My “Virus Suite”

     Back to the Cave   (Caribbean Compass June 2020)

 

     When I tout the virtues of my modest sailing yacht, minimal to some, primitive to others, people have replied, “You’re talking ‘back to the cave’.”  “Yes!” I reply.  “I recommend it!”  I jokingly refer to the cabin of my little yacht (below (“downstairs”), the v-berth and saloon) as “the cave”.  The well-shaded cockpit on the threshold of my cave is the “living room”, up in the breeze where I can see and hear what is going on around me.

     On Friday, twenty March, the country closed its borders against the Virus and put all yachts in quarantine.  On Wednesday the twenty-fifth a “limited state of emergency” was declared, stay at home except for necessary shopping and medical, an hour and a half outdoors allowed for exercise, no congregating, nightime curfew.  Many ignored it, so on Monday the thirtieth the country was locked down – twenty-four hour curfew, stay at home, no visiting beaches or going for walks, no visiting neighbors, police enforcement.  On Monday the sixth of April the lockdown was extended two weeks until twenty April.  Thirty-one days total for those of us aboard yachts.  Don’t tell anyone that “quarantine” originally meant forty days.

     So, here I sit on the threshold of my cave, in her shaded cockpit with a view of the bay.  It is a good thing that I like being aboard, at home.  And I like my own company.  Even so, when I am told that I MUST stay aboard, my seven point five metre yacht (five and a half metres in terms of living space) suddenly feels a little bit smaller.

     The Yachting Advisory of the twentieth dictated that “… all crew and passengers aboard pleasure craft and liveaboards will not be allowed to disembark on the shores…”.  That included yachts that were here long before the Virus, mine for one.  The Advisory left room for some interpretation.  Were we allowed free movement on the water?  And for how long were we in quarantine?  Two weeks is the standard quarantine for the Virus.  Phone numbers were given for shops allowed to deliver to dinghies at the dock, for those needing provisions.

     We had the luxury of two months of advance warning.  The Virus was sweeping the world and would soon belong to us all.  So I had provisioned for thirty days: food, water, medications, stove fuel, money, incidentals, vices and devices (extra phone credit and two WIFI passwords).  After a wipeout hurricane strike one might need to be self-sufficient for a couple of weeks or a month.  During a worldwide plague thirty days might not be nearly enough.

     I have everything aboard that I need, which is almost everything I could want.  And I might be in the safest place that I can be on the planet – which, by the way, is how I felt about being here before the Virus.  And the bay is more peaceful and quiet than I have ever known it.  No back-and-forth powerboats roaring by and slamming me with wake, no stinking two-stroke engine exhaust.  Plenty of elbowroom between yachts.  No loud honking traffic or big speakers ashore.  I am locked down in relative luxury.  In a way this is the best cruising I’ve had in years.

     Not everybody has it so good.  Perhaps only few people have it so good.  For some of humanity lockdown is desperate misery.  And some who do have it good might not see it that way.  A popular cruising mantra dating to before my time says, “It’s all about people!”  I take that as a general truth for sapiens, both ashore and afloat.  What of yachties who’s normal routine is shopping, gathering with others in bars, restaurants and aboard each other’s yachts, and noodling and Mexican train dominoes?  All of that is now forbidden.  Forbidden to me as well.  The variable is what effect it has on your sanity.  There is restlessness in the anchorage for sure and some of the yachts are using their own interpretations of what “lockdown” means.  Some regard sailing around in their dinghies as okay, some think visiting neighbors is alright – sometimes standing off while talking, sometimes going aboard for hours.  Several times I’ve seen three or more dinghies hanging behind a yacht.  I’m using a strict interpretation, I’m staying aboard – which is what the word quarantine means.  “Lockdown” is a stay-at-home order that those ashore, our hosts, are told they must obey.

     So, here I sit aboard my little boat as the country does what it can to keep the Virus out.

