Zebedee in Panama - The Royal Cruising Club

Zebedee in Panama
and the end of the circumnavigation
Alan Martienssen
‘Woah...20ft.’ It was 90 ft a second ago. ‘Better drop the anchor quick
before I go aground,’ I thought. I rushed forward and let go. I’d just
sailed into Porvenir in the San Blas Islands, Panama. I’d turned into the
wind and current, and I’d dropped the sails. At 60ft of chain I braked the
windlass. Don’t want to get too close to that French boat. How come I
haven’t stopped yet? I ran aft to look at the echo sounder. 70 ft!! And the
CARIBBEAN
W
Ho
ll
an
de
Zebedee
Portobello
Porvenir
34ft Sailing Dory
s
San Blas Is
Colon
PANAMA
L Gatun
Pedro Miguel
Locks
Miraflores
Locks
Panama City
PACIFIC
current had turned. It was pushing Zebedee straight onto the French boat.
I grabbed the boat hook and rushed forward. It took a fair bit of pushing
and shoving, and luckily Zebedee only weighs 5 tons, but it took all my
strength to avoid contact. The current turned us round in a big circle.
Once I was far enough away, although closer than I’d intended, I let out
more chain. What a pain!
It had been a rough passage. Gale force winds off Columbia and I’d
broken four battens. But I was getting used to single-handing again, since
Pauline had flown back to New Zealand. How embarrassing to sail into a
new anchorage and have to fend off. I wonder who was watching?
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Zebedee in Panama
I tidied up, launched Dougal the
dinghy and collected my papers. I
rowed in and reported to the Port
Captain and everyone. I filled in
the forms and paid $!#%&!!! That’s
extortionate!! Friendly people, nice
place but #%&!!! expensive! I had
a little wander around, but I could
see that the neighboring island was
much more interesting.
Next morning I up’d anchor and
sailed around the reef, the long way,
not through ‘the short cut’, now
unmarked, and I anchored off. It
was fascinating. Dugout canoes
Kuna canoe hoisting sails
paddled past, with Kuna women in
their spectacularly colourful traditional dress. The houses were thatched
huts with stick walls. I just sat there and watched, fascinated. There were
two other yachts and later I went across to introduce myself. Mick, an
Australian, invited me on board for a beer - always extremely welcome.
His mates, Pedro and Sophie, came across from the other boat. There was
a lot of good-hearted
banter and leg pulling.
Later they all came
across
to
Zebedee,
bringing with them
their friend Cannabis,
a Kuna Indian from
the village. We all had a
glass or two of Chateau
Zebedee, my home made
wine, while they looked
around. Their friend
Cannabis was a larger
Kuna women in the village
than life character with
a huge smile. They invited me to join them to watch an initiation ceremony.
The Kuna are partly independant from Panama. They have deliberately
shunned most western technology to maintain their traditional way of
life, still paddling or sailing their dugout canoes. Cannabis was very taken
with Zebedee for being engineless and such low tech. She fitted in well
with the Kuna ways.
We went ashore, but it wasn’t easy to see what was going on. The men
and women were separated into different buildings. Only Kuna folk were
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Canoe sailing past a village in San Blas
allowed to enter. There was some dancing and drinking of a strange brew
of fermented coffee. Cannabis showed us his home, built with sticks and
thatch, with bare earth floors and with hammocks for beds, which were
put away during the day. It was fascinating.
Cannabis wanted to visit a friend of his, the chief of the West Hollandes
Islands. Mick offered to take him. Sophie and Pedro decided to go too and
so did I. The islands were 11nm upwind. I was very doubtful that Zebedee
could sail that far against the wind in the remaining daylight. I hadn’t
realised that my new sails, home made on a hand cranked Singer, were so
much better than the old ones. Zebedee was actually faster and closer to
the wind than Pedro’s boat. I was over the moon! That night we were all
anchored at West Hollandes.
