Pacific Panamá –- Adventures at Anchor and Otherwise –– March 2–15, 2017

The first portion of this post answers a question sometimes put to us by friends and family: Have you ever been really scared?: Well – yes; recently as a matter of fact.

Timing Really IS Everything

There probably isn’t a good time for a boat’s engine to fail . . .  but trust us that a really bad time for an engine to fail is while the boat is crossing the 7-mile wide approach channel to the Panama Canal at 02.00 (2 a.m.). That’s a Really Bad Time.

The canal operates 24/7 and even at 02.00 there is a steady stream of huge boats entering and departing the Gulf of Panama. At 02.00 the traffic is as busy as at any other time of day. Oh, except it’s also dark. A Really Bad Time.

Fortunately Abracadabra is equipped with the Automatic Identification System (AIS) as is every ship over 20 meters in length (65 feet) that transits the canal. With the help of AIS, when we shut the engine down in the middle of the shipping channel (more on why later) we knew that the Johannes Maersk (a Danish-registered container ship) wouldn’t collide with us for . . . forty-five minutes. 

[Side note: AIS is an electronic collision avoidance system which identifies AIS-equipped boats by number, compass heading and speed. It also shows the “closest point of approach” (aka collision point) and time thereof between AIS-equipped boats.]

Immediately after we shut down the engine, before we even put out any sails, we hailed the Johannes Maersk on the radio, identified Abracadabra, reported that we had lost power and received confirmation that the behemoth could pass Abracadabra so as to allow us to sail behind it. It did. We did. And everybody lived to tell this tale. Though we have since wondered if those on the bridge of the Johannes Maersk that morning now have a running gag that goes something like: “Oh, quit complaining. Now if you were a little sailboat stalled out in front of a container ship -- that would be worth complaining about!”

Ha. Ha. 

Now you may be wondering a few things, such as:

What happened next? We completed our crossing of the north-bound lane of the channel under sail and continued to sail toward our destination, the islands of the Las Perlas archipelago. At daylight we hove to out of any known boat traffic and away from any scary shores and Bryce made the necessary repairs. [Non-Sailor Note: “Heaving to” is a sail trim and rudder-placement maneuver which neutralizes the forward motion effect of the wind and allows a sailboat to “sit still” (ish). Pretty cool, actually.] 

Wait, did you say you shut off the motor? Yes, we intentionally shut if off – but not voluntarily. The engine overheated and we had to shut it down to avoid sure and horrible engine death. The next morning Bryce was able to confirm our suspicion that the overheating had been caused by a leaking raw water pump which had become a completely dysfunctional / dead raw water pump. [Non Marine Diesel Engine Folks: A diesel engine that isn’t cooled by circulating seawater will fairly quickly get very, very hot and become a worthless, fused bunch of metal bits. This is to be avoided.]

OMG you were motoring with a leaking raw water pump? Yep. Usually a leak means bailing, which isn’t good but can be better than the alternative. Our alternative included:

• replacing the leaking raw water pump with an old, re-built raw water pump while at anchor in a rock-n-roll anchorage (Benao);
• missing a short (24-hour) weather window which offered the possibility of a relatively low-wind environment for rounding Punta Mala (Eng.: Bad Point) – the western entry to the Gulf of Panama; and
• hanging out in rock-n-rolly Benao for at least a week, possibly more, waiting for whenever the next low-wind moment for rounding Punta Mala might appear.    

Now, of course, we have learned that a leaking raw water pump doesn't just keep leaking a little. Sometimes it just . . . quits.

Why were you crossing this busy shipping channel in a tiny little sailboat at all? Like The Chicken, we were heading for The Other Side. Panama City is on the northern shore of the Gulf of Panama. The prevailing current in the Gulf enters the eastern side, arcs along the northern shore and then sweeps down the western side. Those sailing/motoring north on the eastern side get a current push and those going north on the western side must compensate for a strong negative current. When motoring at five or six knots, a two knot negative current can be a very big deal. Like being on a treadmill - going and going and being tugged backward.

Add to this that our “weather window” turned out to be not all that. The predicted 11 knot winds (which we knew enough to read: “anticipate 22 knot winds”) turned out to be in the high 20’s to mid 30’s – on the nose. When combined with a 2-knot negative push = not only slow going, but exceptionally uncomfortable going. Think: A tiny little toy in a washing machine on the agitation cycle. For hours.

Okay, but why didn’t you wait for the ship to pass before you started into the shipping lane? See above re: how busy the shipping lane is even at two in the morning – there really isn’t a traffic-free time. The shipping lane is about seven nautical miles wide: a two mile wide corridor for southbound ships, a three mile “median” area and a two mile wide corridor for northbound ships. Think crossing freeway traffic on a bicycle – it’s an exercise in calculated risk. AIS showed gaps in the traffic which we calculated would give us more than two hours before reaching a “closest point of approach” with any south-bound traffic and then, several nautical miles later, more than an hour to cross in front of the Johannes Maersk. Of course that was when we were rocketing along at 5 knots -- before we were just bobbing around without an engine, trying to put up our sails. 

