Here’s a little something fun from Tayrona’s transit through the historic Panama Canal. Check out the pictures and the full story here!
Author: Pete
It’s time! We’re going through the canal! So long Caribbean, hello Pacific! We’re doing it! Game on!
Okay, sorry. It’s an exciting day. Spent the morning and early afternoon getting the boat ready for the transit. Topped off engine fluids, the port side seems to be holding coolant now after weeks of leaking and troubleshooting. Fueled the main tanks out of the jerry jugs, watered up, washed the boat, tied on tires, and generally got the boat ready to go. It helped a lot to have a full crew and a dock. I almost had some time to myself! One last shower quick before we threw off our dock lines, backed out of our slip, and made for Colón harbor.
Motored to F Anchorage and watched in the ‘Flats’ for our advisor. Worked on the series drogue to get our jitters out.
We eyed our companions, Simmer Down and Peregrine, who would be going through the canal with us. Eventually a boat from the canal authority pulled up and deposited a good natured gentleman aboard. Señor Fransisco gave us the rundown in functional English before we finally hauled anchor and chased a passing freighter into the Panama Canal!
The harbor turned to narrows slowly. Tens of thousands of migrating electric-green butterflies streamed over our port side, racing in the wind like bright confetti. It felt like coming into a stadium with a cheering crowd. The narrows turned to river, then the Gatun Locks loomed up over the big freighter we were pursuing like the doors of King Kong. I felt myself involuntarily grinning like an idiot.
We rafted the boats together, the monohulls on either side of us.
Here’s the starboard side:
And next the port:
I was charged with keeping the boats from crashing into the freighter, holding us all off against the stern wind with Wendy and Belinda (the diesels). Yup- our buddies on the monohulls put their engines in neutral, and we pulled those freeloaders through the canal. True, but the middle is certainly the most coveted space as we simply watched and took pictures while they did all the line-handling work when it came time to tie up to the sides of the canal. So, really no complaints.
We inched into the locks after the big ship, taking care not to scratch my friends on the sides.
Monkey fists came raining in from the high walls to our bumper boats.
They tied small relay lines to the heavy, rented lines, which were hauled up to the top of the locks. The canal workers walked along with our raft of three boats, directing us until we reached the stopping point inside the canal when we’d rest while being risen up to the next level.
The great doors built apparently by Eiffel closed slowly outward. The green water roiled in from underneath us. The bottom filling method (versus the original method of water entering from the sides which created turbulence) is a modification of the builder who put the locks together in Sault Saint Marie, Michigan! The rivets on the big doors began to disappear as we rose; line handlers on our bumper boats took in slack to keep us steady in the chamber.
Not until you glimpse back behind the boat do you realize just how much altitude you’ve gained.
This is the same canal worker as in the picture above. Much closer now.
The foreword doors opened and the freighter stood ahead with a blast of prop wash that sent back at us beach ball swallowing eddies. We gave him space then followed into the second chamber, and then repeated the process, and then again in a third chamber. In the words of our sailing school instructor Captain Dan, “It was all very exciting.” Exciting yet remarkably well controlled. It’s like they do this type of thing a lot around here. There wasn’t much work for my crew to do but enjoy the ride. Being in control of three boats with just my twin Volvo Pentas was a bit unnerving.
Along the way our buddies Ben and Elizabeth sent us pictures from the Gatun Lock’s webcam!
The sun was setting as we hit the last chamber, and the light made the experience all the more surreal.
On the last lock the view down at Colón and the Caribbean was pretty impressive. So long Cólon! Smell ya later!
Motored into Gatun Lake as the sun set and cast long pink highlights into the sky. Gorgeous. We rafted next to Peregrine on a massive mooring buoy for the night, side by side with a big buoy in the middle. The lake is too deep to anchor so this is how it’s done. A pilot picked up our advisor and we were alone with our boats.
