Feb 16

Written by:
2/16/2010 4:05 PM 

At 11:00 a.m. on Saturday I heard the call on VHF channel 12, “Jargo, Jargo, Jargo, Signal Station transit time 15:30 hours, copy”.  I copied and freaked a little.

They’d moved my time up by almost two hours.  It was time to leave the dock.

Two friends from s/v Coconut, Greg & Kerri, and two new friends Erin & Colin joined me for the transit as line handlers, cooks, and general moral support.  After a last minute scramble to stow the decks, lines, and fenders we warped off of our dock through a maze of mega yachts and made our way to the flats anchorage.  We dropped the hook in 50 feet of water and radioed the signal station we were in place and standing by for our advisor.  It took several more hours, but eventually he arrived and we discovered the most terrifying event of the entire canal crossing, loading your advisor from the pilot boats.  These boats are built with fenders for cargo ship which are mostly perfect for knocking down sailboats stanchions.  However, we got Ricardo on board and he set to work explaining how the next four hours events would transpire.

For the ride up to Lake Gutan I would be the lead vessel and we’d be side tied to a 35 foot Hunter who would be along for the ride.  I was nervous for my newly rebuilt engine, but we made 3.5 knots no problem with the extra ship side tied to Jargo and proceeded into the first lock at Gutan.  A massive cargo ship entered before us called Clipper Tenacious and I loved the name.  Nerves were high and shortly after entering the lock Monkey Fists came raining down from above as the canal personnel threw us the light lines to tie to our heavy transit lines.  Luckily, I’d advised my handlers to walk to Jargos amidships and invite the monkey fists there so as not to put my solar panel in jeopardy.  It worked perfectly.

As the line handlers walked forward with our lines we fed them slack until they looped the line over the giant bits on the edge of the concrete canal.  Now it was our turn.  The lock began to boil just after the heavy door closed like a book on the Caribbean and the ships began to rise.  As they did it was our job to take in the slack in the heavy lines keeping our fragile vessels off the jagged sidewalls built for steel cargo ships.  The water boiled like our nerves as the salt water from the sea mixed with the fresh water from the lake.

Once we’d reached the top of the lock, the forward door opened and the Clipper Tenacious made her way out.  We followed behind after the shore men had released our lines and let us retrieve the heavy lines so that they could walk with only the light lines they would pull in again once we’d made the second lock.  This system repeated itself three times and we found ourselves in the freshwater lake called Gatun.  It was after 10:00 p.m. by now  and finding the mooring balls full we dropped anchor in 60 feet, scarfed down some chorizo macaroni and cheese, and promptly fell asleep.

The new advisor arrived exactly at 6:30 a.m. to begin day two.  I’d just forced myself out of the bunk at 06:00 to start coffee for my crew, but most were still not up by the time he arrived.  After yelling for help to tend fenders for yet the third deadly encounter with a Pilot boat we hauled up the muddy chain and started the 26 mile motor to the next set of locks, Mira Flores.  On this long run my new advisor and I began to loose our ability to see eye to eye.

It is true that the Canal requires you to state that your vessel can run at and maintain 8 knots.  This is faster than hull speed for my boat and I lied through my teeth.  However, the finer print states that any vessel that can maintain 5 knots may continue its transit without penalty.  Jargo was by far the heaviest boat we transited with and on the long motor the other vessels slowly, but steadily pulled away from us. 

Along the route my newly installed alternator built disintegrated due to faulty construction and I lost my tachometer.  I knew I was running about 2300 rpms and I didn’t want to push her any further.  I’d continued increasing throttle at the advisors request to this point, but making 6.2 knots I refused to push it any more,  he wasn’t happy, but he relented.

Eventually, we made the Mira Flores locks and this time we’d be three transiting together as one large raft.  Another 45 footer took the middle releasing me of duties at the helm except for an occasional boost of thrust either forward or in reverse to help keep us centered.  The lines moved across smoothly and as the last doors closed, we were lowered back down to sea level and the doors opened on the Pacific ocean.  We got our advisor onto his boat and made way to the anchorage at La Playita where I’ve been for the past two days.

It was a stressful experience, but in hindsight there was nothing to it.  The Canal is truly an engineering marvel and I still can hardly comprehend I just crossed a continent on a 39 foot sailboat.  The Pacific lies ahead and another year of sailing I am only beginning to wrap my mind around.  On one hand I am telling myself it is just another long sail.  On the other I filter the thoughts of what could happen on such a long ocean passage and sequester the negative aspects in a part of my mind to be dealt with at another time or never at all.  There is work to do and an ocean to cross.  The horizon is calling.  It is almost time to go.

Lee