February 13-28: On Daniel's recommendation we motorsailed from this
anchorage over to Isla Zapatilla #1, with New Passage following, to snorkel
around Zapatilla #2, which has no tenable anchorage. On this day the
anchorage on #1 was not so good either. We put out the flopper stopper,
which decreased the discomfort. But as we looked at nearby #2, we knew there'd
be no snorkeling there with the water breaking onto the reef. We did have a
brief snorkel at the reef off #1 and saw some beautiful brain and staghorn
coral, purple sea fans, coral-colored starfish, and a few colorful fish.
The next morning we were off early for Bocas Marina, on Isla Colón,
carefully following our progress through the reefs between Zapatilla and
Isla Bastimentos on our computer navigational program. Once again, we
encountered 12-foot seas at the bar, but they seemed less formidable this
time. Past the bar the seas were flatter, and we motorsailed in comfort,
despite the light headwind, into Bocas Marina.
Our 90-day visa for Panamá was expiring in two days, so we had to get
ourselves up to Changuinola, on the mainland, to renew it for another 90
days. This process took us all of the following day. From the marina, a
local water taxi took us the short distance to the town of Bocas, on the
same island as the marina but separated by wetlands. From Bocas we took a
high-speed water taxi, this one more like a bus carrying about 25 other
passengers. At the dock in Changuinola, we caught a land taxi for town.
And this was the easy part. A renewal process that should have taken about
a half hour took us almost three hours to complete, with much unnecessary
running around and sitting in the office. But we can now stay legally until
mid-May if we choose.
Planning to catch the 1230 water taxi back to Bocas, we were back at the
dock at 1200. But the 1230 was already sold out, so we had to wait for the
next one at 1400h. At first we groaned, but then we talked with three young
surfers, one from Australia and two from Minnesota, and another young couple
from New York. All these people were spending several months on the surfer
route in Central America, camping out on beaches or staying in hostels-and
having a grand adventure. Very entertaining.
The waterway between Bocas and Changuinola is an old canal built by United
Fruit, now Chiquita, to transport bananas. Bananas remain the primary
industry in Changuinola, but Chiquita no longer uses the canal, perhaps
because the water hyacinth is taking it over. It's nevertheless a lovely
way to travel between these two small towns.
When we went into Bocas the following day to re-provision, we had a pleasant
surprise. The town itself is funky, most of the aging structures, primarily
wooden, that once must have been homes along the main street now either
restaurants, hostels and hotels, or tour companies. But, perhaps because
the economy of the town is now clearly based on tourism, the provisioning
options are excellent for such a small, out-of-the-way place. Three or four
supermercados have a good selection of local foods, and another, Super
Gourmet, has many specialty items, such as cheeses and frozen imported
salmon-the latter surprisingly good on the palates of two salmon-deprived
norteamericanos.
After a week in Bocas Marina, getting the boat shipshape again and
acquainting ourselves with the services in the area, we welcomed aboard
Kerry and Spencer, the mother and son from Panama City who transited the
Canal with us. They arrived in the rain by water taxi at 0730, tired but
ready to go after an overnight bus trip from Panama City. As soon as we had
a break in the rain, we motored the sort distance to our first stop, Punta
Concho, where our day was a late lunch, naps, a late afternoon swim, a
shrimp risotto dinner, and a short evening.
And that was pretty much how our days went, except we varied the dinner
menu. We listened to howlers in the distance early morning and late
afternoon, we took rides up small channels in the sportboat, on one of those
rides coming to a Ngöbe-Bugle settlement of two huts. A man, a young woman,
and two children were trying to wrestle some kind of large fish out of the
bottom of the cayuco. The man quickly answered "Si" to our offer of help,
so Bob, Spencer, and Kerry got into the water alongside the cayuco while I
tended the sportboat. When they saw a hammerhead shark filling almost the
length of the 18-foot boat, Bob asked for reassurance: "It is dead, isn't
it?" Then they all went to work and got the fish into the water.
After a night at Punta Concho, we spent the second night at Ground Creek.
For the third night we moved to the anchorage behind Quary's Point, a mile
or so from the coastal town of Almirante. Kerry and Spencer had ridden the
bus from Panama City to Almirante and then had caught the water taxi for the
30-minute ride to Bocas. But to return they would have had to leave Bocas
at 0600, and we were unsure of the taxi service from the marina to Bocas at
that hour. So from the anchorage we ran them around to the dock at
Almirante, and they caught a local taxi to the bus station.
We went back to Carricklee and did a few chores while we waited for more
light to return to Almirante and take pictures of all the houses on stilts
lining the estuary. At a service station on the water, we filled up our
jerry jugs with gasoline for the sportboat.
Besides the convenience of the anchorage we were in, it was another
splendid, quiet bay with numerous channels we could follow into the
mangroves at another time and reefs we could snorkel over. We will return
perhaps in a few days.
Returning to Bocas Marina later that day, we got back to all the usual
chores, but we did have one more land trip for this visit in Bocas. Once
again, we took the water taxi to Changuinola, this time the 0700 one, where
a driver met us at the dock and took us out to Río San San and the entrance
into the San San Pond Sack Wetlands. Here we crawled into a lancha with our
guide, whose name I'm still struggling with-something like Austraques,
maybe? Along also were four bags of cement, shovels and other tools, and
five other men.
The river is wide at this landing, but, when it joins with Río Negro a few
miles downstream, it doubles in size. We were too late to see birds except
for great American and cattle egrets and little blue herons. But we did see
them by the scores.
The primary tourist attraction of this trip, though, is not the birds. The
manatees are what we'd come to see. The lancha stopped at a site about 10
miles downriver, where Austraques, Bob, and I climbed onto the first of a
series of wooden steps leading to a look-out in a tree. Three of the men in
the lancha tied stalks of banana leaves to strings hanging from low limbs of
our tree down almost to the water's surface. Then the boat sped away on
down the river, and the three of us quietly waited.
