Boy, we are busy now that we're back living on land again. The kids are both in soccer, Leslie is teaching dance, and I'm working full time during the week and on the weekends to make ends meet.
Don't let anyone tell you cruising is expensive--at least not compared to land life! When we go cruising we get rid of cars, car insurance, repairs and maintenance for the cars, registrations, inspections, lessons, after-school activities, repairs to the house, winter clothes, boots, snow shovels, colds, and endless little drains on the checkbook that add up to a big drain on the finances. One of the questions we are always asked is how we could afford to go. Now I wonder how we can afford to come back.
Cruising costs really do vary by how much you have to spend. In other words, you spend what you've got. But, I can guarantee you that it can be much less expensive than your land life--maybe half as much or less. That's what we found. Plus, we were able to eat out a lot more, go to more interesting events, and visit fabulous places that would normally be out of our vacation budgets. In Colombia it was probably cheaper for us to eat out than it is to eat at home here in the U.S.!
So, don't let money worries hold you back. You don't need a $200K boat to do it. Our boat cost around $55K and then we put a lot of hard work and some money into it, but we could have done it for less than half. The expensive stuff is all the modern gizmos that you don't really need. Approach any new piece of equipment like it is a possible thief--stealing your time and money. Some people like fixing stuff and having all the toys, but I don't think they have any more fun because of it.
I always think the ones having the most fun are at the low end of the economic ladder. The little old boats are the ones that seem to always be on the move with smiling faces onboard. Maybe it's because they tend to be young, but we met some older folks on small boats who were really happy. A lot of the folks on bigger more luxurious boats only kept going for a few years, before they sold up and moved on to something else. I think worrying about a $200-$300K investment that is not very secure is too much for many people. Go small, go now!
Minke is now safely moored in Rhode Island and we're safely moored in Saratoga Springs. Land life is very hectic after living with the schedule of the wind and tides for two years. Our lives are now governed by clocks and date books. Oh, yes--and the new puppy!
Reflecting back on some earlier posts, I thought it is time to update a few thoughts. My switch to the "dark side" of computing, when I got myself a new Toshiba laptop to replace my Apple iBook, has been just about entirely successful. It has now been eight months since I fired up the Toshiba and I still get frustrated at how long it takes Windoze to wake up. But, once the windows are open I've generally enjoyed the view. There are lots of great programs available that really do work as well as Apple stuff, though in many cases they don't look as slick. I'm particularly happy with the availability of great free stuff like Open Office, Avast antivirus, Opera and Firefox browsers, and Skype.
When we first moved ashore I used Skype as my main phone, which saved me a ton of money and allowed me to stay in touch until Verizon could get the landline going, though I was at times frustrated by poor call quality. Though I have a fast cable connection, Skype just doesn't cut it for day-to-day use due to the poor quality and more complicated calling interface. Still, if you're out cruising, get a Skype phone number so people can call you using regular land lines, use Skype Out to call those landlines, and try to get your family and friends on Skype so you can make those cheap calls when you're really far away.
Because almost everybody and everything utilizes PCs there is a comfortable feeling that no matter what comes along you can take advantage of it. With Apples I was always waiting for the Apple version of something, or else emailing developers pleading for them to create an Apple version. There are advantages to being in the mainstream. I'll have more updates on old blogs coming. Right now I have to get to work on the update of our ICW Chartbook.
We just finished a mad dash north from Beaufort, North Carolina, to Hampton, Virginia. All of it was inside on the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW), and once again I think that is my favorite stretch of the Waterway. In 205 statute miles you get a taste of everything: narrow channels with opening bridges and locks to negotiate, historic and welcoming towns, free docks, wide-open bays and sounds where the sails go up, deserted anchorages where you wonder what the rest of the world is doing, and endless bird and wildlife viewing.
We made our record day ever on the ICW--99 statute miles. I didn't add it all up until after the hook was down or else I might have tried for that last mile to get to the century mark. There are advantages to a motorsailor. Minke cruises at a comfortable 7+ mph, and we can crank it up to near 8 mph at times if we need to catch a restricted bridge opening. Plus, we've got the tankage to go more than 500 miles without refueling, which speeds things up too.
It's great to see that in general this stretch of the ICW is just as beautiful and just as friendly to boaters as it was 22 years ago on our first trip. We anchored out in Beaufort, in a somewhat shrunken anchoring space, enjoying the free use of a nice dinghy dock right in the center of things. The maritime museum has discontinued their free courtesy car, but we found that a taxi ride from the grocery store was only about $5, which is different than in Florida where you might be better off renting a car in most towns.
Then we went up to Goose Creek, just north of Hobucken. After a last few hours in blinding thunderstorms (our pilothouse kept us cozy and dry), we anchored for the night in Campbell Creek. We were the only boat in there, but I could see one other sailboat over in Eastham Creek and one trawler anchored further north on Goose Creek--a crowd for that part of the ICW.
We had a calm trip across the Pamlico River and up the Pungo River, where I was happy to see a dredge working on the shallows around the Wilkerson Bridge. The Alligator River was a nice motorsail and we just squeaked across Albemarle Sound before some brief thundersqualls swept by. We then anchored north of Buck Island just before sunset. That was the end of our 99-mile day, and it was fun!
We stopped at Coinjock to get cheap diesel, and we spent some bucks on nice stuff in the Coinjock Marina store. My daughter bought a fleece jacket, guaranteeing blazingly hot weather, which I am now melting in here in Hampton, Virginia. All of the bridge and lock restrictions are a pain in the Norfolk area, with the timing of the Centerville Turnpike Bridge and the Steel Bridge (only once an hour!) really boloxing up your schedule. We ran through on a Sunday, which helped, as some of the bridges aren't restricted on weekends and holidays.
As usual in Norfolk we had to dodge huge ships, tugs, barges, and Navy vessels, while helicpopters and jets swooped overhead. There were reports of an airplane down in Norfolk harbor and an 83-foot boat adrift near the bridge-tunnel. A typical day in Norfolk.
We're back! We had an uneventful, but long, motoring trip back from Isla Mujeres. We had to await the passage of a lot of tropical squalls, which eventually turned into Barry just north of us.
I'm glad we waited. At times the see was as calm as a bathtub, but Minke's powerful motor kept churning along and we were soon arriving in the Dry Tortugas, where we overnighted. The Yucatan current was hard to find and follow. We had some waypoints that Chris Parker provided to another cruiser, but they didn't prove to be much good. For much of the trip we had only a half knot or so of favorable current, and then at the end, when we were supposed to have almost nothing we had a wonderful two-knot boost.
In short, don't believe the pilot charts or the government current charts found on the Navy site. I think the best advice is to head almost directly to the Dry Tortugas at first, letting the Yucatan current carry you northward of the rhumb line, and then gradually angle over to the east after you pass 85 longitude. In any case, we had a smooth, fast trip.