Morals of this story: (A) Sometimes raw water pumps don’t just leak and make a mess, they leak so much they fail to perform their engine-cooling function. (B) Sometimes leaving a rock-n-roll anchorage and sailing back to a prior, calm anchorage to effect a repair may not actually be a step backward. And (C): Now that we fully appreciate (A) we may do (B) the next time we are faced with this particular decision tree.

Now that we have assured you we and Abracadabra are well, here’s how we escaped Boca Chica and made it just in time to talk to the nice guys on the bridge of the Johannes Maersk:

Leaving Boca Chica – March 2 – 7

As mentioned in our prior post we got our anchor chain snagged in Boca Chica (the anchorage is actually in the channel between Isla Boca Brava and the mainland coast of Panamá near the village of Boca Chica) and then experienced a couple of days of high winds. The bad news: we were snagged. The good news: we weren’t worried that we’d drag in the high winds!

It Had Gotten Crowded At Boca Chica

Once the winds abated we tried driving the chain off of the unidentifiable snag and at one point enough chain came up to fool us into thinking we were snag-free. Suckers. We got up the next day, ready to depart and found that we were still attached to . . . something down there that wasn't the anchor.

That morning we even had assistance from an international group of sailing compadres [gracias, Kahia (UK) and Santana (Netherlands)] to no avail. Our consultations with neighboring sailors didn’t help much either. Everyone had a "we got snagged" story that eventually including something like “. . . and then we dove the chain / hired a diver to dive the chain and found out what the problem was . . . “.

Okay, okay. We hired two local divers to see what the problem was.

Our Rescuers

When the divers came up they were giving us thumbs up and laughing! Apparently the anchor chain had wrapped around a tree stump five times in the tidal reverses of the Boca Chica channel, but they had been able to swim the chain from around the stump! Yes: $100 well spent (and a $20 tip that startled them)! [Call Carlos - even if he's not available, he'll make it happen.]

As previously noted Boca Chica isn’t a bad place to be snagged on a tree stump. Sometimes there’s even free entertainment:

One Hotel Flies Guests In --
Note That A Crowded Anchorage Can Make For a Short Runway!

Islas Secas – March 7 – 9

The day after we escaped The Evil Stump we sailed and motored (about 50/50) to Isla Cavado, an island in the Islas Secas chain. The Secas are known for being a great diving and snorkeling destination and the water off Cavado was spectacularly clear.

Ahhhhh . . . 

When we first arrived we thought we might be there for several days (we seem to recall Molly announcing she might never leave . . . ) but on our second night the anchorage turned really rolly (that’s the way with nature . . . ). That and we experienced an equipment tragedy (that’s the way with equipment):

The super-clear water at Cavado had inspired us to unearth and inflate our kayak. We had a lovely paddle around the little bay, pulled the kayak up on a beautiful golden sand beach and went for a swim. Sadly, when we returned to the beautiful golden sand beach after our swim we found the kayak was literally . . . coming apart at the seams. Ugh. Apparently the glue that holds inflatable kayaks together does not weather warm weather storage well.

We put on our life jackets, hopped in (on) the rapidly shriveling kayak and paddled back to Abracadabra. And here’s what we found:

Unglued

Sigh. We decided to push on.

Captain Weighing Anchor

Bahía Honda – March 9 – 12

Our next anchorage was like glass, which was great for sleeping and switching out the jib (we switched to the small jib in anticipation of high winds that often blow around Punta Mala).

Down With The Big Sail . . . 

We also found that “Domingo’s Anchorage” as the anchorage is identified in the Sarana guide is truly that; it is right in front of a three-home compound occupied by Domingo (“just like Sunday!”), his daughters and their families.

Domingo and Family's Compound

Domingo and a grandson were at our starboard side before the anchor was set, offering greetings and asking if we wanted fruit. Shortly thereafter Domingo’s son, Kennedy, was at our port side also offering fruit and some appreciated yatista services: laundry and water delivery. 

FYI, neither Domingo or Kennedy set prices for goods or services. Our reading about Bahía Honda had suggested that this isolated area (there are no roads to the bay) primarily functioned on a barter economy. However, when Domingo and Kennedy offered fruit “out of friendship” and we responded by asking if there was anything they needed that we might have (our understanding of steps one and two of a polite barter) they each expressed an interest in cash.

So okay, fine – but how much cash? We paid a few dollars for the fruit and Domingo seemed happy. He even brought us some more fruit the next day to thank us for paying him for the fruit he had delivered the prior day. Now that's customer service!

Kennedy had a different negotiating technique, which we came to think of as the “hard done by” approach. He offered up fruit and services and then began to tell us of his poverty. He told us more than we wanted to know about his estrangement from his father and sisters and his one rich brother-in-law (the operator of a tourist panga). Hmmm. Were we being asked to pay for bananas and laundry service or to his hard lot in life? Ugh.