After 15 or 20 minutes, Austraques alerted us to some quiet splashing sounds
among the mangroves around us. We waited again. Then he pointed to a
variation in color in the coppery colored water: splotches of tan on black.
The first of the ultimately five manatees had come to feast on the banana
leaves. We could see them only hazily through the water as they ate the
tips of the leaves hanging into the water. But we could hear the loud
crunch, crunch, chomp, chomp of their eating. Then they would all swim out
toward the middle of the river, disappearing from view. In a few minutes,
one by one they returned to the leaves. The best views came when the only
portions of leaves left were all above the water. Then we saw their black
pig-like snouts, lips, and tongue as they consumed every last morsel tied in
the strings.
As Bob observed, these were the most mannerly of mammals. They glided
quietly, their motions almost sonorous, up to the leaves, never interfering
with another's progress. Two might be munching off the same long leaf, but
always at opposite ends, with no bumping. It was a rare experience.
So now we're making plans to go out cruising again in the next day or so.
In just three weeks Kim and Caitlan will be coming from Idaho for a week's
visit-not nearly long enough, but they both have only a one-week spring
break. Then we'll be getting ourselves and the boat ready for a separation
when we return to the States, probably in late April.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
January 17- February 3, 2007
January 17-February 3: A taxi picked up Thom and Allen at midday to drive
them back across the Isthmus to the airport and their return to San
Francisco. (And that's another story. Because of various delays, they
arrived in SF not on Wednesday night but on Friday afternoon.)
We soon came to appreciate so much about Shelter Bay Marina. To illustrate
how grateful we can be for minor conveniences, we were delighted to find a
small self-service laundry room at the marina. While there's much to be
said for having someone else always do the laundry for us, we'd prefer to be
responsible for bleach spots on our clothing or missing articles; and it's
easier to fold the laundry in the first place than to unfold and refold it
because it won't fit into our small designated spaces.
Another asset here is the access to WiFi for Internet. While this wasn't
the first marina where we've had this service, this one was the most
consistently reliable.
The major inconvenience of being at Shelter Bay is its location so far from
Colón, where all the services are available. The marina does have a van
that has two scheduled trips into town each day, the one in the morning
going for four hours and, in the afternoon, for two hours. Though the
marina is only 12 miles from town, the travel time is usually extended for
as much as 30-45 minutes each way because the only route to town is across
the swinging bridge at Gatún Locks. If a transiting boat is entering or
exiting the locks, the bridge must be swung open, stopping all road traffic.
When the bridge is passable, only one lane may cross at a time. Rarely did
we ever get to the bridge and not have a delay of some duration.
But this out-of-the-way location also resulted in making this marina one of
our all-time favorites for the multitude of interesting walks we took daily.
Built on a portion of the old Fort Sherman, first established here in about
1910, the marina structures are all conversions of old fort buildings.
Paved roadways lead to deserted housing complexes, barracks, airstrips,
batteries, and firing ranges. The jungle, with its myriad animals and
birds, is steadily reclaiming all these, except for the barracks now used by
the Armada de Panamá.
Each morning we were there, we struck out on one of about ten possibilities
for long walks. We soon learned where to see the howler and the capuchin
monkeys, where scores of oropendulas nest, which trees the Amazon parrots
and caciques favored, and the high bare perches where we'd see the several
species of hawks and falcons. We saw a mother and baby coatimundi (here
called "gato solo," or lone cat, though we've never seen one "solo")
crossing the road one day, and a few days later startled a treeful of them
on our approach. About thirty coatimundis scampered down from the top limbs
of the leafy tree and disappeared into the jungle before we could think to
engage our cameras.
Near the end of our stay in Shelter Bay, we rented a car to do a bit more
sightseeing and shopping in the city. Bob and Cheryl went with us first to
Achiote, a small Ngöbe-Bugle village in the foothills west of Colón, where
we had arranged for a guide to take us on some of the nearby trails. This
guide, a local man named Felipe Martínez, spoke no English, though he was
taking classes from the Peace Corps worker in the village, a young woman
from Wisconsin. But he was skilled at finding the birds and animals and in
describing their habits. Though we were too late in the day to see most of
the wildlife, he showed us several groups of trogons and a troop of tiny
titi monkeys. Near a cane field and a creek, he pointed out several species
of antbirds, antwrens, flycatchers, and tanagers.
Then we had a delicious lunch at the restaurant run by the budding tourist
board of Achiote, where Felipe's wife cooks and where we met and chatted
with Michelle, the Peace Corps volunteer.
The next day the four of us took the hour or so drive across the Isthmus to
Panama City to shop at PriceSmart (remember Bill Price, who had the Price
Clubs before they were merged with Costco?) and the wonderful gourmet market
Riba Smith.
The social event of February at the marina was a farewell bash for a
California couple, Judy and Dennis, on the sailboat Emerada. These two had
been working at the marina for the past year. The marina brought a chef out
from Panama City to prepare Box Pig, a Chinese method of seasoning and then
smoking a whole young porker in a wooden box. The galley staff at the
marina prepared baked beans, Russian potato salad (potatoes plus beets) and
cole slaw. To begin, Russ, the manager of the club, gave out tally sheets
listing the dozen kinds of wines opened and sitting on the bar. He asked us
to sample and rate each to help him decide which ones to offer in the
restaurant. What a great idea for all!
We, too, said our farewells on this Saturday and gave an article to a couple
from Lake Tahoe visiting on one of the other boats in the marina to mail for
us from the States. The next day we would begin the passage to Bocas del
Toro, the archipelago, and town, at the northwest end of Panama.
February 4-12: We slipped out of the marina without notice, for most of our
fellow cruising sailors had gone on the weekly Sunday morning hike with
Bruce, another cruiser now working at the marina, and his family of the
catamaran Chewbaca.