The next day we went ashore for the visit. Mick took some rum and I
took some Chateau Zebedee. We had a marvelous time, lots of leg pulling
in three languages: Kuna, Spanish and the odd word of English for my
benefit. The chief was very interested in my home-made wine and was
also impressed with Zebedee’s engineless voyage. He mentioned that his
son had a bad tooth, and I, as a vet, was volunteered to have a look. The
next day I did, but with virtually no instruments, all I could do was to
hand out some antibiotics. They worked a treat, and from then on I was
known as Dr Wine. The days passed in this truly idyllic tropical paradise.
I went snorkling in the warm crystal-clear waters and explored the island.
Sophie was going to have a birthday party on the neighboring Lemon
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Zebedee in Panama
Cayes, but we were all
having such a good
time that she changed
the location to West
Hollandes. Plenty of
boats turned up and
we built a huge bonfire
on the beach. We had
loads of food, rum and
Chateau Zebedee. It was
a terrific party!
Time was pressing.
I wanted to go through
the canal in February
to get the best winds
in the Pacific. I’d built
a plywood bracket to
fit an outboard motor
Zebedee at anchor
- not so easy with a
double ended yacht. I set sail for Porvenir, checked out and then went on
to Portobello.
I had an excellent sail and then as I tacked into the harbour I spotted
another junk. I anchored nearby and later rowed across. Kevin, the owner,
had bought the boat locally and we spent a pleasant hour discussing the
rig. He volunteered to act as my line-handler, which was particularly
helpful as he had been through the canal several times. I also met Arntz,
who later gave me a copy of the canal guidelines, including their phone
numbers. He told me they spoke English. He was also very positive about
saving the agent fee and described how to organise the transit without one.
The guidelines stated that a yacht ‘may’ be towed by another yacht as a
handline vessel, (i.e. towed through by hand, not the railway locomotives).
This was excellent news because I had been offered a tow by Geronimo
and trying to fit the bracket at anchor was proving virtually impossible.
Everything was falling into place.
As I rowed ashore someone asked, ‘Are you a vet? My friend’s dog has
been in a fight. He’s not so good.’ I volunteered to have a look. The right
ear was a mess of puss. It need amputating. Using a piece of string, a very
sharp knife and a bowl of dog food, I cut it off. They already had some
Ampicillin tablets, so I told them the dose and my patient made a good
recovery. I had a wander around Portobello, a fascinating place. So much
history from the times of the Spanish and Drake. I ended up sitting outside
the old customs house, drinking beer with other cruisers. Excellent!
That night I woke up with Dougal bashing the hull. I nearly turned
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over but . . . there’s no current so how come? I got up and looked around.
All the other yachts had moved. How strange. Then I realised that Zebedee
had dragged. Amazing that we’d missed everyone. I switched on the GPS.
It was slow, but Zebedee was still dragging. I let out the maximum scope
I could. Rechecked. Still dragging. ‘I wonder how far we’ll go before
daylight?’ It was 0330.
At dawn I was in 90ft and it was blowing a bit. When I tried to shorten
up with the windlass, I couldn’t. The wind was too much. I’d have to sail.
I raised three panels in each sail, sheeted in and Zebedee started tacking.
The junk rig does this automatically, so I was able to leave the tiller and go
forward to pull in the cable. On each tack I got in 10ft, then 6ft, then 1ft.
Eventually I realised that I still had 80ft out, but I was in 90ft of water. The
anchor must be caught on something. Several dinghies came out to help,
but there wasn’t really anything they could do. I quickly released 30ft of
chain on the port tack, sailed on, then wound in. Nothing. I quickly let out
30ft on the starbourd tack. Wound in. Nothing. In the end I just slogged,
link by link. On each tack Zebedee heeled right over. It was desperately
hard work. Eventually there was just 30ft out, then 20, then 10, then 6. An
old rope appeared, then . . . an electric cable! Bugger!
Michael Stevenson (RCC) arrived. ‘Got just the thing for that!’ he said
and roared off to fetch it. Meanwhile, the cable came out of the water, a
rope was passed under it and made fast, the anchor was dropped a little,
disengaged and hauled back up. The rope was let go and Zebedee was free!
