Irie Out to Save Birds (Or How We Failed to Sail to Bocas del Toro)

The Past

A Belgian magazine writer recently interviewed me about my (our) unusual life and one of the questions was “What is the weirdest/worst thing that ever happened to you on your trips?” This is a tough one to answer and required a lot of thinking. Mark and I have been on the boat for over five years and with some good planning, constant maintenance and a bit of luck, nothing really terrible has happened yet. We’ve been able to avoid massive storms, lightning strikes, important gear failure and other disasters – like hitting whales or floating containers. We’ve been through scary nights and temporary squalls and survived choppy seas, hence with a bit of puking on my part. Yesterday, I kept thinking about this question, because what we were experiencing was the answer to it!

The Present

One of the reasons Mark and I left the San Blas islands in October was to sail to Bocas del Toro – with a stop at the magnificent Escudo de Veraguas - and visit this archipelago near the border with Costa Rica. We hoped to spend the month of November there, exploring hiking trails, reefs, amazing beaches, and affordable restaurants. But, the rainy season (with November generally accepted as the worst month) brings lots of rain, thunder, lightning and squalls, and… light west winds – the direction we needed to go. The distance is about 170 miles and there would be no way Irie would motor this far. So, we waited for wind… and waited for wind.

On Saturday, November 3^rd, we set out with a weather forecast of east winds 10-15 knots. Once outside of Portobelo harbor, the wind came from the west, at less than 10 knots! We tried to sail, but after two hours of not making any progress in the right direction, we returned – making nice speed with the wind at our back – to our familiar spot in the anchorage. Monday, November 5^th, predicted east-northeast winds 10-15 knots and we had a better feeling about trying the trip again. The boats in the anchorage faced northeast and so did all the cargo ships in front of industrial Colon, based on our chart plotter’s AIS signals. We were good to go!

The wind was perfect, coming from the right angle at a decent speed, to try our spinnaker out for a longish trip. We rigged the big, light sail up and had two reefs in our main sail as to not block the head sail and to have a sail up for steerage when taking the spinnaker down. The engine was only on for a few minutes, before we headed west under sail. The following 7 hours were wonderful: we were speeding along, talking about going all the way to Bocas and doing Veraguas on the way back. The waves were manageable, the sun even peeked out for a moment, and I was not seasick. We wondered whether we could do this for 30 days straight next spring – the circumstances were comparable to the course and following seas in the Pacific Ocean. Life was good!

After 45 miles things changed. The wind turned more north, which was OK with spinnaker down and jib up, no reefs in the main sail. But, the seas became very steep and choppy. We had the predicted NE swell and a weird counter chop from the west. When the two sets of waves collided under Irie, she almost came to a halt. This kept going on for hours as we felt like being in a washing machine. The answer to the sea state was explained, when the wind turned due west! The massive black cloud above us must have been the cause. We tried to sail away from it, through it, around it and even started the engines to try to get to the other side. It was impossible. After another hour, we thought we did it, only to find out that there was another one of these huge squalls, and eight more on the radar… They were unavoidable. In the meantime, three birds kept bugging us; one landed on my shoulder and startled me when I tried to put a warmer T-shirt on, another made its way inside the boat and the third one kept attacking the sails and lines! They eventually tried to hitch a ride to shore.

We could not make any more headway (there was also a 1.5 knot current against us) and the chaotic sea made me seriously sick. By now, Mark was frustrated, I was puking, the boat was stuck in turmoil and it was dark! To top it off, we ran into a pile of invisible tree trunks – twice - and the lightning around us became more threatening. Listening to massive blocks of wood scraping and bumping against your boat with every movement on the water is not something you want to hear! And, there is nothing you can do, but hope no damage was done. While I, queasily, took over the helm, Mark went inside Irie to check the bilges for water coming in. This was truly one of the worst moments of our sailing life. Everything appeared fine, but we urgently need to get into the water to check the hulls more carefully. It is just too muddy to see underwater everywhere with all the run-off from the rain.

