THE LONG WAY HOME
A Kiwi couple’s return has been anything but plain sailing
The lights in the distance didn’t concern Asher Fagan as the sailboat’s prow cut through the midnight waters of the English Channel.
But as they grew nervous.
The lawyer from Kerikeri had spent a good chunk of his youth on the water, in dinghies and sailing boats off the Bay of Islands.
While he’d never captained something like this 36-foot (11m) craft, he knew the vessel well.
In 2018 he and partner Danielle Benjamin laid down five years’ savings, originally intended for a house, purchasing the sailboat for £40,000 (NZ$82,000).
The Brighton-based couple spent 12 months living in its cramped quarters to save rent, enduring the cold British winter, and mould, so they could spend their combined salaries and free time to get her seaworthy.
By June 2019, they’d packed up Fagan’s career as a lawyer, Benjamin’s position with Tourism New Zealand, and shelved their small business.
They christened the yacht Bacchus and began sailing back to New Zealand.
Sailing across the shipping lanes of Europe was harrowing; the giant cargo freighters made them feel like a possum crossing the Southern Motorway.
And on one particular night Fagan’s stomach sank as lights began to move upwards, slowly at first, then with increasing speed until he could see it clearly. Rather than being some distance away, as first thought, a tanker was looming over them.
‘‘We just swept across it, but it was far too close for comfort,’’ Fagan said this week, as the couple docked in a Panama port.
It wasn’t their only close call during their 10-month voyage, which paused when the coronavirus pandemic saw countries shut, and sailing routes close.
While Benjamin had less sailing experience – ‘‘I’m always up for a challenge’’ – fantasies of cocktails on the deck and coconut palm trees were quickly shattered.
‘‘I wasn’t prepared for the weather and open water, the watches between the two of us, four hours on four off for days on end,’’ said the Pukekohe woman.
Despite sleep deprivation, brightened, he broken parts and the occasional proclamation to give up, they found their stride, completing a 19-day crossing of the Atlantic Ocean.
They even started a YouTube channel to share their adventure, including the difficulties of gaining official clearance in other countries.
‘‘In France... we spoke to the police, the city hall... we tried so hard to find someone. We eventually got told to come back the next morning and meet this guy in the car park at a commercial warehouse by the docks,’’ said Fagan.
‘‘We wondered, are we being naive? But lo and behold an official customs guy shows up to do his work and was quite happy to stamp our passports and welcome us to France.’’
Their situation changed in mid-March when they pulled into Bonaire just off the coast of Venezuela.
It was there they heard the news that Panama had closed its borders because of Covid-19. And with it the Panama Canal – their path home.
‘‘We thought, ‘we can’t go around South America... holy crap we can’t get home’.’’
Their only option was to harbour in nearby Curac¸ ao and wait. Pulling in with 36 hours to spare, they watched as boats arriving after them quarrelled with port authorities.
‘‘They had a horrible time with the coastguard. A lot of arguments, waving of hands... swearing in languages that neither party understood,’’ said Benjamin.
But even those with an official stamp of entry were given very little help.
‘‘We had no idea what was going on, the coastguard would come past every day but not actually talk to us.’’
And while sailing days at sea can be mentally exhausting, it was nothing compared to the tedium of lockdown on the Dutch island.
‘‘Everything normal that people do is 10 times harder on a boat,’’ Benjamin said.
‘‘Simple things like cooking, doing your washing or even just having a shower... and then you go into lockdown and it gets harder again.’’
Their bubble was crammed into one room, with 35-degree, sticky temperatures – and swells moving their ‘‘apartment’’ from side to side, day in and day out.
Like New Zealand lockdown conditions, the couple could travel to the doctor, pharmacy or supermarket, with a licence plate system dictating which days they were allowed to venture out.
Their list was also long.
‘‘Water’s a big one. There’s no one selling water to fill up our tank because no-one’s working... eventually a really nice man gave us some change for a coinoperated tap,’’ said Benjamin.
‘‘But that was a whole day’s excursion just to get some water. And laundry, my god, big backpacks full of washing that’s taken all day to sort out. Then a wave hits your dingy and covers the lot in saltwater.’’
After 40 days in Curac¸ao their irritation slowly turned to dread; the clock was ticking on their 90-day visa.
‘‘One by one every country around us was closing their borders... if in three months’ time nothing opens, then what?’’ said Benjamin.
‘‘The last thing we wanted, was to run out of time on our visas, have to leave our boat here and have to fly back to New Zealand – which was a very possible worst-case scenario. It was a little bit terrifying.’’
To their north, the hurricane season was approaching, so turning back wasn’t an option, Fagan said.
‘‘South Venezuela’s off because the country’s in turmoil. In Colombia, they were enforcing of essential items
‘‘I wasn’t prepared for the weather and open water, the watches between the two of us, four hours on four off for days on end.’’ Danielle Benjamin