May 18 - June 1

Panama

After a slow sail through the night, I approached the san Blas islands in the country of Panama. It started to drizzle and since it was still dark, I slowed the boat even more until the sun peeped over the rain clouds and the wind dropped. Now there was enough light to spot the entrance between reefs and islands and I motored in gently between some beautiful, palm clad islands, fringed by sand and then reefs. It was a lovely morning and the anchorage was stunning.

After dropping anchor and having a few hours refreshing nap, I made pasta for lunch then hopped in the dinghy and explored the outer reef. The water was crystal clear, and there were abundant little coloured fish nibbling away at the coral or hiding amongst the soft fans and swaying sea weeds. There were the bright little black and iridescent purple fish, and the two-tone pale blue and yellow fish, that I'd seen snorkelling in the Tobago Keys.

I was planning to move on to the next island group when I noticed a small sailing log-canoe approach the islands. Being curious about people, I hopped into my dinghy again, and went over to see them more closely. In the small craft were the owner - an old man called Flores (flower) and his wife, both around 60 years old, and a young girl of about 15years old, perhaps their granddaughter.

The old lady was wearing traditional clothes - a red blouse with stitched mola in the midriff, brightly coloured glass beads around her neck, arms and legs, and a chunky gold ring through a piercing in her nose. They'd sailed over from the Holandes island group to the island I was anchored next to (Banderas keys) to visit their friends who live on the island. The sole occupants of the small island were 2 older couples, their young grandson, and another single man.

The men on the island fish and collect coconuts to sell at another island called Tigra. They wore basic, Western clothes of shorts and T-shirts and a cap to protect from the sun. They had brown, leathery skin and looked very fit for eighty years old. At least that was what he told me his age was. Perhaps he was having me on, because the man still had black hair, and was able to read the fine printed English-Spanish dictionary to translate a few words when we tried to converse. I spent a few hours with them, after the man invited me to join them for lunch.

Molas, Winis and Panuelos. The women on the island laid out some winis they made and were keen for me to buy one. They are made from glass beads and they go to great trouble to design patterns from the bead sequences so that a pattern is shown when they wear them around their legs and arms. I bought a wini, a basic design of different colours in parallel. So now if anyone asks me to show them my wini, I can show them without even blushing.

The women also wear a panuelo (headscarf), usually in red, as another decorative part of their traditional fashion. By contrast, the men dress in ordinary western clothes, just a T-shirt and long pants.

The old lady who lived on the island kept asking for things for me to fetch from the yacht - salt, onions, rice, fishing hooks, cooking pots, money, beer (!), plastic buckets. So I went back to add some contributions giving them the last of my onions, tomatoes and limes, some cold drinking water and packets of chocolate biscuits and a toy koala for the little boy. I waited and waited for the lunch I was promised and it appeared after some time their offer was revoked with the suggestion we even eat on my yacht. After waiting for the fish for so long and donating the last of my vegetables, I hinted at how hungry I was and that now my vegetables were finished, perhaps could we eat the fish they'd cooked here and the other vegetables...

Finally they got the hints and produced a small bowl of soup with yuwka and cooking bananas, and 3 tiny, smoked fish. I thanked them for lunch and offered to help the men catch more fish later. Unfortunately the time they were going fishing was too late for me and so I left them to sail on to the next island group, the Lemon Keys. I arrived there just on dusk still able to see the reefs and negotiate my way past about 10 other yachts. This seemed overcrowded to me after the comparative intimacy of the Kunas I met on the last island with only 2 other yachts anchored there and plenty of room.

I snorkelled again the next day, after thoroughly checking the motor's cooling system (it had been overheating). The reefs were even better and the fish more abundant around the lee of the island. The huts there looked like they were set up for tourists with many plastic chairs around and serving dinner like a restaurant at night.

The future for the Kunas? Rising sea level, caused by global warming, is a problem for them, as many of the islands are only a metre or so above sea level. Some islands have disappeared between surveys of the guide book I was reading on the San Blas islands. Their traditional way of life is being affected by tourism and trade with the main towns in Panama. Only the Kunas themselves can decide what level of cultural change they want in their future, and to what extent tourism will interplay with their lives.

