May 2003 - Ship Logs

Thursday, May 1, 2003 0740
Golfo Dulce, Costa Rica 08.32/83.17

I am having breakfast here at my computer. I simply can’t wait to finish reporting on yesterday. Once we escaped the “anchorage from hell” the day was filled with nothing but sunshine. That is not “sunshine” literally speaking because it started raining the very day that Lynn and Scott Hannah e-mailed their intentions of joining us. And it has not stopped since. It is sort of like the rain season was only awaiting the Hannah announcement, which was the signal for it to begin. No, when I speak of “sunshine”, I mean that only good things happened on that day. The day was a series of small successes and not one mechanical challenge. No dirty hands for Captain John yesterday.

The first good thing that happened is that we were able to switch the satellite phone system to Atlantic Ocean Region West. Immediately John made a call to daughter, Shawn, in Seattle. The new dog has not yet been named so he was able to make his plug for “Gumercindo”. She wasn’t overwhelmed at our name selection as she had already picked out some regular type dog names like ‘Rover’ or ‘Spot’, but she is a good daughter and I am sure that she will want to honor the guy who cured our toilets.

That important business being out of the way, John set about steering us into some good fishing grounds and Isabel and I set up our gear on the back deck. It was all too easy. We hauled in three fish right off the bat. Two of the fish we had to throw back because there were Bonitos and not very good for eating. Still the Bonitos were good fighters and fun to catch and release. The other fish was suspect because we couldn’t find that species of fish in any of our fish identifying books. So we decided to take a chance and keep it. The minute we began the fillet process we knew that we had made a wise choice. The fish was very white and very firm!

Last night, on the upper deck, we had 'unknown fish' for dinner. We barbequed it. Delicious! I think, in fact, that our meal last night was superior to any that we have thus far prepared. That is saying a lot because some very good dining has been enjoyed on this boat. The truth is that there is no taste treat better that fish prepared within a couple of hours of its catching. That is providing that it is the right kind of fish like Salmon or Unknown fish. And, of course, providing that you are the catcher. “Those who put meat on the table rule the world”. I made that up but I am sure that it is true.

Still the greatest triumph of yesterday was not the catching of the fish. It was last night’s anchorage here at Punta Arenitas. Anchoring in total blackness in an area totally unknown to one is nothing short of very scary. Especially when one does not have total confidence in the accuracy of charts which sometimes do not show hazardous obstacles like rocks or the presence of drying banks. Costa Rican charts are not American charts but they are better than nothing. I shouldn’t whine. Think of the charts that poor Columbus had to depend upon.

So back to the subject. Determined not to repeat another disastrous anchoring like the one of Tuesday night, John located a small hook in big wide Golfo Dulce. He was sure that if he could manage to get tucked behind that hook we would spend a quiet and restful night. The only problem was that the anchoring area, which was at a depth of forty-four feet, was very small. It was like one little platform sitting under the water. On three sides it was surrounded by depths of two hundred feet and the landside quickly turned into drying banks. So we had to hit it just right. We did! The charts were accurate and we found our platform without beaching ourselves. Just hold your breath and believe. That is what we all did. Now in the morning light, I see that it is not a two-minute walk to the drying bank where beachcombers are busy digging critters out of the sand. We are not a stone’s throw away. But we are still safe in forty-four feet of water atop our small platform. A fortunate anchorage!

