You can only reprovision so much, and wait for wind so long before you just go. After two weeks
of increasingly depressing weather reports (even my paid weather router said “You’ll have to wait for a ‘seasonal change,’ meaning wait for a couple more months) we tired of the continual rolling from ferry boat traffic at the busy La Playita anchorage and departed for the Las Perlas Islands, about 30 miles southwest of Panama City. Naturally, it was a perfectly windless day. We motored the entire distance under a cloudless sky watching the cityscape of Panama City slowing receding into the horizon.
Arriving at the first major island, Contradora, we anchored about ¼ mile off the Hotel Romantica beach. Normally when we anchor it is in sand or mud and the anchor suddenly grabs and almost throws me backwards. This time I could feel the anchor skipping along the bottom, and then finally grab something. Blissfully we retired to the cockpit for sundowners, not knowing that other boats had dragged in this same location, including one of our friends who ended up temporarily stuck on a reef just behind us. Ignorance is bliss.
Our goal in the Las Perlas was to chill out a little after all the hassle of Panama City, fill up on water, and score a weather window for our 900-mile passage to the Galapagos. We visited with some fellow cruisers, worked on some boat projects, and rested. I finally attacked a project I’d ignored for some time: the clogged outlet line on the aft head. Meryl was so shocked at my glee when I finally fixed it she thought (as she has many times) that I had finally gone nutter. That meant we now had two functioning heads, a very big deal if you live on a boat and are expecting guests.
Later in the day we did some snorkeling with Jeff and Katie on Messaluna and saw a lot of large fish, including rays and huge parrot fish. Also lots of turtles. After snorkeling we explored a nearby cove where a large inter-island ferry was wrecked on the beach and a large resort complex lay in ruins. (And who do we run into but our “sans clothing” friends with whom we went through the Panama Canal). As far as the ruins, Contradora had been a US airbase at one point and our guess is when the military pulled out most of the economy when with it. Today it’s a weekend getaway island for rich Panamanians, as evidenced by the many million dollar mansions lining the shoreline.
One day we went ashore, not an easy task in the Pacific since there are up to 15 ft. tidal ranges, which means you have to haul our 200 lb. dingy high up on the beach. We walked across the small island to the ferry landing where there was a dive shop and a few restaurants. We found it interesting that the Panamanians aren’t as naturally friendly as other places we’ve visited, especially Columbia. There’s a kind of toughness to them (think of Manual Noriega) that’s not endearing.
We had a nice lunch at a little restaurant and bought some food, then went back to the hotel where we were anchored to get water and ice, only to find out the only potable water on the island was the little bottles the sold in the grocery store. We did talk the hotel manager out of a little ice, so that was good.
On March 27th we did a very short sail to the next island south, Isla Chapera, famous as the filming location for the US TV show, Survivor, as well as the British, French and other versions of the show. We ended up just chilling on the boat and leaving the next morning for Isla Espiruto Santo, a beautiful little island just off the larger Isla Del Ray. The bay between the two islands makes for a well protected anchorage (not that there were any ferocious winds) and we took advantage of the calm water for a first pass cleaning of the bottom in preparation for the Galapagos passage. We also did a brief dingy exploration of the bay looking for streams or rivers where we could get fresh water, but had no luck.
The next day we sailed to Isla Canas, but decided not to anchor there and continued south to a more protected bay at Rio Cacique. We talked with an Australian boat, Volo, that was anchored nearby and found the river we’d hoped to get fresh water in was brackish all the way to its source. He also mentioned that Isla Canas, where we’d originally planned to clean the bottom, was home to some big salt water crocodiles. As an Aussie he said sharks didn’t scare him, but the saltwater crocs do. I quickly decided this would be a better location for the final cleaning (using SCUBA gear) of the bottom.
The reason for all this persnicketyness is that the Galapagos has a diver inspect your hull as part of the check-in process. If he doesn’t like what he sees, they will send you 50 miles offshore where a professional diver will clean your bottom. A group of 19 ARC World Tour boats were refused entry just a month early and had to go offshore with a diver at the cost of $5000. That’s why we’re paranoid about this. The Aussie did like the idea that I was in the water at the same time he was cleaning his bottom, “That way the crocs will at least have a choice of what to have for lunch.”
