by mother nature to withstand the soft, wet, and sandy soil, gripping tightly to existence with each weathered tentacle. The hermit crabs take shelter from the beating sun underneath the extensive shelter of the fallen comrades. Thousands of hermits creep along their home of white wood, saturated in salt and sea.

  
 
Illegal logging has been a problem in the past and it is easy to see why. These trees are incredibly unique and increasingly powerful, gathering more strength and courage with each inch gained, forever unwavering in their pride. 

We anchor in the full moon off a beautiful white sand beach. The moon illuminates the sand as the turquoise waves crash against the shoreline. The lull of the coast is accompanied by loud foreign birds, a reminder of the natural world at work.

I have never seen islands like this. They are desolate, calm, and full of intrigue. 

They welcome the wanderer.