Break on through to the other side! (Panama canal transit)

 

Took a stroll away from the boat to explore a little of the jungle surrounding us - what an amazing sight: monkeys frolicking in the trees above us, overgrown American army bases, now resembling temples from a lost empire - possibly a correct description.

Richardo, the service manager at the marina, good to his word, completed the rudder fibreglassing repair, and I spent yesterday successfully refitting it.

It now really does seem like we’re back on track to cross into the Pacific tomorrow…

Erick, our agent then emails us to advise that we’ll be starting at 4am instead of the previously advised 4pm..

All good. This just meant a bit of a rush around day cleaning up. Chez cooked up some big batches of food for our line handlers, and as I write this the evening before our early start in the morning, I think we’re pretty much ready to go!

The alarm has us out of bed at 3am. The beeps weren’t really necessary though, as the wind had been keeping us awake. It’s been worryingly howling through the hatches since I’d gone to bed after confirming our transit on the VHF at 9pm.

Our line handlers arrived as scheduled at 3:45am. They are: Graham and Julie a lovely Canadian couple and Krystal, a tall Swiss lady - I don’t want to gush about them too much, but writing this after our crossing, we could not have wished for better crew.

In still strong wind we leave the dock, making our exit from the narrow confines of the marina in darkness other than the powerful beam of light from Krystal’s torch at the bow.

Having made it safely out, we dropped anchor again in the area known as the flats - where we, and a few others, have dragged anchor previously. Thankfully it’s only a short wait until the pilot boat comes alongside in choppy conditions and across leaps our canal advisor for the next 13 hours.

I’d like to be able to tell you that his name is Armando, and I think that’s close. However, by the time I’d asked him twice and not been too sure of his replies, I thought asking again might be seen as rude. Luckily I was able to fall back on the Australian way, and stuck with ‘mate’ or Captain for the remainder of the day. As did the rest of the crew (who had also not quite managed to pin down the exact pronunciation)

So for the purpose of this diary.. Armando it is.

He directed us to head at high revs to the canal entrance. This done in still predawn darkness. There we met with the other boats to whom we’ll be rafted next to as we pass through the locks. Two catamarans: both Aussie flagged, with people we’d already met back at the marina - they’re a nice enough crowd.

After some heated Spanish to and fro on the radio, Armando advises there’s been a delay. This translates into us waiting tied to a dock some way from the first lock watching various massive ships, a cruise liner included, happily driving past us and onwards to the locks. I make the crew a breakfast of naps with ham, egg and cheese as we wait. Our turn soon comes around, and we are tied, first to one, then to the second catamaran with us on the Portside. We are driven along - mainly by Steve the captain of the catamaran in the middle - into the first lock. Once inside the large imposing metal lock doors are slowly closed behind us. In front of us is a metal wall of blue and white - this is the stern of our first lock neighbour: a massive car carrier called Glovis Caravel from Nassau.

Light ropes are thrown to us from the dockside - these have a weighted ‘monkey fist’ knots at the end to make them fly further through the air. The two thrown ropes land successfully on deck. We then tie these to heavier ropes which are then drawn back up by the throwers who drop the looped ends over large mooring bollards high above us.

Once the doors close, the water begins to rise. As it does so, Graham at the bow, and me at the stern take up slack on the Portside ropes to keep our three vessels roughly in place. Once we reach the desired height, Glovis Caravel starts her engines to much turbulent wash in front of us, and heads on to the next lock. We feed the thinner lines back from dockside and still loosely attached, drive along under Armando’s supervision to the next lock. This process is followed for the other two ‘up’ locks which make up the Gatun locks side of the transit.

Once we make it through the first three locks, the large expanse of the Gatun lakes spreads in front of us. We untether from the other boats, and make our way through the peaceful, and mainly deserted lakes. Crocodiles (who we didn’t see) and mahogany trees line the shore. We chat and lunch on spaghetti bolognaise as we follow the well marked channel for the next few hours. Reached the Miraflores ‘down’ locks early afternoon. We’re now down to two boats, the other catamaran having sped off and made it into the lock in front of us to speed their journey. We again tie to each other - a slightly more fraught process than before as our new tethered neighbour is a little frazzled and doesn’t appear to be getting along with his pilot/advisor overly well. This translates into a somewhat clunkier drive through the remaining locks, with Chez having to constantly adjust to compensate for some… well I don’t actually know why really - it could have been current, slack lines to shore or an overly heavy use of the throttle by our neighbour. Whatever it was, Armando was there to calmly advise:

“A leetle reverse Cheryl”

…”Perfect”

“A leetle more reverse Cheryl”

…”Perfect”

I was able to watch our neighbour during this zigzagging ride - he paid little attention to his advisor and played with his controls like a JCB driver having a bad day.

Despite this, and actually having to fend us off the wall a few times, we did eventually make it through the last of the down locks.without any damage. The very last lock passes a visitor’s centre with a large balcony full of maybe 100+ tourists. As the final gates open to let us out, a loud cheer goes up … it’s for us! They wave, we wave, and to fading cheers we get our first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean before us.

Very glad to then get untied once more - Having someone else controlling where your boat goes is not something I enjoyed very much at all.

We head the short journey to Balboa Yacht club - repeatedly attempting to hail them on the radio as we approach - no answer. Arriving there, Armando’s pilot boat comes to collect him and take him home. He leaves us with smiles, a $20 tip, a roast chicken (surplus food as it was supposed to be a two day passage) and some beer! Next to depart are our crew of linehandlers who have been brilliant and proactively helpful throughout the long long day. They’re fellow cruisers from Shelter Bay marina, so we’ll hopefully catch up with them again along the way in the South Pacific somewhere. A tender comes to take away our extra lines and fenders which we’ve used for the journey. I ask if we can take a buoy for the night as we’re both ready to drop - he waves us to a car tyre ‘mooring buoy’ which we tie to before heading off for a very early night.

Wake the next morning just after sunrise, both having slept like logs. We drop the lines holding us to the tyre and head off.

A dinghy comes whizzing out from the marina - I drop the stern life lines and stand on the transom to see what they want (knowing full well what they want).

“Senór.. did you pay?”

“No -I hailed your marina over and over last night, no reply. I asked your colleague if I could moor there overnight and he said yes… so: no pay!”

“No pay?”

“That’s right: ‘No pay’!”

Settling in for a prolonged discussion, I was a little surprised to get a simple: “OK” and off he went.

From here we’re bound for the Pearl islands a short day’s sail away - but that’s for next time.