Panama: May 1-11
Panama: May 1-11
May 1
Cristobal, Panama: Friday
I have started writing this the morning of April 30, while waiting for the Panama Canal admeasurer to come to the boat. Why he is an admeasurer rather than a measurer, I have never known. That he comes at all is a waste of everybody’s time, with the possible exception of boats between 45’ and 50’ long. The fee for going through the canal is about $300 more for boats over 50’ than under. Under the fee is $609, not unreasonable, but five times more than I paid on my first two transits in 1984 and 1990.
The admeasurer measures length, including any structures extending beyond the hull. Thus with the bow roller froward and the Monitor vane aft, THE HAWKE OF TUONELA might measure 38’ or 39’ rather than 37’, but not possibly 50’.
The admeasurer is supposed to come sometime this morning to measure THE HAWKE OF TUONELA and a French boat, belonging to a couple who do not speak much English and with whom I went through the initial tiring process of clearing into Panama and starting to arrange a canal transit yesterday. They seem very pleasant people, and I have great sympathy for them trying to deal with all this through a language barrier. That we succeeded in accomplishing anything at all yesterday was due to our agent’s man, Robert, who was worth much more than his $100 fee.
Let me backtrack briefly.
I have been here two days, and will post the passage log if I am able. ‘Here’ is Shelter Bay Marina in the far western corner of this huge harbor. It is three years old. The staff helpful, after they first caused me to go aground, details of which are in the passage log.
But the marina is far from the city of Colon, where all the government offices are located. In a straight line across the harbor it is only three miles, but driving is at least ten miles over terrible roads, and we are on the opposite side of the canal. You have doubtlessly waited at a railroad crossing for a train to pass; here you wait for a ship to pass.
The marina is located on what was Fort Sherman, an airbase handed to Panama by the U.S. and surrounded by jungle. The sometimes two-lane, sometimes one, path to Colon cuts across the abandoned landing strip, then through jungle to the canal. One of the offices we had to go to required us to pass the Colon city dump, a huge place filled with people scrounging through the trash and hundreds of big, black turkey vultures: images worthy to illustrate Dante’s INFERNO.
Colon is a city of two hundred thousand that has long been one of the most dangerous places on Earth. It still is. The man sitting next to me on the marina shuttle bus when I returned in the afternoon was held up at gun point in broad daylight in Colon a few days ago. He managed to keep his wallet, but lost his passport. You don’t walk around Colon. You taxi from one relatively safe enclave to another.
Life for yachts and yacht agents has become much more difficult since the Panama Yacht Club was torn down in March. It was ramshackle, but it was in the city and convenient. I stayed at their ricky docks on both my previous visits. Shelter Bay is incomparably nicer, and incomparably less convenient. Robert said that all the officials had offices at Panama YC, and when it was torn down, they scattered like stirring up a bee’s nest.
A rumor that the YC was torn down to make way for a marina is not true. It was simply devoured by the port container facility.
The only alternative to Shelter Bay Marina is to anchor in what is known as The Flats, dinghy to a dock on the wrong side of a small inlet, then somehow get from there past the dump and circle into town.
Colon seems to be an old city, but isn’t. It is younger than Chicago, having been founded in 1850 when the 49ers were trying to get to California as quickly as possible during the gold rush. It was falling down when I was here in 1984 and continues to do so. Of all the places I’ve visited in the past year that I hadn’t seen for more than a decade, Colon is the least changed. Narrow streets jammed with traffic and people. Sidewalk vendors. Cracked walls. Peeling paint. Muggers.
I am not exactly certain of all we did yesterday. We went to at least a half dozen different offices and shops, getting papers stamped, having copies made.
We got visas; we got zarpas, which are cruising permits; we got clearance into Panama; we made an appointment for the admeasurer, who has yet to show up and it is now 11:00 a.m.. Maybe we got some other papers too.
The visa cost $17. The zarpa cost $31.25 for 30 days. I could have gotten a zarpa for 90 days, but it cost more and I expect to be long gone before 30.
Without an agent, even if I were fluent in Spanish, it would have taken days just to find all the offices and officials.
We left the marina in the morning and didn’t get back until almost sunset. A long, tiring day, but interesting and something of an adventure.
In addition to the turkey vultures, we also saw two good sized iguanas in trees, one near the dump, one right in the port itself, near the control tower.
Rain has stopped. No admeasurer yet.
The marina has a wi-fi Internet connection. Sometimes I can connect from the boat. Other times I have to go up and sit on the veranda, which is a pleasant place. Their restaurant serves food and drink there. A limited menu, but what I’ve had so far: calamari one night and spaghetti marinara the other, were good and the gin and tonics and beers are cold.
I have enjoyed my first real shower in more than 7,000 miles, and hope to repeat the experience later today.
For those interested in costs, the marina charges for a 40’ boat at minimum, even if the boat is smaller. I am paying $26.40 a day, which with taxes and a $10 a week Internet fee, comes to $211.36 per week.
Up to shut hatches: rain has resumed.
In addition to the $609 fee to transit the canal, which I believe must be paid in cash, I must also post bond of about $800, which is refunded if I don’t require extra services during the transit or damage their canal. This can be paid by credit card.