Hallelujah! I tacked back into the bay, glorying in the freedom. Life was
good. And all before breakfast! Later that day I was royally entertained by
Machael on Fario. His gadget would have worked a treat!
I phoned the Canal’s Admeasurer’s office. I was assured that I could be
towed, but that they had to see my boat documents first. I asked where
their office was and was given some rather vague directions. I rowed
ashore and caught a bus to Colon. They go every 30 minutes. It was a great
journey and cost less than $2.
Colon is a dodgy place. It is recomended that a taxi is used even to go
100yds. I got off the bus, stood next to a policeman with a submachine
gun (should do the trick), and got a taxi for the 100yds to the port gates.
Bit of luck, the taxi driver spoke fluent American. He ambushed a Canal
pilot, got directions and soon we were whizzing through the docks to the
end of the jetty. The Admeasurer’s office looked like an aircraft control
tower. The guard was frankly amazed to see us. They didn’t get visitors.
Eventually, after being repeatedly told that we were in the wrong place
and not allowed to be there, we were let in. The lady in the office, who was
the same person I had talked to on the phone, told us we were in the wrong
place as well, but then photocopied the papers and told me to ring in three
days for a measuring appointment. Excellent! Job jobbed. I caught the
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Zebedee in Panama
bus back, stopping at the supermarket for some cash. I max’d all my credit
cards, but it was going to take several goes to get the $1,500 required.
Three days later I phoned, got the appointment for the next day (!) at
the flats and sailed to Colon. I called up Port Control. ‘Permission to enter
the Eastern entrance?’ ‘Granted.’ ‘Any ships?’ ‘No.’ I sailed towards the
gap. That ship, looks like it’s heading this . . . I turned away just as the
ship steamed past, rather close, straight through the entrance, followed
by another, then another. It was like Picadilly Circus. Finally I judged my
distance, got right up close behind one just as it was going through and
followed. Then I turned left and sailed to Club Nautica. The anchorage
area was too tight for Zebedee in these conditions, so I tacked off between
the anchored ships to the flats.
A canal launch roared up alongside. ‘Get those sails down! No sailing
allowed!’ ‘But . . but . .’ I couldn’t make myself understood. By now I had
almost reached the flats, so I didn’t drop the sails until I got there. They
roared off. Phew!
There was another yacht. Maybe they could give me some information.
I rowed across. ‘Come on board. Have a beer!’ Music to my ears. I found
out that their transit had been postponed for 24 hours. They had checked
out from Portobello direct to Panama City on the Pacifc side. It was
not possible to land at the flats. The only marina, Shelter Bay was very
expensive and Club Nautica was a vey dodgy anchorage. They had picked
up their lines, tyres and handlers from Portobello, and left there early that
morning, thus avoiding a landing at Colon. An excellent and cheap way to
transit. They gave me another beer, then another. Life was good.
Next day I rang the Admeasurer’s office. ‘We will come later. Call at
9am.’ I did. ‘Call at 11am.’ I did. ‘We will come tomorrow.’ They were
inspecting a couple of other boats and they seemed to be taking them
for a test run. I called the office. I explained that a test run wouldn’t be
possible as I was being towed. ‘Impossible! You can’t be towed!’ ‘But . .
but . . they told me . .’ ‘You’ll have to ask the Port Captain. I’ll put you
through.’ ‘It would be better with an outboard.’ ‘But that’s very difficult. I
would very much prefer to be towed.’ ‘An outboard would be better.’ ‘But
. . but . .’ ‘We will not inspect you until your boat is ready to transit. An
outboard must first be fitted.’ ‘But in the guidelines . .’ ‘Call again when
the outboard is fitted.’ Blast! Fitting the bracket at Portobello or the flats
was impossible. There was nothing for it. I had to go into Shelter Bay. I
had already spoken to John at the marina, who was incredibly helpful. I
called him again. ‘No problem. Come across and anchor by the entrance.