We chose to treat our interactions with Kennedy as business transactions and did our best to pay a fair price for the fruit, the laundry and the water. If you stop there, let your conscience be your guide. [Just FYI: For laundry we provided the soap and paid $4 a kilo, using a quote we had received in Boca Chica. For water we paid based on a tortured calculation that included: the cost of delivery (3 short trips x the isolated village’s inflated cost of gasoline – $8 a gallon) + a generous (we thought) hourly rate for Kennedy’s time + a small cost for the water (which came from a spring which Kennedy’s family had tapped into for decades). We provided our own purifying bleach.]

For all our discomfort about our interactions with Kennedy, we highly recommend that sailors take the chance to purchase or trade for their delicious fruit offered. Both men had some knobby looking toranjas (grapefruit) which made wonderful juice; Domingo’s white and Kennedy’s red. Domingo had delicious red-skinned bananas which we had never tried before -- and both men delivered bananas on the stock, which have us an opportunity for one of those "must have" tropical sailing shots:

Molly Goin' Troppo

One day we made a dinghy trip into Bahía Honda village, located on an island in the bay. As we approached we realized we were watching men carrying a casket down the beach, to put on a large panga. Dozens of villagers were loading into a group of three large pangas – some of them were dressed in black. We circled around and let the funeral party leave for the mainland; there must be a cemetery somewhere in the hills. We learned from Kennedy that a relatively young man in the village had died of a heart attack.

When we landed at the village’s rickety and odoriferous fishing dock we found the town to be relatively empty, though the one store and bar were open for business. We were stunned at how easy it was to purchase beer – there were stacks of cans in the back of the store -- and how difficult it was to purchase . . . well, almost anything else. We bought two mini-cartons of milk, an onion, a small bag of chips and a can of tuna at the store and six beers at the bar. Suggestion: Do not count on Bahía Honda as a provisioning stop unless beer is all you need!

Bahía Naranjo, Isla Cébaco – March 12-13

Our next stop was an equally tranquil anchorage at Bahía Naranjo (sometimes called Bahía Cébaco). This anchorage also proved to be less than prime-time for provisioning. This little bay is home to an odd “fuel ship” that we had read about, but on first sight took to be a naval vessel. We realized it must be the fuel ship that we had read about once we saw it being approached by the bay's fleet of small sport fishing boats.

Navy Surplus

The bay is also home to Journey Bay a former Louisiana oil rig utility boat that has been converted into a "mothership" for a sports fishing operation. 

Even A Back Patio For BBQ and Fish Stories

We didn’t purchase any fuel or any of the snacks we had read might be for sale from Journey Bay because no one answered our calls on the radio to tell us what, if anything, might be available. During our stay we saw two large sport-fishing boats tied to the mothership in the evening and heard a lot of Americans from the Southeast talking fishing talk. We figured our calls had been ignored because the mothership had all the business the staff could handle. Besides – we had purchased beer in Bahía Honda.

Morro de Puercos / Benao / Punta Mala – March 13-15

We left the calm anchorage at Bahía Naranjo/Bahía Cébaco the next day in the late afternoon. Our plan was to round a point called Morro de Puercos [hmmm – Moorish pig? -- that can’t be a compliment] overnight because our experience had been that the wind is often lower at night along this coast. That would put us in a good position to arrive at the Benao anchorage in the morning, spend the night there and, the next afternoon, leave to round the dread Punta Mala.

Side note: Punta Mala is the "big deal cape" of Central America. Much like Cabo Corrientes in Mexico or Point Conception in California it is a frequent subject of conversation among yatistas, known for having difficult winds and currents. See above re: the currents that arch around the Gulf of Panama and gather force as they pass the eastern side of Punta Mala.  

Well, we got to Benao in the morning after a relatively uneventful overnight sail/motor (about 50/50) around the Moorish Pig. But we were not happy with Benao. We knew it was a popular surfing destination, which gave us a hint that it might not be a perfectly calm anchorage – but many of the cruising guides refer to it as a good place to wait for a “weather window” for rounding Punta Mala. Well, the weather around Punta Mala would have to be pretty unpleasant to make Benao a “good” anchorage. In particular we were struck by how difficult it would be to land a dinghy there, which would make it a very difficult place to spend any time. But if one can get ashore there are lots of little surf camps and hotels on the beach that might be fun to visit.

We anchored, leery of the nearby reefs, transferred some fuel from the jerry jugs to the fuel tank, made a meal and thought about a nap. Then we checked the weather and found that now was our time for Punta Mala. Now or some time more than a week in the future.

And that’s how we came to round Punta Mala where we found winds in the high 20’s and mid 30’s and some really nasty, thrashy little waves. 

Punta Mala Light In The Distance
Nasty, Choppy Little Waves On The Nose

Several hours later we started across the shipping channel. See above.