For the transit you must have 4 line handlers, in addition to the person on the helm; four 115’ lines; and extra fenders. Many yachts have enough crew or get other sailors to transit with them as handlers, but I am paying four line handlers $85 each for the transit; renting 8 tires for fenders at $3 each; and four lines at $15 each. That, plus the $100 agent’s fee, comes to $524. I also have to provide food for the handlers and the canal advisor who will be aboard.
The transit itself is done differently than when I have gone through before. I have done a one day transit, which I prefer. The entire distance is less than 50 miles and easily done in one day if they get you into the first lock early. I have done a two day transit, where they made us anchor over night just short of the locks on the Pacific side.
Now I am told, they start yachts in late afternoon or early evening. We are in the locks after dark. After passing through the three up locks, we tie up to a buoy for the night, then power across the manmade Lake Gatun the next day, and descend the Pacific locks in early afternoon.
In addition to having to feed the men, they will also sleep aboard, which with all the provisions is a hassle, but unavoidable.
As I may have said before, the Panama Canal is one of the world’s great works of engineering and transiting it once is an interesting experience. For myself, this has always been the part of the voyage I have looked forward to least, and I will be very glad when it is over.
May 1
Cristobal, Panama: Friday
When Julio, the admeasurer, finally showed up in early afternoon, he seemingly turned out to be a very nice man. Probably he is, but he also cost me an additional $800 or $900.
He took out his tape measure, asked some questions, including one about a rudder position indicator, which must be common on ships, but are not on small sailboats. However, THE HAWKE OF TUONELA has a perfect one: the tiller. Julio seemed confused by the tiller, and asked if that was the steering station. I suppose he hasn’t seen many boats with tillers. THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is certainly the only one in this marina. But that points out the whole problem with dealing with authorities who really have no idea about sailboats, but have complete control over them in the canal.
After he had taken a few measurements, we went up to the veranda and he filled out many forms, some of which he gave to me.
I now have to take one of those forms to Citibank and give them $1500, most of which hopefully I will eventually get back, and then I can be given a day for transit. However today is Labor Day in Panama, as it is in much of the world, and the bank isn’t open. So will have to wait until Monday.
I am going to ride the shuttle bus in this afternoon to shop at the supermarket.
Sky somewhat less dark this morning. I’ll try to get a few boat chores done, including digging out my two diesel jerry cans for the marina to fill.
I feel at times overwhelmed by trying to prepare for the transit, particularly feeding the line handlers and advisor, who certainly wouldn’t be happy eating what I do, while also trying to prepare for the 4,000 mile passage to the Marquesas. On top of this are the Internet problems, which may in part be related to the marina’s wi-fi connection. I am getting very tired of them. Will not go through everything I have done, including signed up with and paid for a different host for the site. Nothing works. It seems likely that I will not be able to do anything more, including upload anything to the site, until I get to New Zealand or back in the U.S.
As I have said, I kept a journal long before the graceless word ‘blog’ existed, and will continue to do so, and post it when I can.
Cristobal, Panama
May 1, 2009
Disgruntled.
Tried to leave jerry cans at office to be filled with diesel. Girl said they don’t do that. I also need to buy laundry tokens, but the girl there was busy and it was going to be too long a wait. Trying to get anything done that I can’t do myself is like wading through quick sand.
I did apply sealant to suspect places around hull-deck joint at stern; also epoxy puttied in place a new wedge of teak to keep tiller at proper height; cleared everything off one quarter berth to get aft and open small cockpit port and get hose so I can fill water tanks; and swept cabin.
Much hotter here than elsewhere I’ve been in the Caribbean. Highs in the low 90s F/34C.
Sky has cleared and is sunny today.
I wish I were at sea in the Pacific.
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This marina is accommodating, but only to a point, and that point is rather limited, particularly when I didn’t make a fuss when they caused me to go around.
Diesel is only available from a fuel barge that sometimes is on the other side of the harbor. It is not far, but you can’t walk there. I asked the manager if he could have one of the marina workers take the jerry cans over in the marina’s work launch to be filled. He refused, pleading that they might become liable if any diesel spilled. So I will have to pump up the dinghy and row over myself.
Clouding over. I’m due to ride the shuttle bus into Colon in an hour.
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This morning I noticed that I wasn’t getting normal charging from the solar panels. Traced the problem to the new panel. Thought for a while it had failed, but replaced the connecting wire and all is well again.
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Hot, sultry evening. Several new boats in. Marina is full. Many 40’ to 50’ catamarans, including a big yellow one next to me. In fact of the first six boats on this dock, THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is the only monohull.
Rode the shuttle into Colon this afternoon. Bought several bags and six-packs of stuff, including beer and coke for the men for the transit. Still not sure what I’m going to do to feed them. According to the marina’s promotional literature, the marina restaurant can help, but when I talked to the man there today he said only sandwiches. I need three meals: dinner, breakfast and lunch. I may ask the agent if he or one of the men can take care of the food at my expense. That is if he ever shows up again. He has my money and was supposed to leave the lines and tire fenders here last night.