Well, I had my dose of authentic Kuna culture, so the next morning I left early and motored hard to get along the coast toward Colon. I stopped behind an island near Porto Linto, as the light was failing and I didn't quite make Porto Bello by nightfall.

Panama is a relatively small country on the narrow bridge between north and south America. One of it's fames is the Panama canal, a man-made cut and series of locks to allow ships to pass between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, shaving thousands of nautical miles from the route rounding the trecherous Cape Horn. I too would be transitting the 40mile long canal, from Colon to Panama city. I had already transitted the sea-level Suez canal, linking the Red sea with the Mediterranean sea, on Weatherly, some 3 years earlier. But this was different, requiring being raised through sets of locks to an artificial lake, then lowered back down on the other side to sea level.

Arriving at the entrance to Colon, I asked the harbour master's permission to enter the port. He asked the usual questions - Country of Registration, how many people aboard, where I was headed etc. Then he said I may enter the harbour (through a gap in a huge breakwall), but to keep clear of a military ship which was also entering.

Well, I had all my washing strung out on a line: T-shirts, sheets and underpants flying high along the sides like a set of ferral flags. When almost at the gap, I looked out to see the US Coastguard ship bearing down on me at considerable speed. I smiled and waved up at the helicopter hovering above me. It was angled slightly nose downward and bristling with heavy weapons trained on me. It seemed to me they didn't have much of a sense of humour, though god knows what they thought privately about me in my boxer shorts and boat with decorative underwear flapping in the air.

I decided, wisely, to let the Coastguard through unhindered, and manouvered away to the side in a wide loop to give it space. It slipped past with all the sailors in neat uniforms standing at attention along the decks. Was that for me? I was flying the red Enson Australian flag and not the blue national Australian flag. Another Aussie believed it was only meant to be flown if the captain had served in the military. I don't really believe anyone on that Coastuard ship was giving me any kind of military recognition, as my flag itself has been badly shredded from an encounter with the wind-generator, so that only the Union Jack and federation star remains. A jagged vertical tear is all that has to show for where the southern cross has been separated. Hardly a crisp military look for a ship.

I anchored in Colon (port Cristobal) and used a local agent to help run around the various offices to get the paperwork completed for checking into Panama and transitting the canal.

Colon is a grubby and rough looking town, and apparently gringos like me are not very safe wandering around alone, so I always had a taxi driver or friends of the agent to accompany me on my errands. One day I went to pay for the canal transit. The authorities require a deposit of $1500 in CASH, and it seemed a dangerous procedure to have to walk around town between banks collecting $500 from each of my credit cards, and to another bank to deposit the money. I had a group of 6 of Tito's friends escorting me, as they had nothing much else to do. They had the look of nightclub bouncers, muscular builds, gold teeth and rings, tatoos, missing fingers, and short cropped hair. One of the 'bodyguards' laughed when I made the comment that I felt like an American president visiting, with so much security around me.

Other unsuccessful errands were attempted - to get my injector pump serviced, obtain spare injector tubes and fuel filters and various small things for the boat. Apparently Panama is better for this, as Colon is relatively a small town.

Finally the day arrived and I was scheduled a slot to transit the canal. I had spent days checking over the engine, changed the oil and ensuring it was in top condition. I couldn't afford any mechanical problems on the transit, as it already cost me a small fortune to pay for 4 linehandlers, ropes and the canal fee itself.

My pilot arrived and leapt down from the high sided pilot vessel. I was concerned he might get an injury doing that, but was fine. Then the linehandlers pulled up the remaining anchor chain and scrubbed off the thick, oozy mud. We were finally away and then it started raining - teeming down, in fact! We all got drenched but I let the linehandlers wait inside, out of the downpour. I didn't mind getting a soaking, probably needed a good wash anyway! The pilot had a professional looking rainjacket to wear, which was lucky, because there were fines also, for not providing adequate shelter for those aboard, and the velcrose on my cockpit coverings were not up to the job of holding together in the downpour.