Next: Las Perlas, Where Abracadabra and Her Crew Were Much Happier.

The Rich Coast North / Bay By Bay – May 25-June 5, 2016

And now we return to the sailing portion of Travels on Abracadabra!

Nos Vemos, Nicaragua!

Checking out of Nicaragua was as easy as checking in. On the afternoon of May 24 we spent about half an hour with various officials, got some documents stamped and received an international zarpe for Costa Rica. No charge. At 06.25 the next morning we left the dock at Puesta del Sol marina.

 
To the "Rich Coast" 

Like most sailing journeys of any distance our trip to Costa Rica (translation: Rich Coast) contained a little of this and a little of that and a moment of drama:

• Motoring Along: For the first six hours we motored in flat, calm conditions. We had been warned that “sailing” in Central America during the rainy season would involve a lot of motoring. We felt -- resigned.
• Standing Watch: Abeam the commercial port of Corinto we saw what for a heart-stopping few moments looked like an overturned lancha – a dark, 20-ish-foot object rising and falling in the water with birds sitting on it. As we got closer we realized it wasn’t the remains of a tragedy, but a huge tree (shades of sailing in the Canadian Gulf Islands)! Apparently the river that enters the Pacific at Corinto can discharge very large obstructions during the rainy season – keep a close watch if you pass that way. 
• This Is Why We Came!: Shortly after noon the wind came up and we were thrilled to be able to sail for about six hours - at times making over five knots.  It was glorious!  Several times we were surrounded by playful pods of dolphins. The sunset was spectacular. Ah, yes – this was sailing!  
• And Then: Near sunset the wind died and we motored for several hours watching lightning behind us. It seemed to chase us through the night. For about an hour the wind and swell both picked up and we had an uncomfortable bash into some choppy waves. Around midnight the wind rose and shifted just enough to allow us to sail again. This sail was more or less on course in winds we think were between 12 – 18 knots. [Reminder: the boat’s wind speed indicator is, in technical nautical-speak: kaput.] Who says you have to motor everywhere in Central America! 
• Ooooh – But We Definitely Didn’t Want This: Our drama moment came around 11.00 on the second morning. The wind had dropped and when we started the motor it didn’t take long to see that sea water was not squirt-squirt-squirting out the back of the boat as it is supposed to do. The raw water alarm set up a piercing screeeeeech. [Non-Sailor Simplified Side Note: The raw water system takes ocean (raw) water through a heat exchanger which cools the engine’s anti-freeze. The raw water is then discharged at the boat’s stern. Think: a car’s radiator. Think: hot engine = soon dead engine.] Captain Bryce, in his calm, self-assured way cursed himself for having screwed something up during his recent overhaul of the raw water pump . . . As Molly stood watch and Abracadabra crept along under sail, he assumed a yogic-like position, uninstalled the raw water pump, looked it over and found . . . nothing wrong. Hmmm . . . partially good. Feeling validated but confused, he traced through each step of the system and found nothing else out of order. Hmmm . . . still confused. He put everything back together and about an hour after first hearing the warning screech we fired up the engine and - water pumped through as it should. As mysterious as rebooting a computer, only dirtier and way less comfortable. We suppose the positive takeaway is that we know Abracadabra’s Chief Engineer can replace a raw water pump underway if necessary.

Bahía Santa Elena (May 26 – 30, 2016)

We sailed for the rest of the morning until we turned into Bahía Santa Elena, a bay in one of Costa Rica’s many beautiful national parks. We began to motor again because after performing a raw water system reboot the Captain/Chief Engineer/Foredeck Anchoring Mate (i.e. Bryce) just wanted to get the anchor down and take a nap. At 15.00 we anchored.

Abracadabra At Anchor

And found that our nap would have to be delayed. Apparently the starboard latch on the forward hatch had broken and during the “bashing into the waves” portion of the trip water had trickled in under the latch and down onto . . . our bed. And of course this was the time we failed to stow the bedding out of range of potential drips because, well, we hadn’t had a leak at the bow hatch  . . .. [Some Non-Sailor Explanation: While sailing at night we take turns sleeping in the saloon rather than in our “regular” bed in the V-berth, so we hadn’t realized that water was dripping in. The saloon is nearby and offers a better ride.]  Fortunately we were experiencing a dry and breezy moment and were able to tie the bedding onto the deck until the next afternoon. Sun and breeze cures almost everything.

Our company in Bahía Sana Elena consisted of (a) a few fishermen who camped during the day near their lancha and left to fish at night, and (b) Prism, a 33-foot Hans Christian sailboat.

Prism At Anchor

The Prism crew, Shannon and John, joined us for drinks, appetizers and Sailor’s Story Hour on our second night. Their home port is Berkeley and we learned that that we have a lot of sailing connections in common – both in California and Mexico. It was a very fun evening (and we are sure certain boat yard workers’ ears were burning). We have since watched a few of John and Shannon’s videos on YouTube. If you’re interested in sailing info – or just armchair sailing in California and Mexico, check them out: S/v Prism.

