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.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
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.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
January 12, 2007
We had an entirely successful transit on my birthday. But the excitement was high. On the locking up from the Pacific, we were side-tied to a megayacht, so there was much scurrying around each time (three) we tied up and untied. As you can imagine, the crew 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. were damaged. As we raced across Gatun Lake, our poor old gal pushing 7.5-8 knots, we were all sure we'd have to spend the night in the lake. We had been delayed at Miraflores an hour and a half, so we hadn't entered the first lock until 1200. But fortune shone on us. As we approached the Gatun 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, 25-28-knot 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 Colon 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!
We're off within the hour for a five-day cruise up the Chagres River, the source of the water for Gatun Lake, the source of water for the canal. Thom and Allen will be with us until next Wednesday, when they must return to Panama City and then on to San Francisco. We'll not have any Internet service, since our satphone is still not working, until we return to Colon on the 16th.
We came into Colon 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!
We're off within the hour for a five-day cruise up the Chagres River, the source of the water for Gatun Lake, the source of water for the canal. Thom and Allen will be with us until next Wednesday, when they must return to Panama City and then on to San Francisco. We'll not have any Internet service, since our satphone is still not working, until we return to Colon on the 16th.
Greetings from Bob and Carol 11-23 to 12-23, 2006
SEASON’S GREETINGS, dear friends and family . . . . and all the latest news from Carricklee in Panamá, November 23 to December 23, 2006
Our holiday season began with Thanksgiving and a wonderful afternoon and evening spent with new friends who live here in the Canal Zone of Panamá. The weekend before, we had met a norteamericana, Kerry, and her 15-year-old son, Spencer, while we were all standing in line for the movie All the King’s Men. We soon discovered she and we have much in common: She is from Walnut Creek, CA, with more recent homes in Port Townsend, WA, and Costa Rica. A junior sailor of Cal 20s in San Francisco, she shares with us many of the same fond memories of sailing in the Bay.
Over a fabulous feast of turkey and all the trimmings with Kerry, Spencer, and his father, Keith (who lives next door but is no longer married to Kerry), we exchanged our stories.
The next few days were spent dieting, and getting the boat prepared for a cruise with our guests, Mary Lou and Frank Nugent, who arrived the following Monday evening.
After a couple of days of provisioning and relaxing on the boat while the Nugents acclimated to the heat and humidity of Panamá, and were treated to a few torrential rains with impressive thunder and lightning, we set out on an eleven-day cruise.
We had set our sights for the nearby island of Taboga for our first stop, but we thought the residual swells from the south winds of the night before would make for an unpleasant night for our friends (though I reckoned they’d proved their mettle, and their sea legs, after two nights aboard a boat moored in Balboa). So we set a course instead for Pacheco, the northernmost island of the Archipiélago de las Perlas.
We dropped anchor in sparkling turquoise water offshore of spectacular rock formations, but knew we would stay for lunch only because of the lack of protection if the south came up again. After a respite of a couple of hours, we sailed by Isla Contadora and anchored behind the next island to the south, Chapera, where, the last time we had anchored here, the Survivors crew was filming. This time we were alone both in the anchorage and on the long beach, where we walked below the mosaic of colorful rock walls interspersed with stands of tropical plants. Back aboard Carricklee, we commenced our daily ritual for the cruise: we jumped into the clear, cool water for a cooling swim before our solar showers on deck, to be followed by cocktail hour—invariably, Bob’s renowned margaritas—and dinner.
After some discussion about where to head the next day, the Nugents decided to extend their planned two-week visit for another week so we’d have time to add a visit to to the Darién to our already full itinerary. Early the next morning we set sail for Golfo de San Miguel and the sweet anchorage behind Punta Garachiné. Along the way we had a short but glorious sail, and dolphins twice thrilled us with their acrobatics alongside the hull and beneath the bow. The coup de grace was Frank’s snagging of a 50-inch dorado, and the dorado filets that followed for dinner.
Next we were off to La Palma. As we turned into Boca Chica, shown on our chart as having deep water, four fishermen in a panga slowed down a distance off our starboard beam and waved frantically to us, all the while shouting, “Bajo! Bajo!” We immediately shifted into reverse to follow them over the deeper portion of the bar at the mouth of the river. Once past this “Little Mouth,” we had plenty of water and motored to the anchorage at the far end of the town.
