Passage notes: Puerto Mutis to Ensenada Venao, Panama

Log book

• Port of departure: Puerto Mutis, Panama
• Departure date sand time: Thursday, April 3 at 7:30am (0730)
• Port of arrival: Ensenada Benao, Panama
• Arrival date and time: Friday, April 4 at 4:30pm (1630)
• Total travel time: 1 day and 9 hours (33 hours)
• Miles traveled: 107 nm
• Average speed: 3.3 knots
• Engine hours: 1229.4 begin – 1242.9 end – 13.5 hours
• Fuel consumption: 38.2 begin – 32.1 end – 6.1 gallons used
• Fuel economy: 17.5 mpg
• Maintenance notes: Purchased 8 gallons of diesel in Mutis. Float switch on bilge pump stopped working at some point. Jeff replaced and tightened packing gland which stopped the leak – manual bilge switch still works.
• Navigation notes: No lighthouse on Punta Mariato (despite what the map says). Lots of pangas around Punta Naranjo after dark. Started seeing shipping traffic once we rounded Punta Mariato. There is a fish pen on the SE side of the entrance to Ensenada Benao that is likely lit at night.
• Tides and currents: High tide in Mutis is one hour after Balboa tide station – we left as soon as the tide shifted at 0730. The tidal currents are getting more noticeable and intense. Outgoing tide we had a push, incoming tide was an adverse current with gnarly waves. Strange rips as we exited the Gulf of Montijo – likely more nontidal currents contending with the tidal currents..
• Weather: The forecast predicted 5-15 from the N on Thursday morning, switching to a W/SW breeze (5-10) at night, then 5-10 from the N/NE on Friday morning, switching to light and variable on Friday night.

We always leave Puerto Mutis full and satisfied. We had said our hellos and farewells to friends at the Port Captains office, our cupboards were brimming with fresh, dried and canned food, we topped up our water and fuel tanks, we had two full propane tanks, our clothes (and sheets!) were freshly laundered and we enjoyed comida corriente each day for lunch onshore. Now all we needed was a N wind to top it all off.

The tide at Puerto Mutis switches about one hour after the nearest tidal station at Isla Cebaco, so even though we were prepared to leave at around 0630, the tide didn’t start it’s exodus until about 0730, which is when we hauled anchor and started the long trek to Ensenada Benao. The wind was dead for most of the morning, meaning we spent the first couple of hours motoring in calm waters as the tide ushered us out. Just past Isla Leones we felt a slight W wind at our side, not more than 8 knots. We raised sails and Jeff took the first shift.

The wind was light, but between the favorable current and the wind we were making decent progress. Has spring arrived? As the wind lessened Jeff decided to test out the new spinnaker we had inherited from SV Chrysalis. It’s quite a bit smaller than our spinnaker, which makes it a much more manageable sail for downwind sailing.

Fifteen minutes before my shift started the wind sputtered out and started changing direction. We doused the spinnaker with ease and waited to see if another wind would materialize. Sure enough a S wind perked up, so we raised sails again. Unfortunately the wind was blowing from the exact direction we wanted to travel (naturally) and the current had recently switched meaning we had an adverse current working against us. After over an hour of finicky wind that couldn’t decide if it was blowing from the S or the SW, pushing me further and further W I decided to tack, hoping for a better angle. With the current pushing against us, I was barely making any southward progress and now the S wind was dying out and wheezing SE puffs. So much for that good angle.

The wind continued to lessen and waves continued to build, creating steep and uncomfortable chop. Maybe winter is here to stay. Given our poor angle on the light wind, our near inability to make progress in the adverse current and the sloppy seas, we revived the motor. Gosh am I glad to have that motor back. We bounced around in the chop for the next four hours, my fruit and vegetable hammock beating itself silly against the sides of our cabins until a banana exploded, showering gooey black bits all over my settee. When the hook holding the hammock threatened to part with the wall I laid it all out on my settee to stop the incessant banging and needless slaughter. I groaned, Jeff did his best to console me. Both of us hoped that the tide change would bring calmer seas and a more agreeable wind.

Our friends on SV BlueJacket were tucked away behind Punta Naranja. We were tempted to join them there for a solid night’s sleep, but by the time we got close the sun had set, the entrance was lined with pangas, the seas had settled and we once again had a current assisting us.

Close to the end of my night shift I started to feel a N/NE wind and when Jeff came on watch we raised the sails to restore peace and calm aboard Serenity. Jeff sailed through the night, making considerable progress given the light wind.

I awoke at 6:30am to relieve Jeff, who was content after a pleasant night of sailing, but exhausted by the lack of sleep.