We left the Dry Tortugas with a weather report of scattered showers and thunderstorms, which soon became continuous and stayed that way all day. In fact, I think it was the worst one-day weather of our entire two-year cruise. Visibility was near zero most of the day, winds were gusting well over 40 knots, rain was torrential, and the seas became six-foot monsters, with huge holes in between. Again, Minke's powerful engine came into play as most the wind was dead on the nose for getting to Key West.
We lumped and slogged our way along all day, anchoring at 8 PM just west of Wisteria Island off of Key West. The next morning we went ashore to clear into the U.S.A. and we were surprised to find you can't bring any electronics into the court building, not even a cell phone or a camera. Of course my 1.5-inch pocket knife couldn't go either. We felt like criminals heading off to jail. They had no facilities for holding all this stuff, which I always carry with me, so Leslie had to wait outside while I went in with the children. Then we switched places while they asked Leslie questions. In no other part of the Caribbean were we treated like this when clearing in or out. I don't think the answer to the supposed "war on terrorism" is to restrict all of our own rights! If we do that, the terrorists have already won, because that's what they want us to do.
We´re now on Isla Mujeres, Mexico, awaiting a break in the weather to sail back to the Florida Keys. We´ve just sailed north from the Rio Dulce in Guatemala, through Belize, and then up the coast of Mexico.
These are beautiful cruising areas, with gorgeous coral reefs, friendly ports, and plenty of nice things to do ashore. What has struck us the most is the lack of cruisers. We only saw one other cruising boat on the entire Mexican coast between Xcalak and Isla Mujeres--and that was in a week of harbor hopping. In Belize we were frequently the only boat in gorgeous anchorages, or maybe we shared them with two or three others. At Half Moon Cay on Lighthouse Reef we saw two other cruising boats.
So, if you get tired of trying to shoehorn your way into crowded anchorages, head down here to the Northwest Caribbean and join the few of us down here--we´d love to see you!
We had a great trip from the San Blas to Providencia Island, then the Vivorillos, Honduras, and on to the Rio Dulce in Guatemala. The first leg to Providencia was made with a reef in the main the whole way, hard on the wind with spray flying over the boat. Minke did well, but for some reason we were pumping a lot of bilge water the whole way. We arrived in Providencia just at dusk. As usual, the welcome in Providencia was very friendly. The port agent there, Mr. Bush, arranged a soccer match between our cruising kids and the locals--our kids got whupped! Clear in and check out was very easy, and the total charge for everything was $40.
We stayed with Kalani and Lightfoot on the leg to the Vivorillos Cays, a coral reef with a couple of small islands. There were rumors of mysterious fishing boats approaching too closely at night, so when this very thing happened to Lightfoot they called us on the VHF and asked us to close ranks. However, as far as we could tell, all of the boats we saw were just fishing. I've seen the same sort of thing in New England and other waters. Fishermen are not watching you or anything other than their nets. They then appear to be operating oddly when they approach too closely, when in reality they are trying to steer the net around some obstruction. In any case, no pirates for us, though another boat nearby was boarded and inspected by the Nicaraguan Coast Guard. The moral of the story is to pass east of Media Luna and stay close to Gorda Bank to avoid fishing boats, pirates, and possible Coast Guard encounters.
The Vivorillos were just an overnight stop to catch our breath then on to Guanaja, where the check in (contrary to some rumors) was easy and free. The tiny town, with a population density something like Hong Kong, is a fascinating maze of narrow walkways and shops. We were surprised by the wide variety of goods available and the very friendly welcome as we had heard nothing about the place. I even got an alternator rewound by sending it off to the mainland overnight via plane, for a total charge of about $50, including a new rectifier. The large fishing fleet means that marine services are pretty good for this part of the Caribbean. On Guanaja we really enjoyed visiting Graham's Place on tiny Josh's Cay. The island resort is very welcoming to cruisers with free moorings, water, ice, pet parrots and other creatures, a neat pool with turtles, sharks, and groupers, and a nice restaurant.
The trip to Roatan was uneventful, and again we were really happy to visit a big grocery store complete with ATM machine and lots of U.S. products. West End on Roatan is a diver's paradise, and snorkelers enjoy it too. Right behind our boat was one of the best reef snorkles we've had in the Caribbean. We also enjoyed walking the narrow sandy street and doing all the touristy things.
We had a perfect forecast for the 150-mile run to the Rio Dulce, except the wind never appeared. Minke's big engine ate up the miles and we crossed the Rio bar just after dawn. About one hour after low tide our 5.5-foot draft just squeaked across with no bumping. Livingston officials soon came out to visit us, then we trekked all over town to complete the business of checking in, all for around $80. We were soon motoring up the "canyon" of the Rio Dulce, where steep cliffs covered in vines drop off into the river. It was very reminiscent of going up the Hudson River back home.
Mario's Marina found spaces for us just at dark and we were soon enjoying the cold comforts of the pool and the bar. Dragging the kids away from the Internet was tough, but we hired a van to take us to Tikal to see the Mayan ruins. The van was comfortable, the roads were smooth and safe, the hotel was comfy, and the tour guide was informative. It was a fantastic trip! The temples loom out of the jungle, just like you've always dreamed of lost civilizations. Unlike the U.S., we were allowed to scramble up the pyramids via rickety ladders and slippery stone stairs--not for the vertigo impaired! Our kids are now writing about their experiences and what they learned about Mayan civilization. Go to Tikal!
Kuna Yala is the part of Panama controlled by the Kuna Indians. They govern their own territory independently under the umbrella of the Panama nation. Most land is owned in common and people share duties, resources, and equipment. Tomorrow is Kuna independence day, marking the day in 1925 that a rebellion against repressive Panamanian rule began.
Though the second smallest race on earth (after the pygmies) Kunas are universally very strong and fit due to endless paddling and hiking to get their daily hunter-gathering work done. In 1925 the Kunas slaughtered the Panamanian police forces and killed off mixed race people as well. Only the intervention of the U.S. Navy prevented Panama from retaliating with serious military might, which might have been the end of the Kuna people. In a series of political moves over many decades, the Kunas have gradually gained more and more independence in governing their nation.
We've come to a more traditional island, Isla Tigre, to witness the independence festivities. At the moment Leslie and the kids are ashore enjoying (I hope!) a traditional puberty festival that precedes the independence activities on Sunday. Kuna society is matrilineal and the men play a secondary role mainly as hunter-gatherers. When a girl reaches puberty the whole village celebrates in a day-long rite of chicha drinking, dancing, and socializing. Soon everyone on the island is reeling around drunk and enjoying themselves. We understand that families start saving up for this celebration the moment a girl is born.
I've decided to skip this traditional festival. I'm not wild about crowds and drunk crowds give me the willies—I'll get the play-by-play from Leslie later.