Young boys paddling narrow dug-out canoes rapidly appeared alongside us. After we gave the first two boys oranges, other youngsters soon followed, reducing our large bag of oranges so drastically we had to close shop. Then the women selling canastas (woven baskets) began to arrive. In order to have a little privacy for lunch, we finally told them we would come ashore later and look at all their canastas.
Later, after going ashore to view and purchase a few of the canastas and a couple of small vases carved out of tagua, the popular “vegetable ivory” we had seen first in Ecuador, we went around by sport boat to the center of town. La Palma is one of the least attractive villages we’ve seen lately—noisy, dirty, smelly, with little of interest. Of course the people were as kind and friendly as Latin Americans are everywhere we’ve been. Nevertheless, we decided to leave the unappealing harbor behind and seek a more placid anchorage for the night.
Back to Boca Chica we went, this time knowing exactly how to avoid the low water at the entrance, and motored on to Río Lagarto, where the only sounds were those of the birds and the only debris in the water was the leaves. (Later, when the tide ebbed trunks and branches of palm trees swept downstream overshadowed those few leaves.) The swift outgoing tide in this small bay made our afternoon swim a bit more challenging than usual: we all held onto a line tied to the boat so we wouldn’t end up back in the Perlas.We had wanted to go birding up one of the small inlets, either later that day or early the next morning, but as the tide ebbed, we could see the now solid bars of sand in the sport boat could be crossed only at high tide, near midnight that night or noon the next day. We would content ourselves with the little blue herons and great American egrets pecking at the exposed mud flats, the green parrots and white ibises flying over the tops of the mangroves, and the distant howler monkeys, unseen but distinctly heard.
Refreshed by a splendid night’s sleep and a lazy morning, including listening to the Pan-Pacific net, with everyone in the Perlas reporting heavy rains, erratic and strong winds, and lightning perilously close, we got under way at 1000 hours for the short run back to Garachiné. Here, our afternoon swim again required a safety line. After the cooling swim, again including a safety line, and a solar shower, we motored in Abby slowly along the shore, spotting male and female vermillion flycatchers, collared bacards, and a common black hawk. In a cove near Punta Garachiné, we went ashore and walked through the jungle across the narrow tip to the beach on the Pacific side of the point.
The beach there is beautiful, the sand interrupted by black lava ledges and flows. But the most striking sight was the hermit crab procession from the water toward the jungle. Many of these crabs inhabited some of the loveliest shells we’ve ever seen, so lovely we almost yielded to the temptation to collect them. But we left them all to their tenants, allowing the crabs needed them more than we.
In alternate sunshine and light rain showers, we had an easy passage the next day down to Bahía Piñas. Ashore to confirm the arrangements for our visit the following day to two Emberá villages, we also tried to make reservations for dinner at the Tropic Star Lodge to celebrate Bob’s birthday. But the lodge was full. So we had our usual quiet dinner in the cockpit of Carricklee—not really a bad alternative.
At 1300 hours the next day, a local Emberá man, Johnny, collected us in his panga to take us across the bar of the Río Jaqué near high tide. No more than three hours later, we would have to exit the river. The coastline between Piñas and the river is spectacular, with small green islands, rocky islets, and sea spires and stacks set against the verdant green jungle peaks of the Daríen. On the return trip the tide was low enough so that Johnny drove the panga through an arch rock and a narrow pass of rapids, adding a thrill to the aesthetics.
At Jaqué, Johnny’s village, our first stop was the outpost of the local militia. After Johnny had spoken with the heavily armed soldiers and shown them our passports, I took a couple of pictures of the guard shack and soldiers. Immediately, one of the soldiers motioned me over and informed me, albeit with a pleasant smile, that no picture-taking was allowed. Fortunately, I was using a digital camera and could show him the images as I erased them. Otherwise, I’m sure he would have confiscated a whole roll of film. (This village only 15 miles from the Colombia border, is so carefully controlled that Ursula, one of the managers of the Tropic Star Lodge, had had to call ahead to get permission from the militia for our visit.)But the highlight of the day was our next stop farther up the river at the village of Biroquerá, where once again Ursula had called and Johnny checked us in. You can bet I kept my camera carefully pointed in any direction but that of the soldiers.
