We were warned: keep away from Phuket. The seas there are dangerous, everyone in Singapore told us. Pirates are everywhere. Even Thai fishermen turn pirates, when they see an opportunity.

A month before, I had launched my schooner Third Sea on the Chao Phraya River, in Bangkok, and she had made her maiden voyage to Singapore. I was now preparing to sail the South Pacific, and planned to make one more test run, this time up the Strait of Malacca to Phuket. That's when I got the warning.

What to do? Charts of Phuket and the islands looked inviting. But little was known about Phuket at the time. That was back in the summer of 1972, before the advent of tourism in these parts. My Sailing Directions gave descriptions of currents, winds, and shoals to avoid, but it didn't say anything about pirates. I'd just have to take the chance, I decided.

Sailing the Strait of Malacca is a trip back through the pages of history. After leaving Singapore, our first port of call was Malacca, where Europeans first made contact with the East. They say that d'Albuquerque, the Portuguese admiral who sacked Malacca, had designs on Phuket, which he called "Iunsalao". But he didn't want to take tangle with the Siamese, the most powerful nation outside China at the time.

From Malacca we sailed north to Penang, first settled by Captain Francis Light in 1786. Captain Light had been looking for a suitable port for the British East India Company, and had seriously considered Phuket, which he called Junkceylon Island. He was fond of the island, and had actually built a house at Tha Rua, on the east coast. He had also taken a Thai wife who bore him three children. The question that baffles historians to this day: Why did he choose Penang instead of Phuket?

We anchored in front of the clock tower in old Georgetown where Captain Light had also anchored. But we didn't experience the trouble he did. His crew were mostly sepoys from India, but they refused to go ashore to clear forest for the settlement. Captain Light loaded a cannon with silver dollars and fired it into the trees. The jungle was cleared in no time.

We heard a rumour that Captain Light was buried on Penang and, after some scouting around, finally found his grave, hardly recognizable — in fact, little more than a pile of rubble. This was sad tribute to a sea captain who, had he been successful, would have made Phuket a British colony. Perhaps, like d'Albuquerque, he didn't want to do battle with the Siamese. He liked Junkceylon the way it was, peaceful and quiet.

We sailed north from Penang, past the Langkawais into a translucent blue sea, entering the "pirate-infested" waters of the Andaman Sea.

"Keep alert," I warned my crew, "and if we see a boat, move around on deck. Make them think we have more crew than we do." I'd heard that pirates didn't attack when outnumbered.

We came to our first landfall, Koh Rok Nok, to watch the anchor settle in eight fathoms, and hurried ashore to discover a beach of beautiful white sand, a fine place to barbecue our evening meal. Then a Thai fishing boat appeared on the horizon to veer off course and head straight for Rok Nok. They had spotted us. Were they fishermen turned pirates? We jumped into our dinghy, almost swamping it in our haste, and rowed back to our schooner as fast as we could. But not fast enough. The fishing boat dropped anchor only metres away from Third Sea, and already the ship's longboat was motoring towards the schooner. We were doomed. We looked hard to see what weapons they might be carrying.

"I am the captain," the man in the bow shouted in English. He was tanned the colour of mahogany and wore a scarf around his head. Could he also be wearing a golden earring and have a peg leg?

We didn't reply. Instead, we quickly climbed aboard the schooner.

"You are in danger," he shouted. He came alongside, and his men grabbed hold of our railing.I half-expected to see him unsheathe a cutlass. It was obvious we were outnumbered, with our half dozen crew opposed to his two dozen pirates. They crowded the deck and hung from the rigging. Some gathered on the cabin top to stare at us.

"What kind of trouble?" I asked.

The helmsman was the first to act. He reached down, picked up a string of fish and swung them aboard the schooner. "Southwest monsoon," the captain said, "very bad anchoring here." He then welcomed us to Thai waters, and asked if we needed anything.

No, nothing, we said.

He waved as he and his crew went back to their vessel, hoisted anchor and sailed away.

That was our encounter with pirates. There wasn't a fishing boat that we met while at anchor after that that didn't provide us with fish. Not once did they ask for anything in return.

We passed other islands like jewels in a beautiful necklace, finally coming to what appeared to be a cut-out in a children's book of fairytales. This was Phuket — a powerful, even breathtaking sight. It was beautiful, and we were excited, but we had no idea what to expect. On the southeastern tip we spotted what appeared to be a fortress. We later learned it was Rawai Beach Resort, the first of its kind on Phuket.

We wanted to anchor at the cliff below the "fortress", but the current was running strong. We continued northward up the east coast to Chalong Bay. Those who know the bay today, with its Lighthouse Bar and Restaurant and the new jetty sticking far out into the bay, couldn't imagine our arrival that day. It was miserable. There were no other yachts, only a few fishing boats. The water was murky from the sludge tin miners dumped into the sea. Nothing but desolation and despair. We had come all the way from Singapore for this? We turned to the chart again. The west side of the island looked more promising. We lifted anchor, rounded the southern tip of the island, and turned north into the Andaman Sea.

We studied the coastline, indented with coves and bays. This looked more inviting than Chalong. The waters were deep blue, and the coastline unspoiled. Except for a few fishing boats anchored near the beaches, we saw no yachts or foreign vessels. The only buildings in sight were mostly fishing shacks with thatched nipa roofs. No roads ran along the coast, leaving the series of bays isolated from one another.

We rounded one promontory, Cape Kho Sai Rot, and a wide bay opened up there before us. We decided to anchor for the night. We lowered sails and motored as close to the shore as we could, dropping anchor in four fathoms. The spot was marked on the chart as Patong Bay.

Remembering what the boat captain had said about the monsoon, we dared not linger long. Just long enough to row ashore and visit the village. A dirt road ran along the waterfront. A few food stalls bordered the beach, and there was only one hotel that we could see. There was nothing else. Trucks with bare wooden seats served as buses, carrying passengers and foodstuff far inland over a deeply rutted road to Phuket Town. We need supplies, but thought it best to wait until we returned to Penang. We had our evening meal at a food stall along the beach, and the following day set sail for Singapore.

I spent the following years exploring the South Pacific, from Honolulu to Papeete, from Pago Page to Suva. We sailed into many beautiful bays, but Patong remained always on my mind. Eventually, I returned to Asian waters, and sailed once again to Patong. I couldn't believe what I found. Hotels and waterfront beach bungalows, a partly paved road. I sailed back that time, and dozens of times after that. And, each time I returned, Patong had grown even more grandiose. Which was better, the old Patong I remembered or the new one? On my last visit, I met a few newly arrived yachtsmen.

"Man, isn't this great?" they said.

Why ruin their fun?