Welcome to the Carib

The Caribbean feels less intense than the Pacific. I think it’s mainly because the Pacific’s ocean swell is so much bigger and more present. Or maybe it’s because cruising is finally starting to feel like home to me.

What are some other comparisons? The fish in the Carib are smarter. Or not so hungry. I haven’t been catching as much here so far. There are LOTS more porpoise in the Pacific – days of horizon to horizon porpoise. In the Pacific they visit Akimbo and i much more and they are more aerial – jumping 6 to 10 feet clear of the water sometimes. There are no whales in the Carib that i know of. In the Pacific we left 20’ tidal ranges. Here in the Carib a BIG tide is 15”. So we can anchor in shallower water, which is convenient. The water temp is barely warmer in the Carib, 91 degrees just now. There appears to be a lot less plastic jetsam floating around – it really was alarming in the Pacific.

The San Blas Islands are what sailors dream of. Why didn’t i know about this place? They are a place i tho’t could only be imagined. But they exist! THIS is it! A piece of paradise. An island Eden. That feeling is made moreso by the Kuna Yala people who inhabit and govern the islands and the coastal jungle. They are an autonomous indigenous people. Short folk. Their society is matrilineal, and they don’t allow marrying outside of their tribe – one does so with the knowledge that they have left the tribe. They have their own ancient language and crime is unheard of here. Their environs are pristine and virginal. The waters are so clear that when it is calm, in 15’ of water i can discern details on the sandy bottom…by moonlight. I am so glad i “turned right” instead of left out of Colon and peeked at them. Maybe they are a preview of Belize, but so far, hands down, if there is one place to come back to, it’s the San Blas Islands. If there had been bare breasted women, there would have been mutiny when it came time to leave. And unlike Bligh, i don’t even have any crew aboard!


There i am, in this bliss, anchored at Chichime Cay, close to some huts on the island. A woman comes out carrying some compost type stuff and throws it in the water lapping at the shore. Cool. She goes back in, comes back out and throws more out – this time a half dozen plastic bottles and bags?! Wait a minute! So much for paradise. The next morning a native paddled over and asked me if i could plug in his cellphone to give it a charge. And i don’t know how they collect drinking water to live on such tiny islands. Also it’s not like i have the place to myself. There are a dozen other yachts here. But it’s fun too to meet a few like myself. One rule around here is to NOT navigate at night. The islands dotting the seascape are atop an intricate and extensive system of coral reefs. As a reminder, one cannot go far without seeing a long abandoned shipwreck. Navigating here is very visual. Sunlight penetrating into the water, and polarized sunglasses are a huge help. Light green water is shallow, blue water is deep, and shades in between are “deep enuf.” Luckily there is an excellent guidebook.

The Kuna Yala are accomplished seafarers, piloting their dugout canoes impressive distances by sail and paddle (under sail they are called cayucos, and by paddle ulus, i think). The crew is often three – two paddling and one bailing. On my way out of the island chain, we were in 63’ of water, going by an ulu. One man was paddling, two had on fins and mask to dive and did so as if to have momentum, one after the other. Were they free diving to the bottom? One came up with a lobster on the end of a spear! Finally i’ve bought lobster catch of the day. Crab legs too. If i’m eating well no wonder i like this place.



At Isla Escudo de Veraguas an old man motored up in his dugout (don’t know what they call it when it has a motor on it) to collect $10 for the honor of anchoring there. This is a larger island, as in big enuf to have its own natural supply of fresh water. Fernandito seemed legit, gave me a receipt. While he was there four native fishermen motored their dugout up and asked if i had any beer. Not enuf for them, i replied and they went on. I could tell the old man was unhappy at their request. I imagine he talked with them about it that night. At dusk Santiago, Alfredo and Lorenzo showed up and sold me some more shellfish. They came aboard and enjoyed Akimbo from the cockpit, also liked looking thru my binoculars. Answering my questions, they said their community on the island has many people.



I haven’t slept in my bed in a long time. The humid air seems to hold on to the heat. The heat has some staying power to it, some heft. When it doesn’t rain i sometimes sleep in the cockpit on a cushion, but my back hurts the next day. The best bunks on the boat are the settees in the salon because there are fans mounted above them.
On to Bocas del Toro, with a few island stops between. One day we made 52 miles in great wind against and a knot and a half of coastal current – 67 miles thru the water in ten hours! Reaching under genoa alone (i got greedy that morning, tried the drifter first, which thrashed and tore, spent the morning stitching and taping a repair, all my fault, bad decision, unnecessary - the sail now sports an ugly scar, but the repair held the next time is set the sail). The next day the wind went light and ahead of us…28 miles in ten hours – there’s never much profit in sailing against both wind and current. Such is sailing. We’ve been motoring more since.

