Problems in the Pacific
The best-laid plans of the cruising sailor oft times go astray. But no matter Mother Ocean’s wind or waves, tides or tantrums, bluewater sailors always knew that somewhere on that distant shore, a port of refuge awaited them. Then along came COVID-19.
Perhaps most illustrative of these dystopian times is the saga of New Zealanders Daryll and Maree Walker and their two children on board their 57-foot yacht, Talasker. They had set off on the trip of a lifetime: a clockwise voyage around the Pacific Rim, up through the islands to Japan, over to Alaska, down the West Coast and back to New Zealand via the fabled South Pacific.
Things were rolling along splendidly but, while in Micronesia, rumors of a global pandemic began to filter in. They headed straight for Guam, arriving a mere three hours before the borders closed. They hoped to push on to Japan but began to suspect that the Japanese government was underreporting COVID-19 cases because of the effect on the coming Olympics. In any event, they could not be sure that the Japanese border would not close while en route.
They made the hard decision to turn around; as it turned out, it was much harder than they could have imagined.
For added safety, they chose to voluntarily isolate on board for two weeks before departing Guam, thus depleting their supplies. They sailed to Ponape, where they were flatly refused entry. Using dwindling fuel supplies, they soldiered on to the remote Kapingamarangi Atoll. The locals were friendly but firm: no entry. Understandable when put in historical context; the Marquesas
Islands had a thriving population of over 100,000 when they first allowed foreign sailors to enter with inadvertent but devastating diseases. Their numbers bottomed out at 4,000 souls.
Talasker headed south to the Solomon Islands, emailing ahead for permission to rest, refuel and resupply. Not only was this denied, but they were even refused permission to transit Solomon Islands’ waters toward another port of refuge. Then they were commanded to stop and were visited over several days by police and immigration vessels who threatened fines, jail and impoundment for ill-defined violations. After several days of
fear and confusion, they were told they could proceed through Bougainville Channel. But at nearly 100 miles out, they were ordered back to Honiara. They wisely ignored these orders and pushed on toward New Caledonia.
There they were told they would be granted only 24 hours in an isolated anchorage and then must depart. They were tired, low on everything, and dangerous weather was predicted near New Zealand. “Bureaucrat” is actually a French word that roughly translates into English as “cover your butt.” Those were the “official” restrictions, but they were granted two days of glorious rest before they were even approached by officials, then given access to fuel and limited supplies, and allowed to await a safer weather window.
Viva le France! Ultimately, they stayed 10 whole days before a weeklong sail to New Zealand. There, after nearly two months at sea, they gratefully dropped their lines on the immigration dock.
But what of the future? While Daryll said that they are raring to head out again, many cruisers are nearly crippled with uncertainty. There are presently 40 foreign vessels “trapped” in Whangarei alone because all Pacific islands and Australia have closed their borders. Many sailors who landed in New Zealand flew home to the States or Europe and now cannot return to their vessels. The New Zealand government has extended all visas and customs exemptions for foreign sailors but, frankly, many skippers feel they are in the safest place in the world and are in no hurry to depart. In fact, normally each year the town of Whangarei hosts an appreciation party for the 100 visiting yachts that contribute an estimated $20 million to the local economy. This year, however, it is the cruisers hosting the party to express their appreciation for their treatment by the town and the Kiwi government.
For local sailors, such as myself, the lockdown was fast and furious. The restrictions were so strict as to prevent me from even rowing out to my yacht to check the mooring and bilges for an agonizing six weeks. Those who were genuine liveaboards—along with those who, against government directives, fled their land homes to self-isolate on board—were given an almost hostile reception by locals in more-remote anchorages such as Great Barrier Island. The locals felt that the yachties were depleting the island’s limited supplies and unnecessarily exposing them to possible infection, and perhaps resented the appearance that while people on land were being desperately inconvenienced, the sailors seemed to be enjoying a holiday of swimming, fishing and moving from anchorage to anchorage. Finally, the police were asked to intervene.
The New Zealand Marine Association last year sent out emissaries to Fiji and Tahiti, and as far afield as Mexico and Panama, to entice cruisers toward New Zealand for the Southern Hemisphere cyclone season. Presently, 300 westbound yachts are waiting in Tahiti for the gates to open. The Whangarei Town Basin Marina receives daily inquiries from the Americas saying: “The Galapagos is closed. Can we come if it is nonstop?” Any response would be obsolete before the ink was dry because the situation is too fluid.
Soon, as a French Territory, Tahiti will open. But New Caledonia, while sharing the same status, will still require a 14-day isolation in a hotel at the owner’s expense and then a further seven days on board without credit for time at sea.
The point is, there can be no real clarity while nations differ in pandemic strategies, bend to political and economic pressures, brace for the dreaded second wave, and await results of vaccine research, production and, undoubtedly, uneven distribution.
But take heart: By nature we cruisers are an adaptable lot. This COVID-19 crisis will test our patience, but in time we will once again escape to the boundless blue.
Two-time circumnavigator and authoralvah Simon is a contributing editor to Cruising World.