Had a pizza for lunch. Not bad, but not great. Very friendly people in the place, none of whom spoke English, but we got it done with pointing at the menu and smiles.
The admeasurer asked yesterday if my running lights were working. Naturally I said yes, but hadn’t checked them in a while. Did so tonight and found that the port bow light bulb was broken. Then found that my last replacement was broken, too. Found a larger bulb that fits the socket, but not exactly the light fitting. Jury rigged it in place with seizing wire, which might last forever, and should be good enough for the one night I need it.
People having a party on the boat next to me. Not noisy, but even normal conversations going on only a few feet away will require me to close the forward hatch to get to sleep, and it is really too hot for that. Hope they don’t stay up late.
May 2
Cristobal, Panama: waiting for Tito
First light. Gray sky. On boat, but have my laundry in the three working washing machines. A fourth is broken.
The people on the boat next to me soon went below and were not a problem. However four young Frenchman from the boat across fro me, sat on the dock and began playing music and singing. At 11:00 p.m. I stuck my head out the forward hatch and said, “Excuse me, but it is getting late and some of us would like to sleep.” They stopped briefly, then resumed until after midnight. And left a wine bottle on the dock.
Even pre-dawn, doing something as moderate as carrying my laundry bag causes me to break into sweat.
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Yahoo Small Business seems to have abandoned me. No response to my last several emails. I am going to change hosts, but can’t upload to my new host with the marina’s Internet connection.
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Woman in the laundry room said just what I’ve been thinking, “The longer you are in this marina, the less you like it. They seem friendly and helpful enough at first, but aren’t.”
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The boat is in chaos. The dryers didn’t really dry; I had no more tokens; and the office wasn’t open. I wanted to buy more tokens yesterday, but the first time I went to the office they had none, and the second time only eight, which is what I took. To get more all they had to do was walk a few steps to the laundry room and bring back the ones in the machines.
So clothes and sheets and cushion covers are spread around the cabin and cockpit.
In addition seven bags of groceries, four six packs of beer and a 12 pack of Coke I bought yesterday are on the cabin sole. I will try to find better places for them today, but the quarter berths are almost full.
All this had led me to decide that enough is enough, which has two results. First, I’m going to transit as soon as possible, although I won’t be able to schedule a time until after I pay my fee to the bank on Monday.
There is no way I can sort the boat out for the passage to the Marquesas until after the transit. I’ll do so in Balboa.
And second, the line handlers are going to have to eat what I do.
I have plenty of food on this boat, and just am not going to buy more, except stuff to make sandwiches for the transit lunch.
For dinner I will give them my best freeze dry meal, Santa Fe Chicken. For breakfast they are going to get my homemade muesli. If they’re hungry they’ll eat.
And although they won’t know this, assuming they do their jobs properly during the transit and don’t complain about the food, I will give them a hardship tip at the end.
The French last night may have been the tipping point. I want to be on the other side and have my life back.
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1:30 p.m. I’m waiting for Tito. Not the former Yugoslav dictator, but my erstwhile agent. Robert, who so ably conducted us through the bureaucratic labyrinth the other day, words for Tito.
Tito was here two days ago and was supposed to come back that evening with my lines and fenders. Haven’t seen him since. So I rented a cell phone from the marina. There is one woman in the office who is more helpful that everyone else, including the manager, combined. My first and only call was to Tito an hour ago. He said he would be here in fifteen minutes. So I sweat and wait.
Fortunately today, while overcast, has been a good drying day, and the sun has managed to do for free what the dryer didn’t.
I pulled the Igloo cooler from the shelf over the starboard quarter berth where it has sat untouched for years. Clean on the inside. I cleaned the outside. I think I can get ice at the marina just before the transit to keep drinks cool.
Cristobal, Panama
May 3: Sunday
Sweating at 7:00 a.m.
On the finest morning so far, only scattered white clouds with blue sky and almost no wind, I lowered the jib for inspection. While sailing from St. Thomas I noticed a few small frayed wisps of thread. With the sail down, I saw that they were as I had thought only edges beyond stitching, cut them off, examined the rest of the sail, then re-raised it. Will look at the main later and decide whether to put chaffing patches where it rubs against the spreaders on a broad reach. Until the passage from South Africa, it never had, but now the smudged marks are visible and will enable me to place the patches properly. If I put them on, they will only be sticky backed sailcloth. I doubt they are necessary.
Had a hot shower yesterday afternoon. Didn’t even think there was hot water. Must have been all used by washing machines earlier. Felt good for a while to have hot water on my back and shoulders, but eventually I turned it down to just tepid. In this climate it is difficult to know when a showers ends and sweat begins.
Tito did bring tires for fenders yesterday afternoon. He said he would bring the lines later. I gave him my two jerry cans to fill with diesel. Easier than having to pump up the dinghy and row across to the fuel barge, which isn’t even always there.
I tied the tires in place. Seven to a side. I have never used tires before, just my own fenders. But for $3 each rental, might as well save my fenders.
The people on the boat next to me bought tires for $3 each, but then found they will have to pay $2 each to someone on the Pacific side to dispose of them.
Waiting to make a Skype call to Carol in less than an hour.