The children of the village, as well as a few adults, had lined the high banks above the ramp when we arrived. As soon as we were ashore, the dozens of children clustered around us, wanting to see the images of themselves on our digital cameras. (Clearly, we weren’t the first outsiders to arrive with digital cameras.) The entire group of about fifty children, from two- to three-year-olds to perhaps ten-or twelve-year-olds, followed us closely as the jefe showed us the school and then took us to a small hut to view the local crafts: woven baskets and plates, tagua and wood carvings. Many of these Emberá works were exquisite, and the Nugents and we both went away with a bagful each.
The next morning, our Darién adventure at an end for this time, we sailed north, back to the Archipiélago de las Perlas, with Frank catching a lunch-sized dorado for our midday repast. We anchored behind Punta Cocos, at the southern tip of the southernmost and largest of the islands, Del Rey.
Our friends Jim and Leslie, of the sailboat Trilogy, port of call Sisters, Oregon, were already anchored, having agreed with us by radio earlier that we would meet up there. They joined us for our cocktail hour, or two or three.
Ashore the next morning, we hiked across the Punta Cocos, past the now deserted Panamanian navy facility, along the runway of a small airport, the recent wheel tracks suggesting it is still in use, and through the tall grass to the cliffs above the Pacific shore. But we find no path down the steep cliffs to the water for a walk on the beach and a swim. Never mind. We had miles and miles of uninterrupted white sand beach around our anchorage and clean water for swimming.
The following day we along with Trilogy went the short distance across to another rich anchorage on Del Rey, Cacique, this one not only featuring the same luscious combination of sparkling water and white sand beach nestled beneath luxuriant jungle-covered hills but also a river for birding. At dinner aboard Trilogy that night we agreed on an 0600 departure for the sport boat ride up the river.
A heavy rain the next morning delayed our river trip slightly, but we nevertheless saw whimbrels, scarlet macaws, and yellow-headed caracaras aplenty. But our primarily pleasure was the quiet drift back down the 3-mile Río Cacique.
Then we were off for my favorite anchorage in the Perlas, Bayoneta. Tucked tightly between Isla Bayoneta and Isla La Vivienda and accessed by a winding, and carefully navigated, route around several reefs, this secluded little anchorage has calm water, secure holding, and a picturesque combination of narrow passes between black lava reefs and verdant hills. The nearby white sand beach is on La Vivienda, but our favorite beach to visit is the one on the northeast point of Bayoneta, popularly called “Pink Beach.”
In most years, thousands of scallop shells, the bulk of them tinted in shades of cranberry, mauve, and pinks, give the beach a pink glow visible from a mile or more away. We couldn’t wait to show Frank and Mary Lou this unique sight. But the heaps of scallop shells we’d seen in past years were greatly diminished this year so that we couldn’t detect the pinkness of the beach until we were within a few hundred yards of shore. Another change from previous years was far more disquieting. Having never landed on this beach late in the afternoon before, we’d had no notion it was a haven for the no-see-ums that typically appear around 1600 hours. After about 15 minutes, we were all scampering for the water and then into the sportboat for an urgent escape from these vicious little gnats. Fortunately, we left them all behind and relished our usual quiet afternoon and evening in Bayoneta.
The final destination of our cruise was Contadora, not our favorite anchorage—no more than a roadstead busy with tour boats and jet skis and reverberating with music from the shore. But it is the convenient and most proximate Perlas anchorage for the return to Balboa. It also has several fine reefs for snorkeling. Soon after getting the anchor down, we went in Abby to the nearest one, the reef at Punta Verde, where we all saw a variety of tropical fish. But Frank had the prize sighting of the day, a rare frogfish, just as we were climbing into the sportboat in the now torrential rain.
We could say we were soaked by the rain that flooded the sportboat, keeping us busy sopping up the extra water. But of course we were already soaked, and indeed appreciated the fresh water rinse, though our visibility was limited to about 10 feet.