Thursday, May 1, 2003 2200
Golfito anchorage, CR 8.37/83.09

I had always intended to return to Golfito in my own boat, but I must say that I am still a little surprised to be here. It is a hell of a long way from Seattle and especially when you travel at nine or ten knots, but here we are in the most protected harbor we have seen since San Diego. Golfito is something like Liberty Bay in Poulsbo only a lot smaller, a tiny entrance channel that opens out to a lovely bay with shoals and drying banks on one side and the mountains coming down to meet you on the other. On second thought, maybe it isn’t so much like Liberty Bay after all. But it is lovely and was a special spot to us when we visited here on our motorcycles about 1994 and is as special today. We are a couple hundred meters off the beach in 33 feet and I think we must be anchored in front of a school or a community beach because there were more than a dozen little kids thrashing and splashing around in the water this afternoon, having a wonderful time and hollering their little heads off about it. It is hotter than the hubs of hell here now but we have the air conditioning working finally so one can duck inside to cool off if it gets too oppressive. I like the heat and high humidity, personally. It has rained every day between 1630 and 1830 for the last several days. Mary Ann says it is the ‘rainy season’, but I thought that the rainy season came later in the year. What do I know? At least it rains warm water. There are four or five sailboats at anchor in the harbor out in front of the Banana Bay Marina, which itself appears to have several power boats med tied and plugged in. I’m going to stay out here in the bay since it’s so pretty

Mary Ann’s comment about the Costa Rican charts is accurate, insofar as I can determine. Our arrival at Punta whatever it was in total darkness last night was not the kind of thing I had intended to do on this trip, but I somehow underestimated the time it would take to get there so we arrived at Oh Dark Thirty. The charts, however, put us right where we wanted to be, around the point but not into the shoals. If you noticed the photo of our plotter in Mexico showing us anchored part way up a mountain you will see how relieved we were that the CR charts proved more accurate. We have all learned to love the US Coast and Geodetic Survey people.

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Saturday, May 3, 2003 0800
Golfito anchorage 08.37/83.09

This is such a great spot! Definitely my favorite and the best so far. Scott and Lynn arrived yesterday while we were out touring the bay in the 14’tender. They caught a lift out to the boat with some friendly soul and had just come aboard as we returned. Their plane ride over the cordillera sounded like something we might describe as an ‘adventure flight’, but they made it safe and sound to meet us at this very remote spot out near the jungles and mountains of Costa Rica. For myself, the bus sounded like a safer bet, but it was probably half dozen of one and six of the other. They hit the water as soon as they had dropped their bags as the humidity is very high and the water is warm and pleasant. We then took a ride over to the Banana Bay Marina and walked to a pretty decent grocery store for beer and fresh fruits and ended up celebrating their arrival back at the marina in their very nice open-air bar as we were serenaded by three American musicians of modest talent. I was expecting to see Jimmy Buffet, but apparently he hasn’t yet heard about this place. We should mention it to him when we get to the Caribbean. Coincident with Scott and Lynn’s arrival would appear to be the arrival of the rainy season. It is overcast now and yesterday was markedly cooler with rain for an hour or so in the afternoon. Quite pleasant after the hundred degree days of the past several weeks

You may be interested to know that Golfito has acquired a reputation as the best place to have your dinghy stolen. The common wisdom is to raise your tenders out of the water a bit each night to restrict thievery to only the strongest individuals, but we have an armored cable with two locks with which we secure the boat whenever we aren’t aboard and it seems to do the job. Besides which I am sleeping only ten feet from the dinghy on the aft deck so ought to hear any commotion, although that is not a certainty as we have all been sleeping like the dead. The people on the street are very warm and cordial and it is perfectly clear to me that Golfito is as safe as anyplace can be in our modern world. We have noticed also that about one in four or five people here and elsewhere south of the border speak English to a greater or lesser degree. Most of the English speakers are young people and, ignoring the fact that everyone down here is young, it is apparent that we all better brush up on our high school Spanish as a lot of them will be moving north as the opportunity arises.

May 3, 2003 continued
A word or two from Captain and Deckhand Mary Ann

I think that John did not say enough about the arrival of Scott and Lynn. It brought us some moments of high suspense and alarm which was not really objectionable because every yachting adventure needs a bit of high suspense and alarm to keep it interesting. I believe that John mentioned that Golfito is the dinghy theft capital of the world. That is what we have read in various guidebooks and travel blurbs and that is what we know to be the case. The last time that we were in Golfito both of the two lone sailboats, which were anchored out in the bay in front of our beach, had their dinghies stolen. On the same night! So we take seriously the words that caution travelers to protect themselves against petty theft. We lock up our dinghy always and when we are gone we lock our doors against uninvited boarders. We were returning from our around the bay tour of the jungle when John spotted this movement on the Mary Ann. “Is that a person I’m seeing aboard the boat? “ he yelled. Well, we all knew that it wasn’t a duck. Answering his own question he pushed the stick into full throttle and raced toward the Mary Ann.