     The first problem for one who is locked down is to have (or obtain) what is needed to get by.  The next problem, as I see it, is staying on good terms with whomever you are locked down with – in my case, just myself.  The remaining problem is what to do with your time.  Again, I am among the fortunate.  I do my own boat work and have tools and materials aboard.  And a yacht, as you might already know, always has work to be done.  But I also have the luxury to put all of that aside because I have DVD’s, CD’s, an e-reader, my writing and just hanging out, which I’m good at.  And when the WIFI isn’t clogged up (wee hours) I can get online.  And FM radio gives me the news.  Furthermore I am enjoying the curse of being elderly, which makes me more likely to be killed by the Virus.  But dotage also helps pass the time.  Body maintenance takes more time than it used to.  And I sleep more.  Hurray for the “Golden Years”!  … if any of you youngsters want to trade, let me know.

     “Snug as a bug in a rug” is how Mom used to put it.  I’m in my cave on my twenty-fifth day of quarantine-cum-lockdown with at least six days to go.  They are cautiously relaxing the restrictions.

     I will miss the peace and quiet.

 

“… Less Money, Noise and Pollution…”   (Caribbean Compass July 2020)

 

     Isolation gives pause to reflect.  And to relax…  among other things.  I am luxuriating in peace and quiet.

     At first I felt a bit self-conscious about how much I was enjoying quarantine and lockdown.  Then others began expressing satisfaction in the calm.  In fact, almost everyone I talked to.  But the regulations are beginning to relax.

     Drifting back nearly a quarter of a century, I recalled a Compass Forum letter with a photo captioned, “Row, row, row your boat …less money, noise and pollution, more friendly, peaceful and safe.”  Jo Hender’s letter spoke of how much nicer Admiralty Bay could be.  I liked what she said well enough to repeat her closing question in the next month’s Forum: “What happened to the five knot speed limit?”  Compass replied, “Speeding watercraft of all sorts… are an ongoing problem…” then told of a local fisherman recently run down and killed.  I hear that some notable yachtie just got run down in the water at Antigua.  Such incidents allow me to invoke the safety issue.  It is insane for any watercraft to go fast through an anchorage where people do (or should) swim and snorkel from their yachts.  And it is irresponsible for the operator of any vessel or vehicle not to pay attention to their driving, even when going slow.  Windsurfers and kite-surfers included.  If anyone disagrees, please say so.

     But I would much rather invoke the ambiance issue.

     Which brings me back to the present, still early in the time of the Virus.  The other day I landed near a heron that was strutting the beach like it owned the place.  I landed and pulled up quietly.  The bird sensed no threat and continued fishing.  I watched for a while from a distance.  Many (most?) birds (and other creatures) avoid human activity, particularly noise.  Saying “Hi, guys” to birds perched on a buoy as I quietly sail past will make them fly away.  A friend who lives a simple life on a remote mountain tells of hanging out with deer and other wildlife, often close enough to touch — which they know he will not.  Don’t think that Sapiens are the only animals that reason.

     People all over the world are reportedly hearing birds that they were unaware of because of the noise — or maybe weren’t there because of the noise.  It is reported that people in Delhi can see the Himalaya Mountains for the first time in living memory — if so, that’s impressive.  At Machu Picchu, which had become iconic to tourists, some little critter they thought had disappeared is showing up in “camera traps”.  In locked-down urban areas measured air quality dramatically improves.  Where I am locked-down the air quality is dramatically improved – no gas or diesel spills and few two-stroke outboards sending a stink more foul than diesel exhaust through my living space.

     Early in our quarantine cum lockdown a friend commented that the quiet seemed almost eerie.  Eerie as in strange, not frightening.  We were both enjoying it.  It was quiet, not silent, nature was still heard, the breeze through the rigging, the lapping of waves, birds, and occasional jumping fish… things not heard by those who spend their time below — I live in a well-shaded cockpit, up in the air and the view.

     There are exceptions that must be called noise.  A ferry at the dock leaves its metal ramp down day and night screeching back and forth across the concrete dock.  Several obnoxiously loud motorcycles speeding back and forth seem to be saying, “catch me if you can” to the cops — the loudest seems to have finally been stopped.  Occasionally yachts lacking sufficient wind and solar power run their engines.  Two yachts have barking dogs.

     The advent of internet and the beginnings of virtual reality got me thinking that Earth’s best chance (aside from population control) might be taking people off the road and putting them in front of a screen — at home.  Many are now working at home because of the Virus.  Which saves commuting time and cost.  The Caribbean Compass has recently been coming from homes of the staff.  This is an opportunity, now is the time.