The Bocas del Toro archipelago started with Zapotilla 1 (slipper 1). Part of a park system, a ranger collected another $10 from me. Nice stop. While snorkeling around the boat (to cool off) i spotted a vintage anchor on the bottom. Made me wonder what the story was long ago that made a boat abandon or lose its anchor. Maybe you can make it out in the bottom of the murky photo. Back in the San Blas i also took an underwater shot that gives you a view of Akimbo you haven't seen before. The Bocas islands are mostly sheltered behind big islands, and they're mangrove islands - somehow not nearly so romantic as the palm trees and white sands of the exposed San Blas islands, and without the Kuna Yala.


In Bocas town i’ll check the weather. If there isn’t a lot of hurricane activity, i’ll start north - into their territory a month before the end of their season. Am feeling tentative about that. Shall see.

The Panama Canal

Bridge of the Americas behind us, we're on our way and waiting for our lockmate.



I’m sitting aboard Akimbo on a mooring buoy at about 6pm on Lake Gatun a little over a mile from the Gatun Locks – the northern exit from the Panama Canal into the Caribbean – with “four of my best friends.” Troya, Edwardo (nickname Blondie – can you pick him out in the photo?), Miguel and Edgar, now playing dominoes. We are here for the night and plan to finish our transit tomorrow. The good news is that we got the most turbulent locking – up – behind us. Locking down will be calmer water. The bad news was that the ship we were assigned to go with thru the first locks was late. We were all aboard (including the Canal’s advisor - Larry) and ready at 7am, Condor Bay was due at 9am but didn’t get there until 10. According to Larry, to finish the transit in one day we would have had to get to here at about 2pm, we got here at 4, even doing 7 knots at times. While the Canal doesn’t charge for the mooring, i’ll be paying for another day of my hired crew. This HAS been expensive. After the Canal Authority eventually sends back my $850 buffer, it’ll turn out to have cost a little over $1600. With my own crew and not using an agent, i could cut that down to about $700 – not including the meals i am required to supply. (I’ve had no complaints about the food and these guys won’t let me do the dishes!) After that “price of admission,” i’m making sure i enjoy the show.



In the first two locks, we were tied up in the center of the chamber. Condor Bay was ahead of us and held the same way by the little cable trains that pulled her thru. Amazing to me, little boats row out to these big boats to retrieve their lines that will haul the cables to them. WE were as close as i ever want to get to a big boat like Condor Bay, the guys in the row boats gotta have guts. In the third lock we tied up next to a tug.






Three locks up and into the canal. A rise of 85 to 90 feet. As “Murphy’s Law” would have it, the motor overheated. Once i blew out it’s intake hose it settled down and ran better than ever. We motored and sailed until some authority radioed to tell us to roll up the genoa – too bad, it gave us an extra half knot of speed. The weather was sunny and HOT thru the locks, the Gaillard Cut and most of the way across the lake until a squall moved thru. Visibility got a little short, but the rain cooled things off nicely.


Tomorrow? I was told to expect an advisor aboard at about 11am. I’ll spend tomorrow night at Shelter Bay Marina and head for the San Blas Islands (65 nautical miles away) early the next day. Or the next, given some clean-up i will want to do (and waiting for my agent to deliver my port clearance papers).

It’s tomorrow now. We all started to stir at about 6:30. I followed my crew’s lead by diving into the lake. I get some kind of kick out of the different bodies of water i’ve swum in. As opposed to the countries i’ve visited? Don’t know what that ego trip is. After i dove in, Edwardo told me to watch out for crocodiles. Big ones. But they didn’t show up. Drying off, sitting on deck in the sun and a light breeze, with coffee and bagel in hand, sumthin’ feels good this morning. I’m imagining many of you taking the place of these guys. Actually they’ve taken your place for now. Wish you were here, and so do you, for not an “ah-ha” but an “aahhhhhh” moment.

So there i am. Sitting on deck. Coffee and bagel. Never tiring of the sparkling dance (or is that dancing sparkle?) of sunlight on water, when comes to mind a conversation or three from years past. How many conversations do you wish you could replay? There are those we think of to “get even.” But i’m talkin’ about others. Ones where my relationship with someone changed, reached a “fork in the road” and we diverged. Where we lost further dialog. If i had been more present, could i have praised past harvests and suggested our next time to talk? If i ever see those people again, will i suggest a replay? I think we all have more to learn from each other. And maybe from each moment. “To feel abandoned is to deny the intimacy of your surroundings,” writes David Whyte. If we are present enuf how can we not be intimate not only with each other but with every moment? Isn’t it intimacy that we thrive on?