I thought him very brave. Perhaps he knew all along that it was Lynn and Scot, but I didn’t. It was still morning and Lynn and Scott weren’t expected until mid afternoon. “Look! He is trying to get in the door,” I shouted highly alarmed and at the same time smugly relieved that I had wisely insisted all doors be locked before we left the boat. Then I worried what John would do when we actually confronted the intruder. He looked to be a big guy. Then I spotted a little shore boat off to the port side of the Mary Ann. “Maybe you should slow down a little,” I suggested. I was thinking that it would be much better to give the intruder a chance to escape rather than getting into an actual confrontation. Like I said, he was a big fellow.

“There is luggage on the back step”, Isabel said, calmly ruining the high drama of the situation. Still, it was not really wasted alarm. I am considering it like a fire drill. It was a training and preparation for the actions we will be taking when pirates attempt a boarding.

Scott and Lynn brought mountains of luggage. I was very surprised by this as they are seasoned boaters and know that storage space in a stateroom is sometimes limited. At least the luggage they brought was soft. But I was very curious to know what the items were that required so much of it. Scott soon satisfied my curiosity. It was not Lynn’s makeup, heels, and dance dresses that filled the bags to overflow and almost kept them from boarding the small commuter plane that brought them to Gulfito. It was Scott’s arsenal of toys and his supply of medical remedies and herbs. His luggage included his own satellite phone, a computer, two cell phones, a GPS, two Walkie Talkies with headsets, a digital camera with connections and a reader, a tripod, a movie camera, and an electric fly swatter. I noticed that his drugstore was heavily stocked with insect repellent and that he had also brought along a bolt of mosquito netting. I could have relieved his mind a bit and also lightened his load by telling him that we no longer have a mosquito and bug problem. When our son in law, Craig, left the boat the problem with bugs disappeared. No other person on the boat suffered any bites before Craig came or after he left. So we can only assume that Craig arrived with the bugs and he took them with him when he left.

Lynn and Scott are now off exploring the jungle. John and I are repairing the plumbing in their stateroom. What new and glamorous adventure awaits us tomorrow?

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Monday, May 5, 2003 0730
Bahia Honda anchorage, Panama 07.45/81.32

The tide is just beginning to recede, showing the shadows and outlines of all of the rocks and shoals we missed upon our arrival last night in the stygian darkness. The run south to Panama from Golfito was long, longer than I expected, and although we raised the anchor at 0540 in Golfito, we did not arrive here until 1855, well into the night. The run down was calm and pleasant most of the way except for some vigorous swells just at the point that marks the border between Costa Rica and Panama. The not unpleasant rolling was not, however, without some benefit to Lynn and MaryAnn who had each managed to hook something at about the same time near there and who each were busy playing what, in hindsight, was probably each other’s lines. “Stop the boat, Stop the boat, Fish on, Fish on,” they cried almost in harmony. “Not happening,” I thought, “too much wave action.” But I swung the bow into the sea to minimize the tossing and popped it in and out of gear to maintain steerage. They both quickly lost whatever they had when both of their lines broke. “I would have had that marlin if you had stopped like I ordered,” said Lynn. “Yes, that’s right, we both had marlins on our lines and we lost them and it’s your fault,” said my constant admonisher, “you are a bad driver!” she concluded in her most loving tones. “Well, we were going to release our marlins anyway,” said Lynn, hurriedly perusing a fish identification book so she could describe her unseen fish, “but, boy. they were sure a couple of big fish!” “You didn’t catch a fish and no one saw a fish,” I pointed out as they both asked about champagne to celebrate. “We were doing ‘hook and release’,” said Lynn, “we’re sportsmen, not just meat gatherers.” Thus was born the concept of ‘hook and release’, a certain panacea for all fishermen who catch snags and the bottom but do not wish to have the large letter ‘L’. as in loser. written on their foreheads.