Aside from the excavation of the new locks going 24/7 it’s quiet and calm. Crickets singing in the trees sound like home even though we’re far away. And we have family on board! What could be better! On to the Pacific tomorrow!
Day 2:
Day broke slow over Gatun Lake. The calm of the night was punctuated by contrasting noise. Howler monkeys growled from the depths of the jungle as trains and construction equipment from the new ‘apliación’ of the canal clanked and whistled. Their juxtaposition was odd and fascinating.
Waited an hour for the pilot boat to drop off our new advisor. The master of the craft barreled up to our beam, it’s steel nose inches from holing our fiberglass hull. He deposited his cargo deftly and maneuvered powerfully away, seamless as the morning lake.
Daniel, our advisor, was a handsome, competent tug operator, well versed in the working and history of the canal, and patient enough to humor us by answering our myriad questions about the whole deal. We motored through the sprawling flooded lake with Peregrine and Simmer Down for an hour or so. The land around rolled with jungle and the peaceful lake quietly tolerated the big passing ships. Navigation cans polka-dotted the still water. I was a touch distracted by Wendy, the port diesel which has been losing coolant. I envisioned her overheating in the locks with two boats strapped to me and an 80 foot tanker behind.
The stunning terrain skimmed past us. I think it was the first time Tayrona was in sweet water. Morale was high aboard, and clear skies above. We cruised through Gamboa and the narrow Corta Culebra with tight space for us when the ships came through single file. Picked up a massive mooring buoy just upstream of the Pedro Miguel locks, our first of the day, and awaited the other small vessels descending with us.
When the time came we tied up with Peregrine and Simmer down, with a little confusion and I was again left to motor us into the locks. Linemen threw monkeyfists at the boat and the long blue lines were hauled to the sides before the doors shut behind us, low in the water. They grew until they towered above us, mossy walls dripping. The downstream doors opened and Tayrona was back on point. Day 1 we were pushed up by water flowing in underneath us. Day 2 is now all about being lowered gradually down and into the Pacific.
When we passed the Miraflores locks it really felt like we had done it. The observation tower where we had watched the operations so many years ago brought back a flood of all the decisions that had led to this moment since then. Whew. The heavy doors seemed like they shut the Caribbean, and the past, off. No going back now.
Motored out of the Miraflores locks and under the Las Americas bridge. Then we were out into the Pacific. Had a pretty great moment of realization of just what we’d done. So fun to have Mom and Denny here for it.
Anchored in Playita on the amador peninsula and had a much anticipated, and dare I say it, deserved, Balboa beer.
Author: Miranda
Location: Northern Bahamas
We’ve been having ourselves quite a good time tooling around the northern Bahamian islands, and it’s about time we fill you all in on our adventures. After spending a week in Bimini with strong winds, we were excited to shake out the sails and get moving again.
And, as if to say “Welcome Back!” we were greeted by two playful dolphins just a few miles south of Bimini.
We were headed out to cross the dreaded “tongue of the ocean” by way of the Northwest Channel. The Northwest Channel is a tricky spot in which the depth falls from about 15 feet to 3,000 feet in the span of maybe a mile or two. Throw in a long “tongue” of deep water south and east of this point that works to build up plenty of big, bad waves when the winds are right, and you’ve got yourself a few days of scary sailing if you don’t time the weather conditions just right.
In addition, the channel is one of only a few ways for boats to get from southern Florida into the Bahamas (and definitely the most direct), so it can get quite crowded. Not wanting to make this passage in the dark, we anchored off a shoal on the northern tip of Andros Island and waited until the next day to have light. The anchorage was choppy and mildly uncomfortable, but we survived.
The beating straight into the wind and waves the following day was also not all that much fun, so we veered off to Chub Cay on the southwestern tip of the Berry Islands to make for a shorter day.