As anticipated, the canal advisor came aboard at 11 and we headed for the locks. This time we went in front of the ship with us instead of behind. Our lock mate was a car carrier. BIG slab sided thing named “Indiana Highway.” In the attached photos you’ll see the crew, Condor Bay, a cable car that mules the ships thru the locks, lock attendants throwing their messenger lines (there’s another term), the tug we tied to, her crew and captain, where we are on the chart (we’re the little blue triangle), the mooring buoy we tied to, the way we rigged our stern and bow lines, the approach and arrival of Indiana Highway, the slope between the adjacent locks, the gate opening to the Caribbean, our departure.




To build these locks in 1913 and have them serve into such a wildly unimaginable future for almost a hundred years was an incredible achievement! Construction is now underway to build larger locks and enlarge narrower parts of the canal to accommodate super tankers, due to be finished in 2014 (i think they’ll be late). The cable cars don’t hardly look up to their task. There was an fatal accident where there was miscommunication between the ship’s bridge and shore and one got pulled off its track and crushed between the ship and the wall. But such has been extremely rare. We were lucky to see it all in daylight – the locks run 24/7.



The comic relief came when i arrived at the marina and went to check in with the Port Captain. While he did his job…he asked me how i was with Jesus Christ. I told him to ask me after i die. But he just had to go on to tell me what a comfort it would be for me to believe like him. I held my tongue – after all, i didn’t need to get on his bad side – and imagined replaying the conversation even as it was happening. By the way, another thing Panama has over Costa Rica is reasonably priced moorage. $48 here as opposed to $144 in Pez Vela, the last dock i tied up to back on Aug 12.

Upon arriving in the Caribbean, a few sights reminded me to continue to pay attention: a waterspout at the leading edge of a BIG storm; and among the many ships anchored one that had "come to grief." We may have "arrived" here but we've got no less significant a distance and challenge to meet.

Panama City

Akimbo and i have been on a mooring buoy here in Balboa about a week. Our new neighborhood is right next to the channel into the Panama Canal, so we see a lot of very big traffic comin' thru. Imagine lookin' out your front door and seein' nothin' but big semi trucks goin' by. Then think much bigger! Like watching a city block go by.

I got Akimbo hauled out Wednesday, took the rudder out and resecured the lower bearing. The problem wasn't a serious one, but now i can be confident in the system. Replaced zincs while i was at it. In the meantime i caught the "coop saca" bus into town for a quarter each way. Also rode my bike around some. A cruiser's site recommended a cabbie i could hire by the hour and not haggle with. He ran me around for errands and parts a few days.

This city is HUGE, and very vertical. So i've only seen a little of it. It's a bit of an urban shock for me anyway at this point. I'm sure there are museums and galleries i'm missing, a commercial on TV says Broadway show "Stomp" is coming (would like to see that), etc... A real highlight is the tribal artwork, housed in what was the YMCA.

One thing i've learned is that this city if FULL of Barce fans. Talkin' soccer here. Been fun to watch a few games up at the Balboa Yacht Club at the top of the dock. Ever the clothes horse that i am, i looked in Tyler's locker to see if he left any jerseys behind, but he didn't.

Transitting the canal did not impress me until now. I didn't understand my uncle's particular interest to crew for it. Still i suggested he invite my cousins to join us. Jessica had expressed interest too but uncle Don had first dibs...and then our calendars didn't match up. Now i will hire line handlers instead - it would be so much more fun with friends! Akimbo has now been measured by the Canal Authority and been assigned a number that her future owners will inherit with her. So she won't have to be measured again, and they'll know her if she ever returns. The closer i get to the transit (tomorrow?) the more it becomes a "big damn deal" and i look forward to the experience. I'll take lots of photos.

I think the Caribbean will feel dramatically different...when i get there. Like we've made some sort of quantum leap. Guess we will have, over a continental divide. One thing will be nice is not having to allow for twenty foot tides when i anchor. That means i won't have to use so much anchor chain that i get out to the rusty section. Whew!

A dear friend recently wrote that this journey i'm on is important and necessary but that my community missed me. I wrote back first that i am so glad i am missed. It's mutual. But that i don't know if it's important and necessary. I just didn't know what else to do. The opportunity presented itself...and i HAD to go for it. Really go for it. If i hadn't i would have always wondered. I'm glad that i won't have to wonder anymore. Still it took and takes all my courage. I deeply appreciate the privilege at the same time that i'll be glad when it's done. Kinda like life to me now. Of course now that i'm on this journey it takes on a life of its own. And it's bigger than me. I'm "out there" sure enuf and can't quit now if i'm gonna find any way "back." My mission is to sail as safely as i can, stay alive, be very present and enjoy every step of that way back as much as i possibly can.

I feel your presence with me, and hope you feel mine with you (especially when we write). Thank you.