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5:10 p.m. Cloudy with passing heavy showers.
I’ve felt the heat more today than before. Wind has been light and variable.
Finished everything on my list. Called Carol, who was just waking up in Boston. Saw her sleepy face via Skype.
Then checked out mainsail. Didn’t feel that it needed chaffing patches for spreaders.
Checked out and ran engine.
Checked fuel tank and found that I still have ¾ of a tank, more than enough to make it through the canal even without the two jerry cans Tito is supposed to bring me.
Oiled cabin sole and several coats on tiller.
Cleaned the main cabin ports.
And replaced a burnt-out bulb in a galley light.
After all this, showered--not hot, but I didn’t care--then to the veranda where I discovered I couldn’t get a beer because today is election day. Iced tea quenched my thirst.
Sat there and talked with the people from the yellow catamaran next to HAWKE.
The people I was sitting with are from Hawaii and hoping to be back there by July 3, after stopping in the Galapagos and French Polynesia. To do so they are going to have to move very quickly.
Might watch a movie tonight, which I haven’t done since before arrival.
May 4
Cristobal, Panama: honesty does not pay
Waiting for Tito to bring my diesel. Waiting until 6:00 p.m. tonight when I can telephone and find out when I transit. Other than that, and making one last trip to the supermarket the morning of the transit to get sandwich makings and a sack of ice from the marina that last day, I think I’m ready. Nothing more to do but wait and sweat.
Rode the marina shuttle in at 8:00 a.m. this morning, taxied from the drop-off point at Quatro Altos Shopping Center to Citibank. Paid my fees. Taxied bay to the Rey Supermarket at Quatro Altos, where I shopped. Got all this done by 10:00. The return shuttle wasn’t until 11:15, so I decided my time is worth $15 an hour and took a taxi for that amount back to the marina.
Because I was honest with the admeasurer that THE HAWKE OF TUONELA cannot do 8 knots under power, the transit is going to cost me considerably more than the basic fee of $609. I am being charged a $364 launch fee for the adviser; $471 delayed transit fee; and a $54 mooring fee. Other yachts who will be going through in two days, exactly as I am, are not paying these fees. The price of honesty in Panama is precisely $889. Counting what I have paid Tito, my dilatory agent, the transit is going to cost me $2000. I don’t care. I’d give almost any amount to be on the other side.
There is a chance that by this time next week I’ll be at sea. If THE HAWKE OF TUONELA makes it through unscathed, I won’t need more than two or three days in Balboa.
May 5
Cristobal, Panama
I, who hate to do things at the last minute, am in the clutches of people who only do them that way.
Tito was supposed to show up yesterday afternoon with two jerry cans of diesel and the four 115’ lines I am renting from him to go through the canal.
I called him three times. He was supposed to show up “this afternoon.” He did show up at 7:30 p.m. with the diesel, but without the lines. I still need the lines, my clearance papers, and the line handlers. Allegedly all will show up Friday afternoon, when I am scheduled to begin a two day transit.
Because there seem to be American style draconian penalties for spilling fuel into the water, I filled my tank first thing this morning, when there was no wind and no one around to see if some trickled over the side. In fact I didn’t spill a drop. The tank took a little more than I expected: all of one jerry can and a couple of gallons from the second.
Mosquitoes, which have unexpectedly not been a problem, took advantage of the lack of wind and me holding a jerry can in both hands to devour my legs. Should have sprayed on repellant before I went out.
Lightning at dawn, but only a few drops of rain.
Although the cabin is already full of stuff, with bags stacked on the quarterberths almost to the overhead, and I didn’t want to buy more until after the transit, I don’t really have anything else to do for the next three days and so may go into Colon and complete stocking up here. I only need drinks, such as cans of ice tea; crackers; snacks; and cookies, which is to say I don’t really need anything.
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Rode the shuttle into Colon this afternoon. In the morning it is free, but for whatever reason they charge $4 each way in the afternoon. I had a lunch of grilled chicken, then shopped at Rey supermarket, and taxied back. Couldn’t find canned ice tea, so bought beer, ginger ale and tonic. Also the other things on my list. Will have to go in Friday morning to get sandwich stuff, though I don’t see how I can prepare food for these people unless one of them can steer for a while, which is doubtful.
Chris Sutton, who works for a shipping company in Durban, South Africa and whom I have mentioned here before sent me the average costs for sending a ship through the canal. They are illuminating.
We pay about US$ 63000 for a ship carrying about 26000 mt of cargo and displacing about 32000 mt. Assuming that you displace about 10 mt the comparison is as follows:
Ship = US$ 1.97 pmt(per metric ton)
Yacht = US$ 150 pmt. And a yacht doesn’t use tugs!
Seems unfair to me.
Port Costs
Currency (USD)
PCSOPEP Fee 350.00
Agency Fee 850.00
Bank charges 154.57
Canal Dues 46,851.85
Line Handling 4,745.00
Locomotive Service Charge 3,600.00
Panama Canal Inspection Fee 118.00
Panama Canal Security Fee 440.00
Towage In/Out 5,725.00
Total for Port Costs 62,834.42
May 6
Cristobal, Panama
The yellow catamaran next to me will also be transiting on Friday. They left to visit some nearby islands for a few days, and a 55’ catamaran, also from Hawaii, pulled in for the night. They have already left.