We had rented a mooring in Balboa for the month so had a spot waiting for us the next day in this now full yacht club, though not the mooring we’d been on before. This one, near the fuel dock, was slightly less rolly but considerably more noisy, with the lanchas that transport the sailors back and forth to shore chugging nearby night and day and the club music blaring far into the night. But in a couple of days the manager asked us to move to another mooring because the permanent tenant of this one would be returning. So now we have no sounds of music but considerably more roll as the ships hurdle toward and from the Canal. We haven’t hit upon the win-win situation in the Balboa YC moorage yet.
For the last week of Mary Lou and Frank’s visit, we rented a car for a bit of land cruising. Our first stop, after the necessary provisioning, was at the Miraflores Locks, where we were in time to see a cruise ship and a giant container ship (called by the guide at the locks a “Panamax,” that is to say, the maximum size that will fit in the locks of the Panama Canal) in the locks. These two, arriving from the Caribbean, were being locked down to the level of the Pacific. Afterwards, we all enjoyed another hour or so in the new museum that wasn’t yet open when we were last at Miraflores.
The next day we drove to Colón, where we had lunch at the new mall on the outskirts of town. Then we went on to Portobelo to visit the remains of the 16th- and 17th-century Spanish forts and to shop for molas, the intricate appliquéd rectangles of cotton that are the signature craft of the Islas de San Blas women.
Our grand land cruise began the next day with an early departure for Boquete, in the cool Cordillera Central, 250 miles west of Balboa and but 45 miles from the Costa Rica border. Jim and Leslee, on Trilogy, know Boquete well, owning three lots and having built a spec house there a couple of years ago. They had provided us with names and phone numbers of contacts and recommendations for lodging and restaurants that proved invaluable for our brief three-day visit.
The drive on the Panamericana began pleasantly, with much less traffic at 0730 than we’d anticipated. Once we reached Santiago, roughly the mid-point between Balboa and Boquete, road construction, and then rain, slowed us down. After a quick late lunch at TGI Friday’s in David, we turned north on a winding road into the mountains.
In addition to its refreshing climate and growing norteamericano population, Boquete is also the coffee capital of Panamá. We had all determined we would sample coffee from as many fincas as we could, so our first stop was at Kotowa Coffee Estates. Here we sampled the coffee served inside and a bird’s-eye view of Boquete across and beyond the deep canyon.Fortified for the last leg of the day, we drove through the business district—described by our host for the next two nights as “about a hundred yards long”—and into the hills to Finca Lérida. John Colllins, whose father and mother bought this coffee finca in the 1940s, and his wife, Soroya, returned to Boquete four years ago to take over the operation of the coffee production as well as to expand into the hospitality business.
We had spacious and well-appointed rooms in the new lodge, opened only two months earlier, and traditional Panamanian breakfasts—fresh tropical fruits as well as fresh fruit juice (naranjilla one day and maracuya the next), a savory mix of smoked dried beef, red bell peppers, tomatoes, and onions; a corn tortilla mix rolled and deep-fried, called almojabanos; local white cheese; eggs to order; and the specialty of the house, café de Finca Lérida.With that hearty breakfast under our belts, we met a local bird-watching guide, Chago, for a five-hour hike through the hills and vales of Finca Lérida, our primary goal to see quetzals. That goal we achieved only partially, seeing only one male quetzal, and that seen clearly by only Frank and Bob. But the sightings were plentiful, with the four varieties of hummingbirds a delightful addition to the those we saw daily around the lodge.
Following lunch, John, the proprietor, treated us to a three-hour tour of the processes of coffee production on his finca. Among his goals are to restore to working condition much of the original equipment put in place in the first decades of the 20th century by the original finca owner.The last morning we arose early to try for a better view of the quetzals that often perch on a particular tree near the Collins’s house. Again, we saw dozens of hummingbirds but no quetzals.
After another fabulous breakfast, we checked out of Finca Lérida and took a last drive along the Río Santa Barbara, circling Boquete, before returning to the Panamericana and back to the boat at Balboa, both our sea and land cruises with the Nugents ended for this year.
Following a busy weekend of last minute shopping and organizing their luggage, the Nugents flew out for Sacramento on Monday, ending their vacation, and ours. Now we’ve settled down to boat chores and writing. The autopilot that we’d thought was repaired has come unrepaired, so we have the mechanic coming back on Tuesday to try again. One of the replacement batteries for our sat phone takes and holds a charge, but we haven’t been able to make a connection with Telenor yet.