We started to believe that this Bocas trip was not meant to be for us and – once again, this time halfway to Veraguas – we turned around, sailing east. From the moment we escaped the clouds, the wind turned north once more and a couple of hours later, the seas calmed down. We had skipped dinner and I had retired into the horizontal position, while Mark took care of the boat the rest of the night. It was a lot of work, trimming the sails endlessly in fluky winds becoming heavier during squalls and lighter in between. While we managed to bypass the huge amount of cargo ships in front of the Panama Canal entrance going west, this proved to be very difficult and nerve-wrecking at night. Mark spent a few hours changing course and avoiding massive freighters near Colon. At 4am, after circling around waiting for another rainstorm to diminish, we arrived back into our old anchoring spot in Portobelo, exhausted and soaking wet. Only once before in five years have we had to anchor at night, and only once before have we turned back, before setting out the following day.

The Future

At least one bird managed to sleep on the lifelines without falling off during the whole sail trip back, and found its way to a new jungle home. It left us a nice present on the side of the boat. One more Panamanian common swallow saved!

Mark and I have concluded that sailing the Panamanian coast in the rainy season (June-November) – especially at night - is hard, if not impossible, and uncomfortable. We will never attempt it again. Most boats motor wherever they go this time of the year. Bocas del Toro is not in our future and – unfortunately – doubts are creeping up about the Pacific Ocean. If we just wait a few days and let our minds and spirits (and my stomach) settle down, we will realize this was a – hopefully - one time and uncommon event not to be repeated…

While in the San Blas islands we obtained a little wooden statue called a “nuchu”, made and owned by the Indians to fend off bad spirits. Since we have this little guy on board, we have only had bad sailing experiences. Not that we are superstitious, but this man might have to find another home. Or, maybe he didn’t like the little ceremony – involving champagne and kisses on the head – we had for him on SV Reach before we left the islands…

Feeding el nuchu, who we named "sahila", after the Kuna chiefs, champagne

Approaching the busy area of Colon with the Caribbean entrance of the Panama Canal

All the triangles are traffic (with AIS system) in and around the Canal! There are at least 85 cargo ships.

 Logs of this size have bumped Irie in anchorages before. Imagine sailing into and over tree trunks even bigger...

Weather in Portobelo

A Sad Part of Cruising: Saying Goodbye

An important thing about the cruising life - important enough to keep some people from choosing this life - is that you leave good friends and caring family members behind. In many cases they are thousands of miles removed from you and live – sometimes quite literally – on the other side of the world. Luckily, the internet keeps communications and updates available, although it is not the same as being face to face with the people you love.

A positive part about the cruising life is that you meet people along the way. Loads of them. With at least one thing in common: a passion for the sea or for a life on the water. Still, it is pretty hard to find like-minded spirits, sailors and travelers, who you can laugh and cry with, share stories and experiences with, have fun and a cocktail with, and exercise and explore with. When these matches happen and you actually get to hang out for months – or years – together, bliss and awesome times result. The need for social contact is fulfilled and not just with the random cruiser. The downside of all this happiness is the inevitable moment to say goodbye. While friends “at home” will always be there, the cruising alternates go their own way (or you do), in different directions. Who knows when and where or - even worse – whether you will ever see them again?

About one year ago, Mark and I had our last drink with Sim and Rosie on SV Alianna, after being great friends and around each other for a couple of years. That happened in Grenada, when we decided to head west for new horizons and adventures. Fortunately, we have been in email contact frequently and we still share our stories and rants, but not in so much detail and without the facial expressions. We wish they would still be with us, though. They decided to stay in the Eastern Caribbean, which they love and cherish. And, they’ve been in our neck of the woods before. I hope that we can keep our friendship going, as we further the distance between us.

Just before leaving the San Blas, Mark and I had a last dinner with Mark and Michele on SV Reach, good friends whom we spent a few months with this year. She and I did yoga almost every morning and we went snorkeling when the weather and desire permitted. My Mark sometimes joined her Mark to go fishing and he learned a lot from him. We didn’t go hungry thanks to his fish supply! Many evenings were spent in each other’s company with good food, drinks, stories and laughs.  They were the first to learn about our big decision to transit the Panama Canal and to go sailing in the Pacific Ocean. With all our new plans, preparations, research and tasks, the moment to part ways came quicker than anticipated. But, we are not on “the other side” yet and Mark and I both hope to make one more trip to the beautiful San Blas islands towards the end of this year. Hopefully Michele still has some champagne left! :-)

Saying goodbye to Michele (and Mark) with a glass of champagne. The color coordinating was not planned!

