November 16-22

You may think our first order of business would be to resolve the steering problem. But in fact we needed to see a doctor. No, my virus was finally letting up, so I didn’t need medical attention. Rather, Bob did. He had developed an infection at the base of one of his big toenails , and, despite our washing it daily with hydrogen peroxide, treating it with Neosporin, and wrapping it, the infection had worsened. Enrique, the agent arranging our Canal transit, recommended we see his aunt, the general manager of the Hospital Nacional, to arrange for a doctor to see us.

The taxi driver Enrique called to drive us to the hospital downtown went inside with us to explain, in Spanish, that we needed to see the aunt. She came right out and immediately called an orthopedic surgeon who specializes in feet. Then she chatted with us, in perfect English, while we waited for Dr. Carlos Navarro, who also speaks perfect English, having attended schools in Texas and Tennessee. He diagnosed the infection as the result of an ingrown toenail. Yes, Bob had broken the nail five or six months ago, but it had grown back seemingly normal. But all the while it was also growing under the skin on the side. Surgery to remove that side of the nail would be on Monday, after a regimen of five days of a strong antibiotic.

After a sumptuous lunch at a nearby Italian restaurant recommended by Carlos (the way the doctor introduced himself to us), we stopped at the gigantic Albrook Mall to check e-mail for the first time in many days and to buy fresh produce at the supermarket. Once back on the boat, we could now get down to all the other reasons to be in Panama City.

One usual chore we wouldn’t need to address was washing all the saltwater off the boat. Carricklee had had daily drenching for days now, in Balboa as well as at sea. I’d venture a guess she had not a grain of salt anywhere but in the galley.

To conclude the saga of problems to solve: Bob had his surgery on Monday and has had very little pain. We go back this morning for a check-up, which we’re sure will be routine.

Two young men were aboard yesterday re-installing the autopilot pump and making up new hydraulic hoses. All the seals on the 22-year-old pump had deteriorated, allowing the oil to leak out of the entire system. Both steering systems, the autopilot and the helm, seem to be as good as new, though we haven’t given them a sea trial yet, only a trial here on the mooring.

Bob installed the replacement starter last week and has subsequently taken the old starter to a shop and had it rebuilt for a back-up.

Finally, a word or two about Balboa Yacht Club. It is still our least favorite marina this side of Ma’alea, on Maui, where the surge was so strong the line ripped the cleats off the deck. Here, in the Canal Zone, the transiting ship traffic passing less than a hundred yards abeam of us is great fun to watch, but those that exceed by double or triple the 5-mile speed limit throw a tremendous wake plowing into Carricklee, usually on the beam, and send everything aboard, including the crew, bouncing. We have to keep things tied down as if we were in a sea way.