We're traveling in company with Kalani, a catamaran with two kids the right ages for Ian and Heather to hang out with. The other day we took our two dinghies up the Rio Diablo, deep into the jungle. The river was very shallow and full of snags and fallen trees. It was very reminiscent of paddling up the Kayaderosseras River back home, if you ignored the alligators. Finally, we reached an area that was too shallow to continue without lots of dragging across sandbars, so we pulled up the dinghies and jumped in for a wonderful freshwater bath. We were surrounded by primeval jungle, millions of polliwogs, and lots of young frogs. Parrots were chattering in the trees, but we didn't see any monkeys. We did see lots of birds that will require our bird books to figure out what they were.
Last week we were over in the East Lemmons for a Kuna dance demonstration and langousta cookout on the beach. Leslie was in seventh heaven and we were able to film a lot of dancing. Often the Kunas don't want their photos taken, or else they demand a dollar to take a shot, so it was great to be on an island where they didn't mind photography. We had a wonderful sail from the Lemmons back to the area we call the Swimming Pool, which is the cruisers' favorite hangout. There is an island there we call BBQ Island, where every Monday cruisers get together for a potluck dinner and giant trash burning. Unfortunately, a huge rainstorm blasted through just after we lit the bonfire, which quickly became a huge smoke pot as we all ran for our dinghies. Some of the boaters dashed into the kids fort they had built under the palm trees, complete with a good thatched roof. The local Kuna caretaker, Edwina, is very friendly and he encourages the kids to come and play on the island. When we're in the area we bring him a little treat of cookies, or some sort of food, and say hello.
We're finding that we know a fair number of Kunas too. Onshore we ran into a family that we met last summer on the Coco Banderos Islands. Families are rotated around the various islands to take care of the coconuts and maintain the islands, and to gain access to new fishing grounds. This group remembered Leslie from her dance and singing routines on the beach, and for the day we towed some of them to safety during a storm. Leslie was quickly surrounded by dozens of Kunas all wanting to meet her and to introduce their extended families. It is an interesting experience for Leslie (all 5' 2" of her) to tower over the crowd. Ian, who is now taller than Leslie, gets lots of odd looks. He is taller than everyone. Kids his age look like grade schoolers next to Ian, and Heather fits right in with some of the adults. I am constantly banging my head on low overhangs, rafters, and branches that are cut just high enough for the average Kuna. Entering a store gives me a crick in the neck because I usually have to stoop the entire time.
On the boating front the big news is the salvage of After You, a 35-footer that sunk after being towed off a reef. The singlehander (all by himself) came in from offshore late and tired and decided to anchor on Mayflower Reef, a shallow area studded with coral heads. He let out all his chain and some nylon rode, which eventually was cut through by the coral. There was a large sea running which pushed him rapidly onto a reef further to the south, where the boat pounded for at least a day. Rescuers soon gathered and plucked the sailor off the boat.
In a situation like that the laws of salvage come into play, and essentially the salvagers get to keep the boat if they save it, or they get paid by the owner to get the boat back. (Never accept a tow on the water unless it is clear that you are not agreeing to a salvage claim.) Towlines were rigged and the boat was dragged off into deep water but rapidly filled from damage on the starboard side. In fact, the boat went down so quickly that several people onboard had to swim for their lives. It sank in 160 feet of water. From there a local trader with a big shrimp boat managed to dive down, secure a towline on the craft, and then drag it into shallow water. A fiberglass patch was applied and the boat was refloated.
I took a quick tour of the craft and it looks pretty good for a boat that was on the bottom for a week. The interesting thing is that items containing air were crushed flat by the pressure at 160 feet. The cockpit cushions looked like slices of cheese. The salvager has made some deal with the former owner who is now off to Mexico to look at buying a new boat—jump right back on the horse after it throws you! After You will be towed to Cartagena for a rebuild and then sale.
We also had a fun time obtaining water at Rio Azucar. This tiny island has organized a pipeline from the river to a small water tower, which then feeds pipes that run down to the public wharf. The town earns a bit of money by selling water to sailors and others. We sailed in only to find an inter-island freighter tied to the wharf, but they waved us in and we rafted alongside. Everyone was very friendly and excited to see us, but no water was available for some reason to do with washing laundry?! We bought a few good veggies and decided to try again the next day.
The next day we arrived at the wharf and tied up alongside a big dugout, who soon decided to leave, causing another fire drill. But, no water available again, due to it being Sunday. Aargh! We left the dock but the crowd started shouting "Agua, agua!" So we circled back, and then we could hear everyone sigh, then shout "No agua, no agua," just as we reached the wharf. We took off again, then everyone started shouting again: "Agua, agua!" Were they playing a game with us?
Back to the wharf we went, but this time we could see the secretary showing up to take our money ($5 for dockage, $10 for all the water we could hold) and we tied up. Then we discovered that the regular pipe had no water pressure, but a 2" PVC pipe could create a gusher. The problem was to connect our garden hose to the big pipe. Lots of rags and lines later, and two Kunas holding the lash up together, and we were golden. We took on lots of water and were almost full up when a little child decided to turn up the water pressure, which blew out our temporary lash up sending a geyser over the laughing crowd.
Finally, we were just about done when a missionary boat showed up (this was Sunday) and wanted to dock outside of us. We didn't want missionaries tramping back and forth over our boat all day, so we waved them off with shouts of "cinco minutos!" We dashed around coiling hoses, paying off our helpers, undoing lines, and off we went with half the town shouting and waving goodbye. We were the entertainment for the day.
I'm hoping this gets through to the blog. I'm sending the update using email via my Iridium phone, but I have no way of checking what it looks like until we get someplace with Internet access--none of that here in the San Blas Islands.
Lots of boats are going up on the reefs this year. At least one boat was lost. He had tons of electronics, and the boat was a good one with lots of solid equipment. I will not speculate or second guess what happened, but I will warn others that you can't fool around with navigation here in the San Blas.
This area demands respect. There are no buoys, lights, or other navigation aids. The charts and guides are fairly accurate, but nothing like what you are used to coming from the U.S., the East Caribbean, or even the Bahamas. Landfalls and harbors must be entered in good light only, even if you have borrowed waypoints or your own. If you arrive from offshore after dark, heave-to outside or head offshore until daylight. If you travel between harbors, don't leave until around 10AM, and plan to be back at anchor by around 4PM at the latest, 2PM being better. In short, you need high sun to safely navigate the San Blas, and if you don't have it you have to use every technique in the book
to stay safe. Don't depend on your electronic chart plotter and radar to do that for you. Some of the charts are inaccurate, latitude/longitudes are off, coral grows, and shoals shift. Go slow and go safe!
The Minke crew is once again underway. We left Cartagena, Colombia after four enjoyable months. It is a beautiful city with friendly people, and it is generally safe despite what you may hear.
To get Minke ready for more voyaging we had her hauled out of the water at Club de Pesca on a contraption called a synchrolift. It consists of a platform that the boat is floated onto. Arms on either side hold the boat upright while it sits on its keel. Then the whole platform is winched up out of the water vertically with the boat on it. In Colombia you pay the boatyard for the haulout then you contract separately with your own workers. On the recommendation of a friend staying in Club de Pesca, we hired two men, Escuardo and Manuel, to help us clean and paint Minke's bottom. The going rate was 40,000 pesos per person per day, which we gladly paid (less than $20 U.S.), as these guys were excellent workers.