We had waited for a calming in the weather, and the channel between the
breakwater of Bahía Limón was a much more inviting sight than it had been
the last time we were near it. But we did circle around for about a half
hour, waiting for a ship to pass the breakwater and head into the bay. We
still don't think that narrow channel has room for a ship and a sailboat at
the same time. As we motorsailed out, another ship was heading our way from
the outside anchorage, so, rather than turn west in front of this one to get
on our course, we headed off to the northeast for a few minutes before
picking up our course.
For the afternoon we sailed, close-hauled in 12-15-knot winds, but in the
evening, when the wind fell to 5 knots and the seas grew irregular, we
turned on the motor for the night. At 0800 the next day we arrived at our
first choice for a stop, Isla Escudo de Veraguas, at the outer edge of Golfo
de los Mosquitos. But the seas weren't favorable in either of the
recommended anchorages, so we went on another 14 miles to Punta Valiente and
into a small bay designated "Laguna de Bluefield" on nautical charts but
called locally "Bahía Azul."
This protected bay has numerous good anchorages, we learned in the days to
come, but we tucked into the first available anchorage, a small embayment
behind Punta Raya ("Raya" as in manta raya). What a treasure this smaller
bay within the larger is, with flat water and jungle-covered hills
surrounding it! We could see only two huts inland but soon learned that the
dense jungle concealed a few others.
Our first visitors, a man and boy in a small cayuco, arrived soon, not
saying anything, just smiling as the man kept the dug-out canoe alongside
Carricklee. We gave them a small package of cookies, and the man paddled
across the small bay to the other side, where the cayuco disappeared into
the jungle. Then we eagerly jumped into the 85.8º water to cool off.
During the night we had intermittent showers, teaching us to close the three
overhead hatches before going to bed each night. (Surprisingly, the
temperature cooled down enough at night that we didn't mind having these
hatches closed.)
One of our first chores was to prepare the tax planner to send back to our
CPA in California. When I had completed my assignment in this process, I
began working on an article for Yachting magazine. We had intermittent
visitors in cayucos throughout each of our three days in this anchorage.
Many of them wanted to come aboard and see the boat, but we decided not to
get that started if we were to get our chores done. We gave them all
cookies but answered, "No lo entiendo," to their subtle-and sometimes not so
subtle-hints to come aboard.
One day for our afternoon swim, we snorkeled off the rocky shore alongside
us. The rocks underwater here are brick-red lava domes, smooth and
bulbous. Sea grass waving slowly and sinuously in the light current covered
most of the bottom otherwise, with brilliant turquoise water highlighting
the few sandy patches. Large coral-colored starfish in great numbers
decorated both the rocks and the sand. Though the fish were few, we did see
large schools of tiny fish, perhaps the ones we'd seen local men, women, and
children herding into nets along the shore earlier that morning.
Near dark each day we heard the usual parrots, macaws, and toucans in the
jungle-but those "usual" sounds never fail to bring smiles.
Among the mundane chores of living aboard, Bob had replaced the membrane
housing on our 15-year-old watermaker, and this little machine was working
flawlessly, if slowly, again. We found that with the light winds for our
wind generator and the frequent cloud cover over the solar panels, we needed
to run our new Honda 2000 generator every couple of days to keep our
electrical systems going, including our two computers for writing.
One of my challenges was to use up our half of a stalk of bananas we'd
bought with Bob and Cheryl along the road near Achiote. These bananas were
so tasty, with a hint of the flavor of cinnamon, that using them was really
not much of a challenge. But the cook was sometimes challenged
nevertheless. One recipe I made was for banana-oatmeal cake, but I was so
busily using up those bananas I forgot to put in the oatmeal. It was
delicious anyway-who knows? Maybe even better.
After three nights we moved farther up the bay to an anchorage that was
equally comfortable and gorgeous but even busier with visitors. In the late
afternoons, many of the young people paddle around in their cayucos. On our
first evening in these new digs, we counted at one time seven cayucos
carrying one or two young men milling around alongside us. We were clearly
the star attraction, though that attraction may have been the boat. All the
young men were gazing up at the rigging for the sails and talking excitedly
among themselves. No doubt they would have been happy to come aboard and
have Bob explain it all to them. But we were certain that chore was beyond
our abilities with Spanish. To complicate the translation, we understand
some of the people around the bay speak only their native Ngöbe-Bugle
language.
On our fifth day in Bahía Azul, Bob and Cheryl arrived on New Passage, but
we talked with them only on the VHF for a couple of days as they rested up
from their difficult overnight passage.
One afternoon Bob and I went ashore at the village of Ensenada and hiked
across the steep hill behind the village to a stunning beach on the
Caribbean Sea. Imagine all the pictures you've seen of such a beach, and
this was it: white sand curving along the shore for 2 miles, aquamarine
water breaking in sparkling waves of white, and, beyond, the deeper sapphire
water.
On the beach we chatted with a charter group from Mystic, the other sailboat
in the bay: the captain, Daniel, a young man from Perú and California; a
Canadian couple, Rosalie and Harry; and an Italian-New Jersey woman, Cathy.
Bob, always alert for a mail courier, asked Cathy if she'd take an article
back with her when she left for the States in a few days. She readily
agreed, on the condition that she get to read it. Daniel was taking the
group to another anchorage the next day, so we had a busy evening getting
the piece and the illustrations wrapped up.
When Bob took the package over to Mystic the next day, Daniel said they were
being picked up by a local man, Zacarías, who would take them up the narrow
Río Quebrada in his lancha and invited us to follow in our sportboat if we'd
like. We eagerly agreed and invited Bob and Cheryl to ride with us. The
lancha came slowly by a short while later, to our surprise towing a plastic
kayak with a young man in it.
We followed the boat to an obscure opening into the mangroves, cutting our
motor when Zacarías did to row through the entrance. The river (more likely
an estuary channel) narrowed to a tunnel of tall trees, their overhanging
branches dripping vines over the water. The going was slow as we rowed
around rocks and fallen branches. We had lost sight of Zacarías rowing his
much more narrow, pointy lancha. Then around the bend ahead came young
Alfredo, the boy riding in the towed kayak. He motioned for us to throw him
a line so he could now tow us. We were a little embarrassed to have this
young boy of perhaps sixteen rowing and dragging our clumsy sportboat with
four adults in it. But certainly he was getting us up the river at a much
faster clip.