     Everybody’s worried about the economy.  But all sorts of good answers are being offered.  Buy local and eat local is touted here — more healthy, less expensive.

     “Virtual” events are replacing events one must travel to, conferences, concerts, and sports. Online education is being ramped up from primary onward.  And maybe we don’t really need all the stuff we thought we needed.  That would save a lot of money.  Whatever.  The new normal won’t be the old normal — I hope.

     Jo Hender is right about quality of life for those of us fortunate enough to be aboard yachts in the tropics.  “Row, row, row your boat… less money, noise and pollution, more friendly, peaceful and safe”.  I’ve been doing it for many years and can add, good exercise.

     Pay attention however you go.  Manpower has right of way over power and sail, swimmers and snorkelers have right of way over us all.  Many people who used to snorkel or swim in the anchorage have stopped because of traffic.  Let’s encourage some of the traditional reasons for being here.  …. am I talking about life in general?

     Slowing down is part of it –that’s my vote.

     Viva la quarantine.

 

Was That Really Necessary?   (Intended for August Compass, rejected due to “Virus fatigue”.)

 

     When Grenada closed its borders I was in Tyrrel Bay, Carriacou.  All visiting yachts were put in quarantine, including those of us who had been here well before the virus.  How else would they be able to keep track of us?  And yachties fleeing the Virus trying to cheat should be expected.  I heard of one such case and saw the Coast Guard turn away several late arrivals.  Well done.  If we’re going to do this, let’s make it work.  Procedures were made for provisioning and trash.  A vagueness in the rules seemed to allow yachts to visit each other (some did), though we were clearly prohibited from landing ashore.  Some aboard yachts seemed not to know what “quarantine” means.  A couple of yachties reported that, yes, the police turn you back if you land.  The only quarantine most of us have experienced is the time between arrival and clearing in.

     I listened to local radio (FM on my phone) to keep track of the changing situation.  This was new ground for everyone, including governments — all over the world.

      The lockdown rules made no specific mention of yachts, so I presumed us subject to the general rule.

     Grenada, the mainland, had a modest number of cases being treated and contacts being traced.  There was no indication that the Virus had spread to Carriacou.  We were safe for the time as far as we knew.

     The Virus is “an act of God” (baring conspiracy theories), a natural occurrence — viruses were around long before us.  The COVID-19 pandemic is an act of man, conspiracy or not.  It is a logical result of humanity’s collective lifestyle.  We move from crowd to crowd at Fed-Ex speeds.  And almost all of the precautions against “community spread” of the Virus fly right in the face of human nature and of economy.  Our god, economy, feeds, houses and clothes us — and pays for all that travel.

     My firsthand view of this worldwide event is micro-parochial.  I have been quarantined in a large bay under a small island in a tiny country at a dead end of international travel.  My direct view is of the bay and its shores.  I have a phone for sharing rumors with friends, and I sample what is chosen as news on the radio – local FM, which plays BBC at night.  My only online device has failed.

     These are my observations so far.

     Most of the yachties seemed to follow the rules more or less, according to their interpretation.

     One guy moved from lockdown aboard his yacht to a rented place ashore.  It was near a beach that was out of sight of police patrolling in vehicles.  Beaches were specifically closed but he used his.  Objectively, In terms of spreading the Virus, it mattered not — nobody else was allowed to be there… any more than he was.  When restaurants opened for takeaways, I visited one at the other end of this out-of-view beach where a dozen or so yachties were gathered awaiting their orders — and they were gathered.  He was there with no sign of a mask.  Few of us were wearing masks.  As I passed he made a crack to someone, for me to hear, pretending not to recognize me because of my mask.  He has expressed the opinion that everyone should get back to work and that his civil rights are being violated.

     The coast guard stopped a boatload of yachties trying to land on a beach during quarantine.  The captain replied, “We’re on a charter yacht.  The rules don’t apply to us.”  Thin bluff perhaps.  Maybe this would work better:  “Look, first of all, I’m an American!  I am a visitor!  I am a paying customer!  Why are you giving me a hard time?”

     But here’s how I reasoned instead:

     The democratically elected government of the country declared a state of limited emergency in accordance with their constitution.  Then Parliament, including the opposition, extended the government’s emergency powers to six months.  The newly established rules have the force of law.  I am a visitor and my USA passport says that I am subject to the laws of such countries as I choose to visit.  Moreover, I regard myself as a guest and the people of Grenada as my hosts.  The people of Grenada were being made to suffer lockdown for the public good.  So was I.  I think most of us understood that.

