It’s impossible to overstate my relief at having the Panama canal crossing behind us. For months, it weighed heavily on my mind - if we even wanted to do it, and once we decided, understanding everything it would take, and tackling a to-do list of all we wanted to see, buy, fix, and do on the Pacific side of Panama.
If life has a series of gates through which we pass (the graduations, career changes, marriages and divorces, births and deaths, etc.) the metaphor had never been so perfectly literal until I looked up at those riveted slabs of metal. We’re excited to be in this new phase of our cruising lives.
Since returning to Miette from two long months in Portland last summer, we hadn’t gotten very far, just meandered around the Gulf of Panama. Once you’re used to life on the move, staying in one place is rather uncomfortable and confining. I overheard a sailor who’d stayed too long somewhere compare the feeling to Groundhog Day, in which Bill Murray’s character experiences the same day over and over again.
Once on the other side of the canal, the skies and seas were bluer, the trees greener, the air fresher. At least it felt that way. I began to breathe easier, feeling a huge weight off my shoulders.
We stayed a week at Shelter Bay Marina. By far, it’s one of the nicest marinas we’ve docked in, and it’s also well populated. Most of the boats here are European, waiting for their transit dates to cross the Panama Canal into the Pacific.
We’ve met quite a few crews hell-bent on circumnavigating the world, limiting their entire experience of the Americas into a 40 mile stretch across the isthmus of Panama, just a shortcut to jump from the Atlantic into the Pacific. They’ve left Europe, crossed the Atlantic, breezed through the Caribbean, and are now anxious to get across the Pacific while the weather is still favorable. Perhaps some have time-constraints before they must return to the real world, and others are out to prove something to themselves or check-off a bucket-list item. In contrast to them, it makes me deeply grateful to be cruising slowly, rarely on a schedule, not following the herd.
Ahead of the transit, I’d taken a week offline from remote work.
When our transit was over, I joined a weekly team call. Someone asked me if I’ve finally reached my destination. It took me aback.
Destination?
We don’t have one of those. It really hadn’t crossed our minds to have one!
Like any nice marina, there are definitely some old-timers that have arrived here and called it quits - and without exception, they’re always old, single white men. They haven’t arrived so much as just come to an end, and usually have covered up their boats and cluttered their decks with air-conditioning units, grills, bicycles, and random junk.
Aside from a handful of ratty boats, there are tens of millions of dollars (or euros) floating here. From modest mono-hulls like Miette, to luxury catamarans that are essentially portable condos, and shiny, massive mega yachts that dwarf everyone else.
There’s a pool here, an upscale restaurant, and a bus that runs twice a day, making two or three stops into the town of Colón. My favorite amenity at the marina is a huge, air-conditioned lounge with tables, couches, and a massive free library. When I have the free-time, I set up my compact “music studio” on a desk right under one of the air-conditioners, and cook up new tracks for our YouTube videos (or throw-away tracks just for fun).
Until you’ve lived in the tropics, you don’t truly appreciate air-conditioning. Except to pick through the bookshelves, Shawn’s been avoiding the lounge, saying she doesn’t want to get accustomed to the comfort. For me, I’ll gladly lap up the luxury when I can.
The marina is in an area called Fuerte Sherman. “Fort Sherman” was a US Army base built over 100 years ago, where mortar and artillery batteries were once positioned to protect the northern end of the Panama canal.
Walking the roads and exploring the buildings and barracks of the abandoned army base have been near-daily excursions for us, highlighted by the wildlife and the incredible variety of trees.
After a week of getting spoiled by life in an upscale marina, we decided to sail 10 miles west and then up the River Chagres. That first meant threading our way out of the tight marina fairways and out into Limon Bay.
You might think that after 9,000 nautical miles of sailing that our departure felt like a walk in the park, but we were heading into 5 foot seas at 6 seconds in a new ocean.
We motored over 2 miles east, in calm water, just to get past one of two long man-made breakwaters that enclose and protect the entrance to the bay. At the end of the breakwater, we were exposed to the full force of the seas against us.
As we’d approached the whitecapped seas and watched the waves crash violently on the other side of the breakwater, the feeling of the rolling boat under our feet was initially harrowing and got the adrenaline pumping. But then something in our bodies seemed to remember that we’ve been in far worse seas, and we relaxed into the rhythms, watching the waves. Hang on, here comes a big one! Whoa! That was fun!
Behind us, one ship had just cleared the Panama canal and was building up to full speed to head out into the Caribbean, while another ship steamed in the opposite direction. Miette motored in the narrow channel, right between the oncoming ships. I eased the RPMs up to hurry clear of this oncoming traffic that could mow us down like an unseen bug, skirting closer to the breakwater than I’d wanted to.
With the bow finally pointing towards our westerly destination, the waves from the north rocked us 30 degrees side to side.
When at a marina or protected anchorage too long, it’s easy to stow things around the cabin, forgetting that our home can be rocked violently. Nothing broke, but Shawn had two large containers of flour that were launched across the cabin. I’d seen them earlier and had mistakenly assumed Shawn had yet to stow them properly. Maybe it had been too long since we’d been at sea and complacency crept in. It happens - I’ve found plenty of my things scattered of the shelves on “my” side of the cabin.
One of the flour containers had popped open, and Shawn went down below to clean up the spill. When she returned topside 10 minutes later, she was green and grouchy, and needed a half hour of fresh air and staring at the horizon before she felt like talking again.
