Social Distancing Style
Hey! Hey guys! It has been a while since Leslie let me write anything for you. I know, I know, I'm excited, too. Did you know we have a cat now? Yeah! We have a cat. She used to be able to come on dinghy adventures with me, but then she got scared about it one night, ran into the jungle, and she is forbade from leaving Sonrisa. So, I guess I don't really have a cat. Sonrisa has a cat.
Sometimes Kitty, (the feline), sits up on the solar panels all night and watches the moon. She must be really bored, I think to myself. So I try to tell her some jokes.
“Kitty, psssst! Kitty!”
“What?” says Kitty, the outboard motor that lives on my transom.
“No, not you. The other Kitty.”
This causes Kitty the First, Kitty the Motor, to pout because she hates the fact that there is now a second Kitty in our same small family. Whose idea was that, anyway? I admit to her that was a dumb move on Andrew & Leslie's part, naming two of our crew mates the exact same thing.
“You can be Kitty, and she can be.... PSSST! KITTY-CAT!"
Hearing her name, the cat stretches her long, white neck to peer down the length of her nose toward me. She sniffs.
“What sport does a cat like to play?”
She twitches a whisker.
“HAIRBALL!”
She siffs and turns away.
"What did they call the cat with one peg leg?”
She ignores me.
“A PURRRATE!”
She circles around, turns her back to me, stretches so her butt points right in my direction, and then lays down with her chin on her paws. Tough crowd!
I scowl and huff under my breath: “Why was the cat so agitated? Because she was in a bad meeewwd!”
…
…
What?
Oh. Right…Okay.
…
. . .
Sonrisa says I'm off topic. I'm supposed to be updating you.
Yes, we are still here in Uligan, Maldives. We have not moved anywhere for more than a month now. So, really, what is there to update you on? Leslie says I should thank my lucky stars, because all our other options are less than stellar. So, I say, “Yes, Leslie. I thank my lucky stars!" out loud, but truth be told, I am dying inside.
Things were good the first few days we were here - we could not visit town, but were not on complete lock down yet so we could hang out with our sailor friends, have dinghy float parties, and play with the anchorage dolphins.
But, then, we were locked down completely! No one could leave their boats. Andrew and Leslie could swim in close proximity, but dinghies could not move at all. Aboard Sonrisa, Andrew and Leslie did whatever they could to keep their mind off things. Andrew made a solar oven (that did NOT work due to overly tarnished tin foil), Leslie is attempting to grow a “victory garden” to stave off scurvy, Andrew spent hours of the heat of the day snuggling the cat and watching moves, laundry takes up a few hours a couple times per week, and each afternoon around four p.m. they would take a few laps around Sonrisa to exercise and cool off. After that, we’d all watch the sunset together.
This all left me bouncing in the waves next to Sonrisa, housing a flock of squid beneath my hull. Leslie would swim beneath me and they would scatter and color change to blend in with their background as she passes: black, grey, silver, white...only to return to safety of my shade as soon as she left. I named them My Squidlies and doted over them with a repertoire of Squid-Dad jokes. The problem is, I don't think they speak English. They didn’t respond at all. They didn't even roll their eyes.
For days and days, everything was at a stand still - even the breeze. The anchorage became so calm, even the water line became a blur.
And then, news came we were released from our solitude. YAHOO! We still couldn't go to land, but we dinghies were finally permitted to shuttle our people from one boat to another to socialize. With everyone having passed a quarantine of 14 days, with no one permitted on land, and with the Maldives having a total of only 16 cases in the Capital far away from where we are, the risk of anyone getting sick seemed to be low.
“Can we go? Can we go?” I couldn't wait to go hang out with Tango.
“No," Leslie says. “The risk makes me too nervous! We will stay put.”
Leslie’s decision tossed both Andrew and me into quite a dither, and it was all we could do to keep our mouths shut. “But...but...but! It’s not fair! Everyone else can go out to play! I want to go play!"
“We can do a social isolation dinghy float." Leslie says, in an attempt to compromise.
So, Andrew tossed two beanbags into my hull, installed a speaker blaring Jimmy Buffett Tunes, then grabbed his fishing rod and his favorite Vitamin C Supplement (also known as a Gin and Tonic with Lime). Leslie untied my tether and dropped in with her camera to nestle into the bean bag.
