An Ocean Turn-Around and Return to Canada
On March 18th, with a ship's hold filled with food, Matt and I handed in our visas and checked out of Mexico, prepared to follow our dream to cross the Pacific Ocean. Covid-19 was only just starting to be on the radar in Mexico, and our destination of French Polynesia had no cases. Ships were still welcome, and the ocean crossing would be considered our quarantine. All seemed well (spoiler: it wasn't).
As we prepared to set sail, news came over the radio that French Polynesia had its first confirmed case. French Poly closed it's borders immediately, and mandated that all arriving ships would have to depart after restocking. Otherwise, crews would be deported and flown home to their countries. The entire South Pacific closed its doors, including New Zealand and Australia. With most of the borders in Central and South America closed as well, we hurriedly checked back into Mexico, just in time.
Our new plan: spend the summer in the beautiful Sea of Cortez, eating through our passage supplies, anchoring in remote areas, catching fish and swimming. Not too bad, eh? The change in plans was disappointing, but things were working out. It seemed (spoiler: things were about to change).
The pandemic that hit Europe and North America was about a month behind in Mexico. In the next few uncertain weeks, things started to change. People looked angry and afraid when we went ashore. Our sailor friends stopped hanging out on each other's boats. Then there was a rash of thefts off of boats in our anchorage. Stuff was stolen right off people's decks during the night while they were sleeping.
We made the three day and two night sail across the Gulf of California, planning to head north to the remote northern Sea of Cortez. We were joined by a few friends, who all anchored together in the little bay of Los Muertos. It was a sort of tiny refugee community of boats, all connected by our radios and shared uncertainty. Matt gathered info via shortwave radio from boats further north, and relayed this to our little flotilla. Details about port closures, anchorage closures, and towns that were barricading their entry points. We heard one deeply concerning message from a man who said his boat had been attacked during the night and his windows broken with rocks. He refused to give his name, though, so maybe there was more to the story?
We were aware that the clock was ticking with hurricane season approaching. We needed to get around 800 hundred miles north to be safe, and this could prove difficult with anchorage and town closures. Also, we didn't want to be a burden (even a small one) on remote northern communities that were already scared and low on resources. So we stayed put for a couple of days, trying to decide what to do.
During the week of Semana Santa, the Mexican authorities cracked down on non-essential movement through the water. The channel was closed, and one boat in our anchorage who attempted to head north, was intercepted by a navy ship and escorted back.
At this point, Matt emailed the Canadian consulate in Mexico City, who sent us a message which can be summarized as "Get your butts back home asap."
With the waterways closed, and not wanting to screw around with the Mexican navy, we turned off our AIS (electronic identifier) so we'd be less visible, and set sail for La Paz. A full day's sail through a completely deserted channel and no sign of the navy brought us to a haul-out yard in La Paz, where we could safely leave Gudgeon.
It was painful to give away our ocean passage supplies, but with a lot of people starting to go hungry in Mexico, we were happy to help out the families in the boatyard.
Next, Matt and I found a guy, who was willing to drive us across the Baja Peninsula to one of the few functioning airports with international flights. Matt's flight was cancelled last minute, but we found another one that would re-route him to Montreal - not his destination, but at least it was in Canada!
The next morning we held our breaths as we successfully passed highway police check points, made our way through eerily deserted airports echoing with the sound of creepy spa music, got through three country's borders, and handed in our mandatory quarantine plans upon arrival.
It's tough to be quarantining, but I am luxuriating in hot showers, a safe place to sleep, and being back in good old Canada. I'm so grateful to you friends and family who offered me a place to stay and brought me groceries and other quarantine supplies (wine!!!). I'll never forget this <3
As we prepared to set sail, news came over the radio that French Polynesia had its first confirmed case. French Poly closed it's borders immediately, and mandated that all arriving ships would have to depart after restocking. Otherwise, crews would be deported and flown home to their countries. The entire South Pacific closed its doors, including New Zealand and Australia. With most of the borders in Central and South America closed as well, we hurriedly checked back into Mexico, just in time.
Our new plan: spend the summer in the beautiful Sea of Cortez, eating through our passage supplies, anchoring in remote areas, catching fish and swimming. Not too bad, eh? The change in plans was disappointing, but things were working out. It seemed (spoiler: things were about to change).
The pandemic that hit Europe and North America was about a month behind in Mexico. In the next few uncertain weeks, things started to change. People looked angry and afraid when we went ashore. Our sailor friends stopped hanging out on each other's boats. Then there was a rash of thefts off of boats in our anchorage. Stuff was stolen right off people's decks during the night while they were sleeping.
We made the three day and two night sail across the Gulf of California, planning to head north to the remote northern Sea of Cortez. We were joined by a few friends, who all anchored together in the little bay of Los Muertos. It was a sort of tiny refugee community of boats, all connected by our radios and shared uncertainty. Matt gathered info via shortwave radio from boats further north, and relayed this to our little flotilla. Details about port closures, anchorage closures, and towns that were barricading their entry points. We heard one deeply concerning message from a man who said his boat had been attacked during the night and his windows broken with rocks. He refused to give his name, though, so maybe there was more to the story?
We were aware that the clock was ticking with hurricane season approaching. We needed to get around 800 hundred miles north to be safe, and this could prove difficult with anchorage and town closures. Also, we didn't want to be a burden (even a small one) on remote northern communities that were already scared and low on resources. So we stayed put for a couple of days, trying to decide what to do.
During the week of Semana Santa, the Mexican authorities cracked down on non-essential movement through the water. The channel was closed, and one boat in our anchorage who attempted to head north, was intercepted by a navy ship and escorted back.
At this point, Matt emailed the Canadian consulate in Mexico City, who sent us a message which can be summarized as "Get your butts back home asap."
With the waterways closed, and not wanting to screw around with the Mexican navy, we turned off our AIS (electronic identifier) so we'd be less visible, and set sail for La Paz. A full day's sail through a completely deserted channel and no sign of the navy brought us to a haul-out yard in La Paz, where we could safely leave Gudgeon.
It was painful to give away our ocean passage supplies, but with a lot of people starting to go hungry in Mexico, we were happy to help out the families in the boatyard.
Next, Matt and I found a guy, who was willing to drive us across the Baja Peninsula to one of the few functioning airports with international flights. Matt's flight was cancelled last minute, but we found another one that would re-route him to Montreal - not his destination, but at least it was in Canada!
The next morning we held our breaths as we successfully passed highway police check points, made our way through eerily deserted airports echoing with the sound of creepy spa music, got through three country's borders, and handed in our mandatory quarantine plans upon arrival.
It's tough to be quarantining, but I am luxuriating in hot showers, a safe place to sleep, and being back in good old Canada. I'm so grateful to you friends and family who offered me a place to stay and brought me groceries and other quarantine supplies (wine!!!). I'll never forget this <3
Reaching the far side of the Gulf of California after three days and two nights at sea.
Land!
Creepy abandoned airports
Playing even creepier, weird spa music
Creepy departures board, with my one flight on it
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