After four months in Cartagena harbor water, our bottom looked like an aquaculture project. Great strings of muscles were scraped off only to reveal thick barnacles below. However, it was all soon cleaned off and several coats of red antifouling paint (laced with copper) were applied. The topsides were cleaned and polished, the dinghy was cleaned up and the wood parts painted, we installed a new hydraulic steering cylinder (thanks to Dad bringing it to us when he visited), and we installed a new seacock to help the cockpit drain better. We relaunched on New Year's Eve, just in time to be back in the water anchored off of Club Nautico for the big event.
New Year's Eve and day are even bigger holidays than Christmas. We went to the old part of the city known as Centro and all the streets were closed off. Restaurants were setting up tables in the middle of the streets where they would begin serving expensive prix fixe meals at around 9 PM. The major squares in town were jammed with revelers, drinking and dancing. In places we had to squeeze single file between crowds to get through. A group of us with kids wandered around until we found a gourmet sandwich shop that was serving food before 9 PM, then we all went to our favorite spot, Crepes and Waffles, for a delicious ice cream desert. We hiked back to Club Nautico to arrive just in time to see from the docks the fireworks at midnight.
After New Years we began to gradually stock up the boat with food and spare parts sufficient for the next several months. We ordered fresh meat from the butcher who then kept it for a few days so it would be hard frozen. We purchased 30 eggs which had to be hand carried (very carefully) though the streets of Cartagena back to Club Nautico. Since the supermarket was just one block from the Club, we tried to daily bring back to the boat extras of everything. We made many trips heavily laden with bags.
We also began a serious study of the weather offshore from Cartagena. The winter winds had really kicked in, and typically were up to 30 knots on many days with seas running up to 15 feet. This is typical for this time of year, so we had to be patient and wait for a small window of opportunity to escape. This is what sailors call a ?weather window.? Originally we were planning to sail direct to Providencia Island, about 395 miles to the northwest of Cartagena, but the weather on that route was consistently atrocious for weeks at a time. Finally, we decided to loop south below the worst of the wind and seas by sailing first to the Rosario Islands (20 miles) and then on to the San Blas Islands (175 miles). From the San Blas we could still get a decent wind angle on Providencia (275 miles) and hopefully find a weather window big enough to jump through. Plus, we love the San Blas!
Our trip to the Rosarios went smoothly except for a brief boarding and inspection by the Colombian Coast Guard. We had checked out of the country and our papers and passports were all in order. The Rosarios belong to Colombia but it is acceptable to stop there for a few days when exiting or leaving the country. They are beautiful tropical islands that are frequented by tourists arriving by boat from Cartagena. Leslie, Heather, and Ian enjoyed visiting a free aviary owned by a wealthy Colombian. They saw birds from all over the world as they wandered around all by themselves. We also took the time to carefully stow everything for the offshore trip, and we got a final check on the improving weather. Our window was small, but hopeful. It called for gradually easing winds and seas Wednesday through Saturday, then back up to the near gale conditions again.
We set sail at first light and had to motor until about 3:30 PM with no wind, but that was fine by us as it allowed Minke to get well offshore and into safe deep water. The big northeast swells began to be felt, coming from the howling winds to our north. We were soon running downwind in 6-9 foot seas, but relatively comfortably though the self steering couldn't hold the course. Friends of ours on Morning Star sailed nearby much of the way and it was nice to talk to someone on the radio from time to time. Finally, in the middle of the night we were able to get the windvane steering to work as the wind angle had improved and the seas moderated. The big swells continued to roll under us, but the wind waves on top were less.
As we approached the San Blas Islands the next day the wind began to build and build, gradually coming more and more into the northwest, which was not predicted. Weather reports out here are vague at best, covering hundreds or thousands of square miles. We were probably experiencing a land-effect wind generated by the high mountains backing the coast of the San Blas.
We began to pick up radio transmissions from some of our friends already safely anchored in the San Blas, and we were soon talking to them. It was interesting that they could see our sail coming from offshore before we could see land or them. The islands are very low and indistinct and we had the setting sun in our eyes. We were soon roaring in the Caobos Channel, occasionally surfing on the big swells. Because of the big seas, we had to detour well to the south of the Hollandes, our destination, before heading back up towards the islands. Some of the big swells were breaking on shoal patches along the direct route. Our friends kept telling us to hurry as night was rapidly approaching, and it is not safe to navigate coral waters in the dark. There are no buoys or navigation lights in the San Blas, and where we were headed there are no lights ashore.
We had been into the anchorage before, known as the Swimming Pool, so we had some GPS waypoints that helped guide us to a safe spot where we dropped the hook just before dark. The wind howled in the rigging, but we were comfortably at anchor. The next day we moved our anchorage to near BBQ Island, the local cruiser hangout. Soon we were visiting and talking to our many friends from Cartagena who were already there. Soon our friends on Kalani arrived with friends for Ian and Heather and then more kids arrived on another cat. The kids ran around BBQ Island playing tag, building a fort, and conducting hermit crab races. Everyone got together on Monday for a big potluck dinner and garbage burn (the only way to get rid of stuff) under the palm trees and a brilliant moon. We're back in cruising heaven!
The jerry jugs are full and the tanks are loaded. The lockers are crammed with food and spares. It is once again time to set sail for a new destination--if we can get a decent weather window.
This time of year is tough in the southwest Caribbean. The forecast is calling for 25- to 30-knot winds and big seas north of 10 north, and 15-20 with 7- to 9-foot seas south of 10 north. That's about as good as it gets in the winter, so we'll be shoving off in the morning for a short trip to the Rosario Islands, then a 170-mile run to the San Blas the next couple of days.
Hopefully, it will be just one night at sea and hopefully conditions will improve as we get further south. Many ask what we are using for weather forecasts down here. I find the NOAA weather fax charts (24, 48, and 72 hours) very useful, and I also get the offshore waters text forecast for the SW North Atlantic and Caribbean Sea. I occasionally glance at the virtual buoy predictions on buoyweather.com, but I think they are interpolating finer results than the data warrants.
Others use weather routers and listen to weather nets on the SSB, but again these sources tend to micro-interpret the weather to greater detail than is possible with the data available. I think most cruisers agonize over the weather more than is necessary, and they have lost the ability to think for themselves. Get a decent forecast for the beginning of the trip, avoid any predicted severe weather, and don't trust any forecast more than three days out--it is nothing more than wishful thinking.
We're finally getting ready to leave Cartagena, after a great stay of four months. The first big project to tackle was the aquaculture project growing on the bottom of our boat. Our last bottom job dated from August 2005, and Cartagena waters are famed for their fertility (at least for barnacles and muscles).
We had hired divers to scrape the bottom a few times, to avoid the unpleasant task of swimming in toxic waste, though I had to go over the side a few times myself to open up plugged through hulls and clear the propellor.