We saw little wildlife, perhaps because Zacarías's dog, Cuy, ran along the
banks the entire length of the river, hunting for rabbits. Zacarías said
Cuy had a special bark that signaled when he'd found one. We didn't get to
hear that bark. A good day for the rabbits!
On Monday morning, as we were cleaning up after breakfast, we became aware
of a round brown face pressed against one portlight then another. When Bob
went up on deck, he saw a young teenaged girl with a small boy and girl in a
cayuco. He smiled and said, "Buenas dias, señorita." And immediately the
teenager hoisted the boy and then the girl up on deck. Then she tied her
cayuco to a stanchion and followed.
Bob and I smiled at each other. This one had spunk. She wasn't waiting for
an invitation to come aboard. So we chatted with her for a few minutes.
She, Brigida, was fourteen, Lorena was six, and Anselmo, five. They were on
their way to school, in the village of Ensenada, and Brigida had brought
with two wood carvings, a wolf and an eagle she said her older brother had
made. She wanted $3 for each, so we bought the wolf, though its head and
body look more like a skinny bear's, one front leg is twice the size of the
other, and the tail could have been stolen from a beaver. But we've grown
quite fond of our piece of primitive art.
Anselmo and Lorena gobbled the chocolate bars we gave them without getting a
morsel on their spiffy school clothes. Brigida put her bar in her skirt
pocket. I also gave Brigida an almost new knit shirt that I never wore.
We don't know what time school began, but finally we had to tell them they
could go after we'd tried various hints: "We have to work now." "We're
leaving shortly for another anchorage." "We'll see you later." Brigida
stood up and gave me a hug. So sweet. Bob's theory is that in the
Ngöbe-Bugle culture, visitors must stay until they're clearly excused to
leave. He may be right, but we don't know how to ask them such a delicate,
potentially insulting question in Spanish.
them back across the Isthmus to the airport and their return to San
Francisco. (And that's another story. Because of various delays, they
arrived in SF not on Wednesday night but on Friday afternoon.)
We soon came to appreciate so much about Shelter Bay Marina. To illustrate
how grateful we can be for minor conveniences, we were delighted to find a
small self-service laundry room at the marina. While there's much to be
said for having someone else always do the laundry for us, we'd prefer to be
responsible for bleach spots on our clothing or missing articles; and it's
easier to fold the laundry in the first place than to unfold and refold it
because it won't fit into our small designated spaces.
Another asset here is the access to WiFi for Internet. While this wasn't
the first marina where we've had this service, this one was the most
consistently reliable.
The major inconvenience of being at Shelter Bay is its location so far from
Colón, where all the services are available. The marina does have a van
that has two scheduled trips into town each day, the one in the morning
going for four hours and, in the afternoon, for two hours. Though the
marina is only 12 miles from town, the travel time is usually extended for
as much as 30-45 minutes each way because the only route to town is across
the swinging bridge at Gatún Locks. If a transiting boat is entering or
exiting the locks, the bridge must be swung open, stopping all road traffic.
When the bridge is passable, only one lane may cross at a time. Rarely did
we ever get to the bridge and not have a delay of some duration.
But this out-of-the-way location also resulted in making this marina one of
our all-time favorites for the multitude of interesting walks we took daily.
Built on a portion of the old Fort Sherman, first established here in about
1910, the marina structures are all conversions of old fort buildings.
Paved roadways lead to deserted housing complexes, barracks, airstrips,
batteries, and firing ranges. The jungle, with its myriad animals and
birds, is steadily reclaiming all these, except for the barracks now used by
the Armada de Panamá.
Each morning we were there, we struck out on one of about ten possibilities
for long walks. We soon learned where to see the howler and the capuchin
monkeys, where scores of oropendulas nest, which trees the Amazon parrots
and caciques favored, and the high bare perches where we'd see the several
species of hawks and falcons. We saw a mother and baby coatimundi (here
called "gato solo," or lone cat, though we've never seen one "solo")
crossing the road one day, and a few days later startled a treeful of them
on our approach. About thirty coatimundis scampered down from the top limbs
of the leafy tree and disappeared into the jungle before we could think to
engage our cameras.
Near the end of our stay in Shelter Bay, we rented a car to do a bit more
sightseeing and shopping in the city. Bob and Cheryl went with us first to
Achiote, a small Ngöbe-Bugle village in the foothills west of Colón, where
we had arranged for a guide to take us on some of the nearby trails. This
guide, a local man named Felipe Martínez, spoke no English, though he was
taking classes from the Peace Corps worker in the village, a young woman
from Wisconsin. But he was skilled at finding the birds and animals and in
describing their habits. Though we were too late in the day to see most of
the wildlife, he showed us several groups of trogons and a troop of tiny
titi monkeys. Near a cane field and a creek, he pointed out several species
of antbirds, antwrens, flycatchers, and tanagers.
Then we had a delicious lunch at the restaurant run by the budding tourist
board of Achiote, where Felipe's wife cooks and where we met and chatted
with Michelle, the Peace Corps volunteer.
The next day the four of us took the hour or so drive across the Isthmus to
Panama City to shop at PriceSmart (remember Bill Price, who had the Price
Clubs before they were merged with Costco?) and the wonderful gourmet market
Riba Smith.
The social event of February at the marina was a farewell bash for a
California couple, Judy and Dennis, on the sailboat Emerada. These two had
been working at the marina for the past year. The marina brought a chef out
from Panama City to prepare Box Pig, a Chinese method of seasoning and then
smoking a whole young porker in a wooden box. The galley staff at the
marina prepared baked beans, Russian potato salad (potatoes plus beets) and
cole slaw. To begin, Russ, the manager of the club, gave out tally sheets
listing the dozen kinds of wines opened and sitting on the bar. He asked us
to sample and rate each to help him decide which ones to offer in the
restaurant. What a great idea for all!