I motored flat chat to demonstrate that boat speed could be maintained, but it wasn't necessary. A large cargo ship was half an hour late and we had to wait for it to enter the locks ahead of us. Night fell, and the green and red lights along the sides of the canal channel blinked in a line for miles behind us. There were a few ships progressing down it towards us and the locks. I prepared the takeaway dinners of BBQ chicken, vegetable stir fry, rice and other Chinese food and passed the plates around for the people aboard to eat. They all enjoyed the hot meal and the linesmen were keen to have a beer. Not till after we transit the locks I insisted.

The pilot asked me to tie up ('nesting' together) with a catamaran, outside the locks. Then we motored into the lock and some Panama canal guys threw down 2 light lines with a plaited ball at the end (for weight). They were tied to our 2 heavier lines on my side, one at the front and one astern. The cat tied their 2 lines the same, and linesmen above walked forward with the lines in their hands towards huge bollards on top of the lock.

The first set of locks were entered with water low, so the canal linesmen are way above us. They pulled up the lines and slipped the loop of my heavy line over the huge bollard, in place for holding the yachts in the centre of the lock.

Then the huge steel doors swung closed behind us, and we were enclosed by dauntingly high, concrete walls and massive steel gates, at the bottom of a dim pool. We seemed tiny, compared to the walls and cargo ship ahead of us. That vessel was held in place by 4 electric locomotives on tracks either side of the canal walls. It was eery at night, down there at the bottom of the pool, but floodlights and coloured on the gates and machinery helped illuminate the scene.

Then the lock started filling, quite quickly, and there was a lot of water turbulence buffeting the yachts. After around 20 minutes the water level raised the boats to the top. The front gates opened and there was more turbulence as the cargo ships propellors were put into use to help it forward. We motored out, still tethered to the catamaran, into the 2nd lock, with linesmen on Weatherly mucking around pretending to jerk the canal linesmen into the water. Then the gates closed behind us and we were raised again to the 3rd lock. The canal line handler wasn't watching and the line got hitched in a large gap in the concrete walls and for a moment I thought there might be a problem, but my line handler paid out plenty of slack and the line was flicked up out of the trap.

There was a large cargo ship ahead of us, and we were buffeted around more when he exitted the lock ahead of us, with his propellor wash, even though he was being helped by 4 electric locomotives (to control the position in centre of the chambers).

Once through the 3rd lock, we motored another hour or so to a quiet section of the lake and tethered up to a large mooring buoy, where the pilot departed onto a pilot launch. The line handler boys and I celebrated with a few cold beers and then I made space in the cabins and cockpit for them to sleep.

A second pilot boarded at 6.30am on Tuesday morning. Then we motor-sailed through the artificial lake for 4 hours, flat chat for my engine (2400rpm). I was lucky, and had chosen the best date for a week, looking beforehand at the internet for favourable winds. It paid off, because a head wind (typical at this time of year) would have meant a delay in the transit and a hefty fine ($500) if I'd missed the scheduled lock time.

I was given permission to hoist my genoa sail and we were making around 6.2knots, greatly helping to meet the schedule time.

When across the lake, and transitted through the Gaillard Cut, which was the biggest difficulty for the construction of the canal when it was being built, due to repeated landslides during excavations. Incidently, the French commenced work on the canal in 1879, but desease and poor management caused them to abandon the project after nine years. The Americans bought the rights to complete it and created a new country, Panama, with concessions paid to Colombia for the use of the land. 25,000 lives were lost in the construction of the canal, more than three quaters of these were in the French era (due mainly to yellow fever and malaria). The Panama canal is one of the major engineering feats the world has seen, and work is still in progress, to expand the canals and allow for larger than 'Panamax' ships to transit in future.

We entered the final set of locks to descend down to the pacific Ocean.