This is a wonderful little harbor in the daylight, completely protected from the wind and waves and ample in size for many boats. In fact there are two US boats here, a small sailor and a smallish powerboat, anchored together across the way, in sight but not so near as to prevent a naked jump and thrashabout in the water when I awakened this morning. Following my little dip and bathe we were approached by two people in hand made boats, an old guy about my age, and a very pleasant and smiling young woman , offering fresh fruits and vegetables for sale. Very cordial people, I think he turned out to be her father in law, from whom we bought some rock hard avocados and now await the old man’s return with bananas and, maybe, peppers or something. My son in law and partner, Craig, will be pleased to learn that there are bugs here, the flying crawling kind that walk around on your body. Fortunately for us they do not seem to bite and are more like flying ants. Once we turned the lights out they went to bother the sailors and left me alone on my sleeping perch on the aft deck. Panama cruising thus far promises to be the best as there are a multitude of islands and harbors to wind among and about, but it’s still a long way to Florida and Vern Smith says our insurer has required that we be in Florida and out of the hurricane zone by June 1st. Probably not a bad idea.

Monday May 5, 2003 Cont. 1900
A word or two from Captain Mary Ann

Lynn, Isabel, and I were out fishing today when a sudden storm swept into our protected little anchorage. It was one of those storms that are not kind enough to make clear its intentions. It hinted a bit that it might hit us with a sprinkle or two but it definitely did not say, “If you don’t take cover, I am going to pound the hell out of you. Heh heh heh, and maybe I’ll sink your little boat too.” The reason I bring up the fishing and the storm is to make a point. Isabel, Lynn, and I are real fisherwomen . . . not the dolts that John described in yesterday’s fishing experience. When we do not have to depend upon the performance of others—John and Scott, to stop the boat or keep it in position—we never fail to meet with success. We bring home the bacon or, in this case, the fish. Neither wind, rain, nor angry seas deter us. Women are never wimps when it comes to fishing. I cannot comment about men. All I know is that John and Scott were comfortable and dry in the pilothouse while Isabel, Lynn, and myself were steeling ourselves against the worst whipping nature could throw at us, mindful of the fact that the evening meal was yet to be caught. Our lures were still out to hook the Cubera, a giant among Snappers.

Most men would take on a Marlin any day rather than pit themselves against a Cubera. Often exceeding 100 pounds, this fish is known to be a real brawler that uses its size, strength and every obstacle in the vicinity to great advantage. We stayed the squall until we had managed to bring in a boatload of Cubera. We came back in our fish filled dinghy soaked to the skin, chilled, but also sated and silently smug. We have brought home the bacon, which our sedentary male companions will, fortunately, be able to enjoy this evening.

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Wednesday, May 7, 2003 1019
At Sea, Panama, near Punta Mala 7.38/79.54

We’re breezing along at a scintillating 9.1 knots in calm seas about 80 miles from the Balboa end of the Panama Canal. I have made arrangements with a ship’s agent, Delfino Maritime, to handle our paperwork and to provide line handlers, a pilot, four 125 foot 1” lines, and four three foot round fenders. They will also have a couple of parts I have ordered from Palmer Johnson On Call, although at the moment I don’t need these particular items as the generator now runs 24/7 to provide air conditioning so those inclined to sleep indoors can do so. My shore power problems don’t matter any more as I do not think we will be on any more shore power until we reach Fort Lauderdale. Since arriving in Panama we have been inundated with flying ants of every size and with more than a few bugs without names that look like oversized beetles and scurry like crazy to escape the swat we try to give them. Fortunately, none of these bugs bite; at least they don’t bite me. This morning Scott hosed down the whole boat in an effort to dislodge some of the dead and living bugs and had some success so I am thinking that they will all be leaving us soon enough. We have turned north now for the first time since leaving Sidney, BC and vessel traffic has increased with our approach to the canal.