We, too, said our farewells on this Saturday and gave an article to a couple
from Lake Tahoe visiting on one of the other boats in the marina to mail for
us from the States. The next day we would begin the passage to Bocas del
Toro, the archipelago, and town, at the northwest end of Panama.
February 4-12: We slipped out of the marina without notice, for most of our
fellow cruising sailors had gone on the weekly Sunday morning hike with
Bruce, another cruiser now working at the marina, and his family of the
catamaran Chewbaca.
We had waited for a calming in the weather, and the channel between the
breakwater of Bahía Limón was a much more inviting sight than it had been
the last time we were near it. But we did circle around for about a half
hour, waiting for a ship to pass the breakwater and head into the bay. We
still don't think that narrow channel has room for a ship and a sailboat at
the same time. As we motorsailed out, another ship was heading our way from
the outside anchorage, so, rather than turn west in front of this one to get
on our course, we headed off to the northeast for a few minutes before
picking up our course.
For the afternoon we sailed, close-hauled in 12-15-knot winds, but in the
evening, when the wind fell to 5 knots and the seas grew irregular, we
turned on the motor for the night. At 0800 the next day we arrived at our
first choice for a stop, Isla Escudo de Veraguas, at the outer edge of Golfo
de los Mosquitos. But the seas weren't favorable in either of the
recommended anchorages, so we went on another 14 miles to Punta Valiente and
into a small bay designated "Laguna de Bluefield" on nautical charts but
called locally "Bahía Azul."
This protected bay has numerous good anchorages, we learned in the days to
come, but we tucked into the first available anchorage, a small embayment
behind Punta Raya ("Raya" as in manta raya). What a treasure this smaller
bay within the larger is, with flat water and jungle-covered hills
surrounding it! We could see only two huts inland but soon learned that the
dense jungle concealed a few others.
Our first visitors, a man and boy in a small cayuco, arrived soon, not
saying anything, just smiling as the man kept the dug-out canoe alongside
Carricklee. We gave them a small package of cookies, and the man paddled
across the small bay to the other side, where the cayuco disappeared into
the jungle. Then we eagerly jumped into the 85.8º water to cool off.
During the night we had intermittent showers, teaching us to close the three
overhead hatches before going to bed each night. (Surprisingly, the
temperature cooled down enough at night that we didn't mind having these
hatches closed.)
One of our first chores was to prepare the tax planner to send back to our
CPA in California. When I had completed my assignment in this process, I
began working on an article for Yachting magazine. We had intermittent
visitors in cayucos throughout each of our three days in this anchorage.
Many of them wanted to come aboard and see the boat, but we decided not to
get that started if we were to get our chores done. We gave them all
cookies but answered, "No lo entiendo," to their subtle-and sometimes not so
subtle-hints to come aboard.
One day for our afternoon swim, we snorkeled off the rocky shore alongside
us. The rocks underwater here are brick-red lava domes, smooth and
bulbous. Sea grass waving slowly and sinuously in the light current covered
most of the bottom otherwise, with brilliant turquoise water highlighting
the few sandy patches. Large coral-colored starfish in great numbers
decorated both the rocks and the sand. Though the fish were few, we did see
large schools of tiny fish, perhaps the ones we'd seen local men, women, and
children herding into nets along the shore earlier that morning.
Near dark each day we heard the usual parrots, macaws, and toucans in the
jungle-but those "usual" sounds never fail to bring smiles.
Among the mundane chores of living aboard, Bob had replaced the membrane
housing on our 15-year-old watermaker, and this little machine was working
flawlessly, if slowly, again. We found that with the light winds for our
wind generator and the frequent cloud cover over the solar panels, we needed
to run our new Honda 2000 generator every couple of days to keep our
electrical systems going, including our two computers for writing.
One of my challenges was to use up our half of a stalk of bananas we'd
bought with Bob and Cheryl along the road near Achiote. These bananas were
so tasty, with a hint of the flavor of cinnamon, that using them was really
not much of a challenge. But the cook was sometimes challenged
nevertheless. One recipe I made was for banana-oatmeal cake, but I was so
busily using up those bananas I forgot to put in the oatmeal. It was
delicious anyway-who knows? Maybe even better.
After three nights we moved farther up the bay to an anchorage that was
equally comfortable and gorgeous but even busier with visitors. In the late
afternoons, many of the young people paddle around in their cayucos. On our
first evening in these new digs, we counted at one time seven cayucos
carrying one or two young men milling around alongside us. We were clearly
the star attraction, though that attraction may have been the boat. All the
young men were gazing up at the rigging for the sails and talking excitedly
among themselves. No doubt they would have been happy to come aboard and
have Bob explain it all to them. But we were certain that chore was beyond
our abilities with Spanish. To complicate the translation, we understand
some of the people around the bay speak only their native Ngöbe-Bugle
language.
On our fifth day in Bahía Azul, Bob and Cheryl arrived on New Passage, but
we talked with them only on the VHF for a couple of days as they rested up
from their difficult overnight passage.
One afternoon Bob and I went ashore at the village of Ensenada and hiked
across the steep hill behind the village to a stunning beach on the
Caribbean Sea. Imagine all the pictures you've seen of such a beach, and
this was it: white sand curving along the shore for 2 miles, aquamarine
water breaking in sparkling waves of white, and, beyond, the deeper sapphire
water.
On the beach we chatted with a charter group from Mystic, the other sailboat
in the bay: the captain, Daniel, a young man from Perú and California; a
Canadian couple, Rosalie and Harry; and an Italian-New Jersey woman, Cathy.
Bob, always alert for a mail courier, asked Cathy if she'd take an article
back with her when she left for the States in a few days. She readily
agreed, on the condition that she get to read it. Daniel was taking the
group to another anchorage the next day, so we had a busy evening getting
the piece and the illustrations wrapped up.
