Log book
- Port of Departure: Isla Chapera, Panama
- Departure date & time: Friday, May 2 at 10:45am (1045)
- Port of arrival: Isla Bayoneta, Panama (via Isla Gibraleon)
- Arrival date & time: Saturday, May 3 at 8:15am (0815)
- Total travel time: 21.5 hours, 3.5 hours in transit
- Miles traveled: 8.6 nm
- Average speed: 2.5 knots
- Engine hours: 1267.3 – 1268.0 – 0.7 hours
- Fuel consumption: 26.4 gallons – 26.0 gallons – 0.4 gallons used
- Fuel economy: 21.5 mpg
- Tides and currents: On Friday, low tide at 11:45am and high tide at 6:00pm. On Saturday, high at 6:30am. Strong SW setting current during incoming tide.
- Forecast: Light and variable.
- Navigation notes: Shallow reef extends SE of Isla Verde and abuts a deeper channel that I think would be passable at low tide with caution.
I woke up with my head screwed on backwards. I attempted to run the HAM radio net and was upset by the fact that I heard nothing but fuzz when a day prior I had heard everyone with crystal clarity. Fifteen minutes into the dysfunctional net, Jeff casually informed me that it would be difficult to talk to anyone without an antennae, which was still coiled neatly on the transom. Niiiice.
Given the tidal situation, we should have left before the radio net…but we didn’t…and we chose to chit chat with our neighbors on SV Gweneviere One who we had come to know over the HAM radio. Since we were slow to get a move on, it meant we had less than an hour of outgoing current in our favor. We reasoned (based on nothing rational) that it wouldn’t significantly hinder us until early afternoon. So we rolled the dice and decided to set out under sail with a nice, light, N wind.
While Jeff was hoisting the anchor, I hoisted the main sail. We hoisted the genoa together. With the anchor up I set to work trimming the sails, paying no mind to the fact that Jeff was right in the path of the boom that I let swing to port. It grazed his back as he ducked to miss it. A string of cuss words flew from his mouth as he jumped to the cockpit. He was angry and I was appalled at my own carelessness. In my foggy, head on backwards, state I had not been paying close enough attention to the rhythm of our sailing routine and the position of my sailing partner with respect to one of the more dangerous fixtures on our boat. There is a lot of force in a boom holding an air filled sail. It should be treated with awareness and deference and care. Booms flick people overboard, they knock people unconscious, they break bones. Booms are not to be trifled with.
We both know that I’m ready for a bit of a break. I’m ready to plop down and not think about sail changes and sloppy seas and cooking underway for a couple weeks (or months), but we’re not done sailing yet and it’s imperative to keep my head in the game even if my thoughts want to drift elsewhere. A funk settled where the fog lifted. I was clear headed but cranky for some stupid reason. So I turned my attention to catching us dinner while Jeff tended to the sails in a (now) SW wind (on the nose!).
My legs dangled over the transom, fishing pole in hand. A beautiful, sunny day. A pleasant sailing breeze. Pelicans dive bombing the water. Breathtaking rocky islands. I fell into a trance, letting the fishing line slip through my fingers then reeling it in as quickly as possible, trying to mimic the squid and fish that fly through the water at such a rapid pace. The line trailed further and further behind the boat and tugged harder and harder as the resistance from the water increased, making me think time and again that I’d caught something when in fact it was only the water rushing past. Then a bite? The pole felt different in my hands, more resistance. Or was this my mind playing tricks on me.
“I think I just caught a fish.” I said quietly as I continued to reel in the lure, looking for a sure sign that there was actually a fish on the line.
“Well you don’t sound too excited about it.” Jeff remarked. “Where’s all the whooping and hollering?”
“I don’t want to jinx it.” That’s when I saw the flash of silver, darting left and right, trying to free itself from the lure.
“Hold the pole up. Reel it in, nice and steady. I’ll grab the net.”
“What is it?” I asked as the fish drew nearer.
“Given our history, probably a bonito.” We both laughed knowingly. We tend to catch bonitos.
Jeff pulled a sleek, silver Sierra, onto the boat, its body graced with golden speckles, shades of pink and green and blue growing more brilliant as life fled from its body. I’ve been trying to think of a name for the pole bequeathed to me – it’s caught two fish now (a bonito and sierra) and it deserves a proper name. I was waiting for something to speak to me…and those colors spoke to me. Sonrojo, to blush or flush with color, to have a bright glow. Every fish we’ve caught changes color, blushes before our eyes. The most magnificent hues with metallic undertones. Their final moments, a fleeting sunset. Plus, saying “Sonrojo” makes me feel a bit like Mr. Miyagi for some reason.
By the time we got the fish on board the current had increased and was pushing hard against us. The wind had moved more to the S/SE, making progress even more difficult. Plus the passage between Isla Gibraleon and Isla Verde looked difficult to pass at low tide, with waves breaking on shallow sections of the channel. After doing Bart’s haircut for 30 minutes and weighing the risks of trying to get through this poorly charted channel we decided that Isla Gibraleon, just off to port, looked pretty appealing. We tacked in towards shore. With a rising tide we hoped to snuggle up close to the beach.
Moments away from anchoring, a panga zoomed towards us. A weathered old man with a toothy grin, accompanied by what looked like his son, held up two small, lime green spheres. “Aguacates!” He yelled, smiling, his joy infectious. Beautiful, perfect, pear-shaped avocados. “Tengo bastante! Una bolsa llena! Cuanto quieren? Uno, dos, tres, veinte, treinta? Cualquier cantidad! Pueden tener todo! / I have a ton! A bag full! How many do you want? One, two, three, twenty, thirty? Whatever amount! You can have them all!” He laughed. “We would love some avocados.” We sang in unison. “But we only need a few. What do you want in exchange?” “Plata! / Money!” He responded, still smiling and laughing. We gave him $3 and he gave us four perfect, firm orbs that ripened into buttery, delicious treats within the next few days. Fresh avocados, fresh fish, a deserted beach to stretch our legs…what more can you ask for really.
After a long walk on the deserted beach we dined on Sierra over a bed of coconut curry couscous with grilled pineapple and resolved to finish up our passage in the wee hours of the morning with the outgoing tide.
We had transited the passage between Isla Gibraleon and Isla Verde before, but having seen breaking waves the day prior we were a bit more cautious. There is definitely a shallow shelf that extends from the East side of Isla Verde, but there is a deeper channel abutting this shelf. It could have been transited at low tide, but it’s a much narrower channel when the water drops 12-15 feet. We made it to Isla Bayoneta and anchored just behind Isla Malaga where we had been with Stephanie a few weeks prior.
Off to explore some new beaches!