HaIL and Farewell

07 June 2007

Portopbello, Panama

It was four years ago I crossed the Pacific Ocean for the first time. The name itself means the peaceful sea. The Pacific can be tranquil and relatively calm. Her deep blue waters and tropics extend across the equator like a string of jewels, mysteriously hypnotizing. Thousands of miles of water, our largest ocean, only explored a few centuries ago by Cook, she is still uncivilized in many parts. I learned to sail on her waters. I have seen much of her. Four times we crossed the equator from Northern Hemisphere to Southern. So as the Locks of Miraflores closed behind us, and raised Morning Star 100 feet above sea level, we looked out to the Gulf of Panama lined with islands. I said goodbye to her, unsure if I will ever sail in those waters again.

The Canal links two oceans and crosses a continent. Marveled by the engineering minds that created her, it is a great testament to what man can achieve. But as any great achievement with invaluable worth it has been the source of much conflict. People say that since control was handed over to Panama in 2000 that it has been unorganized and not as efficiently run as with the Americans. We saw no proof to back that statement. Most people hire an agent to handle their affairs. Rumors of a three week wait and two days of hectic paperwork in preparation swim around the Yacht Clubs. For us, that was not the case.

First, you call the Admeasurer who comes on board and measures the boat. He fills out a long list of paperwork that only takes about an hour, then inspects the boat. After he leaves you drive to a bank and pay for my size boat approximately $1450. $850 of that is a security deposit. $600 is the actual cost of the transit. The next day you call an office and they tell you when you are going to transit. We are at the end of the season so our wait was only 3 days, but we pushed it back to 5 to give us time to tweak the engine. It is that easy. That was for me only half of the nightmare. That easy, sure to check in, then there is the transit. Your vessel has to be in ship shape. The engine needs to be running efficiently, the chalks and cleats have to be sturdy considering the amount of strain placed on them. An advisor comes on board and you have to provide water and food as well as shade for him. Our advisor, a Panama national, boarded at 9:00 am on Sunday June 3rd. He introduced himself as McClain. For some reason one of our line handlers kept calling him Don. So we called him Don thinking that was his first name. That was not his first name, and I don’t think he got the joke, and I think it irritated him, but the rest of us really thought his first name was Don. First mistake. You are required to transit the canal at 8 knots or there is a fine. So you tell them you can go 8 knots even though few sailboats can. Then you make up excuses for being slow. The white lie let us behind by a few hours. Second mistake. The night before a bad ground in the batteries developed shortening out our system including running lights, our third and final straw.

Needless to say Don was happy to finally get off the boat. We motored under the Bridge of the Americas and into Miraflores by 11 a.m. There were two locks in that chain, then a lake about a mile long the third lock San Miguel, then through the cut. The cut which was the hardest for them to engineer extends about 12 miles then opens into Gatun Lake which extends another 12 or so miles then three back to back locks, the Gatun Locks, and you are done. We had four Crew: Forrest, Phillip (Best Friend from High School), Robert (Our Englishman from the Zihautenejo wedding) and his friend from Israel, David. I myself required to tend to the helm. Each lock rises 27 feet in about one and a half minutes. The longest periods of the transit are tying up and moving into new locks. There are a few ways to transit through the locks. First is to tie up to the wall. When traveling up or up locking, there is a great amount of turbulence so for sail boats this is not advised seeing a mast might swing into the wall. You can nest in the middle and raft up to nest. Which is four lines holding you, or you and another boat in the middle of the lock. Then there is tying up alongside a tug, and let them do all the work. The first set of locks we were rafted in the middle with some Finland Gentlemen, with a tanker in Front of us. In the Gatun Locks we were alongside a tug with a tanker behind us. This had a special challenge.

Apparently when these massive ships move forward they compress an incredible amount of water against the gates. So when the Gates open all that water creates a strong current in the lock. Don informed me of this after it nearly drove me into a wall. You have to untie with the tug after each lock and race forward to tie up. You can see the line in the water that moves forward, which is the current. I did not know to beat this line to the tug so as we were safely and slowly getting it right and tying up the current kicked my rudder to port throwing the bow into the tug and pushing the stern towards the wall. We fought with the lines, I fought with the engine and we landed her safely alongside after nearly ripping cleats and winches from the deck.

“So what just happened, Don?” I asked trying to gather my wits.

“Oh yeah,” He says.