The next day we debated what to do. One of our friends had already left for the Galapagos that morning and Volo told us they would be leaving that evening. Looked like a soft northerly was developing so we decided we might have a go of it. We upped anchor and motored about two miles south to the small fishing village of Esmeralda where we’d heard they had potable water. After a quick anchor we got in the dingy and headed ashore. With surf breaking on the beach it looked like a landing would be problematic, but a guy onshore waved to us and we ran the dingy up on the beach, where we were met by an armada of young kids, who bless their hearts, helped us pull the dingy up the long sandy beach.
We followed our new friend (who didn’t speak a word of English) down the beach (why didn’t he have us land there in the first place?) and into the very small (and poor) village to his house. Seated on the porch were most of his family, including a wife and daughter wearing those huge hair rollers in the hair that were popular in the ’70s, who were peeling vegetables for dinner. He went inside and got two yellow 5 gal. buckets of their family’s drinking water and carefully poured it into our collapsible jugs, using a small plastic bottle as a ladle (I thought this was going to take all day).
I then carried the two full 5 gal. jugs what seemed like two miles down the beach to our dingy in the 100-degree heat while Meryl took off with the guy somewhere to find more water. When I returned I found them sitting in a line waiting for one of the only two water taps in the village, both taps dribbling water at a glacial pace. Village women were doing their family’s wash in the yellow 5 gal. buckets, then rinsing them out and filling them with drinking water. Then, to my amazement, they put a small rolled towel on their head and lifted the 35 lb. buckets up and walked off just like you see in Africa. Amazing they could carry and balance that much weight on their head.
After about an hour we worked our way up in line and our friend helped fill our 3 cubes. We then all took one and trudged off down the beach to the boat, now a home to about 10 kids. To their credit they all helped drag the dingy into the surf (we gave them some money to split amongst themselves) and we headed out to the boat. One enterprising young kid and his sister followed us in a very sketchy dugout and helped me pour the water in the tanks and sold Meryl some papayas.
By now it was 4:00 pm and we were wiped out, but our friend on Volo radioed us and said we’d sleep better on passage then in the rolly anchorage at the bay, so we decided it was now or never and upped anchor for the 900-mile passage to the Galapagos. Once we rounded Punta Cocos we actually picked up a nice northerly wind and set our main and genoa for our longest passage ever.
To be honest I have to say there’s always a lot of apprehension before these long passages, especially the passage off the coast of Columbia. Magazine articles and books have been written by sailors who ran into difficulties or perished on these passages. Maybe we’ve been lucky to slowly build up by taking overnight, then two-night, and finally a five-night passage for this seven to ten night passage to the Galapagos. And all of this is only a prelude to the mother of all passages, the 25 to 30-day passage from the Galapagos to the Marquesas. It’s all a learning experience, but one with a lot at risk.
We were both so tired we slept soundly during our off watches, content that we were finally on our way to the Galapagos.
of increasingly depressing weather reports (even my paid weather router said “You’ll have to wait for a ‘seasonal change,’ meaning wait for a couple more months) we tired of the continual rolling from ferry boat traffic at the busy La Playita anchorage and departed for the Las Perlas Islands, about 30 miles southwest of Panama City. Naturally, it was a perfectly windless day. We motored the entire distance under a cloudless sky watching the cityscape of Panama City slowing receding into the horizon.
 |
| Just to left out of this picture are literally hundreds of ships waiting to go through the Panama Canal. |
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| Thank God we spend the money for a new whisker pole in Trinidad, we'd be dead down here with it with all the downwind sailing. |
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| Another project was going up the backstay to clean the connection for the SSB radio antenna. |
One day we went ashore, not an easy task in the Pacific since there are up to 15 ft. tidal ranges, which means you have to haul our 200 lb. dingy high up on the beach. We walked across the small island to the ferry landing where there was a dive shop and a few restaurants. We found it interesting that the Panamanians aren’t as naturally friendly as other places we’ve visited, especially Columbia. There’s a kind of toughness to them (think of Manual Noriega) that’s not endearing.