     We have it far better aboard our yachts than many ashore.  My yacht is self contained, well stocked and anchored with plenty of elbowroom in a clean breeze.  Plus, being out here is a secondary buffer against the Virus.  Moreover, being retired on US social security, I don’t have to worry about money… not yet.  Who could ask for more?

     Well, maybe direct socializing, more exercise and, for some, the thrill of shopping and buying.  Some liken the pandemic to warfare, another says no.  During wars you can gather with friends at the pub.

     Was the lockdown a bit much?  The border was closed and the small outbreak of Virus on the big island seemed to be under control.  Wouldn’t just a curfew along with an order not to congregate and to follow the “protocol” have been enough?  Yes, it would have.  That’s what they tried first.  It was largely ignored.  So they had to get tough, full lockdown plus enforcement.

     This isn’t the only place that governments (led by medical teams) ran into non-compliance.  Humans are gregarious.  They like their freedom.  Also, people who are part of a large family in a small house aren’t used to “social distancing”.  And nobody likes the masks.  Moreover, this is Carriacou and Kayaks are mildly anarchist — they don’t rebel against authority so much as ignore it.

     In hindsight, since the Virus didn’t come to Carriacou, was anything more than closing the borders really necessary?  That’s the kind of question one might ask after setting up for a storm that didn’t hit.  I set up for storm threats.  My biggest threat is from people who do not.

     “Navigating the COVID Sea” in the April Compass gave us a sketch chart of the region on which to fix our starting positions.

     Here’s my fix on the Virus nearly two months later.

     On the small scale chart, the world beyond the Caribbean horizon, Brazil, where the president scoffed the Virus, is third deepest in the COVID Sea.  England, where the PM didn’t take it seriously until he wound up in intensive care with the Virus himself, was number two.  The USA, where the president avoided the issue as much as possible (it being entirely out of his depth) and where the States, to varying degrees, took over, is number one.

      Here’s my Local inset for the sketch chart.  Grenada, where they had a couple of months to see the Virus coming and took it seriously on arrival, had one modest outbreak that seems to have been contained.  There have been no Virus deaths within the country other than collateral damage, several lockdown suicides, for instance… and doubtless some domestic violence.  The diaspora, however, perhaps half the country’s population, took a hard hit, on the order of a hundred fatalities so far.

     Regionally, our neighbor to the south, Trinidad and Tobago, took it seriously early and seemed to have it under control with a nominal toll.

     Our neighbor to the north, SVG, seems to have sailed through rather casually.  The airport was closed to airliners but not other flights, yachts were welcome but quarantined, there was no lockdown or curfew and, it is said, no enforcement.  Inter island transport continued.  Yet SVG seems to have done as well as Grenada, with its much heaver restrictions.  “Go figure,” as they say.

     What are the odds?  They made it clear from the start that anybody, old or young, rich or poor, big shot or not could get the Virus.  That’s where the equality ends.  The elderly and infirm are most likely to die from it (I’ve heard a medical opinion that most of the old folks who die from the Virus would have been dead in a year anyway).  Humanity’s poor, whether testing positive or not, suffer more than the rich.  Is anyone surprised?  The young and healthy are often asymptomatic.  Four months into the pandemic several hundred thousand had died and well over seven million had tested positive.  There were seven billion of us so the odds were one in a thousand that you had been infected. The fact sheets for my medicine characterize one in a thousand as “rare side effects”.  If the pandemic gets far, far worse that side effect might be death.  How many people die of something else during four months?  I’d guess the yearly toll to be roughly one in eighty.  But have you heard about the statistician who drowned in a river with an average depth of one inch?  The COVID Sea is much deeper in some places than others.

     Are draconian measures justified?  Draconian?  Many of us are finding it nothing of the kind.  But for many others lockdown is punishing or even desperate.  Why are such rules necessary?  That question has been frequently answered by medical people around the world: we must not overwhelm the health care systems.  That would make things much worse.  Now we know… I guess.

 

     Was all of that really necessary?

 

     Next question:  Second wave?

 

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