The number of catamarans here is amazing, but perhaps shouldn’t be. They are almost in a majority. I wonder if this will continue to be true as I sail into the Pacific or if most are simply boats for the Caribbean.
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Had I waited, I could have easily found free line handlers. Several young couples have approached the boat seeking to do so.
Yesterday as I was sitting on the steps outside the marina building waiting for the shuttle bus, a young woman came peddling up on a bicycle, with bags and equipment strapped to it that indicated she was not just out for a casual ride. She asked if I had seen her friend ride by. I replied no, but that I had not been there long. She got off to wait for him and asked about the chances of crewing on a boat heading back to the U.S.
She and her partner have spent the past six months riding their bicycles all the way from Baltimore, Maryland, to Panama. I expressed my admiration, and then noticed that her knees and legs were scabbed. I said, “Where did you fall?” She replied that she hadn’t fallen, she was knocked down while being mugged in Panama City. And then said with pride, “But they didn’t get anything.”
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Back on the boat at 6:00 p.m after having a couple of beers on the marina veranda. Wanted gin and tonic, but they were out of tonic.
A fine, almost windless and hot day today. Unless I’ve forgotten something, I didn’t have anything that need doing, so finished rereading one of William Dalrymple’s books about India, THE AGE OF KALI. And sweated.
Last night I watched a Marx Brothers movie from 1937, ROOM SERVICE, according to the credits based on a play of that name. Amusing, but not one of their best.
I’ll do a load of wash tomorrow morning and in the afternoon call to obtain the time I am to pick up my adviser on Friday. And sweat. Busy day.
May 7
Cristobal, Panama
Woke up a couple of times last night, thinking of all the things that can go wrong that I can’t do anything about. Probably will be worse tonight.
Got back to sleep once; got up the second time at 4:30 and walked up and put my laundry in. The dryer worked this time, and the wash is already folded and put away.
After rearranging some of the stuff in the cabin and remaking the bed after washing the sheets, I was hot and sweaty enough to go up and have my first shower of the day.
Not much to do today, other than phone the canal office. Not sure I can concentrate on reading.
Re-watched Clint Eastwood’s TRUE CRIME last night. Even though I knew the outcome, as a director he did a good job sustaining suspense.
Hazy this morning, almost foggy ahead of us over the harbor. I wasn’t sure of the direction and checked the compasses. We are pointing north-northeast in our slip.
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I discovered that my favorite iPod game, Peggle, had a sequel called Peggle Nights, which is now available for Mac OS, so I bought and downloaded it online, and spent the day playing it, while waiting for the miserable Tito to appear with my lines. This was the third time they have been promised. It is now 7:30 and he has not appeared as promised at 4:00 p.m. and does not answer his cell phone. I am dependent on this undependable man for the lines, the line handlers, and my clearance papers. If they do not show up in time tomorrow, I may spend the rest of my life in a Panama jail for murder.
I am scheduled to pick up my adviser at 4:00 p.m. tomorrow. As far as I know two other boats, both catamarans, one 44’, one about 55’, will be transiting with me, if Tito delivers the essentials.
Bought a sack of ice and put it in the cooler. Actually had more ice than would fit, so dumped it in the sink and cooled a box of Chilean white wine. Not bad.
I hope to hell I am out of here tomorrow and on the Pacific Saturday afternoon.
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The egregious Tito showed up as I have come to expect at 7:30, which to him is 4:00 p.m. He had the four lines with him. He took my passport to be stamped and allegedly will return at noon tomorrow with it, my clearance papers and four experienced Panamanian line handlers, at least some of whom speak some English. So long as they are here by 3:00 p.m. it will be all right. Although I hope they are here earlier.
I have also completed 56 of the 60 levels of Peggle Nights.
May 8
Cristobal, Panama: Friday
Now 7:15. Been up since 5, and was awake an hour or so around 2 a.m. Got enough sleep.
Hazy morning. Thunder last night, one burst loud and close, but no rain here.
Have rearranged a few things and topped up the water tank I’ve been using. The other is already full. Will ride the shuttle in to the supermarket at 8. More tense and edgy than before a passage.
May 8
Panama Canal Transit
1400 Line handers arrived. Four young men, who dropped off their bags, said Tito would met us on The Flats at 1500 with my clearance papers, and after asking when I wanted to leave and being told 1445, disappeared.
At 1440 I went looking for them, found two sitting in the shade of a tree. They called to the others, and we returned to the boat and left just behind the two other boats with which we are going to transit, the 44’ catamaran, HANA HOU, that had been docked next to me, and a monohull the size of THE HAWKE OF TUONELA.
The Flats are a designated anchorage area near the vanished Panama Yacht Club on the Colon side of the harbor. We were there by 1515. I didn’t expect Tito would be on time, and he wasn’t. HANA HOU anchored, and we and the other boat powered in slow circles. Three sailboats were anchored at The Flats.