The Prism crew had warned us that the path to the waterfall in the park had been overtaken by wasps, so we contented ourselves with a hike to a look-out point where we enjoyed seeing Abracadabra at anchor. No wasps – but we were glad we remembered our mosquito repellent!

Fashionable Hiker

On our day four Prism left us with only the fishermen for company. We puttered around the boat, checked weather and had another nice swim.

Bahía Huevos (May 30 – June 1, 2016)

The next morning we got up early to explore some of the bays to the south. The skies were grey and the winds were light. We tried to sail without success.

The Rainy Season

We decided to anchor in Bahía Huevos some 35 miles from Bahía Santa Elena. Bahía Huevos (Eggs Bay or, if you prefer, Testicles Bay) is named after the two large rocks at the bay’s entrance.
We spent two nights there and were happy with our choice of location except when the wind would put us cross to the ocean swell – creating quite a rocking experience. Great for sleeping but not for much else. Fortunately this happened primarily between 03.00 – 09.00 – prime sleeping time.

Bahía Huevos is a sleepy place even when the swell isn’t rocking one’s boat. Our primary entertainment was watching tour boats come and go to the good snorkel spot in the bay. Apparently if one books a snorkeling tour from one of the operators in Playas del Coco (the main tourist town in the area) it will leave at either 9 a.m. or 2 p.m. and include a one-hour motor to Bahía Huevos, time to snorkel, a drink and a snack, and a one-hour return. Like clockwork.

 
Bahía Culebra / Playa Panama (June 1 – 5, 2016)

Our current home is the anchorage off Playa Panama in Bahía Culebra. This is a lovely bay about nine kilometers by road from Playas del Coco – a town important to sailors as the first place one can check a boat into Costa Rica when traveling from the north.

We arrived around noon on the 1st of June and once we were sure the anchor was set we dinghied to shore to buy a beer and a snack and get some free wi-fi from a local bar. It’s very interesting being without internet for what to modern persons seems like a very extended period of time – six whole days! Imagine – six days without knowing the latest offensive thing Donald Trump has said. . . .  Priceless.

Our initial recon suggested that Playa Panama would be a good home for Abracadabra – a nice walking path, a gentle dinghy landing, a road to pubic bus service (which, frankly, we haven’t yet figured out), a good place to swim and a pubic trash tip (beats having to buy lunch at a restaurant to get them to take our trash!).

Sunset - Bahia Culebra

Our next day’s mission: to check into the country. [Brief and Highly Simplified Background: When arriving in a new country via boat one must (1) obtain permission for the crew and their possessions to enter the country from immigration and customs (“normal” tourists do this when they arrive at the airport); (2) obtain permission to bring the boat into the country from customs; and (3) inform the port captain of one’s intended movements (sort of like filing a flight plan).]

We dinghied to shore, deposited our trash and walked out to the main road to catch the bus. We waited. And waited. Finally, we put out our thumbs – and hit the hitch-hiker’s jackpot. We were picked up by two of the nicest people we’ve met anywhere: Don and Elaine, who have a lovely house in the hills above Playa Panama and were heading into Playas del Coco to buy a water softener system.

Don and Elaine not only took us to town – they drove us to the grocery store for some photocopies, the Port Captain’s office, the immigration office, back to the Port Captain and even out to the customs office (the aduana) near the airport. Over a “thanks for driving us around” lunch we learned about their power boat trip along the “circle route” which involves boating across Florida and up a waterway to Illinois – who knew?!

By the time we were dropped at the aduana we were thrilled with how well everything had gone so far. And the lady at the aduana was as pleasant and efficient as the other officials we had met. Until her print/photocopy machine proved unable print the temporary import document she had created online. Sadly, the nice official lady said, we would have to go to the aduana office at the airport. Sadly, we now had no car. Not a problem, she said – it is only 200 meters down the road.

This lady clearly doesn’t walk the weed-choked path between her office and the airport turnoff very often. The distance might feel like 200 meters to someone driving past it in a car – but the turnoff to the airport was at least two kilometers away from her office. And the airport terminal was not perched immediately to the side of the road. Once again the hitch-hiking gods were with us. A hotel shuttle van driver took pity on us and took us the kilometer +/- to the terminal.

Once there everything went just fine. The document disappeared into the right doorway and we were given what we needed. There was even a cell-phone booth with a nice young woman who sold us enough data and cell time to get us on our way. Perfect.

And then it began to rain. Blinding, monsoonal rain. We took a bus to the main road, huddled under the bus stop shelter (at least there was one!) and as soon as we got into the second bus – the rain stopped. We rode into Playas del Coco, bought a few groceries at a very lovely grocery store and decided to spring for a cab (deferring for a second time coming to grips with how to get from Cocos to Playa Panama by bus). Cab to dinghy, dinghy to boat. A very good, but very long day. Total transportation costs (we filed Don and Elaine’s thank you lunch under “entertainment”): $22.