But here are the successes. We’re giving ourselves romantic Christmas presents—a new and larger Honda generator that can recharge our batteries, a new bimini for the cockpit to replace our 20-year-old one that seems to let in almost as much water from the Panamá deluges as it keeps out, and new upholstery for the sofas and chairs in the dinette and main saloon. Santa Claus is being very good to us this year.
We’re looking forward to a pre-Christmas weekend with friends: dinner tonight with Kerry, Keith, and Spencer and a Christmas Eve dinner and concert with Jim and Leslee. But none of these new friends, as wonderful as they are, can replace holidays with long-time friends and family. We’ll be thinking of you throughout the holiday season and wishing you well for the new year.
Our holiday season began with Thanksgiving and a wonderful afternoon and evening spent with new friends who live here in the Canal Zone of Panamá. The weekend before, we had met a norteamericana, Kerry, and her 15-year-old son, Spencer, while we were all standing in line for the movie All the King’s Men. We soon discovered she and we have much in common: She is from Walnut Creek, CA, with more recent homes in Port Townsend, WA, and Costa Rica. A junior sailor of Cal 20s in San Francisco, she shares with us many of the same fond memories of sailing in the Bay.
Over a fabulous feast of turkey and all the trimmings with Kerry, Spencer, and his father, Keith (who lives next door but is no longer married to Kerry), we exchanged our stories.
The next few days were spent dieting, and getting the boat prepared for a cruise with our guests, Mary Lou and Frank Nugent, who arrived the following Monday evening.
After a couple of days of provisioning and relaxing on the boat while the Nugents acclimated to the heat and humidity of Panamá, and were treated to a few torrential rains with impressive thunder and lightning, we set out on an eleven-day cruise.
We had set our sights for the nearby island of Taboga for our first stop, but we thought the residual swells from the south winds of the night before would make for an unpleasant night for our friends (though I reckoned they’d proved their mettle, and their sea legs, after two nights aboard a boat moored in Balboa). So we set a course instead for Pacheco, the northernmost island of the Archipiélago de las Perlas.
We dropped anchor in sparkling turquoise water offshore of spectacular rock formations, but knew we would stay for lunch only because of the lack of protection if the south came up again. After a respite of a couple of hours, we sailed by Isla Contadora and anchored behind the next island to the south, Chapera, where, the last time we had anchored here, the Survivors crew was filming. This time we were alone both in the anchorage and on the long beach, where we walked below the mosaic of colorful rock walls interspersed with stands of tropical plants. Back aboard Carricklee, we commenced our daily ritual for the cruise: we jumped into the clear, cool water for a cooling swim before our solar showers on deck, to be followed by cocktail hour—invariably, Bob’s renowned margaritas—and dinner.
After some discussion about where to head the next day, the Nugents decided to extend their planned two-week visit for another week so we’d have time to add a visit to to the Darién to our already full itinerary. Early the next morning we set sail for Golfo de San Miguel and the sweet anchorage behind Punta Garachiné. Along the way we had a short but glorious sail, and dolphins twice thrilled us with their acrobatics alongside the hull and beneath the bow. The coup de grace was Frank’s snagging of a 50-inch dorado, and the dorado filets that followed for dinner.
Next we were off to La Palma. As we turned into Boca Chica, shown on our chart as having deep water, four fishermen in a panga slowed down a distance off our starboard beam and waved frantically to us, all the while shouting, “Bajo! Bajo!” We immediately shifted into reverse to follow them over the deeper portion of the bar at the mouth of the river. Once past this “Little Mouth,” we had plenty of water and motored to the anchorage at the far end of the town.
Young boys paddling narrow dug-out canoes rapidly appeared alongside us. After we gave the first two boys oranges, other youngsters soon followed, reducing our large bag of oranges so drastically we had to close shop. Then the women selling canastas (woven baskets) began to arrive. In order to have a little privacy for lunch, we finally told them we would come ashore later and look at all their canastas.
Later, after going ashore to view and purchase a few of the canastas and a couple of small vases carved out of tagua, the popular “vegetable ivory” we had seen first in Ecuador, we went around by sport boat to the center of town. La Palma is one of the least attractive villages we’ve seen lately—noisy, dirty, smelly, with little of interest. Of course the people were as kind and friendly as Latin Americans are everywhere we’ve been. Nevertheless, we decided to leave the unappealing harbor behind and seek a more placid anchorage for the night.