When 1600 hours, the scheduled time for my adviser to arrive, passed with still no Tito, I asked the line handers, whose names I never got straight, to call him on a cell phone. One did and replied that Tito “was on his way.”
When 1630 passed with still no adviser or Tito, I asked them to call again. Again, “he is on his way.” But this time allegedly already in his launch. He did appear beyond a point of land a few minutes later, came alongside and gave me my stamped passport and clearance papers.
Shortly after that THE HAWKE OF TUONELA was called on the handheld VHF and I was told our adviser would arrive at 1730. Not wanting to power aimlessly for another hour, I anchored in 12’ of water.
A launch carrying Javier, our first adviser, chugged out to us at 1745, and at 1800 he said we should go. Our lock time was 1900. I showed one of the men how to operate the windlass. I had out only 50’ of chain. Then I returned to the helm and powered slowly forward as he cranked it in. I could feel when the anchor came off the bottom, but it didn’t appear at the roller. I called forward, “Bring it all the way up.” The reply came, “It’s covered with mud.” I had anchored there before and knew that it would be. I engaged the tiller pilot, went forward, raised and lowered the anchor into the water until the mud fell off, then pulled it up and secured it.
My two previous transits were made when the United States ran the canal. Then the advisers were students in the tug boat captain program. From Javier I learned that now advisers are employees of the Canal Company in some capacity or another, who have taken a special adviser course. Javier, and Robin, our adviser the following day, are in security on boats that patrol the harbors. Both were fully competent and much more pleasant to have aboard than had been the Americans in the past.
Approaching all the lights at the first lock, only a few miles away, just after dark was like entering a fantasyland. It was truly as bright as day, but with an amber glow that made everything slightly surreal.
Because HANA HOU was bigger than the two monohulls, the advisers decided that we would raft up one on each side of her, and that the lines to the sides of the locks would be run to her. This meant that once we were rafted, there was nothing more to do on THE HAWKE OF TUONELA or that could be done.
As we entered the lock two men on each concrete wall swung weighted handlines to us. My men caught the ones on our side and passed them to HANA HOU, whose crew secured their lines to them, which were then pulled to the walls.
Two of my line handlers climbed up to handle lines from HANA HOU.
While their experience of boats is limited as shown when raising the anchor, I saw that as line handlers in the Panama Canal they are excellent. They know how to raft boats, including spring lines; handle the lines to the walls; and how to moor to a ship size mooring.
As the lock gates closed behind us I was serene and detached. I had absolutely no control over my boat, Fortunately Christine, the owner of HANA HOU, did an impeccable job moving our raft, both that night and in the down locks the following noon, which we took the same way, center chamber three abreast. In the locks up, a ship was ahead of us. In the locks down a 60’ catamaran.
When the water first rushes into the chambers it has great force, which usually catches first timers unaware. This happened now, with the raft momentarily swinging at an angle before recovering. As the water level rises, the force diminishes.
At the top, I could look back down at the dark harbor below us.
The three locks on the Caribbean side are contiguous. The men ashore walked our lines forward, and Christine powered us into the second and then the third lock. It all was uneventful, which is just what I wanted. At 2030, the last lock gate opened and we powered slowly onto Lake Gatun, where we unrafted and made our separate ways to two ship size buoys a mile and a half away, to which my line handers expertly secured us beam on with bow and stern lines. This buoy was a large flat disk with a ‘T’ welded in the center. It was big enough for men to stand and sit on, and my crew often did.
I, the reluctant chef, still had to feed these people. I prepared the freeze dry Santa Fe Chicken, which went down well enough for two of them to have second helpings. This was improved by a couple of cold beers each from the cooler.
After cleaning up the galley and clearing one quarter berth for one of the crew to sleep on--two others had a settee berth and one the cabin sole--I went forward and to bed.
Even before I did so, one of the Panamanians crawled onto the quarterberth and was instantly asleep and almost as instantly snoring.
May 9
Panama Canal Transit
As far as I could tell the other three were up most of the night. I heard them talking in Spanish to one another every time I woke. I know they were awake at midnight and at 0400, when I finally got up myself. It rained in between, which drove them from the deck back into the cabin.
I boiled water for instant coffee, gave them some. The man on the quarterberth was still asleep and snoring, and went up to sit on deck myself.
The mooring is just off thick jungle and I could hear howler monkeys howling.
Dawn was lovely pink rising about the trees.
I made my standard breakfast, which I think was disappointing to them, but no complaints, and when our next adviser arrived by launch at 0645. we dropped the mooring and were underway.
On previous transits the use of autopilots was prohibited. I had put the tiller extension in place, but also had the tillerpilot set up and without asking, engaged it and kept to our course with its remote control.
After all the costly to me nonsense about powering at 8 knots, all we had to do to make our lock time of 1100 was maintain 6, which we easily did at 3000 rpms. I set the jib which gave us and extra .2 of a knot in light wind, but had to furl it when one stretch of the channel took us back to the northeast.
Powering across Lake Gatun between jungle covered islands is enjoyable, with the reservation that you know that if your engine fails you are in big trouble.