So here we are – legally permitted to be in Costa Rica for three months. Since becoming “legal” we’ve had a second fun lunch with Don and Elaine and a swim in the rain. This is a lovely spot. That said, today we’re sideways to the swell and it’s pouring which is why there are no pictures of Playa Panama for this post! More later when we have a dry moment that will allow us to photo and travel on.

Our next “mission”: getting wet clothes to the laundry and clean and dry clothes back to Abracadabra.  [Side explanation: Don and Elaine’s son has recently served in the military. His observation was that “Getting anything done in Costa Rica is a mission”. And he doesn’t live on a sailboat! Thanks for the good laugh and turn of phrase.]


Hope all is well with all of you – and that if it’s raining, your clothes are dry. 

Honduras – February 19–29, 2016

For anyone interested in off the beaten path travel here's a report on our time in western Honduras. Though the Bay Islands of Caribbean Honduras are very popular with sailors, western Honduras is so not a Gringo Sailing Trail destination that one can become a minor sailing celebrity just by being (a) extranjeros (foreign) and (2) on a sailboat. Here's a report on our short time as (very) minor sailing celebs . . . and, as an added bonus, a report on an Adventure in Anchoring. 

Isla El Tigre – February 19 – 22

In their “bible” of Central American cruising guides, Explore Central America – Part 1, the crew of s/v Sarana describes the Honduran island of El Tigre in the Golfo de Fonseca as “. . . a picture perfect base if you’re an evil genius or perhaps just a CIA operative.”

Isla El Tigre

And while we don’t think any James Bond style evil geniuses have ever used this island as a base it was used by the CIA. In the 1980’s during the U.S. government’s support for the right-wing militias (contras) working to overthrow the democratically elected Nicaraguan Sandinista government, there was a CIA observation / communications post at the top of the island. 

 
          How We Got To El Tigre

First we had an eight hour / eight nautical mile sojourn from Isla Meanguera, El Salvador to the Playa Grande anchorage at Isla El Tigre, which went something like this:

• 09.50, anchor up at Isla Meanguera;
• motor eight nautical miles through choppy and shallow (26 feet in spots) water;
• 12.30, anchor down off the public pier at Amapala on Isla Tigre;
• flag down a lancha (the Central American term for a panga) for a ride to shore;
• sign in with the Port Captain and get cleared through immigration;
• arrange for the guide hanging out at the pier to take us on a tour of the island the next day;
• get some lempira (1L = approx. 5 cents; $1 = 20 L) from the island’s one cajero (ATM);
• pick up a map from the tourist office (where they already knew we were from the sailboat in town);
• buy some fruit from some street-corner vendors and a gallon of drinking water from the biggest store on the island (need a couch or pair of pants with that purified water?);
• arrange for a return lancha trip; 
• anchor up and motor through the chop to the west side of the island; and
• 16.10: anchor down at the somewhat calmer anchorage of Playa Grande.

[Confession and Travel Tip: We may have irreparably skewed the island’s lancha prices. We arrived without any lempira or small denomination U.S. currency. It seemed more prudent to hire a lancha to shuttle us to shore given the windy and choppy conditions and the very rough looking local pier (we feared for the life of our dinghy). However, we mistakenly hired what turned out to be a stinky fishing lancha piloted by a not-fully-accredited 14-year old. We paid $5 (our smallest bill) for the one-way trip, thinking that was better than having to take a return trip with him. The word quickly spread that really stupid, crazy-rich gringos were in town. When we tried to hire a lancha to return us to Abracadabra a real shouting match erupted on the pier – everyone wanted a chance to make $5! To avoid grossly over paying like we did consider (1) bringing lempira or small denomination U.S. currency with you (though good luck finding lempira before you get to Honduras) or (2) arriving on a calm day and deploying your own dinghy (don't forget fenders - the town pier is very rough and see (1) because you will likely want to tip someone offering to watch your dinghy).]

 
          Life At El Tigre

We anchored for three nights at Playa Grande. The anchorage was calm and the restaurants were closed at night, so our only evening entertainment was the singing and fiery sermon emanating from the evangelical church on the hill. 

On our first morning we took the dinghy to shore and had the perfect beach landing experience for people as out of practice as we (our last beach landing was probably at Acapulco in 2014!). The surf was very gentle and we were met by a fisherman/restaurant waiter who agreed to keep watch over the dinghy while we toured the island in Carlos’ moto-taxi (the tour is described below).

On our second day Bryce rowed the dinghy to shore and left Molly to face one of her deeply held cruising fears: a case of tourista + marine plumbing. Her case turned out to be fairly mild and was soon corrected but being left alone with her bottle of Pepto Bismol certainly made her recovery easier on both of us. Bryce spent his afternoon trying to politely ignore the group of gangsta-looking guys who took over the restaurant he had chosen for his mega-seafood lunch. They were shocked when he told them he preferred Frank Sinatra to their rap music and began to call him Mistah. Everyone parted amicably, but we don't think they'll seek Bryce out for future social engagements.

