Western San Blas Islands

Our next stop from the Holandes Cays was a small lagoon with a Kuna village on the main island. Chichime' was the last group of islands before the district capital Porvenir. As we motored into the lagoon we noticed good surf on the reef to the seaward side of the channel, peeling to the right with head high faces. It was time to dig the surfboards out. It was getting a bit dark, so we decided to go out the first thing in the morning. There was a couple of Indian guys in a dugout canoe with a poly-tarp sail jetting around the lagoon. It was amazing how fast they were. We were totally surrounded by perfect tropical islands, and despite the brisk trade winds the anchorage was perfectly flat. Paradise.

The next morning Mark and I went out to try the surf while Al and Laurie hung out on the boat with binoculars. We anchored the dink in about fifty feet of water in the channel, right next to the reef, and paddled across to where the waves were breaking. They were pretty fast and broke across a shallow coral reef. I paddled for the first wave, felt the tail of my old board lift, and as I looked ahead I could see the wave sucking up off a shallow patch. I was too far inside. I was committed by now, so I stood up and cranked for speed along the face to try and make it past the bubble. I made it, just, but decided from then on to surf off the shoulder. Mark had the next one and made it easily on his mini-mal. A few waves later gave up on the shoulder and moved back inside. I misjudged the take-off and found out just how sharp the coral was. It didn’t hurt yet but I was bleeding, so I got out of the water and watched Mark for a while, then we called it a day and went in. It was a perfect situation. There was a nice reef break 200 metres from our boats and no one to surf it but us. The following day Laurie joined us for a surf too, and Al sat in the dinghy. For the next few days we kept surfing, as well as fitting in a trip to the village to buy some of the local shirt adornments called Molas. Finally the swell dropped so we snorkelled the reef. It was pretty but like on the other islands the fish were very wary. I think the locals were better than us, and fished the area heavily. More info on Kuna Indians.

Time marched on, and it was time to leave for Isla Grande. This was a very famous surfing spot on the way to Colon, the north end of the canal. It was only a day sail away along the coast. This time there was no danger of pirates, so we sailed along the picturesque coast about a mile or two off. This was truly wild country. In the early afternoon we neared Isla Grande and started to see signs of habitation again. Isla Grande is a holiday destination for Panamanians as well as international surfers. As we rounded the western side of the island there were hundreds of boats as well as jet skis, so we knew we would not be there long.
It was nice to be back to a town though, and on land again. We had set foot on land only twice in the last month, so it was good to stretch our legs. We walked into the village and ordered lunch and some beers. Laurie spoke pretty good Spanish, and had fun talking to the kids, who were fascinated by both her and Al’s blond hair. On land the island was much more unspoilt than we suspected from the water, with the majority of the accommodation being small cottage complexes. We walked around to the surf beach but it was crowded so we didn’t bother going out. After the last week or so of having the surf to ourselves it seemed wrong to compete for waves.
After a couple of days we said goodbye to Althea for a while, and moved on to Colon. I was keen to start the process of booking our passage through the canal. Mark and Laurie decided to move a bit slower and check out some spots along the way. We knew we would catch up with them soon because they planned to go through the canal about the same time as us.
The thirty or so miles to Colon started out pleasantly, with light winds and calm seas. Then the ships started showing up. We knew that this was one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world, but we were still not prepared for the dozens of huge ships that filled the gulf north of Colon.
The wind dropped right off and we started the motor. I fired up the radar for about the second time ever, and started taking bearings to each ship to ensure we were not on a collision course. After a little while it was obvious that most of them were anchored, and we were worried about nothing. I called port control and got clearance to enter the main port. Once we were through the scale of the port became evident. There were hundreds of ships. We sailed off the edge of the shipping channels to keep from being squashed. Finally we crossed to the small boat anchorage and dropped the hook at the back of the fleet. We grabbed the papers and passports and dinghied across the huge harbour to customs to check in. Once that was done we headed back to the boat to finish cleaning up.
There was a Sovereign 54 next to us, having a hell of a party. As usual Alison wanted to have a quiet night, but I was ready to party. Someone waved, so I jumped in the dinghy and went over. Soon we had an invite to join them, and I went back for a newly-spruced Alison and some rum.
The big boat was called Golden Sovereign, and belonged to Clive, Anne-Marie and their kids Shawn and Claire from East London in South Africa. They were buddy boating with Ian and Jenni and their kids Amy, Tyla and Travis on board Deja Vu. Ian’s first words were ‘Hi, come and have a rum!’. We spent a lot of time with these guys over the coming months.
Morning came (too bright), but we had to complete our formalities and book our transit. We made our way into the Panama Canal Yacht Club, one of the classic institutions on the world yachting stage. We got a recommendation there for a trustworthy taxi-driver, who would take us around the different offices and help with the paperwork. This proved to be invaluable. As we applied for the various permits, transit fees and other papers needed for the transit the bank balance got lower and lower. It costs at least US$ 850 for the fees, not including a big bond in case we damaged the canal! There were horror stories, like the one about the Advisor who didn’t like the look of the galley on one boat and ordered take-out delivered to the boat for his lunch at a cost of $300, at the owner’s expense. You had to take a Transit Advisor for the passage through the canal. You needed four thick lines of 125’ length and four adult line handlers in addition to the Advisor and Captain. The canal walls were rough, so you needed ten or so car tyres as fenders, covered in plastic. The preparation took us weeks.
Colon was famous for duty free shopping The Colon Free Zone was a walled city of duty free stores. Because we were a ship in transit we could shop there, but we didn’t really find it any cheaper than the shops in town. We bought a few things for the boat and instead of paying the compulsory fee the taxi driver just slipped the guard a couple of bucks.
The town itself was very poor. Crime there was legendary. You never wore your wedding ring in case someone cut your finger off. We had this confirmed first hand by someone who had seen it happen. You never went there after dark. It was dangerous to walk anywhere at any time by yourself. We took taxis everywhere, and always walked fast and stayed aware. Prices were low, though, and we replaced our dead laptop and stocked up with provisions again. Boat batteries were cheap and I thought of buying a spare but didn’t. I was to regret that decision later, when I paid $400 for a $85 battery in Tahiti.
We spent a lot of time at the yacht club. It had a reasonable bar that had air conditioning- very welcome after trudging all over town. There was email access and decent, cheap food.
January 26 came around and we planned an Australia Day barbie. We played rugby and soccer on the yacht club lawn. We met another Aussie boat there. Owen and Lois and their daughter Kiri were completing their circumnavigation on their catamaran Atanua. Owen built Atanua from scratch, and helped other boat builders do the same for a living. I came out of the barbecue with visions of a fifty foot catamaran, with Cap’n John’s Dive and Surf Adventures painted on the side. Maybe one day…