We finally decided on going to the synchrolift at Club de Pesca. This is a platform that one floats onto, which is then raised vertically out of the water by a system of winches and cables. Steel arms are raised on either side of the boat at bow and stern to provide support, but the weight of the boat rests on the keel. To ensure proper alignment two divers entered the water to guide the keel onto a central steel beam. A maze of docklines helped keep us vertical.
Once we finally got into the lift (Colombian time!) the whole process went smoothly. We hired two local hands, Manuel and Escuardo, to help with the scraping and painting, and they worked very hard and well. In fact, the whole operation was very professional, helping to make an unpleasant process as painless as possible. The final price was very reasonable--probably the cheapest haul and launch ever for this cruiser. That was step one in the long process of readying Minke for a rough offshore passage.
I've owned and used Apple computers since the old Apple II days. Remember those tiny black & white screens with nothing but text? Wow, they did amazing things, having grown up in the pre-computer, pound it out on a manual typewriter, era. I was pretty good at typing (on a typewriter) after college because you didn´t dare make an error or you had to retype the entire page! That´s when I learned to think first, type later, which is exactly opposite to what today´s computer users do, if the Internet is any indication.
Well over the years I used, abused, and learned to love and hate a long string of PCs and Apples. I really loved my $3000 Powerbook 180 maxed out with 8 mb of RAM. In fact, I still have it and I fire it up periodically to remember the joys of System 7. I bought one of the first iMacs. It was so cool and blue. Then, when we took off to go cruising for a few years I got a neat new 12-inch iBook to have for onboard writing and some navigation with GPS NavX. It worked great until it stopped working one day a couple of months ago, but the seeds of disatisfaction had been sprouting for most of the last year.
First I discovered there was no software for allowing speedy email services like GMN or Ocens to work with my Iridium phone. Then I found out that there weren´t a whole lot of charts available for GPS NavX, at least outside of the U.S. Then I discovered that when things go wrong with an Apple outside the U.S., you are on your own. Every third world country has PC repair guys on every other street corner, but Apple folks are nonexistant. Need something ordinary like a new hard drive--forget it with an Apple.
So Apples violated one of my hard and fast cruising rules--don´t have it onboard if you can´t either fix it in Timbuktoo by yourself, or if you can´t live without it. So, I´m going over to the dark side and getting a new PC laptop. I hope it isn't too scary over there.
Yes, we do celebrate Thanksgiving, and most other holidays, out here. Sometimes there's a mad search for a turkey--what is the word for turkey in Spanish? You get some funny looks as you flap your arms and gobble to the butcher.
We were resigned to getting a nice roast chicken--preferably roasted by someone else to avoid heating the boat up--but Club Nautico marina saved the day by planning a big Thanksgiving bash, complete with five turkeys and all the fix'ins.
Our family will be a bit bigger than usual this year. They'll be from all over the world. Some friends counted 27 different countries represented by boats in the anchorage and in the marina. Maybe we don't really have United Nations, but when it comes to a party, cruisers are of one mind. Bring on the food, bring on the drinks, bring on the dancing!
Colombians are of the same mind. Mention a holiday or a special occasion and Colombia breaks out the streamers, the live music, and the smiles. The country has a lot to cry about, so it makes up for it by laughing a little bit longer and harder when the chance presents itself. Holidays are good here.
Cruisers are different. I look at our children. They are not segregated by age or grade level in school. The teenagers play with the young ones. The English-speaking kids play tag with the French and Dutch kids. The Colombians love to talk to the English-speaking kids, everyone struggling to understand but enjoying the struggle.
The kids don't hold back--they shout, "Look, there are kids on that boat, let's go over and say Hi!" The adults are the same. Some wear neat khakis and polo shirts, but they're likely to be having beers with a group that looks like pirates, with torn T-shirts and no shoes.
If there's an emergency there is no hesitation. Boats converge on the boat that is dragging anchor and tow it out to safe water, even though the owners are ashore somewhere. Someone needs to go to the emergency room and we all open our wallets to lend her money, even though we have never met and don't even know her name. We have no doubt she will pay us back. It might be days or weeks, but she will pay us back. She would do the same for us.
I once had someone toss me a $250 engine part as his boat passed by--I found him two days later and returned the part--he never learned my name or even where I was headed. What goes around comes around.
It gets very frustrating trying to do the simplest boat projects out here. There are four major places to get hauled in Cartagena. I liked the look of Club de Pesca's lift. It would be gentle on the boat, close to the water for a bit cooler temperatures, and we'd be the only boat around so we wouldn't have to eat sanding dust. Well, they have a three-week waiting list.
So I'm off to my second choice, Manzanillo Marina Club, to see if they can get us in quicker. Of course, their tiny lift requires us to unrig the roller furler and forestay--at least--and maybe undo some of the mizzen rigging. At least they have a pressure washer, which the other yards don't have. Of course, there is an extra fee for that, and we have to negotiate prices with other teams of workers for various jobs.
First I need to get some antifouling paint. I wanted blue, but that is almost unavailable. The last two cans were taken at the Hempel dealer. Plus Hempel's prices were sky high. So I found someone who could get Sigma at a discount, but only in red. Yuck! I wanted black as my second choice, but now I'm down to my third reluctant choice.
Oh yes, the boatyards will only take payments in cash, which of course is dangerous to carry around in large amounts. A French couple was relieved of about $5000 last week while on their way to pay a boatyard bill. Their taxi was stopped at gunpoint, so someone tipped off the thieves. The saga will continue...
The marine climate is tough on computers, and electronics and Cartagena's climate is tougher than most. My laptop seems to be gradually succumbing, while I madly try to back up what I can during the 30 minutes or so of operation I get before it crashes. Then I wait a day before getting another 30 minutes of normal computing. Aargh!
The only slight consolation is that just about everyone else in the cruising fleet seems to be going through the same contortions with their computers. Today's cruisers' radio net brought a call for help with a balky Pactor modem connection (for SSB email). Yesterday someone was looking for a computer cable to replace a busted one. A friend has retired his monitor after the first one expired.
And, this stuff isn't easy to get here in Cartagena. I don't dare have something shipped in as it may not arrive, and if it does the cost to get it will be very high. I was quoted $80 to have a one-pound package sent via FedEx, which is the only reliable shipper.
My advice is to make sure you have at least two computers onboard and have reliable backups for critical things like charts or email. I carry paper charts and print paper backups for electronic charts. I also have Web access to my email. If my computers totally fail I can get email from an Internet cafe or someone else's computer. Back up! Back up!
Life on the hook is generally good. We prefer use our anchors, while some like to tie up in the floating ghetto known as a marina. It's a nice ghetto, but it is still a ghetto.
In other words, I like to be able to toss a cold cup of coffee overboard without dousing my neighbor. I like to get up in the middle of the night to check out the weather in my underwear. I like to lie on the deck and enjoy the cool evening breeze.
