Quiet and Connection Down Under
Cruising on,” I wrote to my family in the early days of the pandemic. “Not much has changed.” And in most ways, despite the COVID-19 restrictions here in Australia, that was true.
In mid-march, after a two-and-a-half-month layover near Melbourne to spend time with David’s first granddaughter and to welcome his first grandson, we set sail east and then north aboard his 40-foot cutter, Sahula, slowly meandering toward
When Tory Salvia set off down the ICW last winter, he hoped to see countless fine sunsets like this one (opposite). It turned into a different trip. Meanwhile, in Australia, Lin Pardey found the silence in Sydney Harbor spooky (below right). But she was heartened when she could spruce things up down below and entertain again.
Queensland’s Great Barrier Reef. “Slowly” is the operative word. We didn’t want to get into the tropics before the end of the cyclone season. We enjoyed beautiful, isolated anchorages near Wilsons Promontory National Park and the excitement of crossing the shallow river bar at the coastal village of Lakes Entrance. Because we had little internet access, we enjoyed days of solitude, reading, catching up with onboard projects, and walks on shore.
Only when we ran low on provisions and headed into the town of Eden two weeks later did we learn the government was clamping things down to contain the virus. Self-isolation was to start the very next day. The last nonessential shops were being closed indefinitely as we walked through this normally vibrant little town. The market shelves had dozens of bare spots as I topped up our supply of fresh food. I was thankful I had previously done a large reprovisioning, so didn’t need toilet paper or paper towels.
We carefully read the new regulations and found no direct reference to people living on yachts, other than to self-isolate and go out only to exercise or buy food. As we journeyed northward, we tried to avoid shopping for groceries more than necessary and took the recommended precautions when we did. The only other times we were within 100 meters of another person was when we topped up on water and fuel.
It was three weeks after the self-isolation orders had gone into effect that we reached Sydney Harbor. And there I had a small taste of how difficult the COVID-19 restrictions were for most other people. Since it was legal to take walks ashore together for exercise purposes, we called David’s daughter, who lives in an a very small terrace house only a few miles from where we anchored. “Come on down to the park here at Blackwattle Bay. Bring Peaches (the dog) for her walk. We can stroll and talk as long as we stay 2 meters apart.” My arms actually ached from wanting to give her kids, Emily and Lachlan, hugs when we met.
Fortunately for us, Sydney Sails was considered an essential business because the crew there makes safety gear bags for the ferry fleet. Thus we were able have the boat measured and a sail fitted, then test the new nylon drifter Sahula needed. Kale, a fine marine electrician, was another whose occupation was declared essential. He did yeoman duty when we accidentally roasted our house batteries. The comings and goings of these tradesmen helped us feel little had changed as we had contact with other people.
It did feel spookily quiet on Sydney Harbor: almost no city sounds, only the occasional rumble of a truck across the normally traffic-laden bridge only a few hundred meters away from our anchorage. And almost no wakes to rock the boat as local yachts stayed tied up, and only a fifth the usual number of ferries crisscrossed the harbor.
When we went ashore for a walk, we did chat casually to half a dozen local liveaboards we passed. “As long as we spend most of our time on board, the local authorities don’t care if we move from anchorage to anchorage,” one told us as we lingered alongside in our dinghy.
The marine police in some of the ports to the north of Sydney had different interpretations of the regulations. On April 28, six weeks after the self-isolation period began, we left Sydney to continue northward. At a small market in the Pittwater region on Broken Bay (about 20 miles north of Sydney Harbor), we chatted with an American sailor who had been told he must find a mooring and not move from there until the lockdown was over. But no one approached us during the two weeks we spent in the isolated-feeling rivers and creeks of Broken Bay.
The American sailor was the first of almost two dozen overseas cruisers we met who were questioning their next moves. They were all stuck meandering the coast of New South Wales as Queensland closed its border to everyone other than residents. Many of these cruisers are having to fight for visa extensions to keep their stays legal. Because I hold both an American and
New Zealand passport, David is a returning Queenslander, and
Sahula’s hailing port is Townsville, the two of us can sail on to the Barrier Reef, then back to New Zealand.
It was also in Broken Bay that we heard what to me felt like exciting news. As of the next day, anyone in New South Wales could safely and legally have two other adults over for a visit. I immediately invited two Sydney friends to join us on board. Suddenly I realized just how much I missed entertaining, having an excuse to dream up special treats, give the boat an extra bit of sprucing up. When Ben and Di climbed on board, and Di reached out with her elbow, I began to do the same.
“No, that doesn’t feel right tonight,” Di said. Then we both shook our heads and eagerly grabbed each other in a hug. Now I knew what I had craved most of all in these strange COVID-19 days: the warmth that comes from true human contact.
Two-time circumnavigator and prolific sailing writer Lin Pardey is a longtime, cherished and regular contributor to Cruising World.