“Catch us a fish for dinner today.” He teased, knowing how directionless I’ve felt on recent passages.

“Yeah, right.” I harumphed.

Shortly after sunrise the wind relaxed, leaving us bobbing in the swell. I fired the motor back up reasoning that I would kill it and resume sailing if the wind made a return. I was pleased to see that we were moving at upwards of 5 knots under motor, which is 2 to 3 times the speed I tend to make when I’m at the helm these days (becalmed should be my middle name…Harmony Becalmed Burright…it has a nice ring to it). With hot coffee within reach I picked up my pole and cast the lure overboard, intent on catching dinner.

When the NE wind did return I was reluctant to kill the motor. Going >5 knots is such a luxury, but it is infinitely more peaceful when we’re under sail. Plus I was scheduled to be the net controller for the HAM radio net and it’s almost impossible to hear the radio with the drone of the motor in the background.

I did my best to manage the radio net, juggling between vessels checking-in, trimming the sails and keeping a lookout for shipping traffic. It was actually a pleasant morning of sailing. The waves were manageable, the wind was more than enough to keep our sails full (10-13 knots) and we were on a good heading for either clearing Punta Mala or ducking into Ensenada Venao. Our options were open. Already I’d been visited by two pods of dolphins and I’d spotted two whales. Seeing whales was a particularly welcome surprise given that we haven’t seen them since Mexico.

“There are whales!” I shouted excitedly as I saw their fins disappear beneath the water,

Jeff groaned in shared excitement and pulled the sheet over his head.

A little after noon I came below to scare up some food and heard an unfamiliar sloshing sound. It didn’t sound like water rushing and gurgling past our hull. It sounded like a full bucket being carried at a rapid pace. That’s when I noticed water splashing up through our floorboards. Oh crap. The story of Evenstar, taking on water and eventually being scuttled off of Punta Mala, flashed through my mind.

I lifted up the floorboard and sure enough the bilge was full of water. I tried to deal with it on my own at first, but of course the wind and waves started causing a ruckus and Serenity demanded more of my attention. I roused Jeff who, in a grumpy daze, discovered that although the float was busted (rendering the “automatic” feature useless), the manual function still successfully sucked water out of the bilge and heaved it overboard. I managed the sails while Jeff tore apart the quarter berth to get at the packing nut. He replaced the packing material and the drip slowed. I set the “Operation Save Our Boat” alarm for every 15 minutes as a reminder to pump the bilge.

As Jeff was fixing the leak, the wind started doing all sorts of crazy things, switching between N, NE and E in short, sporadic bursts then holding its breath, making us guess where it might blow from next. Meanwhile the waves were sloppy, like drunken bar patrons wanting to lean on for just one second, making you unsteady in turn.

Jeff came up on deck, still in a sleepy stupor and we mutually decided to turn on the motor and head due North to Venao where we would get everything back in order before rounding the point. In the midst of the morning chaos I had forgotten about the fishing line I’d left dangling in the water, which now looked like it was wrapped all the way around the boat. No motor until we made sure this baby wasn’t gonna wrap around the prop. The sails slapped violently in the messy seas, but were keeping us steadier than no sails. Jeff tugged on the tight line. I sat on the sidelines, frustration nearly boiling over with the roiling seas and fussy wind.

“Hey babe!” Jeff called excitedly. “Thanks for catching us dinner!” At the end of the line was a beautiful bonito. My first fish on my new (to me) pole that I inherited from our friend Ron on Mar de Luz. We fired up the motor and started plunging into the sloshy mess that stood between us and Venao.

“Have we truly ruled out selling the boat as an option?” I asked.

“I think no.” Jeff laughed. The past few passages had been frustrating for him as well, he’d just been a lot better about hiding his frustration. “Why are we leaving Western Panama?” He added. It’s a question we keep asking ourselves as the passages get progressively crappier. So much for trying to sail. These conditions have been downright frustrating. The tides and currents and wind are doing all sorts of crazy things these days. Maybe we’d be better off motoring through it just to get there.

I need either an attitude adjustment or a good passage.or both.

We arrived in Venao a couple hours later, averaging a 3.5 knot speed. SV BlueJacket had arrived three hours prior. We offered them a filet of Bonito and they gave us a bag of goodies, including dark chocolate and Oreos and Jolly Ranchers: the proverbial mother-load. We restored order (as best we could) and tried to unwind with a sundowner and a hop in the pool. Unfortunately the pool was overrun by gigantic jellyfish. No time or energy to explore Venao this time around, but perhaps we’ll be back. The surf looks awesome.