Crossing from the open ocean into a river is never a straightforward affair. The seas shift sandbars around river mouths, so a map is only useful in showing the known rocks and reefs. I’d studied the shared tracks of other boats that had safely crossed.
We kept a sharp eye on the sea, since subtle changes in the surface can provide clues as to where sand bars lie. At shallower depths, waves begin to “feel” the sea floor, and the surface changes. Sometimes, waves just look slightly bigger in one area, and if the sea-floor is shallow enough, the waves might break. Sometimes, the clue is simply a patch of water that may be a shade lighter or darker.
I’d timed our arrival with slack tide, when the river current and seas would not be in opposition. Miette only draws about 4.5 feet of water. At one sandbar we crossed, the sea was only 7 feet deep.
Once we’d zig-zagged safely across the river bar, the depth plunged to 40 ft and stayed steadily there. Miles further upstream, this river was dammed to flood what is now Lake Gatún, the central area of the Panama Canal. Being the dry season and with its headwaters cut off, the river was far more salty than brackish.
We dropped the anchor at a breezy bend in the river without a man-made structure in sight, only jungle. The nautical charts show “Happy Howler” as the name of the anchorage, and sure enough, we heard the howler monkeys all day long. We’d been warned of crocodiles, so we stayed out of the water. 50 miles to the east, an 11 year-old indigenous girl was killed by a crocodile the prior week. At night, we could see big eyeballs at the waterline reflected back from our spotlight.
Our surroundings were profoundly beautiful. Despite the rough ride getting there, we felt elated to finally be cruising and exploring again. It’s exhilarating to have the freedom and means to go wherever we want and see new places.
I spent hours in a hammock, listening to the bird chatter, enjoying the breeze and continuing to consciously let go of any tension I’d built up from our canal transit. Let it go! Let it go!
After dinner one evening, I rowed the dinghy around shore trolling and casting for fish, but catching nothing. Instead, I enjoyed a couple hours of a vacant mind simply soaking in the beauty of the jungle, all the shades of green and shapes of leaves, and all of its strange and surprisingly pleasant smells. A honeysuckle-like aroma wafted from purple flowers draped over the water. There were spicy, peppery smells mixed in with rich, woody scents.
We next headed back downriver and anchored near the old Spanish fort of San Lorenzo. To a handful of locals fishing at a dock there, we must have looked like a dog circling around deciding where to lie down. Shawn stood on the bow looking for obstructions and while my eyes darted between the water, the navigation chart, and the depth sounder display. I first tried a small little bay right under the fort, but wrap-around swell from the sea meant that we’d likely roll a bit side to side. Instead, I found a calm spot on the river just behind a big sand bar. We dropped anchor in 30 feet of water, letting out a safe amount of chain.
Early the next day, we rowed the dinghy ashore, locked it to a tree, and walked a new asphalt road up to the fort.
Fuerte San Lorenzo was originally built by the Spanish in 1601, and was destroyed by British pirate attacks - twice - once by Captain Henry Morgan. Yes, that Captain Morgan. What’s left of the fort today is what was rebuilt in the 1700s.
Before the Panama Canal existed, Spain had a route across the isthmus of Panama for transporting gold and spices from Peru. From the area of modern-day Panama City, an overland route reached the Chagres River, which then flowed out to the Caribbean. The Spanish built forts at both ends of this route. Perhaps because of the British pirates (or buccaneers), the Spanish abandoned the fort in the mid-18th century, opting instead to sail around Cape Horn at the tip of South America.
Today, the grounds of Fuerte Lorenzo are immaculately maintained. In the couple hours we wandered around, there were three reception staff, two gardeners, two armed police officers on patrol, and the two of us.
Getting our fill of the area, we weighed anchor and motored into the headwinds to return to Limon Bay, and the Shelter Bay Marina nestled within. Since we’d been considering heading to the San Blas islands at some point, this gave us a taste of motoring against the seas and winds to push eastward. Do we want to do that now? Or do we want to wait to ride the back of a low pressure system in which the counter-clockwise winds are temporarily would be from the northwest?
We’re back in Shelter Bay to top off our provisions and tackle a bit of work and boat projects. It is Sunday, and we’re paid through this coming Wednesday. That means we have a few days to decide what to do in the next 4 months. We don’t know yet - and what a delightful problem to have!
We spent the evening with a couple who has many years of sailing the Caribbean, graciously letting us ask questions and telling us their opinions about the pros and cons in the options we were weighing.
Aside from the adventures over the horizon, my main concern now is the coming hurricane season. 2024 is predicted to be a particularly stormy year due to hotter Atlantic waters and a switch to La Niña conditions. There’s no guarantee hurricanes won’t track this far south, but normally Panama is safe from them. If not hurricanes, then we still have to worry about being in a sailboat in the “lightning capital” of the world during the storm season. Some believe safety from lightning comes from being next to boats with taller masts, islands with tall trees, towers, or antennas. Some people hang thick chains from the stays supporting their masts, trying to neutralize any difference in electric charge between their boats and the sea which lightning might seek out.
On one side of the coin, we have an easy going lifestyle characterized by our freedom. On the other side, there’s a healthy amount of consideration (sprinkled with some degree of anxiety) for what might go wrong, keeping the boat and her systems in good condition, and keeping ourselves out of the danger that comes with such unbound freedom.
Here are a couple recent videos we’ve published for you to share our perspective (and yes, I accidentally misspelled Caribbean in one of them - oops! it’s a new word for me).