Scott claims for some reason that Pirahna fish inhabit these waters so we have taken to calling him Pirahna, a name which does not seem to displease him. Lately he has added sea snakes to his zoo of undesirable creatures that might bite an unwary swimmer, although regrettably Lynn says she has also seen a sea snake checking me out during a swim last night. The idea is that the snakes, or some other unfriendly undersea creature, chase these little 6” fish around and that is why the little fish are constantly flying across the water. I do sort of believe the snake story so last night when the little fish came flying over I exited the water with unseemly haste to Scott’s great amusement. I don’t think they have poisonous sea snakes here, but …

All in all, things are running along adequately and we are all looking forward to Panama City and shopping at Costco/Price Club, reported to be there as we are nearly out of wine and have finished off the last of the Jack Daniels that Scott and Lynn brought as a gift. We may need some food too, although we have been eating pretty well all along. I expect to be ready to transit the canal in a couple of days but have no scheduled date yet.

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Thursday, May 08, 2003 0815
Taboga anchorage 8.47/78.33

A quiet anchorage in 56’ on the northeasterly side of this little island group, well out of the wind that came up as we were approaching last evening about 1730. Actually a brisk wind that gave us caution with respect to anchoring out of the rolling action of the swells, but this is a popular anchorage for just that reason. Taboga is an appealing little spot, looks a little like a Mediterranean village, and we may go over in the tender if we don’t get instructions from the agent to do something else. Fuelling up is my main priority today as we are down to about 20%. There is a small covey of sailboats here, presumably awaiting passage, but no powerboats. Outside our anchorage is the primary ships anchorage in which I can count 22 major commercial vessels at anchor.

The VHF radio is busy with chatter, mostly in English, between these ships and Flamenco station, which I presume is the control authority, but I cannot make out what they are discussing. My English is getting bad, I guess. I was surprised to learn that the mean tide change here is 12.5 feet! I had always thought that tides diminished as one got closer to the equator, but obviously not true. The wx has definitely cooled down with the advent of the rainy season as the skies are overcast now most of the time, although it has not poured down on us all that much. Very humid still, but quite comfortable.

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Friday, May 9 2033 1108
Fuerte Amador Resort and Marina, Isla Flamenca, Panama 8.54/79.31

Another first class marina facility with accompanying restaurants, shopping center, and plenty of people who can fix things. We were met here at the docks by Pete Stevens, the ships agent, and immediately began fuelling up. I was stunned to find that the fuel cost, duty free, was only $1.26 per gallon and happy that I had let the tanks run low prior to arrival as we took just slightly less than 2,000 gallons. Can’t imagine why the price is so low as even subject to duty the price is only $1.44 per gallon. Average fuel consumption since last fuel up is 25.7 gallons per hour with one generator running 24/7. Anyway, we had a lot of help tying the boat up with the handlers crying “…more lines, more lines.” That should have given me a clue.

There were many, many ships at anchor in the holding area yesterday, everything from freighters, tankers, container ships, to a couple of military vessels, one a US vessel that looked as big as the old Kingdome but may have been a missile/destroyer, and another smaller frigate looking thing that we decided was flying a Swedish ensign. The anchorage is quite large, about five to eight miles across, and the water depth is a uniform 50-60’ for miles and miles so all of these vessels have plenty of room to swing at anchor. There were a large number of Chinese sailors lounging about the complex from the various ships awaiting transit, most shopping for liquor at the duty free shop in the marina complex. We stopped in there ourselves and found the alcohol prices as favorable as the diesel prices.