“Oooh, Grin! You are so comfy with these bean bags in place!" She says, and I am momentarily happy. Maybe this means we can have more parties from the comfort of my hull. Andrew casts his fishing rod and we float in the current through the anchorage singing a song about fruitcakes.
Soon, Tango joins us and ties up on one side of me. Then, the dinghy from our other new friends' boat: Erie Spirit ties up on the other side of Tango. I almost feel like I'm having an adventure, and I go so far as to ask Leslie if we can please add an adventure stamp to the log book.
“Well, Grin. Why not?"
Awesome photo courtesy of Ingrid McKenzie
We float from our end of the anchorage all the way until we reach the Maldivian Coast Guard boat keeping their vigilant watch over the anchorage using FLIR heat guns to keep track of who is moving where in the dark. That is when a second, smaller Coast Guard boat comes ripping through the anchorage just a few hundred feet away from my stern.
“Oh, I really hope they don't run over my....”
Just as the words come out of Andrew's mouth, the reel on the rod starts zinging a continuous and highly disappointing zing as our 60lb test dyneema (read fancy-pants) fishing line goes zipping away, obviously caught on the propeller of the smaller coast guard boat. Tango’s girl, Jen, stands up and starts waving her hands and shouting, “STOP! STOP!" but it’s no use. They can't hear her over the zing of our fishing rod reel, surely! Soon the line runs to its bitter end, and waves goodbye with a little pop and waggle as the end knot breaks free. Andrew slumps into his beanbag with disappointment. They already confiscated our spear gun because Leslie declared it on our entry paperwork, and apparently, sailors aren't supposed to have them here in the Maldives. With the mood about the anchorage, even a small setback like this guts morale.
But, then, seeing our distress, the Coast Guard on the big boat jump in their skiff and come to our rescue.
“Are you okay?” They ask, concerned.
All at once, the humans in all the dinghies start to explain the disappointing loss of our fishing line, and the Coast Guard nods in affirmation. “One moment." They zip away, lit as silhouettes by the last dying light of sunset. We watch them approach the boat in possession of our fishing line, there is discussion, and a pause, the passing of a bag across the deck, and soon, to our surprise the Coast Guard returns.
“How long have you been in the Maldives?” They ask as they get closer.
“Since March 12!” We all explain, knowing that the real question is “have you safely passed quarantine.” And we have. Satisfied with that confirmation, they toss us not only a water bottle with the entirety of our intact fishing line spooled around it, but also a plastic bag with five nicely sized fish to eat for dinner!
“WHAO!” we all say, “thank you!"
And, I'm very proud of myself. I knew Andrew and I would catch a fish by night’s end. It's just a matter of excellent angler-ship and a little patience.
It was a great night, but that’s all they gave me to hang on to for a while more. Countless more hot, sweaty, still days passed and we still didn't go anywhere.
“Let's go to Tango’s! Let’s go fishing! Come on guys, I want to go fishing! Let's chase dolphins! Come on!!!" My arguments seem so compelling to me, but Leslie mostly ignores me.
Then, one day there is news. “Grin! Are you ready?"
I was born ready. “For what?" I ask.
"A rescue mission!”
Leslie knows I love rescue missions. “Oh, boy, oh boy! What kind of rescue mission?”
“A scuba rescue mission." Leslie says as she drops her shiny purple tank into my bilge. Apparently, Pete and Jen texted us in need of a rescue. They'd lost a vital piece of fishing gear overboard and it had fallen into the deep beyond free diving range of our team.
“Oh boy, oh boy!" With my bravest face, I wait while Andrew and Leslie loaded the scuba diving gear piece by piece. I could hear the Rocky theme song playing in my head as we motored the 500 yards over to Steel Sapphire. They tie me up next to Tango, and flop over my side.
“We will drop down to 20 meters, conduct a square search pattern, and then if we find it early enough, we plan to dive along the reef behind you there.” Andrew explains. I bob in the small waves to confirm my understanding. Pete asks, “How long will you be under?”
“45 minutes to an hour, depending on how fast we consume our air.” Andrew says.
“Okay, I will wait here." I say.
“Yes, wait here, Grin." Leslie says, patting my hull. Then, she gives Andrew the thumbs down signal and I watch their bubbles recede away from me.
These are the little adventures that keep me sane. I know I'm not the only one. To go from traveling the world, free as sea birds, to complete lock down in one small anchorage - it’s a real shock to the system! But, I get it, I get it: This is all part of The Grand Adventure.
Adventure Grin’s Reluctant Seal of Approval