I don't like telling someone to please stop fiberglassing at 10 PM. I don't like asking someone to please drown your dog before I do it. I don't like joining the party unless I want to join.
Sure, there are nights when I have to sleep in the cockpit to keep one eye on dragging boats, and my wife would love to have air conditioning. But, we do swing into the wind, when there is any, so we get whatever natural cooling there is. On the really hot days I don't see much of the marina folks--they stay huddled around their air conditioners. I do think that they get air conditioned bodies that melt when exposed to tropical air. You can see it on their faces--they're thinking "why did I come outside?"
You participate in the weather when you live at anchor. If it's windy, you know it. When it's hot, you sweat. When it's sunny, you roast. But, you also get the best of the best moments. You wake up at dawn and see the sun rise, then you watch the sun set over the water while those ashore enjoy their air-conditioned cocktails and watch TV. I like the connection with nature. It's why I go boating. The bad times just make the good times seem that much better, and you get used to dealing with whatever is dished up, which makes the bad times gradually seem less and less bad. Got that?
I've said goodbye to an old friend. He always held when the shit hit the fan, even if he required some careful handling from time to time. He was stronger than Hercules, shedding insults and injury like the superhero he was. But, he was getting long in the tooth.
The new heros on the block took over long ago. The new boys don't rely on brute strength as much as guile. They out think the baddies instead of clobbering them into submission. I like that, but there was always something reassuring about knowing you had the strongest friend on the block, even if he wasn't always the slickest character.
My old friend was down there during Hurricane Gloria when the eye passed right over Katydid, taking most of the mooring field away with it. My old friend held. It was down there in the Storm of the Century in North Carolina. It was down there during the storm that later became the Perfect Storm when it went to the Grand Banks. It was down there in Hurricane Bob, with gusts over 100 blowing trees over the cabin top.
He still has lots of his kin out there, and he will continue on cruising proudly on the bow of a neat French aluminum cruiser. Yep, I sold my last CQR anchor at a boater's flea market here in Cartagena. I wasn't going to let it go for a song--it was just as good as the day it was drop forged. But, I was tired of breaking toes (two this year) on it. I couldn't remember the last time I used it. It was nice to know it was there, but now my Bulwagga rides the place of honor on the bow roller, backed up by two Fortress secondaries. I feel secure with that trio, but who knows, maybe I'll see if a Spade or a Rocna can displace one of the gang.
Someone swam out to our boat yesterday and apparently was trying to climb aboard (I was ashore with the dinghy) when my wife asked him what he was up to. He swam to shore and took off. We were anchored in a good spot in Cartagena, in nice shallow water close to shore with good holding. It was also convenient to the dinghy dock at Club Nautico, but it was obviously too convenient for those on shore who might be interested in checking out how the rich gringos live.
Of course, we have no idea what he was up to, and I suppose it could have been an innocent swimmer who was getting a bit tired, but we doubt it. So we moved to a spot where we could drop the anchor in 12 meters of water in the midst of the cruising fleet. We’re now surrounded by friendly eyes and ears, and Colombian Coast Guard patrols pass nearby.
Hopefully, that’s all we’ll need to do to feel safer. Usually, making yourself a slightly more difficult target than the next boat is all you need to do to be safe. Lock the dinghy and they’ll go for the unlocked dinghy. Close the hatches and they’ll go for the boat left open. Put away the loose gear and they’ll choose the boat with tempting items in plain view. Anchor in the midst of the cruising fleet and they’ll go for the boat in the isolated cove where no one is watching.
Luckily, cruisers are a very observant and helpful lot, and they tend to watch what is happening on other boats, if only to make sure the other boat isn’t dragging anchor. That can be a real safety plus if security is a concern.
I opted for sending and receiving email via an Iridium phone, instead of using SSB or Ham systems. One of the reasons was that we were pushing the hurricane season and we didn't have enough time for the difficult installation of a SSB radio, groundplane, antenna, tuner, etc. Another was cost. I could be up and running with Iridium for less than $2000, and no installation fees.
Well, like most things marine, the cost was more than I planned. The biggest problem was coming up with a connection between the serial port on the Iridium phone and the USB ports on my computer. After trying several different USB/serial adaptors, with none of them working, I purchased a PCMCIA card with dedicated serial cord. That solved the connection problem.
Another big expense was signing up for an email service provider. I could access my usual gmail or other account, but specialized providers have compression and other technologies that they claim greatly speed up email transfers. I ended up purchasing service from GMN, which I am generally satisfied with. A bonus is that when connected to WiFi ashore the transfer of emails is blazingly fast. Onboard the transfer is pretty slow, but I have managed to send seven emails and receive 14 in about a minute and a half of airtime, which translates to about $1.50.
I love getting daily weather via email even when offshore, and it is great to stay in touch with friends and family. So far I don't miss the SSB nets, but they could be useful at times. Ideally, I would like to have a SSB and an Iridium phone, but I think our choice of Iridium first proved to be the correct one. A huge bonus is the capability to make phone calls from anywhere (even the life raft), though the cost is too high for casual use.
Some good friends of ours, the Johnsons on Side by Side, are taking off on their catamaran this year. The other day I received an email asking me for my thoughts on gear after a year out here. Actually, it's not exactly correct to say we've been out for a year, as Leslie and I have been cruising off and on since around 1976. But we do have a new boat, to us, Minke, a Finnsailer 38 motorsailor. I sent the Johnsons my thoughts, but I've subsequently rethought things. So here are the best five things we brought and the five things we brought but didn't need:
Glad we have:
1. Inflatable kayaks for the kids--it gives them independence, and we have back up dinghies if the big inflatable is stolen.
2. Electronic chart plotting and charts for the PC--we've ended up going all sorts of places we didn't plan on going, and the electronic charts allowed us to do so. But, I always print out charts in case the electronics fail.
3. Bulwagga Anchor--never fails while other boats are dragging all around us.
4. Manual ABI anchor windlass--powerful and always works, but it is slow.
5. Lots of anchor chain--we sleep more soundly knowing the rode won't chafe through, and we can use less scope in tight anchorages.
You'll note there's a theme for a lot of that list. Your anchoring gear is probably the most important gear onboard. You'll be at anchor a lot more than underway, and you'll probably be in worse weather while at anchor then when offshore, if you're watching the weather like you should. Don't scrimp on anchoring gear.
Probably don't need:
1. Pressure cooker--Leslie has used it only once a month or so and it takes up a lot of stowage space.
2. Spare CQR 45-lb anchor. It used to be our old faithful, but it now takes up deck space and breaks toes. The Bulwagga is our main with several aluminum Fortresses for second anchors. I'd trade the CQR for a really big Fortress.
3. Our built-in 3KW generator, which has never worked, is heavy, and takes up a lot of space. I'd rather have more solar panels and/or a portable generator.
4. Full carpeting--we had nice new carpets made, but in the tropics they are too hot and get dirty from sweaty feet. We now have painted floorboards and a few small throw rugs.