We had dinner at Albertos’, right in front of the marina building, so that Mary Ann could keep an eye on the people trying to peer in the boat windows and it was both a good and a bad idea. The dinner was good, service was excellent, and the tourists behaved themselves, but we could see the boat straining and heaving in the ocean surge against the seven mooring lines that were supposed to secure it. Placement of the moorage bollards here is very poor and there were only three of them within reach, with the result that we could not get a decent line off the stern cleat. Compounding that problem, the dock was six feet above the water level so the stern line we could attach abraded against the rough concrete dock edge and we had no chaffing material at hand. Scott and I spotted four super large fenders lying unguarded so we grabbed three of them and installed them with the eight fenders already deployed, returning to dinner hopeful that we had the boat secured. This ocean surge is nothing new since Mazatlan and Herradura, and all of those marinas are well protected by strong breakwaters, but when we returned from dinner the boat was just hammering the fenders and the single 7/8th inch stern line was nearly parted. About this time the marina manager came by and asked if he could help and, upon our positive advice, he brought a number of helpers who re-tied the boat, added chaffing gear, and settled things down. We were thereafter good for the night and I was darn glad for their help even though it was a little embarrassing not to be able to tie up your own boat. All the while this little boating adventure was unfolding the US Navy was having shore leave among the many bars and restaurants and a bus filled with tourists and a small brass band with large drums was circling the area letting us all enjoy their enthusiasm. It was quite an evening.

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Saturday, May 10, 2003 0810
Marina Flamenco, Panama City, Panama 8.54/79.31

I stayed on the boat all day yesterday while the others frolicked about Panama City shopping for odds and ends. Apparently the Costco store turned out to be something else although still a large box store. Scott reports that the slums are the worst he has ever seen and that the high rise buildings visible in photos posted with this bulletin are really only apartment houses and not high rise office buildings as he had surmised. His comment was somewhat pejorative and I did not quite get the connection but he has seen a lot of both slums and apartment houses so there must be one. Maybe today I can get to town to check it out myself as I hate to ask any more stupid questions. He and I did review the nightlife last night at the center/mall next door. This is one of those trips where everyone goes to bed real early so if you are still awake by 2200 you’re on your own if you want to go cruising. The young people at the center, drinking and dining in the late evening hours, are all wearing comfortable city clothes so we kind of stand out with our bright shirts and shorts. The people themselves are not, in my opinion, as attractive as the kids we have seen to the north, although there are plenty of nice looking kids. Somehow, indefinably, they just aren’t quite as handsome and pretty. Probably being a little too analytical here.

Speaking of stupid questions, I asked plenty of them yesterday as we were visited on the boat by:
(1) the ships agent, who had more papers to fill out to book our transit,
(2) the admeasurer who is required to measure all vessels that intend to pass through the canal and to fill out a detailed report on boat cruising speed, top speed, horn, fuel carried, fuel consumption rate, available toilets, and a lot of other stuff,
(3) the diesel mechanic, who was to attack the presumably faulty starboard coolant sensor,
(4) the plumber, to work over a leaky sink in Scott and Lynn’s bedroom,
(5) the undesirable insects inspector, looking for cucarachas and any of Mary Ann’s relatives that might have stowed away,
(6) the boat washing guy, who worked all day with almost no water pressure and has returned today to finish the job,
(7) two computer guys to work on the office email hookup,
(8) the air conditioning man, to figure out why I have to keep shutting the AC off and on to keep it running,
(9) a third computer guy, to explain things to the first two guys, and
(10) the parts delivery man, who brought spare watermaker O rings and two more spare coils for the shore power inlet relay.

By the time they were all gone I had spent $325 and deferred payment of the diesel mechanic to the ships agent, but (1) the starboard engine alarm has stopped as a result of contact cleaner on it’s ports, (2) the leak in Hannah’s sink that has caused them to use the sink ‘down the hall’ has been stopped by replacing an O ring, (3) the air conditioning guy says he fixed something having to do with water that I did not understand, and (4) wonder of wonders, the ship’s email is working now that a faulty db9 to USB connection has been repaired! Ain’t life grand?

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Monday, May 12, 2003 20:00
At Sea 55 miles N of Cristobal, 10.47/80.24

Boy, is it ever rough here in the Caribbean! We’re in 10-12’ seas, running in the blackness, and Scott and I are telling each other hopefully that the wind will die down pretty soon. We’re headed for Providencia, a small Columbian island that is supposed to be out here somewhere, and hoping for better seas as we get further north. Everyone has been telling us that the wx in the Caribbean was lousy, and they were right. The blue water sure is pretty, though, and the boat is not having any difficulty with the seas.