Back to Boca Chica we went, this time knowing exactly how to avoid the low water at the entrance, and motored on to Río Lagarto, where the only sounds were those of the birds and the only debris in the water was the leaves. (Later, when the tide ebbed trunks and branches of palm trees swept downstream overshadowed those few leaves.) The swift outgoing tide in this small bay made our afternoon swim a bit more challenging than usual: we all held onto a line tied to the boat so we wouldn’t end up back in the Perlas.We had wanted to go birding up one of the small inlets, either later that day or early the next morning, but as the tide ebbed, we could see the now solid bars of sand in the sport boat could be crossed only at high tide, near midnight that night or noon the next day. We would content ourselves with the little blue herons and great American egrets pecking at the exposed mud flats, the green parrots and white ibises flying over the tops of the mangroves, and the distant howler monkeys, unseen but distinctly heard.
Refreshed by a splendid night’s sleep and a lazy morning, including listening to the Pan-Pacific net, with everyone in the Perlas reporting heavy rains, erratic and strong winds, and lightning perilously close, we got under way at 1000 hours for the short run back to Garachiné. Here, our afternoon swim again required a safety line. After the cooling swim, again including a safety line, and a solar shower, we motored in Abby slowly along the shore, spotting male and female vermillion flycatchers, collared bacards, and a common black hawk. In a cove near Punta Garachiné, we went ashore and walked through the jungle across the narrow tip to the beach on the Pacific side of the point.
The beach there is beautiful, the sand interrupted by black lava ledges and flows. But the most striking sight was the hermit crab procession from the water toward the jungle. Many of these crabs inhabited some of the loveliest shells we’ve ever seen, so lovely we almost yielded to the temptation to collect them. But we left them all to their tenants, allowing the crabs needed them more than we.
In alternate sunshine and light rain showers, we had an easy passage the next day down to Bahía Piñas. Ashore to confirm the arrangements for our visit the following day to two Emberá villages, we also tried to make reservations for dinner at the Tropic Star Lodge to celebrate Bob’s birthday. But the lodge was full. So we had our usual quiet dinner in the cockpit of Carricklee—not really a bad alternative.
At 1300 hours the next day, a local Emberá man, Johnny, collected us in his panga to take us across the bar of the Río Jaqué near high tide. No more than three hours later, we would have to exit the river. The coastline between Piñas and the river is spectacular, with small green islands, rocky islets, and sea spires and stacks set against the verdant green jungle peaks of the Daríen. On the return trip the tide was low enough so that Johnny drove the panga through an arch rock and a narrow pass of rapids, adding a thrill to the aesthetics.
At Jaqué, Johnny’s village, our first stop was the outpost of the local militia. After Johnny had spoken with the heavily armed soldiers and shown them our passports, I took a couple of pictures of the guard shack and soldiers. Immediately, one of the soldiers motioned me over and informed me, albeit with a pleasant smile, that no picture-taking was allowed. Fortunately, I was using a digital camera and could show him the images as I erased them. Otherwise, I’m sure he would have confiscated a whole roll of film. (This village only 15 miles from the Colombia border, is so carefully controlled that Ursula, one of the managers of the Tropic Star Lodge, had had to call ahead to get permission from the militia for our visit.)But the highlight of the day was our next stop farther up the river at the village of Biroquerá, where once again Ursula had called and Johnny checked us in. You can bet I kept my camera carefully pointed in any direction but that of the soldiers.
The children of the village, as well as a few adults, had lined the high banks above the ramp when we arrived. As soon as we were ashore, the dozens of children clustered around us, wanting to see the images of themselves on our digital cameras. (Clearly, we weren’t the first outsiders to arrive with digital cameras.) The entire group of about fifty children, from two- to three-year-olds to perhaps ten-or twelve-year-olds, followed us closely as the jefe showed us the school and then took us to a small hut to view the local crafts: woven baskets and plates, tagua and wood carvings. Many of these Emberá works were exquisite, and the Nugents and we both went away with a bagful each.