Turning point

It’s a “dark and stormy night” (gotta laugh when that reminds me of Snoopy in the Peanuts cartoon strip). If i am busy sailing Akimbo thru such a night, i don’t have much chance to contemplate where i am and what i’m doing. But if we (Akimbo & i) are at anchor on such a night, my only chore is to wake up periodically and check to see that the anchor is holding, that we are still in the same place we were the last time i checked. Then it takes some time to fall back asleep. Sometimes i’ll pick whatever book i am reading back up. Usually i lay thinking. About the details – maintenance items, the next anchorage, the people i miss, the next meal, minutiae…

What also comes up in a stormy night in a less than secure anchorage, and has for every adventurer from Odysseus to Shackleton to Dorothy and Toto, is the hope that i haven’t gotten in over my head. The farther i am from “home,” the more i feel like i’ve stuck my neck out, the more fervent that hope becomes. Hoping i don’t find myself saying “oops,” or damn!” or “oh fuck” before some serious mis-adventure. A part of exploring and adventuring is facing unknowns, which leaves open the possibility that we may find one that is more than we “bargained for.” Whereupon? We hang on and do our best to emerge intact from the storm at hand, “the other side,” “thru the flames,”…fill in your own metaphor.

About 430 miles from the equator – i’m tempted to go cross it just so i can be a “shellback” instead of a “pollywog.” This refers to a seafaring rite of passage, dividing sailors into either have or have not crossed the equator, the latter not entitled to as much respect as the former. The Galapagos Islands sit fair and square on the equator, about 750 miles away – permit required tho (what would the old shellbacks say about permits?). If i’m as close to the equator as i am going to get, and it’s close to the equinox, then i’m as close to the sun as i’m gonna get too. And it should be as hot as it’s gonna get. Maybe being here for the rainy season is not so bad afterall. Actually it felt hotter at times sailing between the Mexican deserts. I hope these solar panels are maxing out.

So this is it. This is about as far from home as i’m going to get. Somewhere between my communal and parental homes. About 7 degrees north and 81 degrees west. For 11 months i’ve been making my way south and east. I’ve been sailing away instead of toward, altho isn’t it always some of both? The thing i’ve been sailing toward being unknowns. It’s hard to imagine that in a few months i’ll tie to Bud and Rhoda’s dock. Tomorrow i turn a corner and start aiming northish, content in my pollywogdom. Is there a corner i can turn internally?

In ten days...

…there’s too much to tell. And yet it seems so mundane? But then what is life mostly made of? How many tho’ts have you had and lost “in traffic.”

On Akimbo’s swimstep i keep a five gallon bucket. This is my washing machine. I got the idea from Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley.” Clothes slosh around in soapy water for two or three days. Then i rinse and ring them out three times, pin them to the lifelines to air and sun dry. When i got back from my trip to Florida, the bucket was more than half full of rain water. Something feels rich about doing my wash in fresh rain water. If i were royalty i would specify as much to the chamber maids.

The engine overheated one day. This is news? Well i depend on everything here, so everything is news. It was a first on this trip. Skip this paragraph if you want. Opened up the sea strainer, but not much was in it? This is a filter thru which the engine’s pump sucks up sea water to send thru a heat exchanger and cool the engine (was that “Greek” to some?). Pulled the hose off the strainer, blew as hard as i could on the hose, something cleared, water poured in…ready to reconnect and go. On your car it would be the equivalent of driving down the highway, having your engine overheat, pulling over, getting out, walking around to the front of the car to open the hood, and finding a plastic garbage bag had blown up off the road and covered the grill so air couldn’t blow thru the radiator. Remove the bag, air blows thru, engine cools down and runs fine.

Panama. I’m liking it better than Costa Rica so far, if for nothing else than much better anchorages that aren’t exposed and don’t roll you all night long. For my sailing friends (thinking of Rose and Jani, Tony and Jacqui…) Islas Secas was a welcome relief. Calm and quiet and away from the river runoff on the mainland, so the water was very clear. Good reefs to dive nearby. I stayed an extra day. Paddled in to a nearby strand. Nice to walk around on some Panamanian sand, found a waterfall on the other side, soaked my head, tasted good. Got into the shapes and textures of the driftwood on the beach. I made a good job of scraping and cleaning Akimbo’s bottom and have greatly appreciated her improved performance ever since. Great sailing day to Bahia Honda – very neat bay and very sheltered, the natives friendly too – a panguero stopped by, Hector practiced his English with me (i wanted to practice Spanish). He asked if i had a book i could give him, or a magazine (preferably a Playboy) to study and improve his English. I accommodated with a few books and a Yachting magazine. As i was falling asleep that night i realized a bat was flying in and out. On the theory he was eating the insects, none of which i like, i thanked him and fell asleep. Fishing has gotten better too, i’ve been eating variations of nothing else for dinner. Still haven’t caught a rooster fish tho – i think those are the ones that go tail-dancing 50 yards away when you startle them? A new sighting one day was two small snakes – 15” long, brown with lengthwise yellow stripes – surprisingly far out at sea.