5. Our 12/120 volt refrigerator, which is very inefficient in terms of power consumption. I wish we had a bigger holding plate fridge or a newer generation, more efficient 12-volt unit.
I'm writing this from the dock of Club Nautico, located in Cartagena, Colombia. It is quite a change from the remote San Blas. We have wifi, eat out at restaurants, snack on ice cream, climb castle walls, and shop the street vendors.
The trip from the San Blas was uneventful, except for one 30-knot squall and losing our alternator as we entered the harbor--normal cruising stuff. The alternator was swapped out for our spare. I'm getting pretty good at doing this. I've done it three times in one year.
The harbor is busy with freighters, navy boats, and helicopters overhead. Some nights loud music starts around midnight and continues until 8am or so--Colombians party late and early.
The old part of the city looks like Spain. It is surrounded by a stone wall that you can walk on. Street vendors push emeralds, and everything else. They get right in your face and won't let you go, but the Colombians ignore all. It helps if you try to dress a bit like a local: long pants, a nice shirt, and shoes and socks for men. Unfortunately, that is also the way to be hot--why do people wear these get ups in the tropics? Some days I just go out looking like a gringo instead of sweltering, but if you're off to the Port Captain's office or Immigration it is best to show respect.
Cartagena is a great walking city. We can be in the old town in 20 minutes. The supermarket is 5 minutes from the marina. Great and inexpensive restaurants are just around the corner. Despite all the rumors, this part of Colombia is relatively safe. Some people describe Cartagena as a "demilitarized zone" where Colombians can take their families and enjoy living a normal life.
Colombians are very friendly and helpful, though it would be useful to speak Spanish--Leslie is taking courses right now. The harbor water is incredibly dirty and barnacles are growing like crazy on our bottom, so we're thinking about hauling soon to renew our bottom paint. There are good boatyards here with reasonable prices and help available. Ian and Heather are having a great time in the marina with their friends. This is a good place.
The San Blas continued to get better and better for us, as we learned to understand and appreciate the Kunas more. The scenery remained amazing--like living in a calendar.
Leslie wanted to see some dancing so we went to a Chicha festival on Nalunega. This is where everyone gets smashed on the local brew--Chicha-- to celebrate the arrival at womanhood for one of the family. The earlier parts of the festival were off limits in a giant thatched hut, but we could pretty much tell what was happening by the way people staggered out of the hut.
The dancing came later, after dark, and was accompanied by chanting, clapping, and flute music that sounded very much like American Indian routines. There was a brief scary moment when Heather disappeared, just at dusk and in a village with no lights, but she was just running around with some other Kuna children. Heather was a big hit in the village as she was recognized by some of the Kuna children from an earlier visit. Heather gave one of the kids a stuffed animal, which was a much appreciated gift. When the father learned of this he had us all visit his house, meet his wife and extended family, and partake of fresh drinking coconuts. We reciprocated by taking and printing up a photo of the family (bring a small printer with you), which I was able to deliver later that day.
Another highlight of our San Blas visit was the time we spent in the Holandes Cays near the Swimming Pool anchorage--a spot popular with American cruisers. The Swimming Pool has some of the clearest water in the San Blas, tons of snorkeling opportunities, good fishing, and a sheltered anchorage. Though, again, we rode out several strong chocosanas, but with no trouble. Just be prepared for 40 or 50 knots from the southeast, and you're all set for a "choco."
Heather and Ian had fun with two girls on the catamaran Chewbacca. We all enjoyed Monday night potluck BBQs on aptly named BBQ Island. Surprisingly we rarely anchored with more than six or seven other boats around, and usually less. It was the rainy season, with lots of lightning and storms, but most of the time the weather is great. This has to be one of the best cruising areas in the Caribbean and almost nobody is here!
Leslie has quite a collection of molas, from various islands, and of various qualities. Some mola sellers are pushy and some are friendly. They all drive hard bargains. Going prices seem to range from $5 to about $20, with the highest quality ones going for $40 to $80, though we never bought any of those. The things to look for are fine stitching, intricate patterns, and lots of detail. The better molas are on bright high quality cloth, while sometimes old molas that are faded can be bought at a discount. Sometimes you have to wash them to remove the strong smoke smell (the Kunas use fires for cooking and light).
I'm not a mola expert, but I enjoy looking at the interesting designs that represent various aspects of Kuna life. After you've seen the peaceful Kuna Yala, with tall, swaying palm trees, sweeping sandy beaches, and protective coral reefs, you can better appreciate the stories and images within the molas.
A typical day in Kuna Yala begins with us waking around sunrise. After breakfast, Ian and Heather break out the books from the Calvert system. Hopefully, school is done around lunchtime, or a bit later some days. Then it's off in kayaks or dinghies to the reef for some snorkeling, or to Starfish Island for a game of tag on the beach. In the Coco Bandero Cays we were anchored so close to shore that we frequently just swam in.
When we had a 56-knot chocosana (wind from the mountains), that closeness was rather scary. Boats dragged all around us, and we were 50 feet from a reef, but our Bulwagga anchor held, backed up with a Fortress anchor that I dropped in the middle of the night as the lightning approached. Minke was one of two (out of eight) boats that didn't drag anchor that night.
Out here we're on our own when something like that happens: no Coast Guard and no Sea Tow. Insurance wouldn't do you much good either--there's nobody to spend the insurance money with. You'd better spend the money on heavy anchors, chain, and rope.
Friends from Providencia had been calling around on the radio to find us, and we soon were chatting now that we were back in radio range. They were all in the Coco Bandero Cays so we hightailed it for there.
Heather helped pilot us in by climbing up to the spreaders. In tropical waters, which are often very clear, one learns to follow channels by observing changes in water coloration. This technique works very well, once you are used to it, but it can be thwarted by poor lighting conditions.
The anchoring area in the Cocos was very tight and we had to use a precision anchor drop to get in just the right place, with enough scope (anchor chain) out to allow the anchor to hold properly without letting us hit the reefs when the wind switched. We were soon anchored comfortably, enjoying the companionship of old friends.
Heather and Ian were off in the inflatable kayaks to play on the beach, and we enjoyed evening cocktails on starfish island. Kuna Indians came by to offer us fish and langousta from their wooden dugout canoes, though they proved to be hard bargainers. They are amazing boatmen, paddling and sailing miles across open ocean waters in boats that most of us would have trouble getting into or out of. Sometimes one Kuna has to bail constantly to keep the things afloat, but they seem to always make it.
However, one night Leslie and I saw a family struggling against wind and waves to make shore. The old grandpa was in the stern with a little boy of about eight in the bow. In between were mom and daughter, both with little babies. The waves were washing over the ulu as they struggled to make shore. We motored out in our dinghy and took the women and babies off, then splashed our way over to their island while the grandpa and child paddled the canoe in. The family invited us to visit the next day and we returned to buy some molas and see their island.
Another Kuna known as Serapio, was famed for being a bit of a crook, but we didn't know that. He talked us into giving him $50 to buy some groceries for us, and we wondered if we would ever see him again. Luckily, Leslie and Heather must have charmed him because the crook returned with everything we ordered, much to the surprise of the other cruisers.