Forward bend at our daily yoga spot on BBQ island in the Holandes Cays

A beautiful pigeon by Michele

It has already been a year: saying goodbye to Rosie and Sim in Grenada

The Value of $20 in Kuna Yala

The San Blas islands - locally called Kuna Yala - consists of hundreds of beautiful, exotic islands. Some of them are uninhabited and others have a few families living on them, in thatched huts. A few islands are packed with huts and concrete buildings, resembling a village. Not much in the way of provisions is to be found. Most cruising boats are stocked up with groceries and alcohol from Colombia or mainland Panama before they arrive in the San Blas islands, and their tanks are full.

The town of Nargana has a handful of “stores”, where one can find basics like flour, rice, eggs, cornflakes, a small selection of cans, chicken and – depending on your luck – some or little fresh produce. Bread, diesel and gasoline are sold here too. The small settlement of Banedup in the East Lemmon Cays has a few of these items for sale as well. Other than that, cruisers rely on their own stores and the veggie boat, which might come once a week, or not. In the winter time (high season) the arrival of these boats full of produce is more reliable.

Living in the San Blas islands is relatively cheap, especially after spending hundreds of dollars on provisioning elsewhere. All you basically need to obtain here are fresh vegetables and fruit, maybe some chicken, and seafood if you don’t catch it yourself. A $20 bill goes a long way towards survival… But, what exactly can you get in Kuna Yala for 20 dollars?

Here’s a selection:

-          A week’s worth of produce (most veggies sell for $1.50/lb)
-          6-7 medium lobsters
-          10 big crabs
-          3.5 gallons of gasoline
-          3.5 gallons of diesel
-          Propane to fill a 20 pound tank, with $4 change
-          A week’s worth of fish
-          133 Kuna breads, which are tiny
-          A decently made mola (intricately sewn handiwork)
-          Permit to stay 1 month in Kuna Yala
-          5-6 dozens of eggs
-          4-5 bracelets or strings of beads
-          Unlimited amount of drinking water for the boat in one stop
-          60 coconuts on Nlakalubirdup, or 20 elsewhere

Prices usually depend on who you buy things from, what time of the year it is and how well your bargaining skills are. Mark and I have managed to trade stuff for food, but the Kunas always want some money as part of the deal as well. On average, we spend between $120 and $150 a month in Kuna Yala. 

Buying gasoline in Nargana

The settlement of Banedup, East Lemmons

San Blas Crabs

There are two kinds of crabs in Mark and my life these days, while hanging about the San Blas islands. Neither plays a very important role, but they are present around us every day. The first one is a tiny crab of the grey kind. Every time we take a shower off Irie’s back step, we see them settled near the water’s edge of the step. They scurry away and try to hide when you come too close, but they are our permanent pets. We’ve been having some for months. They start out tiny and then grow to about an inch, which is really not that big. We tolerate them down there, but get a bit creeped out when they reach all the way in the cockpit.

The other kind of crab is of a bigger kind and of the color red. The Kuna Indians selling fish, lobster and undersize conch sometimes carry them in their dugout canoes when they sail or paddle from cruising boat to cruising boat. Until recently we have not bought any, because – honestly – we didn’t really know what to do with them and they seemed a lot of work. The only time we saw one while snorkeling was when they were out of season. We always said we would try one of those crabs one day and that moment came a few days ago, when Mark noticed a biggie in one of the passing canoes. We managed to buy this “giant” male for $2; a really good deal. Somehow, we also managed to get the creature with all its appendages in our pressure cooker, which is our biggest pot and “lobster steamer”. Then, it took Mark over an hour to get all the juicy meat out of the shell, legs and massive claws. He collected about a pound of lovely fresh crab meat, which was turned into two delicious dinners. I discovered I like the taste even better than lobster. What a spoil!

The crab was slightly too big for our pressure cooker, but was a perfect fit for our sink. Unfortunately, you can't steam a crab in a sink...

Mark needed to use a tool from his toolbox to conquer the big claws...

Tools for successful San Blas crab meat picking. And, the fruit of Mark's labor; lots of crab meat!

Final result (1/2 anyway): a lovely crab pasta dish - I couldn't resist posting another picture of food!