When Bob took the package over to Mystic the next day, Daniel said they were
being picked up by a local man, Zacarías, who would take them up the narrow
Río Quebrada in his lancha and invited us to follow in our sportboat if we'd
like. We eagerly agreed and invited Bob and Cheryl to ride with us. The
lancha came slowly by a short while later, to our surprise towing a plastic
kayak with a young man in it.
We followed the boat to an obscure opening into the mangroves, cutting our
motor when Zacarías did to row through the entrance. The river (more likely
an estuary channel) narrowed to a tunnel of tall trees, their overhanging
branches dripping vines over the water. The going was slow as we rowed
around rocks and fallen branches. We had lost sight of Zacarías rowing his
much more narrow, pointy lancha. Then around the bend ahead came young
Alfredo, the boy riding in the towed kayak. He motioned for us to throw him
a line so he could now tow us. We were a little embarrassed to have this
young boy of perhaps sixteen rowing and dragging our clumsy sportboat with
four adults in it. But certainly he was getting us up the river at a much
faster clip.
We saw little wildlife, perhaps because Zacarías's dog, Cuy, ran along the
banks the entire length of the river, hunting for rabbits. Zacarías said
Cuy had a special bark that signaled when he'd found one. We didn't get to
hear that bark. A good day for the rabbits!
On Monday morning, as we were cleaning up after breakfast, we became aware
of a round brown face pressed against one portlight then another. When Bob
went up on deck, he saw a young teenaged girl with a small boy and girl in a
cayuco. He smiled and said, "Buenas dias, señorita." And immediately the
teenager hoisted the boy and then the girl up on deck. Then she tied her
cayuco to a stanchion and followed.
Bob and I smiled at each other. This one had spunk. She wasn't waiting for
an invitation to come aboard. So we chatted with her for a few minutes.
She, Brigida, was fourteen, Lorena was six, and Anselmo, five. They were on
their way to school, in the village of Ensenada, and Brigida had brought
with two wood carvings, a wolf and an eagle she said her older brother had
made. She wanted $3 for each, so we bought the wolf, though its head and
body look more like a skinny bear's, one front leg is twice the size of the
other, and the tail could have been stolen from a beaver. But we've grown
quite fond of our piece of primitive art.
Anselmo and Lorena gobbled the chocolate bars we gave them without getting a
morsel on their spiffy school clothes. Brigida put her bar in her skirt
pocket. I also gave Brigida an almost new knit shirt that I never wore.
We don't know what time school began, but finally we had to tell them they
could go after we'd tried various hints: "We have to work now." "We're
leaving shortly for another anchorage." "We'll see you later." Brigida
stood up and gave me a hug. So sweet. Bob's theory is that in the
Ngöbe-Bugle culture, visitors must stay until they're clearly excused to
leave. He may be right, but we don't know how to ask them such a delicate,
potentially insulting question in Spanish.
January 12-16, 2007
January 11: Side-tied at the Panama Canal Yacht Club, we waited for Enrique
to arrive from the city to collect the four 150-foot heavy-duty lines we had
rented from him and to return our $450 deposit because we had not had to
stay in the lake overnight. After lunch Thom, Bob, and I took a taxi to
Fuerte San Lorenzo, a 16th century Spanish fort that remains in fairly good
condition, having been rebuilt for the third time in the mid-18th century.
The drive to the fort was in itself worth the trip. The only roadway across
the Canal on the Caribbean side is on a single-lane swinging bridge running
along the base of the gates of Gatún Locks. The water, only a few feet
beneath this low bridge, was swirling and churning as the chamber behind the
gates was draining.
After going through a checkpoint, we passed former housing for Americans
stationed at Fort Sherman, one of the four former U. S. military bases
around Gatún, just before the road deteriorated from a smooth paved surface
to a series of rock-and-gravel potholes.
to arrive from the city to collect the four 150-foot heavy-duty lines we had
rented from him and to return our $450 deposit because we had not had to
stay in the lake overnight. After lunch Thom, Bob, and I took a taxi to
Fuerte San Lorenzo, a 16th century Spanish fort that remains in fairly good
condition, having been rebuilt for the third time in the mid-18th century.
The drive to the fort was in itself worth the trip. The only roadway across
the Canal on the Caribbean side is on a single-lane swinging bridge running
along the base of the gates of Gatún Locks. The water, only a few feet
beneath this low bridge, was swirling and churning as the chamber behind the
gates was draining.
After going through a checkpoint, we passed former housing for Americans
stationed at Fort Sherman, one of the four former U. S. military bases
around Gatún, just before the road deteriorated from a smooth paved surface
to a series of rock-and-gravel potholes.
January 11, 2007
January 11: Side-tied at the Panama Canal Yacht Club, we waited for Enrique
to arrive from the city to collect the four 150-foot heavy-duty lines we had
rented from him and to return our $450 deposit because we had not had to
stay in the lake overnight. After lunch Thom, Bob, and I took a taxi to
Fuerte San Lorenzo, a 16th century Spanish fort that remains in fairly good
condition, having been rebuilt for the third time in the mid-18th century.
The drive to the fort was in itself worth the trip. The only roadway across
the Canal on the Caribbean side is on a single-lane swinging bridge running
along the base of the gates of Gatún Locks. The water, only a few feet
beneath this low bridge, was swirling and churning as the chamber behind the
gates was draining.
After going through a checkpoint, we passed former housing for Americans
stationed at Fort Sherman, one of the four former U. S. military bases
around Gatún, just before the road deteriorated from a smooth paved surface
to a series of rock-and-gravel potholes.
to arrive from the city to collect the four 150-foot heavy-duty lines we had
rented from him and to return our $450 deposit because we had not had to
stay in the lake overnight. After lunch Thom, Bob, and I took a taxi to
Fuerte San Lorenzo, a 16th century Spanish fort that remains in fairly good
condition, having been rebuilt for the third time in the mid-18th century.