 
           The Island Tour 

The Island Tour was a 20+ kilometer drive along the road that circles the island. We began with a stop in Amapala where we saw the primary municipal buildings, some of which were architecturally charming.

The Gargoyle Hotel

Street Scene

The Market and Moto-Taxis

Municipal Building

Cultural Center - A Pretty, But Gutted, Building

We spent some time in the main square – the source of free Wi-Fi for the island teenagers and the crew of Abracadabra:

Captain Bryce, Checking Wi-Fi

We stopped at the miradores (direct translation: see outs) along the island’s ring road which offer spectacular views of the gulf.

Carlos

Us

From time to time our guide diverted from the main road to take us to a beach. A big component of his island tour was pointing out the different types of sand at the different beaches. We are sure a geologist would find that portion of the tour fascinating.

One Beach - Light Sand

Another Beach - Darker Sand

We stopped for a very good fried fish and fried green bananas lunch (don’t knock the green banana thing unless you’ve tried it!) at Playa Negra (with sand that didn’t quite live up to the negra (black) label but was darker than the sand of other beaches). The proprietress of the restaurant was kind enough to bring out the wooden-boxed mandolín that the cook used to slice the bananas; more 19th century Provençal than Williams-Sonoma.

Playa Negra

We were disappointed to hear that neither the ruins of the CIA post at the top of the island or the remains of the U.S.-built heliport were part of the tour. Some tourist literature suggests that local trucks can drive to the top of the island, but Carlos told us that the only way to get there was to hike up the volcano. The tourist office map also showed access to the top of the mountain as a hiking trail and it was clear that Carlos’ little moto-taxi wasn’t going to make it beyond the main ring road, so we resigned ourselves to not seeing the observation point ruins on that particular day. The tourist office map didn't show the heliport location and when asked about it Carlos just waved vaguely towards . . . someplace. It didn't seem accessible to the public. In sum, his tour wasn’t everything we had hoped for but we enjoyed the day.

Bryce's First Port Royal Export
(The Beginning Of A Wonderful Relationship)

As usual, our favorite part of the tour was the opportunity to learn about our guide. Carlos was happy to tell us about his work “up there” (aka the U.S.): demolition work in Baltimore and cooking and roofing in Denver. He liked cooking best and thought Denver was very clean and beautiful. He and some friends are planning another trip “up there” later in the Spring. We hope he uses some of his hard earned money to repair his moto-taxi’s transmission!

San Lorenzo – February 22 - 29

After three nights we left El Tigre and motored up the 24-mile long, clearly marked shipping channel to Honduras’ only Pacific port, Puerto Henecán. Our destination was the town of San Lorenzo, which we expected to be a very sleepy little backwater town.

Honduran Navy

About one nautical mile before Puerto Henecán, we turned north-west off of the shipping lane. This turn is not marked; visiting sailors will benefit from good charts or waypoints from a cruising guide. We threaded our way through some mangrove swamps to San Lorenzo and anchored off a row of picturesque restaurants. Apparently in the last several years San Lorenzo has become less sleepy, and is now a popular day trip for visitors from the Honduran capital, Tegucigalpa. There are now three nice restaurants and a hotel on the waterfront and several other restaurants on the other side of the three-block "tourist zone".  

San Lorenzo's Tourist Waterfront

           Edward – Our Man In San Lorenzo

Soon after our anchor was set we were greeted by Edward the local English-speaking lancha driver. Edward picked up English when he was a kid, swapping Honduran watermelons for U.S. military MREs (meals, ready to eat). His watermelon customers were there as support for the CIA on El Tigre. He had also met some of our sailing compañeros (apparently San Lorenzo sees a sailboat every three months or so) and purported to be well-versed in taking care of visiting sailors. We weren't completely convinced because his ability to bring his lancha along side Abracadabra in wind and current never really improved over our week's acquaintance.  

Edward arranged for water delivery (via horse drawn cart and then lancha). He found a driver to take us to the grocery store. He even arranged for the immigration officer to meet with us very early on our departure morning thus allowing us to leave at high tide. Molly sweetened the deal by baking the very nice officer some cookies as a thank you . . . ah, Central America - the land of purported bribery.

Water Delivery

Edward - The Man

We also relied on Edward to taxi us to shore almost every day. The tidal change in San Lorenzo is about 10 feet which would have called for some significant dinghy dragging up a muddy municipal beach. We took the lazy sailors’ approach and hired Edward’s Iancha. And as we saw more than one poorly anchored lancha swept off the beach by the changing tide we were happy with our choice.

Lancha Beach At Low Tide

Edward also gained indirect benefits from Abracadabra’s presence in San Lorenzo. His primary job is taking national tourists on tours of the estuary and the nearby port. Abracadabra became part of his tour and on occasion we were celebrity passengers as he diverted his tour to take us to shore. Any time a tour passenger knew English they were very kind to talk to us and ask us where we were from.