These were relatively easy for the linesmen, with less turbulence, and we had no other ship sharing the locks with us and the catamaran. The water surged out through underwater vents, and we were down at sea level once more.

Finally we were through, at about 3pm and I let the advisor and linesmen off. I was alone again and relieved it went smoothly. I anchored in peace on the other side of the canal walls, along with around 40 neighbouring cruising yachts.

I jumped into the Pacific ocean to celebrate a successful transit, and took some wine over to the catamaran to share a drink later on.

A couple of weeks were spent in Panama getting repairs and spares located, and a feeble attempt to find crew. I felt uneasy about my responsibilities for crew and sticking to a fixed schedule. I encountered large financial obligations for the last crew I took, after unpredictable circumstances arose.

Panama city was much nicer and safer than Colon, and there were Kunas walking around in their wonderful costumes, which made it colourful and interesting. I even bought some Kuna molas to send for presents. Clothing was very cheap there too so I invested in some shorts and T-shirts to replace some of my worn out clobber.

I got the usual boat repairs done - mainsail stitched up (again!), injector lines made, injector nozzles tested and replaced a nozzle, stop switch for the outboard engine, and alternator serviced. There wouldn't be many other places with so many good services in the little islands across the pacific, so I tried to think of spares I might need for failure to important equipment.

I also made friends with other yachties in the anchorage and stockpiled about 30 movies from film swaps, ensuring plenty to keep me amused for the long passage ahead. I particularly enjoyed the Pink Panther, Zorro and James Bond collections, as well as more recent humour and drama flicks.

One afternoon on anchor in Panama, the wind piped up to around 30knots. As I glanced from the window between yacht jobs, I saw a big ketch entangled with a sailing school yacht on a mooring. I jumped into the dinghy in drenching rain to see if I could assist. The owners were trying to fend off and sort out some gear at the stern when I approached. They were an elderly French couple on their 2nd circumnavigation. Surprisingly, the man was stark naked, which was a shock to see, while he was straddled between the yachts trying to push them apart. (I should concede, it's often the way I dress, when alone and inside my own boat).

They welcomed my assistance, so I climbed aboard and helped push the stern away while the woman cut free the bolts from an expensive looking fishing rod so it didn't get wiped off by the plunging bow of the other boat. I kept pushing the stern off, which was heavy work, and noticed the man was wasting time opening the water drain plugs on the deck to catch rain water! Maybe he was in shock. It seemed they were both incompetant and I had to tell them what to do - release more anchor chain, so their yacht could slip past the other. It worked, and soon they were free of the potential damage which could have easily happened by 2 yachts in contact in moderate winds.

After they were clear, the woman thanked me and apologised for her husband's lack of clothing. I shrugged it off 'Oh, no problem, it's the normal way to dress on French yachts, isn't it?'

I tried to check out from the local immigration office at the Balboa yacht club. The tiny box of an office was smelly and the officer watching TV there wanted US$25 to clear out without a receipt. I was angry about these corrupt officials in third world countries trying to extract illigitimate fees with no receipts and refused to pay it. My agent in Colon said to just scribble the date of departure next to the entry stamp, but I didn't want to do that either, and left Panama without clearing immigration. I thought I'd explain what happened to officials in Galapagos if questioned (I wasn't, they only required my Zarpe, which I had already).

I filled up with fuel and water from the yacht club fuel dock, in heavy rain.
Finally I left from Panama and stopped over at a small island at the head of the Panama canal, before another day hop to the Las Perlas islands further south. I anchored for 2 nights in a peaceful bay though at night the rain pelted down, and lightning cracked all around. I disconnected the radio and GPS as a precaution against frying them, as happened to an unfortunate German yacht anchored there a week before. The next day I went on a foolish 3 hour walk to try to make use of the last of my phone credits. There seemed to be no reception anywhere on the hilly island, and I was rewarded with 2 large blisters on my heels for the effort.

On Sunday 28th June I left San Jose island, and also the country of Panama. Now I was en-route to the Galapagos islands properly.