The drive to the fort was in itself worth the trip. The only roadway across
the Canal on the Caribbean side is on a single-lane swinging bridge running
along the base of the gates of Gatún Locks. The water, only a few feet
beneath this low bridge, was swirling and churning as the chamber behind the
gates was draining.
After going through a checkpoint, we passed former housing for Americans
stationed at Fort Sherman, one of the four former U. S. military bases
around Gatún, just before the road deteriorated from a smooth paved surface
to a series of rock-and-gravel potholes.
January 10, 2007
January 10: From the Panama Canal Authority, we'd received the instructions
to be ready for our advisor by 0730. So we were all up shortly after 0500.
Then Keith, Kerry, and their 15-year-old son, Spencer, our new friends who
are Americans living in Panamá, arrived at 0630. Then we waited. The
advisor, Orlando, finally came aboard at 0930.
He may as well have waited even longer. We slowly motored to the basin at
the entrance into the locks, where we circled for another hour and a half
before we entered the chamber at Miraflores at 12 noon.
On the locking up from the Pacific, we were side-tied to a mega yacht, so
there was much scurrying around on both boats each of the times (three) we
tied up and untied. The crew of about six on the yacht was most concerned
about the multi-million vessel they were in charge of. The owner and family
looked on with what we thought were expressions of disdain. But all went
well, and neither the multi-mil. nor the multi-thou. was damaged.
As we raced across Gatún Lake, our poor old gal pushing 7.5-8 knots, we were
all sure we'd have to spend the night in the lake. But fortune shone on us.
As we approached Gatún Locks, our advisor, Orlando, who was in every way
excellent, could see the ship that was supposed to be the last to be locked
down for the day still parked outside the locks. He called the lockmaster
and was told the ship was delayed with mechanical problems and we could go
in with this ship if we could make it to the first lock by 1730.
We had about 5 miles to go in the winding channel and 25-28-knot head winds,
and it was 1645. Nevertheless, we arrived at 1720, pulled around in front of
the ship, and were centered-tied through all three locks, with the ship
behind us.
We came into Colón in the dark, but had called our agent for the passage,
Enrique, and he had talked with the harbormaster at Panama Canal Yacht Club
to arrange for a slip for us for the night. So we were in safely on the dock
at PCYC at 1930. I had had probably the most exciting birthday of my life.
Maybe I'll do it again at 80!
to be ready for our advisor by 0730. So we were all up shortly after 0500.
Then Keith, Kerry, and their 15-year-old son, Spencer, our new friends who
are Americans living in Panamá, arrived at 0630. Then we waited. The
advisor, Orlando, finally came aboard at 0930.
He may as well have waited even longer. We slowly motored to the basin at
the entrance into the locks, where we circled for another hour and a half
before we entered the chamber at Miraflores at 12 noon.
On the locking up from the Pacific, we were side-tied to a mega yacht, so
there was much scurrying around on both boats each of the times (three) we
tied up and untied. The crew of about six on the yacht was most concerned
about the multi-million vessel they were in charge of. The owner and family
looked on with what we thought were expressions of disdain. But all went
well, and neither the multi-mil. nor the multi-thou. was damaged.
As we raced across Gatún Lake, our poor old gal pushing 7.5-8 knots, we were
all sure we'd have to spend the night in the lake. But fortune shone on us.
As we approached Gatún Locks, our advisor, Orlando, who was in every way
excellent, could see the ship that was supposed to be the last to be locked
down for the day still parked outside the locks. He called the lockmaster
and was told the ship was delayed with mechanical problems and we could go
in with this ship if we could make it to the first lock by 1730.
We had about 5 miles to go in the winding channel and 25-28-knot head winds,
and it was 1645. Nevertheless, we arrived at 1720, pulled around in front of
the ship, and were centered-tied through all three locks, with the ship
behind us.
We came into Colón in the dark, but had called our agent for the passage,
Enrique, and he had talked with the harbormaster at Panama Canal Yacht Club
to arrange for a slip for us for the night. So we were in safely on the dock
at PCYC at 1930. I had had probably the most exciting birthday of my life.
Maybe I'll do it again at 80!
January 3-9, 2007
January 3-9: We spent the last few days at Balboa Yacht Club getting our
boat ready for the transit and shopping at Super Kosher, Rey, and Abastos,
the big produce market. One night Jim and Leslee treated us to a superb
dinner at Ten, an upscale restaurant downtown, to celebrate my upcoming
birthday. It was undoubtedly the best meal we've had at a restaurant in
Panamá.
Thom and Allen, our friends and fellow boaters from Orinda and Alameda,
respectively, arrived on January 8 to line handle for the transit. On the
9th we went out for a bit of last-minute provisioning. We found everything
we wanted except the beer that our guests enjoy. Because it was a national
holiday, Martyrs' Day, no alcoholic beverages could be sold anywhere in the
Republic de Panamá.
boat ready for the transit and shopping at Super Kosher, Rey, and Abastos,
the big produce market. One night Jim and Leslee treated us to a superb
dinner at Ten, an upscale restaurant downtown, to celebrate my upcoming
birthday. It was undoubtedly the best meal we've had at a restaurant in
Panamá.
Thom and Allen, our friends and fellow boaters from Orinda and Alameda,
respectively, arrived on January 8 to line handle for the transit. On the
9th we went out for a bit of last-minute provisioning. We found everything
we wanted except the beer that our guests enjoy. Because it was a national
holiday, Martyrs' Day, no alcoholic beverages could be sold anywhere in the
Republic de Panamá.
January 1-2, 2007
January 1-2: Our New Year's Day was the most unusual we'd ever had. Friends
Barbara and John had asked for and obtained January 1 as the date to take
their Island Packet 42, Songline, through the Panamá Canal. When they told
us they had only three of the four line handlers required, we happily
volunteered that Bob would make up the fourth member and I'd be the duty
photographer and galley helper. This opportunity excited us because we've
come to enjoy Barbara's and John's company so much, but also because we
wanted to experience a transit before taking Carricklee through in ten days.