Honduran Tourists Waving To U.S. Tourists

Abracadabra became such a fixture that when Edward was touring DJ’s from a Choluteca radio station he talked us into letting them come aboard and dance on Abracadabra’s deck for the station’s videographer! 

Dancing DJs

We took some video of the event but the station’s video is much better – and we like their soundtrack (though we are still trying to figure out what a flippergram is . . . ). Check it out on YouTube here!  We each received a La Bomba 103.1 t-shirt as a thank you. 

Edward’s greatest kindness was to send his charming ten-year-old son, Joseph, to assist Molly on her trip to the Port Captain in Puerto Henecán !

Joseph (Right) and His Buddy

Bryce enjoyed talking to young Joseph (aka Neno) so much he gave the lad some binoculars that had been given to him when he was Joseph’s age – along with very explicit instructions on how to take care of them because they were muy viejo - uno antiguo (very old - an antique)! We hope Joseph enjoys them and that he watches the stars and looks at the moon as he said he would. Bryce’s suggestion that birds were fascinating to watch did not seem to interest him much.

[Travel Tip: Edward worked for tips and asked to be paid on departure. We became a sort of savings account for him. We decided to pay him $15 a day and then threw in the last of our lempira as we were leaving the country for a total of about 2,000 lempira or $100 for eight days.]

 
          Life In San Lorenzo

Most of our time ashore in San Lorenzo was spent at the tourist restaurants along the estuary, eating seafood, people watching and checking weather on the internet. But we did make a few trips into town.

Parroquia and Fisherman Statue

We stopped into the parroquia (parish church) and walked through the main square. Our primary destinations were the Claro cell phone office in a failed attempt to purchase a data package and the local supermercado (a Despensa Familiar - Family Pantry – the same grocery chain we had used in La Herradura, El Salvador).

San Lorenzo was nicest in the cool morning as the horse-drawn wagons delivered water and the children were walked to school.

 
          Adventures in Anchoring

But even with all the help Edward provided not everything went smoothly for us in San Lorenzo.

We were very happy with our initial anchoring spot in the shallow (20 – 30 foot maximum) and narrow (roughly 150 yards) estuary. It was scenic and relatively quiet (there was a karaoke bar, but it was at a distance). For four days Abracadabra swung securely up and down the estuary on the changing tide, somewhat closer to the mangrove swamp on the south shore than to the scary-looking concrete piers of the restaurants and hotel on the north shore. Life was good.

Anchorage One

And then the wind began to blow strongly from the north – one of the dread papagayo winds (called norteros by the locals) blowing out of the Caribbean. As we’ve said elsewhere, we don’t have a working wind speed indicator at the moment so we may be over estimating the speed of the gusts, but they were very strong and felt like 35+ knots to us.

Over several days of swinging in an ovoid pattern in response to the tidal changes the anchor chain had stretched to its full 100 feet and when the wind shifted and strengthened Abracadabra began to sail at the end of the full 100 feet of chain, toward the southern shore.

It was like a train wreck in very, very slow motion. 

We watched as Abracadabra sailed and swung ever - so - slowly toward the mangroves. We looked from the shore to the dropping depth gauge and back to the shore. We took turns looking at the electronic chart, measuring and re-measuring our distance from the line that represented the lowest depth in front of the mangroves. Was this what it was like to drag anchor? We didn't think we were dragging. Could we up anchor and motor to a deeper spot in this strong wind and against the current? That seemed problematic. At one point Molly went below and washed the lunch dishes – the sailing equivalent of making popcorn during the scariest part of the movie. 

And then, as we reached seven feet on the depth meter (Abracadabra draws 6’6”) the tide turned. Just. Deep. Enough.

Until the next day.

As the tide dropped again and the wind continued to push Abracadabra toward the mangroves we realized that she had swung just enough to be sailing toward a particularly shallow spot. Eventually she touched bottom. A muddy / sandy bottom – but bottom. Our first grounding. Not something we had been looking forward to. 

Afraid that now that Abracadabra's keel was touching the continuing strong wind would push her onto her side and cause damage, we decided that it was time to try to move. When the next high tide went slack, and we had only the wind to deal with, we raised anchor and motored into the wind to a new anchoring spot about a quarter of a mile further into the estuary.

Anchorage Two

Right next to the 24-hour shrimp packing plant, the public pier . . . 

Public Pier and Diving Platform

Splash

and a disco. On Friday night. The wind dropped soon after we re-anchored so we decided to live with the disco . . . and there we remained until we left for Nicaragua.

We think the moral of our anchoring kerfuffle is to apply the “reef when you first think of it – it’s not going to get easier” rule to re-anchoring. Going forward we will likely re-anchor earlier rather than take the wait-and-see-how-bad-it-really-is attitude we applied in San Lorenzo. But then – we won’t know until we get there and things change, will we?


Next: At the Dock in Nicaragua.