We passed the time in Chub Cay by snorkeling (Pete speared his first fish! A coral hind– a type of grouper. The fish tacos were delish!), scraping off the barnacles from the bottom of the boat, and attempting (but failing) to call on our families on Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving meal at the marina of cracked conch and sweet potatoes was a little pricy for us, so we made chicken curry and gin and tonics to celebrate. I doubt the forefathers ever cooked with green curry paste and coconut milk, but hell, what can you do? We forgot to plan for thanksgiving-type foods while trouncing around Miami on our provisioning runs in the heat and humidity of southern Florida. Oops.
In other exciting holiday news, I spent the morning of Thanksgiving hand-washing my undies in a bucket. Sailing is nowhere near as glamorous on a daily basis as all these blogs show, but it’s way more fun to instill jealously in all your friends than it is to show the down and dirty side of cruising. And plus, I can’t show you pictures of my undies- that would stray much too far from my naturally classy and modest nature.
Stop snickering. Stop it right now!
It’s a barnacle playground around here:
Instead of hitting the malls, we spent the day after Thanksgiving on our best sail yet! Bet you can’t find that on a Black Friday sale rack! We headed to West Bay on New Providence Island with 15-20 knot winds on a broad reach, and we flew. Our average speed was 8 knots with a max of 12. I never thought it could be so incredibly exhilarating to move at approximately 12 miles per hour, but it’s quite a trip. Think of us the next time you are coasting down your driveway in your minivan at 12 M-P-Hs baby… sheer excitement I know, but remember this the next time you’re thinking, “why haven’t they made it any farther yet?”
Easier to get up at the crack of dawn when you’re met with this:
Wonderfully flat seas all day- I could even read over lunch.
Just a quick night in West Bay, and we were off the next day to our first stop in the Exuma island chain- Shroud Cay. Winds were stronger, more like 25-30 knots, so we sailed with tiny postage stamp sails most of the day, but still made decent time. Plenty of saltwater blasted the decks as we beat much closer to the winds and waves- sadly our downwind fun had only lasted one day.
And since we were on topic “no-fun,” while we were reefing our mainsail, we both noticed that a tiny vertical tear had started along the foot of our sail. As we feverously tried to haul in the entire sail before it got worse, our tiny tear just keep inching up higher and higher, and before we knew it, there was a 2-3 foot tear in our mainsail. Flabbergasted, we just kept saying, “oh my gosh, we ripped the mainsail.” Pete even looked at me wide-eyed, and yelled, “DID YOU SEE THAT?” even though we were both very obviously watching the same event unfold.
On a positive note, the rains didn’t start coming down until after we set the anchor and they made for great photos.
We had zero cell signal in Shroud Cay, so unfortunately, we had to hightail it to Staniel Cay so we could start calling sailmakers in order to purchase a new sail. We were fortunate to have nice conditions as we sailed from Shroud Cay to Staniel Cay with just our headsail pulling us along. We were surprised to make decent headway under just one sail, and we were only forced to motor-sail when we had to turn tight into the wind to make our anchorage.
Once we arrived in Staniel, we wasted no time pulling off our mainsail so that we could repair it and (hopefully) keep sailing while we waited for a new sail to be made.
Here’s our little tear, in all her glory:
Also, if you really want to get an up close and personal feel for how large that sail is that’s moving your 26 ton sailboat, try pulling it off in 20 knot winds. Good fun.
But, we got her all patched up, and we ordered a new sail from Florida that should be arriving in the next weeks. We know that we could continue with the patched sail, but once we took it off the mast, we realized just how brittle and old it must be. Having a new sail will surely improve our performance and this is an upgrade that will certainly be easier done now than in a some other distant land. Ripping your mainsail sucks, but it certainly sucks less in the Bahamas than in the middle of the Pacific.
And, now that we’ve gotten that all sorted out, it’s time for some fricin’ fun already! I know you all love to see pictures of Pete as a shirtless seamstress, but let’s all cross our fingers for some pictures of good ole Caribbean fun in the sun sometime soon.