Just short of the first lock on the Pacific side, we were delayed by a ship passing a dredge, but caught up with the other two boats who had already rafted. In doing so we passed under a new bridge, only the second over the canal. When we were secured to HANA HOU’s port side, Christine drove us into the lock.
Going down is easy. The water lowers without fuss, and I have not heard of a boat being damaged going down.
The three Pacific locks are not contiguous. The first one as you approach going toward the Pacific is separated from the other two by a half mile or so. Robin told me that this is because when they were digging the canal, the locks had to be in bedrock, and after they dug the first two, they found there was not enough bedrock for a third and so had to put it further north.
There was a sense of celebration, even among the line handlers, who proprietorially welcomed me to “The Pacific.”
Beyond the lock, we unrafted for the last time, and I again had control of my boat and my life.
It was still two or three miles to the Balboa Yacht Club, where I had seemingly reserved a mooring. The ‘seemingly’ because when you telephone them, they say they have no moorings, which simply isn’t true. After being told this, I telephoned another sailor who had already transited, who went to the office and arranged one for me.
A half mile beyond the last lock, rain began to fall. Everyone except me retreated to the cabin. I didn’t mind getting soaked, but did mind a few minutes of downpour so heavy it was blinding. Still better there than in a lock.
The rain eased, and a launch came out for Robin just before we passed under the Bridge of the Americas. Some megayachts have been designed with masts limited by clearance of that bridge.
An unexpected advantage of my crew was that one of them knew how to operate the handheld VHF and called the Balboa Yacht Club, where he spoke to them in Spanish and had a launch waiting to take us to our mooring. Once there, the tires were taken from THE HAWKE OF TUONELA and put in the launch, as was a bag of trash. I changed into dry clothes, and we all rode to the launch dock, which is a platform at the end of a long walkway from the shore. The Pacific has real tides. That day 13’ in Balboa, and the dock has to be well out from the shore to be in deep enough water.
Although they had no reservations, HANA HOU and the other monohull also were given moorings at the club.
I thanked my crew, who were good guys and had even gathered the trash from the galley and cabin during the stretch from the last lock. I don’t ever expect to transit the Panama Canal again, but if I did, I would be pleased to have them as line handers.
I told them they had done a professional job, apologized for not having feed them better, and tried to make it all right by tipping them $20 each. I paid Tito $85 each for their services and am sure he took a cut from that. They seemed surprised and pleased.
I also found that I had to pay a man at the yacht club $1 each to dispose of my tires and that the office wouldn’t be open until Monday.
I took the launch back out to THE HAWKE OF TUONELA, where I made a celebratory gin and tonic, sat on deck gazing down channel at the Pacific Ocean, and enjoyed being alone.
May 11
Balboa, Panama
Pelicans for all their ungainly appearance are graceful gliders. They touch the air with the feathers at the end of their wings as though with fingers. I recall more than forty years later the sound of them stroking the air with those feathers as they glided just over me one night as I was rowing back to my first boat in a marina in San Diego’s Mission Bay. I stopped and glided, too, as the dark shapes slipped past.
I noted those finger-like feathers yesterday afternoon on a pelican sailing far overhead yesterday afternoon as I sat on deck with my gin and tonic.
It takes a while for the realization to hit. I’m in the Pacific Ocean. The Panama Canal truly is an almost miraculous a feat of human ingenuity. I have put David McCullough’s THE PATH BETWEEN THE SEAS, which I read a long time ago, on my list of books to buy when I can.
There is no one else on the boat. I don’t need any more papers to be stamped. My clearance from Cristobal is for The Marquesas Islands with a stop in Balboa. I don’t need to wait for anyone, except the Balboa YC launch driver from time to time.
One drink led to a second as I sat looking toward the Pacific Ocean and ships passed a hundred yards away in and out of the Canal, and after three successive nights of limited sleep, I fell asleep, waking just enough after an hour to stumble down below and into my bunk at 4:00 p.m.
At 9:00 p.m. I came wide awake, got up and went to work rearranging the cabin.
I poured the remaining few gallons of diesel in the second jerry can, which had spent the passage tied to the mast in the cabin--I do not clutter decks when underway; poured the jerry can of water into the tank we used during the transit. Took everything off the port quarter berth, stowed the fenders in the stowage area aft of it, and while everything was out, cleaned the stowage area beside it. Stowed the seldom used cushions I had dug out for my crew. Moved the Monitor servo-rudder, removed for the transit, to the deck. And while I was back there closed the cockpit port.
Then I removed everything but the life raft from the starboard quarter berth, and stowed two life jackets, the water hose, and the diesel jerry can aft of it. Closed the cockpit port on that side.
Three other life jackets were repacked around one of my two spare anchors which is stowed beneath that berth. I cushion the flukes so they don’t bounce against the hull.
I cleaned the galley and the head, and ultimately scrubbed the cabin sole. Put my computer and iPods back in their usual places on the upper berths in the main cabin. Pumped a little water from the bilge and the engine compartment and a bucket full from a compartment in the galley.
While I had the engine cover off, I tightened the alternator fan belt, checked the oil, and looked to see if the stern gland was leaking It did not seem to be so, but I’ll check again today. Much easier to tighten on a mooring than at sea.