The next morning, our Darién adventure at an end for this time, we sailed north, back to the Archipiélago de las Perlas, with Frank catching a lunch-sized dorado for our midday repast. We anchored behind Punta Cocos, at the southern tip of the southernmost and largest of the islands, Del Rey.
Our friends Jim and Leslie, of the sailboat Trilogy, port of call Sisters, Oregon, were already anchored, having agreed with us by radio earlier that we would meet up there. They joined us for our cocktail hour, or two or three.
Ashore the next morning, we hiked across the Punta Cocos, past the now deserted Panamanian navy facility, along the runway of a small airport, the recent wheel tracks suggesting it is still in use, and through the tall grass to the cliffs above the Pacific shore. But we find no path down the steep cliffs to the water for a walk on the beach and a swim. Never mind. We had miles and miles of uninterrupted white sand beach around our anchorage and clean water for swimming.
The following day we along with Trilogy went the short distance across to another rich anchorage on Del Rey, Cacique, this one not only featuring the same luscious combination of sparkling water and white sand beach nestled beneath luxuriant jungle-covered hills but also a river for birding. At dinner aboard Trilogy that night we agreed on an 0600 departure for the sport boat ride up the river.
A heavy rain the next morning delayed our river trip slightly, but we nevertheless saw whimbrels, scarlet macaws, and yellow-headed caracaras aplenty. But our primarily pleasure was the quiet drift back down the 3-mile Río Cacique.
Then we were off for my favorite anchorage in the Perlas, Bayoneta. Tucked tightly between Isla Bayoneta and Isla La Vivienda and accessed by a winding, and carefully navigated, route around several reefs, this secluded little anchorage has calm water, secure holding, and a picturesque combination of narrow passes between black lava reefs and verdant hills. The nearby white sand beach is on La Vivienda, but our favorite beach to visit is the one on the northeast point of Bayoneta, popularly called “Pink Beach.”
In most years, thousands of scallop shells, the bulk of them tinted in shades of cranberry, mauve, and pinks, give the beach a pink glow visible from a mile or more away. We couldn’t wait to show Frank and Mary Lou this unique sight. But the heaps of scallop shells we’d seen in past years were greatly diminished this year so that we couldn’t detect the pinkness of the beach until we were within a few hundred yards of shore. Another change from previous years was far more disquieting. Having never landed on this beach late in the afternoon before, we’d had no notion it was a haven for the no-see-ums that typically appear around 1600 hours. After about 15 minutes, we were all scampering for the water and then into the sportboat for an urgent escape from these vicious little gnats. Fortunately, we left them all behind and relished our usual quiet afternoon and evening in Bayoneta.
The final destination of our cruise was Contadora, not our favorite anchorage—no more than a roadstead busy with tour boats and jet skis and reverberating with music from the shore. But it is the convenient and most proximate Perlas anchorage for the return to Balboa. It also has several fine reefs for snorkeling. Soon after getting the anchor down, we went in Abby to the nearest one, the reef at Punta Verde, where we all saw a variety of tropical fish. But Frank had the prize sighting of the day, a rare frogfish, just as we were climbing into the sportboat in the now torrential rain.
We could say we were soaked by the rain that flooded the sportboat, keeping us busy sopping up the extra water. But of course we were already soaked, and indeed appreciated the fresh water rinse, though our visibility was limited to about 10 feet.
We had rented a mooring in Balboa for the month so had a spot waiting for us the next day in this now full yacht club, though not the mooring we’d been on before. This one, near the fuel dock, was slightly less rolly but considerably more noisy, with the lanchas that transport the sailors back and forth to shore chugging nearby night and day and the club music blaring far into the night. But in a couple of days the manager asked us to move to another mooring because the permanent tenant of this one would be returning. So now we have no sounds of music but considerably more roll as the ships hurdle toward and from the Canal. We haven’t hit upon the win-win situation in the Balboa YC moorage yet.
For the last week of Mary Lou and Frank’s visit, we rented a car for a bit of land cruising. Our first stop, after the necessary provisioning, was at the Miraflores Locks, where we were in time to see a cruise ship and a giant container ship (called by the guide at the locks a “Panamax,” that is to say, the maximum size that will fit in the locks of the Panama Canal) in the locks. These two, arriving from the Caribbean, were being locked down to the level of the Pacific. Afterwards, we all enjoyed another hour or so in the new museum that wasn’t yet open when we were last at Miraflores.