Sleepless in San Blas

I wake up, bathing in sweat. I have no idea what time it is, but I sure know the wind has totally stopped. Otherwise, my pillow case and sheet wouldn’t be wet and sticky. I try to breathe, slowly. It would be easy enough to turn the little wall-mounted fan on, but we have a problem: Irie’s batteries are pretty low at the moment and we are out of gasoline for our portable generator. Despite a few requests for the veggie guy to bring us some gas (and eggs) – we are still out. So far, we have been able to bum some eggs from our friends on SV Reach and a neighboring boat, after realizing a certain recipe “unexpectedly” needed a non-existing egg. We don’t want to borrow gasoline, however; this is a precious good and we can always run our engines, if really, really, really needed. For now, I am thinking about our fridge and our computers; they have more need for electricity than our fan. Or, do they?

Onion rings (with egg needed batter) and hamburgers for dinner before another sleepless night.

Soon enough, the stagnant night air attracts hordes of no-see-ums from the closest shore, which is an island called “Bug Island”. Yeah, right! They attack our hot, un-sheeted bodies – we’ll have to suffer one way or another. Their bodies resemble the point of a needle and their bite the prick of one. Unfortunately, they are more abundant than the proverbial needle in a haystack. More sensory awareness follows, when our ears are filled with Spanish dance music from one of the power boats a mile away. “Sound travels well over water” is a more correct idiom than “There is always a breeze on the water”! The Panamanian rich must be having a party and we involuntarily partake. The mix of uncomfortable annoyances keeps us awake for a couple of hours, before we finally give in. The fan gains importance and by now, I gladly trade an hour of computer time for who-knows-how-many-hours-we-need of fan use.

When burning trash or doing a project on Bug Island, one can only escape the no-see-ums while hiding in the water.

The evening before, all the cruisers of the anchorage were awakened with a start, when a massive search light shone into their portholes and cockpit and a grinding, deafening, out of the blue sound penetrated the walls of the boats. It was 11pm in an otherwise tranquil bay. Two of the luxurious power boats that come en masse to this area over the weekends (during settled “summer” weather), decided to move a mile and join their brethren, gathered in a power boat village – based on the amount of lights in the distance. In the middle of the night! This was a first. Normally, they only pass Irie at a hair’s distance, passengers gazing into our cockpit and windows, during the day. They go back and forth a few times, using bow thrusters, almost touching our bow or stern, crew and passengers happily waving. 

Motorboats outnumber sailboats over the summer/fall weekends.

They are a friendly bunch, all right. They tie up alongside one of the pretty, palm fringed beaches and buzz around the place in high powered tenders, sometimes slowly plowing through the water and creating massive wake (hold on!), sometimes pulling a toy with kids on it. They have fun, all right. Their owners are dropped off and picked up by helicopter, which is quite a sight to behold on these primitive, indigenous and quiet islands. Imagine a remote tropical island getting  a make-over and turning into a people littered beach, volleyball playing Panamanians, white tent erected on the sand, string of boats tied together and … a helicopter between the palm trees. 

 A peaceful island turned into chaos: people, tents, helicopter!

After another sleepless night – if it’s not the thunder and lightning storms, there are plenty of other reasons to wake up and stay awake during the San Blas summer/fall nights – the sun comes out and the solar panels are used to their biggest potential, for a few hours. The wind generator tries, but fails, due to lack of wind. Mark and I bite the bullet. We grab our empty 2.5 gallon jerry can and my wallet, and we head over to the prettiest, fanciest power yacht; the one that has the friendliest and waviest crew. We talk to the captain, he talks to the owner, we talk to the owner – who is very interested in us “yachties” -and 15 minutes later, our jerry can is filled, while my wallet remains unopened. They refuse money in exchange and are happy to help. With renewed appreciation for Panama’s rich and famous, we return home. Now, we have fuel for our generator. The same amount they use for a fast ten minute dinghy ride with guests will last us up to a month! And, we can liberally use our fan tonight! 

The tranquil "Swimming Pool" anchorage in the East Holandes Cays during summer weekdays.

One of the helicopters dropping off or picking up powerboat guests on BBQ island.

How the scenery changes over the weekend.

Powerboats (yachts much bigger than Irie) tied together alongside the beach.

The tasty (and heavy) food and alcoholic drinks do not guarantee a good night's sleep!