The Canal

Finally the day of our transit came around. We had volunteered as line handlers on Golden Sovereign and Althea already, so we knew what to expect, but I was still nervous. Our Advisor was scheduled to come at 5.15am. It was still dark. Soon enough the pilot vessel came alongside and the Advisor jumped down to True Blue’s deck. We had already put out the fenders and lines, so we relaxed while we motored slowly out to the first lock. We tied up on the seawall in front of the lock and waited for our scheduled time. As line handlers we had Alison, Mark and Laurie, and a woman we had met in the yacht club who had made the trip before.
On the three locks up we tied up next to a tug each time, rafted up to another yacht. There was always a huge ship in the lock in front of us. Sailors waved from its stern, more to the girls than to Mark and me. We motored into each lock through enormous steel doors. Then the lock filled and lifted us 42 feet. Once we were level with the next lock the doors in front of us would open and the ship would take off. This was the most dangerous time, as the propeller wash from the ship would wash around our small boats in a sustained torrent. We watched the lines carefully, and moved the fenders to stop the boats damaging each other.
After the three upwards locks we were at the Lake Gatun level, and it was time to sail and motor the length of the canal. Looking back on the Caribbean for the last time I felt almost a physical pain. We had spent the last year sailing its waters, and I knew that this was the close of a major chapter of our lives. Then, I looked forward, and saw the incredible manmade lake stretching towards the continental divide. The wind was from behind so we set some sail, and followed the channel markers south towards the Pacific. We sailed through dense forest, and the advisor told us of the howler monkeys and other animals that lived there. Then we passed through the Gold Cut, where thousands of people had lost their lives to remove the side of a mountain. We made good time, and our advisor asked us to pull up at a dock at the side of the canal, where he picked up some lunch. Finally we were approaching the Mira Flores locks.
Locking down was a lot easier than going up. This time guys on each side of the lock threw us messenger lines, and we tied our heavy lines to them. They dropped these over big bollards and we took up the slack. This time we were in front of the big ships. After we were in we could watch while six diesel locomotives slowly manoeuvred the ship into place. Then as the water fell we let the lines out slowly, keeping them taut to keep us centred in the lock. We reached the bottom, and as soon as the doors started to open the advisor wanted us to move off, but we deliberately worked slowly so that the doors were fully open and the currents stopped before we dropped the lines.
We motored five more miles to reach the final locks. We repeated the same procedure twice more and then the huge doors opened on the Pacific Ocean. Ahead the Bridge of the Americas joined North and South America. We broke out the wine and beer. As we motored beneath it a pilot boat roared up and collected our advisor. We dropped our line handler off at the yacht club and motored out to where Althea was anchored. The whole gang was there, and we ended up at another party on Golden Sovereign. We were in the Pacific.