It’s allowed if you’re about to go in.’ I called Port Control. ‘Permission to
cross over?’ ‘Granted.’ I set sail and tacked across the harbour.
It was actually a very enjoyable sail. Flat water, plenty of wind, Pedro
and Sophie bounded along. Then an official launch. ‘Get those sails down.
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You can’t . .’ I ignored them and sailed on. Eventually they turned away.
I dropped anchor just by the buoy. Then another launch roared up. ‘You
can’t anchor here!’ ‘But . . but . . I’m just waiting to enter.’ ‘OK, but only
for a short while.’ I launched Dougal and rowed in. John said there was no
problem having Zebedee towed in and directed me to the people involved.
It was 2pm. ‘Better be tomorrow. First thing.’
Next morning at 0700 I radioed. ‘Call later.’ I did. ‘Maybe lunchtime.’
‘Maybe tomorrow.’ Meanwhile I had had several visits from the official
launches. ‘You can’t anchor there!!!’ I called the marina. ‘I’m sailing in!’
John, bless his cotton socks, replied ‘No problem. I’ll clear the way!’ It was
blowing a bit. I raised two sail panels. Actually it was howling. But it would
be sheltered inside. Two tacks, a short broad reach and I was heading for
the tiny entrance. I crashed the sails and started yulohing (skulling with an
18ft curved oar). The wind was behind and Zebedee sailed on. ‘I’m past the
green marker . . I’m past the fuel dock . .’ I sailed past all the pontoons. At
the end, I turned into the wind and yulohed for England. I made 15yds
and dropped the anchor in 12ft. I was in. Some bystanders took my long
lines and we pulled Zebedee alongside a pontoon.
Four hours later, the bracket was fitted and the inspection booked.
Slight problem. No motor. A friendly yacht said, ‘We’ve got an outboard.
Doesn’t work, but you’re welcome!’ Ten minutes later the motor was in
place. Zebedee passed the inspection. Now to make the payment. I caught
the marina bus to Colon and then a taxi to Citibank, where all the payments
are made. Closed. The taxi took me back to the bus stop. Next day I tried
again. The lady at the till passed me the bill. $2,500 !!! I was gobsmacked!
I went to the ATM and max’d every credit card (only three now as one
had gone to heaven). I was $100 short. ‘Can I leave a deposit?’ ‘No.’ ‘But
that means I’m walking in Colon with $2,400 in my pocket.’ Bugger! My
friendly taxi driver arrived and took me back, again. Next day I was back
in Citibank. Another credit card died, but the next worked. I went to the
counter and handed over astonishing quantities of cash. It was accepted!
Later that day I was given a date for the transit.
Slight problem. No motor. When in doubt, drink Chateau Zebedee and
retire to the pool. I sat in the swimming pool lamenting my woes. ‘When’s
your transit?’ I had a date, probably accademic. ‘Feb 12th.’ ‘Oh, same as
us!’ ‘Yes but . .’ ‘We’ve got an outboard. You could borrow it.’ Hallelujah!
Beez Neez gave me the motor and then supplied the line-handlers with
food. They also found me my last handler. I’d started with seven, but with
the delay, I was down to three.
On the 12th, my four line-handlers turned up. We were due at the flats
at 1400. We motored (first time for Zebedee) out of the marina, hoisted
two panels, shot across to the flats and anchored. At 4pm several canal
launches arrived, one came up to Zebedee and our advisor climbed on
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Zebedee in Panama
board. ‘Start your engine!’ Carefully keeping the cover in place to disguise
that it was not 15hp (it was 9.9), I pulled the starter cord and we were off!
It wasn’t far to the first lock and it was down wind, so no problems. Our
advisor was on the radio. ‘Tie up along side Beez Neez.’ Excellent. To go
through the locks, yachts are normally rafted up. Beez Neez was so much
bigger than Zebedee that all the lines could go to Beez Neez, thus using
their bigger cleats. Two of my handlers went across to help.