David and Liz, of the Island Packet 37 Isla Encanto (the other two line
handlers in addition to Barbara and Bob) and we were aboard Songline at
0600, waiting for the adviser. He came aboard at 0830, and then John
motored north through the canal to the entrance into the first set of locks,
Miraflores.
Everything about this practice transit for us went smoothly. John and
Barbara had gotten the very best of positions in the locks, tied center
chamber behind two tugboats. The beauty of this position is that Songline
was not tied alongside another boat and therefore had much less risk of
damage. The disadvantage was that all four line handlers were kept busy.
They all had to catch a long line with a monkey's fist (for non-sailors, a
tightly knotted ball of line about the size of a billiard ball, and about as
hard) in each lock, pull that line in and let it out as needed to keep the
boat centered in the chamber, and quickly reel in the boat's lines at the
termination of each lock.
They all returned to the shade of the cockpit to sit down and eat and drink
between locks. But it was a long day for them.
Despite the success of getting through Miraflores Locks and then those at
Pedro Miguel without flaw, our start had been delayed enough that Songline
couldn't cross the 28-mile Lago Gatún in time to go through the last set of
locks, those on the Caribbean, before dark. John and Barbara were
disappointed, and a tad uneasy. If the delay was deemed the fault of the
boat's captain, the charge for a night in Gatún would be $380, a sum they
had had to deposit in advance. The advisor, who stayed aboard throughout
the day but who would be picked up by a Canal service boat in the lake,
assured them they would not be charged. But one can ever be quite sure how
such arrangements will work out down here.
Though no one was happy that John and Barbara were somewhat nervous, we all
took advantage of this opportunity to spend a night on the lake. Our
advisor, before he left us, told us, with a wink, that we were not allowed
to swim in the lake. Then he added, "The patrol boat passes through at
about 2100 and not again until 0700".
By the time we had Songline tied to the buoy and the advisor was away on the
service boat, it was dark. Soon we saw the lights of the patrol boat
passing, earlier than expected, some distance away, and we were into our
swimsuits and into the cooling freshwater lake. We took with us bars of
soap and bathed in one of the most commercially significant bathtubs in the
world.
After a late dinner-a simple, tasty spaghetti, all we needed after a large
lunch of home-baked turkey, freshly baked rolls, baked stuffing, cranberry
relish, and salad, and snacks and drinks available throughout the day-we
went more or less straight to bed.
We had rain showers off and on during the night, each one accompanied by
howler monkeys roaring in the tree near the boat. At first light, the
toucans and the parrots added their squawks to the howls. It was a
delightful way to awaken.
By mid afternoon that day Songline had completed transiting the last leg
and tied up at the Panama Canal Yacht Club, where we showered, put on our
traveling clothes, and caught the train around the lake and over the hill to
the city of Panamá.
Barbara and John had asked for and obtained January 1 as the date to take
their Island Packet 42, Songline, through the Panamá Canal. When they told
us they had only three of the four line handlers required, we happily
volunteered that Bob would make up the fourth member and I'd be the duty
photographer and galley helper. This opportunity excited us because we've
come to enjoy Barbara's and John's company so much, but also because we
wanted to experience a transit before taking Carricklee through in ten days.
David and Liz, of the Island Packet 37 Isla Encanto (the other two line
handlers in addition to Barbara and Bob) and we were aboard Songline at
0600, waiting for the adviser. He came aboard at 0830, and then John
motored north through the canal to the entrance into the first set of locks,
Miraflores.
Everything about this practice transit for us went smoothly. John and
Barbara had gotten the very best of positions in the locks, tied center
chamber behind two tugboats. The beauty of this position is that Songline
was not tied alongside another boat and therefore had much less risk of
damage. The disadvantage was that all four line handlers were kept busy.
They all had to catch a long line with a monkey's fist (for non-sailors, a
tightly knotted ball of line about the size of a billiard ball, and about as
hard) in each lock, pull that line in and let it out as needed to keep the
boat centered in the chamber, and quickly reel in the boat's lines at the
termination of each lock.
They all returned to the shade of the cockpit to sit down and eat and drink
between locks. But it was a long day for them.
Despite the success of getting through Miraflores Locks and then those at
Pedro Miguel without flaw, our start had been delayed enough that Songline
couldn't cross the 28-mile Lago Gatún in time to go through the last set of
locks, those on the Caribbean, before dark. John and Barbara were
disappointed, and a tad uneasy. If the delay was deemed the fault of the
boat's captain, the charge for a night in Gatún would be $380, a sum they
had had to deposit in advance. The advisor, who stayed aboard throughout
the day but who would be picked up by a Canal service boat in the lake,
assured them they would not be charged. But one can ever be quite sure how
such arrangements will work out down here.
Though no one was happy that John and Barbara were somewhat nervous, we all
took advantage of this opportunity to spend a night on the lake. Our
advisor, before he left us, told us, with a wink, that we were not allowed
to swim in the lake. Then he added, "The patrol boat passes through at
about 2100 and not again until 0700".
By the time we had Songline tied to the buoy and the advisor was away on the
service boat, it was dark. Soon we saw the lights of the patrol boat
passing, earlier than expected, some distance away, and we were into our
swimsuits and into the cooling freshwater lake. We took with us bars of
soap and bathed in one of the most commercially significant bathtubs in the
world.
After a late dinner-a simple, tasty spaghetti, all we needed after a large
lunch of home-baked turkey, freshly baked rolls, baked stuffing, cranberry
relish, and salad, and snacks and drinks available throughout the day-we
went more or less straight to bed.
We had rain showers off and on during the night, each one accompanied by
howler monkeys roaring in the tree near the boat. At first light, the
toucans and the parrots added their squawks to the howls. It was a
delightful way to awaken.
By mid afternoon that day Songline had completed transiting the last leg
and tied up at the Panama Canal Yacht Club, where we showered, put on our
traveling clothes, and caught the train around the lake and over the hill to
the city of Panamá.
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