Three weeks in Colon went smoothly, and we enjoyed stocking up with fresh supplies from excellent supermarkets with reasonable prices--how about 1 liter boxes of wine for less than $2! \
We also restocked our malaria medicine at prices about one-quarter of those in the U.S. Leaving the Colon breakwater I glanced over my shoulder only to discover a freighter closing on us at warp speed--for such clumsy looking things they move very fast. We dodged out of the way and headed out into a lumpy sea.
We were soon motoring under the ramparts of several old forts in Portabello, which claims the dubious distinction of being the wettest place on the North American continent. A stiff climb to the top of a slippery hill brought us to the highest redoubt of one of the forts, and it was picturesque looking down on the cruising boats far below.
The next day we went on to Linton, which is known for its monkey island. None of the guides told us that the monkeys are actually the missing links between man and ape, and they walk perfectly normally on two legs. At first I thought there must be pygmies ashore, but they were awfully hairy ones with rather small heads. The giveaway was the long curling tail behind, which was more like a third leg that they sometimes used for hanging or sitting on. It rained for about 24 hours straight, challenging Portobello for its title, and I had to bail the dinghy three times over the course of the night.
The San Blas Islands were our destination so we pressed on, and were soon anchored at Porvenir where we were able to exchange our zarpe (clearance) for an entry permit to the Kuna Yala--land of the Kuna Indians. The Kunas govern themselves semi-independently, but the area is nominally part of Panama. The U.S. dollar is still the local currency, though you can do some trading if you have the right stuff (mostly food and clothing). The village near Porvenir was classic Kuna/National Geographic: thatch huts, narrow swept-dirt walkways between, Kuna women dressed in and selling molas (intricate embroidered cloths), and lots of happy little children enjoying watching the funny gringos.
To enhance our less-than-enthusiastic feeling about Panama, we discovered a small bit of water leaking out of our boat's exhaust line. The water was coming from a piece of hot pipe that should not have had water in it.
Something was rotten in there, but Bocas was not the place to find out what. At least the engine appeared to be running normally, and we figured exhaust pressure would keep any water out of the engine--as long as the engine was running.
We stocked up on diesel, and set off for the 120-mile overnight run to Colon, where the Panama Canal begins. This trip was with some trepidation. Cruisers know Colon as the town where all money should be stored in your sock, to avoid pickpockets, and it's the place where you don't venture anywhere, except by taxi. Some friends had their engine block stolen off the dock next to their boat at the Panama Canal Yacht Club.
However, we were pleasantly surprised to find the new Shelter Bay Marina welcoming, safe, and very comfortable with its air-conditioned lounge and disco showers (you have to experience them to believe them).
The marina contacted a mechanic for us, transplanted from the U.S. so language wasn't a barrier. Three weeks later we had a new exhaust, our wallets were a lot lighter, and we had explored lots of jungle trails complete with monkeys, wild dogs, and panthers.
We never saw the panthers, but one day Leslie called the marina to have someone find me so I could rush out to rescue the kids from the panthers. Ian and Heather were off to the beach with some friends, Leslie was on the bus in Colon, and I was supposed to be working on the boat. Leslie heard from someone on the bus that a big cat had been spotted on one of the trails, so she called the marina to alert me. I ran off through the jungle, carrying a big stick, only to find no kids at the beach--they had gone to a different beach. Miles of running later, I found the kids, didn't see any big cats, and I needed to drink lots of cold water. The joys of the jungle.
We had a great time on Providencia Island. We went to horse races on the beach, climbed the peak with the Port Captain (complete with armed escort), snorkeled on the reefs, ate out at friendly little restaurants, and even met the taxi driver's family.
The driver just stopped suddenly one day, seemingly nowhere near our destination. He wanted us to meet his wife, children, and mother, and we all spent a delightful few moments exchanging pleasantries before continuing on.
That sums up Providencia: one of the friendliest places in the Caribbean. The winds built for awhile, and a tropical wave passed overhead that later became Tropical Storm Alberto. This let us know it was time to continue south in order to get below the hurricane belt (10 degrees north), which is only a short distance south of Providencia.
In company with Good Karma, we set off with a big wind and a big sea from the east, which soon petered out and we were motorsailing with lightning all around for most of the night. A channel of clear sky through the clouds pointed directly to Bocas del Toro, our Panama destination.
Our dawn arrival was straightforward, though the lighthouse wasn't working, which is rather typical for much of the world. Thank goodness for GPS. We were soon anchored, called customs on the radio and we began to clean up the boat in expectation of the officials.
They never came. Finally, at about 5:15 PM they all showed up in a boat, and cheerfully cleared us into Panama--they were particularly cheerful because they charged us overtime and therefore had a nice bonus for the weekend. I later made them feel bad for ripping us off, but it seems that is part of ordinary routine in Bocas.
With our wallets somewhat lighter, we soon learned that dollars were readily available from ATM machines in Bocas, and the town was swarming with international backpackers and surfers. With our rip-off introduction we didn't feel too happy about Panama, but things were to change as we explored areas around Bocas and we voyaged on to Colon and eventually the San Blas Islands.
We spent most of the winter in Florida doing all the stuff you have to do to an almost 30-year old boat to get it ready for cruising.
We added solar panels, revamped the electrical system, installed a new roller furler, replaced rigging, got a storm jib, added a water catchment system (works great!), and tweaked a million little stowage issues.
That last item is very important before you head offshore. Dishes have to be wedged in so they don't rattle, cans stowed so they don't roll, bottles stored so they won't break, spare parts stowed so they are out of the way but you can find them when needed. It takes a lot of time and effort, but it is a never ending task. Each offshore voyage indicates new flaws in your system, but gradually you get things so you can leave harbor with a few moments spent on final stowage.
The final gear problem was our self-steering system. Our old autopilot was perpetually failing so we bit the bullet and installed an Auto-Helm windvane steering unit. Once that was in place we felt we could at least have self steering when under sail, though I also purchased a small tillerpilot that could be hooked to the windvane for steering under power--at least that was the theory.
We left Marathon, Florida, had a nice sail across the Gulf Stream to near Cuba in a light northeast wind, passed through the Yucatan Channel, then began a long slog across the Gulf of Honduras in flukey southeast winds with a strong adverse current. Conditions were exactly like the pilot charts predicted, but the reality of beating into a hot, humid wind and current, day after sweaty day, was tough.
Finally, we decided to stop at remote Swan Island, which provided a couple of days of respite from the relentless headwinds. We met one other sailor there, a singlehander, and we were the only two boats to visit in a month. It is nice to know there are still places so remote in the Caribbean.
On to Providencia Island we motored, in light winds and seas. Providencia is part of Colombia. It has 1200-foot high peaks that loom over a beautiful and protected anchorage. The people are friendly and the port captain welcoming. We finally felt like we had arrived in a Caribbean paradise.