Beez Neez motored into the first lock towing Zebedee alongside. While
the gates were closing, Canal staff threw down their thin lines with the
wooden weights (monkey’s fists). We attached Beez Neez’s thick 125ft
ropes and the staff pulled them in to make fast to the huge canal bollards.
The line-handlers took a turn around Beez Neez’s cleats. The lock operater
opened the sluices and the water boiled around us. As we rose 30ft, the
handlers took up the slack to keep the raft in the centre of the lock. The
turbulence wasn’t too bad. The operator was sympatico. The gates opened
and the staff walked the raft into the next lock. The process was repeated
for a total of three locks as we rose about 100ft. Then we cast off and
motored into Gatun Lake, tying up alongside a huge 20ft wide steel buoy
opposite Beez Neez. The advisor was picked up. Cold beers were produced,
Chateau Zebedee flowed and everybody was talking ten to the dozen. Beez
Neez’s spag. bol. was warmed up. It was absolutely delicious. We were all
knackered and soon we were fast asleep.
I was up early. The advisor was due at 0630 and I wanted to top up the
outboard, make breakfast and so on. He arrived on time. ‘Start your engine.’
I pulled the cord and we were off. ‘That Panama flag is a disgrace! Take it
down!’ Uh oh . . it was a bit frayed. It had seen a lot of wind. We could be
in trouble if our advisor . . . Just then Kevin popped up. ‘Hand me . . .’ He
grabbed the washing up bowl and then threw the dirty water over the side,
right in front of the advisor. Uh oh. Lake Gatun is a protected enviroment.
‘Would you like some coffee? Some breakfast?’ A mug of steaming hot,
best quality, freshly ground Brazillian coffee was promptly placed in the
advisor’s hand. John’s daughter, one of my line-handlers, popped up and
started chatting away. Always helps to have a gorgeous 18 year old girl as
crew. A few minutes later Kevin was laughing and joking with the advisor.
‘We can put up the sails!’ ‘What both of them?’ ‘Yes!’ How did he swing
that? Brilliant! The sails shot up, Zebedee heeled over and we were off. We
were now doing almost 6kts. The down side was that the awning had to
come down. As the day progressed it did get a trifle warm.
John’s daughter and Kevin kept the advisor happy while I tweeked the
sails and we charged on. The canal is a beautiful place, rather like the
Norfolk Broads, with the odd little backwater. No people. The water was
smooth, the wind was generally behind or on the side and the sailing was
superb. Every now and then a canal launch would race up to us and signal
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us to drop the sails. Our
advisor would turn to
them and simply shrug.
The launch would
shake their heads,
muttering, and speed
off. With Zebedee’s
black junk sails we
must have made quite
Zebedee in a lock
a sight.
As we approached the Pacific locks our advisor was on the radio. ‘We’re
too late. They’ve closed the gates.’ . . then . . ‘They’re opening again!’ We
dropped the sails and motored into Miraflores lock. We were the only vessel.
The monkey’s fists were thrown, but my one (port aft) missed. They threw
again. Missed again. The wind was behind us and despite the engine going
flat out in reverse we weren’t slowing down. Our aft lines would have to be
the brake, but we’d only got one. Quest put her rope around the winch and
it jerked taught. I didn’t see what happened, but the next second she was
being pulled back by our advisor! She had very nearly gone over. Phew! My
monkey’s fist finally
arrived and the second
aft line was attached.
The gates closed and
we descended. It was
much smoother than
going up.
As we motored to the
next lock, we started to
hear odd noises. There
seemed to be some sort
of commotion. Then
we realised. They were
The end of the canal and the circumnavigation
cheering! They were
cheering Zebedee! Beez Neez had explained that this was the completion
of a round the world voyage with no engine. They had opened the gates
especially for us! Everyone was shouting and waving. Fantastic!
The next two locks passed in a haze until Zebedee was back in the
Pacific. We’d done it! Zebedee had sailed around the world!
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