The next day we drove to Colón, where we had lunch at the new mall on the outskirts of town. Then we went on to Portobelo to visit the remains of the 16th- and 17th-century Spanish forts and to shop for molas, the intricate appliquéd rectangles of cotton that are the signature craft of the Islas de San Blas women.
Our grand land cruise began the next day with an early departure for Boquete, in the cool Cordillera Central, 250 miles west of Balboa and but 45 miles from the Costa Rica border. Jim and Leslee, on Trilogy, know Boquete well, owning three lots and having built a spec house there a couple of years ago. They had provided us with names and phone numbers of contacts and recommendations for lodging and restaurants that proved invaluable for our brief three-day visit.
The drive on the Panamericana began pleasantly, with much less traffic at 0730 than we’d anticipated. Once we reached Santiago, roughly the mid-point between Balboa and Boquete, road construction, and then rain, slowed us down. After a quick late lunch at TGI Friday’s in David, we turned north on a winding road into the mountains.
In addition to its refreshing climate and growing norteamericano population, Boquete is also the coffee capital of Panamá. We had all determined we would sample coffee from as many fincas as we could, so our first stop was at Kotowa Coffee Estates. Here we sampled the coffee served inside and a bird’s-eye view of Boquete across and beyond the deep canyon.Fortified for the last leg of the day, we drove through the business district—described by our host for the next two nights as “about a hundred yards long”—and into the hills to Finca Lérida. John Colllins, whose father and mother bought this coffee finca in the 1940s, and his wife, Soroya, returned to Boquete four years ago to take over the operation of the coffee production as well as to expand into the hospitality business.
We had spacious and well-appointed rooms in the new lodge, opened only two months earlier, and traditional Panamanian breakfasts—fresh tropical fruits as well as fresh fruit juice (naranjilla one day and maracuya the next), a savory mix of smoked dried beef, red bell peppers, tomatoes, and onions; a corn tortilla mix rolled and deep-fried, called almojabanos; local white cheese; eggs to order; and the specialty of the house, café de Finca Lérida.With that hearty breakfast under our belts, we met a local bird-watching guide, Chago, for a five-hour hike through the hills and vales of Finca Lérida, our primary goal to see quetzals. That goal we achieved only partially, seeing only one male quetzal, and that seen clearly by only Frank and Bob. But the sightings were plentiful, with the four varieties of hummingbirds a delightful addition to the those we saw daily around the lodge.
Following lunch, John, the proprietor, treated us to a three-hour tour of the processes of coffee production on his finca. Among his goals are to restore to working condition much of the original equipment put in place in the first decades of the 20th century by the original finca owner.The last morning we arose early to try for a better view of the quetzals that often perch on a particular tree near the Collins’s house. Again, we saw dozens of hummingbirds but no quetzals.
After another fabulous breakfast, we checked out of Finca Lérida and took a last drive along the Río Santa Barbara, circling Boquete, before returning to the Panamericana and back to the boat at Balboa, both our sea and land cruises with the Nugents ended for this year.
Following a busy weekend of last minute shopping and organizing their luggage, the Nugents flew out for Sacramento on Monday, ending their vacation, and ours. Now we’ve settled down to boat chores and writing. The autopilot that we’d thought was repaired has come unrepaired, so we have the mechanic coming back on Tuesday to try again. One of the replacement batteries for our sat phone takes and holds a charge, but we haven’t been able to make a connection with Telenor yet.
But here are the successes. We’re giving ourselves romantic Christmas presents—a new and larger Honda generator that can recharge our batteries, a new bimini for the cockpit to replace our 20-year-old one that seems to let in almost as much water from the Panamá deluges as it keeps out, and new upholstery for the sofas and chairs in the dinette and main saloon. Santa Claus is being very good to us this year.
We’re looking forward to a pre-Christmas weekend with friends: dinner tonight with Kerry, Keith, and Spencer and a Christmas Eve dinner and concert with Jim and Leslee. But none of these new friends, as wonderful as they are, can replace holidays with long-time friends and family. We’ll be thinking of you throughout the holiday season and wishing you well for the new year.
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