To sum the experience it is easiest said as this. There have been many important and symbolical days in my life so far. This was probably the most important so far, I only expect it to be topped by the day we arrive in Charleston. We sailed along a tropical lake in small ravines filled with the sound of parrots and monkeys in the trees. The lake smelled like a lake in the mountains of North Carolina and looked as if we were in the waters of our mountain home. It was a hale to the Caribbean and a farewell to the Pacific. It marked the transition from the West Coast to the East Coast. It was the milestone of all milestones in the voyage and race against time for our homecoming. To me the Caribbean has always been an extension of the south. In my mind this is just the next door neighbor to my home. When the last gate opened and the sun set over land now, I looked out over the sea that has occupied so many dreams of my childhood. As we gradually moved further and further towards the opening of the sea I felt already to be home. There is no more sailing away from home. No more south headings, only North now. I was fighting the emotion as I contemplated what lie ahead. Strong following currents, trade winds, and only roughly 1,200 miles to the states and 2,000 to Charleston. At 100 miles a day we could be there in 20 strait days. We hope it means the end of the doldrums. However, one set of risks behind us now we have others to face.

The sea is littered with reefs only feet below the water, shifting sand bars, rocks, fog, and heavy swells from the consistent trades, hurricane force squalls and water spouts. Then being behind schedule has landed us in the beginning of Hurricane season. Would I be a fool to think it was a jaunt through the Caribbean? I learned the Pacific over time. I have never sailed on this side of the continent. It is a whole different sea with different threats. I have spent my nights weighing the threats with local sailors. The conclusion is simply that it will be a fast ride home, however fast, it is these final legs that will test Morning Star’s seaworthiness, and our seamanship.

I can easily build up all the scenarios in my head. I can easily lose sleep as I once did before. I concluded long ago that you gather your resources of information, make the safest and most conservative decision and go when you can. I also concluded bad things happen. You can’t prevent them you can’t stop them, you just deal with them as they come. You can’t run from the wind, you trim your sails and face the music. It sounds dramatic but out here there always comes a time when you have to face your fears. Sound familiar? I know I harped on it in my last email, but it is hard to fully grasp until you see it, then you realize your fear, and it is a tough realization. Enough on that.

With the Gatun locks behind us and a few days rest, we sailed from one of the more deadly cities in the world. Colon. Once a beautiful resort town now a dangerous rotting city littered with shifty eyes and stern warnings from official and taxi drivers alike. Carry your bags close. One man’s bag was taken the boy ran into an ally where six men with knives where waiting for him. It is said they will cut off your finger to get a ring. The streets are impoverished. Homeless sit on the side of the street in their own waste. The gutters are full of oil and gasoline. The streets littered with trash thrown from the houses. Cars breathing black smoke. Mazes of alleyways full of drugs and gangs. In line at the super market a man hallucinating from heroin nearly collapsed on the check out isle.

I once thought of it as a blessing to be able to see and learn of these places that fill a much larger part of the earths surfaces than we care to believe, perhaps I have seen too much. I have seen it, and it was the same in An Nassyria, Deli in East Timor, and Djibouti Africa to name a few.

However, uncomfortable staying too long there we sailed to Portobello. Quick history on this port town. We sailed into an inclosed jungle bay and dropped anchor next to a Spanish fort nearly 500 years old. The Spanish used Portobello to ship their gold from Panama City across the isthmus via mule train. It was received here and processed through the still standing Customs House where 3/4 of the worlds existing gold at one time was weighed and registered. Then loaded onto galleons and shipped to Spain. Sir Francis Drake, Admiral Vernon, Capt. Henry Morgan all sacked this city finding nothing but disease here. The gold only came in short intervals, and was quickly processed. All the cannons still line the fortress walls. Sir Francis Drake went on a rampage of sorts across the Caribbean and when arriving here after being unsuccessful in finding any treasurehe burned the city, again, in frustration after which he stormed onto his ship and yelled “Is this how it is going to end!”

The next day the crew found him dead in his cabin and buried him at sea here. Morgan captured it by leaving his ships in Bocas Del Torro to the north and canoeing down in dug outs then crossing through the jungle mountains taking her from behind. Then marched 10 days to Panama city without food and took the city for food, then gold. At one time hundreds of ships transporting treasures lined those waters, now the bay is the opening to the Canal and instead of gold at anchor there are BMW’s and oil. Sightly Ironic.

So we spent the day climbing through the jungles and hiking onto balds over looking the harbor and the sea. We climbed the walls to the forts and showered under a waterfall. It was a fun day spent talking on the boat looking at the sleepy friendly town under the light of a million stars and the southern cross.