I went back to bed at midnight and slept well until the engine of a nearby power boat started with a roar at 4:45. Got back to sleep for another hour after he left.
The Balboa Yacht Club is on the east side of the canal, just south of The Bridge of the Americas. As I have mentioned before, when the United States ran the canal, Balboa was in the American Canal Zone and Panama City outside. The skyscrapers of Panama City, visible briefly a mile or so north of here, are hidden behind a hill.
I think that the yacht club building burned down a few years ago. Ashore now are a restaurant, some showers, a laundry room.
I’ll go ashore sometime today to shower and try to learn if an Internet connection and supermarket are open today, which is Sunday. If not, I’ll go tomorrow. Probably don’t need anything at the supermarket, but will look for canned iced tea and/or top up on soft drinks.
Hazy sky this morning. There is a current running out the canal, perhaps due to water draining from the locks, which holds our bow northwest.
I look around the cabin with pleasure. It is in good order, and needs only the final move of stuff stowed on the quarter berths forward to the v-berth to be in passage mode. Today I’ll put the servo-rudder back on the Monitor and remove the anchor from the bow. Also, if I still have some screen material, make a new screen for the small hatch in the main cabin. I think one of the crew may have removed the screen to close the hatch and with velcro on its edges it probably got stuck to one of their packs which were near it and inadvertently carried off. With that the only damage, it was a good transit.
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6:00 p.m. I’m sitting on deck, listening to music and the sound of the launch engine, which is just passing. Rum and tonic at hand. Sky covered with high gray cloud.
After completing my morning chores as outlined above, I went ashore at noon. Showered. Learned there is a wi-fi connection that covers the moorings, which it did until the network disappeared at 4:30 this afternoon. Had lunch at the yacht club restaurant on an open second floor veranda with a nice view through trees to the moorings and the shipping channel just beyond and north to the Bridge of the Americas.
Container ship moving at speed north perhaps a hundred yards away. Beyond it is an odd lime green ship that has been moving slowly back and forth all day. It is not a dredge. It might be laying a pipe.
My lunch was a chicken, cheese and mushroom sandwich big enough for two meals. I ate half and brought the other half with me, but am not yet hungry enough for dinner.
I ran into another problem with honesty in Panama.
My lunch check came to $9.71, including a beer. I paid with a $20 bill. When the waitress brought my change, she brought $5 too much. I tried to explain, but it didn’t work. I left her a tip and did explain to another waitress, who seemed to understand.
I taxied to a supermarket, again a Rey. Bought orange juice, beer, coke--I would much prefer canned ice tea, but have not seen it here--the ever necessary paper towels and a few other things, including a package of herbed feta cheese for my first few passage lunches, then taxied back. Got a taxi driver who did not under “Balboa Yacht Club.” “Barco.” “Club de Yates.” He did get “Panama Canal” and finally returned me to the club.
I filled a jerry can I had taken ashore and left on the landing with water, caught the launch back to the boat, and Internetted until the network disappeared.
Then two odd things happened. One is that in I don’t recall how long, the masthead wind anemometer began to turn and is, for the moment, giving me wind speed. 7.8 knots. I had the rigger check it in St. Thomas on the chance that a piece of string or something was wrapped around it, but he said no, it had to be the bearing. Maybe so.
Last night when I was cleaning and rearranging the cabin I found the compartment in the galley under the stove full of water. It had much more than the bilge. I pumped and sponged it dry, thinking that perhaps the water had collected before I repaired the galley sink fitting. An hour ago I happened to glance in that compartment and again found it full of water. I tasted and found it fresh. The ‘Y’ value I use to change from tank to tank has failed. It did this once before many years ago. I have removed it from the system, hooking the hose from the tank I am using directly to the galley foot pump and plugging off the hose from the other tank with a big bolt and a hose clamp.
Naturally these hoses were tightly secured. Pulling on them produced no result until the instant they gave way, when my hand flew up and smashed into rough fiberglass which gouged chunks from two fingers. No pain, but the nuisance of having to band-aid them to stop blood from getting everywhere.
The lime green ship has quit work and disappeared. I still have wind information: 10 knots.
I had thought of staying here until Tuesday, but if I get up in the morning and don’t find the compartment under the galley full of water, I will go ashore, check in with the yacht club office, pay, check out, shower, and sail for the Marquesas.
Birds chirping. A leaf floating by.
May 11
Balboa, Panama
Woke at 5. Slept well, though sometimes half-wakened by ships rumbling past. Inside THE HAWKE OF TUONELA I hear the deep low sound of their propellers and engines.
My first act was to check the compartment under the galley. Dry. So I sail for the Marquesas. Wonderful just to be able to make that decision. Not have to wait for anyone, get any more pieces of paper or stamps, ask permission.
I’ll go ashore around 8 or 8:30 when the office should be open. Can’t fully put the cabin in passage mode and move stuff from the the quarter berths to the v-berth until after I return because the one-piece companionway insert goes beneath the cushion up there and has to go in first before I pile stuff on top of it, yet has to remain in the companionway so I can lock up the boat while I’m ashore.
Friday, May 15, 2009