Yesterday was Canal day and we were mostly all up and moving by 0600, Scott at 0545 to make sure the line handlers arrived, which they did, four men who handle lines for canal boats every day. The first thing we did was to call Flamenco Signal, the Pacific end control authority to verify that we were to meet our pilot at 0645 as per the previous night. We were advised that we were to meet the pilot at 0730, but thirty minutes later Flamenco Signal told us to hurry out to buoy six and when we got there at 0715 he was waiting. We immediately moved into the shipping channel ahead of an immense car carrier ship and were told that we would be going through the locks rafted on to a Canal tug and that there would be a small sailboat rafted on to us. Very good news insofar as the tug was concerned, but when the sailboat showed up it was festooned with tires all along both sides and gave me some concern. I later learned that most of the sailboats rent tires to use as fenders, but the tires are put into garbage bags and taped up to prevent leaving black marks on themselves and other vessels.

The Canal itself, if you haven’t seen it, is a big muddy ditch filled with water brown as gravy and looking just as thick, locks on either end and narrow cuts interspersed before and after Gatun Lake in the middle. Gatun Lake is man-made and very large, third largest in the world at one time, but very unappealing to see. The water clears up on the Atlantic side so as we were waiting for our car carrier to catch up I jumped in for a dip and was enjoying myself until one of the linesmen told me to get out of the water because of the alligators. Scott enjoyed that little vignette as he has been talking ‘alligator’ ever since he came aboard and felt than his prescience had been vindicated. Passing through the Continental Divide is moving when you consider the labor it took to move so much earth to create the cut. It’s an amazing piece of engineering and I cannot conceive of any reason why the US would have given it to the Panamanians who immediately turned around and gave operational management to a Chinese group of some sort who had outbid the Americans for the work. It’s an immense plum for the Chinese and will be an immense headache for the Panamanians and, finally, for the US. Talk about vital US interests!

The Canal tugs dart about like bees around flowers, pushing and pulling the huge ships into impossibly tiny openings in an acrobatic display that looks like nothing so much as putting toothpaste back into the tube. The largest ships, apparently car carriers, leave only one foot of clearance on either side of the 110’ locks. They are so wide that they cannot pass other large vessels in the cuts and have to wait or be waited upon at these narrow sections. For out part, however, it’s exactly like passing through the large lock at Ballard only easier because, being tied to a tug, we don’t have to handle lines as the water rises and falls. Despite this ease of line handling, however, we all agreed that our four line handlers were a wise investment as they had plenty to do moving fenders and securing us to the several tugs we used. Our rented fenders were the mammoth kind that are so big you can hardly get them aboard your boat, but they are what is needed for a boat like ours. We had four of the huge rented fenders and eight of our usual fenders out for every locking. Tying up to the tug is not exactly easy, as their Captains seem to like to put the spurs to their broncos for every movement with the result that they create terrific turbulence in the water. Reminds us of the rapids and whirlpools at Big Bay and engender the same need for caution.

So we locked up three times on the Pacific side and locked down three times on the Atlantic, ending up at Colon at about 1730, a 9½ hour passage, more or less, slower than normal because we were paired with the car carrier in the locks. I can only assume that none of this is news to anyone as we were on Panama Canal television extensively and Scott and Lynn left orders with their kids to call everyone they knew to watch. I know you were all up at 0500, Seattle time, to see the show. We dropped off our pilot and line handlers at Colon Yacht Club, where they advise that boats med moored at the Club have been attacked by folks with knives, and anchored out in ‘the flats’ with a couple dozen other small boats, safe and sound in 35’. It was a long and tiring day but we didn’t hit anything and we made it.

Same day, 2300 hours:

It is three hours later now than when I started this narrative. Scott has gone to lie down and I don’t feel very well, but the women are both still chirpy so we have someone alert to catch the flying odds and ends in the cabin. Wx seems to be about the same or somewhat worse. Bad luck on the repairs front; starboard engine alarm is sounding again, air conditioning is cutting on and off again, and the diaphragm pump has given up the ghost. Pretty ugly scene right now.