We had a nice lunch at a little restaurant and bought some food, then went back to the hotel where we were anchored to get water and ice, only to find out the only potable water on the island was the little bottles the sold in the grocery store. We did talk the hotel manager out of a little ice, so that was good.
 |
| This is the famous beach from the Survivor TV series. |
The next day we sailed to Isla Canas, but decided not to anchor there and continued south to a more protected bay at Rio Cacique. We talked with an Australian boat, Volo, that was anchored nearby and found the river we’d hoped to get fresh water in was brackish all the way to its source. He also mentioned that Isla Canas, where we’d originally planned to clean the bottom, was home to some big salt water crocodiles. As an Aussie he said sharks didn’t scare him, but the saltwater crocs do. I quickly decided this would be a better location for the final cleaning (using SCUBA gear) of the bottom.
The reason for all this persnicketyness is that the Galapagos has a diver inspect your hull as part of the check-in process. If he doesn’t like what he sees, they will send you 50 miles offshore where a professional diver will clean your bottom. A group of 19 ARC World Tour boats were refused entry just a month early and had to go offshore with a diver at the cost of $5000. That’s why we’re paranoid about this. The Aussie did like the idea that I was in the water at the same time he was cleaning his bottom, “That way the crocs will at least have a choice of what to have for lunch.”
The next day we debated what to do. One of our friends had already left for the Galapagos that morning and Volo told us they would be leaving that evening. Looked like a soft northerly was developing so we decided we might have a go of it. We upped anchor and motored about two miles south to the small fishing village of Esmeralda where we’d heard they had potable water. After a quick anchor we got in the dingy and headed ashore. With surf breaking on the beach it looked like a landing would be problematic, but a guy onshore waved to us and we ran the dingy up on the beach, where we were met by an armada of young kids, who bless their hearts, helped us pull the dingy up the long sandy beach.
We followed our new friend (who didn’t speak a word of English) down the beach (why didn’t he have us land there in the first place?) and into the very small (and poor) village to his house. Seated on the porch were most of his family, including a wife and daughter wearing those huge hair rollers in the hair that were popular in the ’70s, who were peeling vegetables for dinner. He went inside and got two yellow 5 gal. buckets of their family’s drinking water and carefully poured it into our collapsible jugs, using a small plastic bottle as a ladle (I thought this was going to take all day).
I then carried the two full 5 gal. jugs what seemed like two miles down the beach to our dingy in the 100-degree heat while Meryl took off with the guy somewhere to find more water. When I returned I found them sitting in a line waiting for one of the only two water taps in the village, both taps dribbling water at a glacial pace. Village women were doing their family’s wash in the yellow 5 gal. buckets, then rinsing them out and filling them with drinking water. Then, to my amazement, they put a small rolled towel on their head and lifted the 35 lb. buckets up and walked off just like you see in Africa. Amazing they could carry and balance that much weight on their head.
After about an hour we worked our way up in line and our friend helped fill our 3 cubes. We then all took one and trudged off down the beach to the boat, now a home to about 10 kids. To their credit they all helped drag the dingy into the surf (we gave them some money to split amongst themselves) and we headed out to the boat. One enterprising young kid and his sister followed us in a very sketchy dugout and helped me pour the water in the tanks and sold Meryl some papayas.
 |
| My friendly helpers at Esmeralda. |
To be honest I have to say there’s always a lot of apprehension before these long passages, especially the passage off the coast of Columbia. Magazine articles and books have been written by sailors who ran into difficulties or perished on these passages. Maybe we’ve been lucky to slowly build up by taking overnight, then two-night, and finally a five-night passage for this seven to ten night passage to the Galapagos. And all of this is only a prelude to the mother of all passages, the 25 to 30-day passage from the Galapagos to the Marquesas. It’s all a learning experience, but one with a lot at risk.
We were both so tired we slept soundly during our off watches, content that we were finally on our way to the Galapagos.
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