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| Kestrel overlooking a BVI anchorage |
Our time in the
Caribbean is nearly finished, and we still haven't recovered from the
culture shock. We arrived in St Lucia to find hundreds of
boats anchored in Rodney Bay. We took a spot in the marina for a
night and were perturbed to find the smallest berths—and smallest
prices—available were for 50-foot catamarans; when we slid Orca
in there was still room for a half-dozen more 30 footers.
After clearing with customs, immigration, the port captain, and
extracting ourselves from the clutches of the very persistent street
merchants, we moved into the bay. Kara was anxious to stretch her
legs ashore, but the first two beaches we attempted to land on were
staffed by security guards who came running to demand money. Our
third attempt was successful, but only because we promised to stay
below the tide line. Kara got her first walk ashore--after 27 days
at sea--knee deep in the shore-break.
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| Coconut makes a beer run |
The second thing
we did in St Lucia was find internet for news from home. We were excited to digest all of our mail, but nestled in amongst
the well wishes was a bombshell: along with Kara's sister, her
father—none other than the revered Pastor Johnny himself—was
dropping into St Lucia for a surprise visit between sermons. And
yes, he would be staying aboard, in Orca's five-star luxury accommodation. My first thought was: where am I going to hide 10
gallons of booze? Kara's first thought: thank God we finally fixed
the toilet.
We were a few
minutes late meeting them at the airport. Pastor Johnny, brandishing
a stack of chocolate bars, was battling to hold off a platoon of
aggressive taxi drivers. Robyn remained unmolested; fresh from a
long sunless winter in foggy Humboldt, she had cunningly camouflaged
herself by remaining motionless against a white sheet-rock wall. The
taxi drivers slunk away when Kara told them we knew about their dirty
little secret: St Lucia's inexpensive bus system.
We quickly
realized that, with resort security keeping us off the beaches, the
boat was very crowded. Our collective sanity would require a whole
lot of snorkeling. The unfortunate side effect was that, by day two,
our guests were sporting severe--possibly terminal—sunburns. This
affliction in turn required vigorous application of cold beer and
margaritas—strictly for medicinal purposes. After a week, we put
our guests on a plane in a blizzard of skin cells and Orca set
sail for the next rendezvous.
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| Keeping pace with the parents |
Months ago, in a
uncharacteristically daring show of bravado, my parents reserved a
36-foot sailboat in the British Virgin Islands. Their lack of experience was causing a spike in parental anxiety as the charter
date approached, so Orca arrived a day early and found a
lovely anchorage within spitting distance of the charter dock.
We loaded Tim and
Ann onto their boat and Kara skippered them over to Peter Island. We
installed them next to Orca, where I imagined they would relax
for the remainder of their trip—but the parents had other ideas.
Nearing 60, they seemed to have more energy than most 3 year olds;
swimming five times daily, snorkeling morning and evening, hiking
miles up hot dusty roads, and sailing for hours—often slamming
relentlessly to windward—each day. They "did" the BVI in
a flurry of activity that left the Orca crew listless and
exhausted in their wake. At the end of their visit, they sashayed
through customs and sprang lightly onto the ferry, putting in a solid
30 travel-hours to arrive home at 3 A.M, in time for a cup of coffee
and a surf before beginning the 8-hour workday. We slept for three
days.
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| Third snorkel of the day |
Recuperation was
slow process, but eventually we felt strong enough to set sail toward
the Panama Canal. We gave the hostile Venezuelan shoreline a wide
berth. Skirting the Colombian coastline we were twice overflown by
unlit propeller planes at mast height—either drug runners or
anti-drug patrols—before we reached Panamanian waters after 1,100
miles.
Panama has a
monopoly on canals. On arrival, the Port Captain wanted $200.
Immigration wanted another $220. We waited five days (at $50/day) in
the marina for the Panama Canal Authority to send someone to verify
that our thirty foot boat was, in fact, less than fifty feet
long—for a fee, of course. Another $1,000 reserved us a spot in
the locks, but we're required to have at least six people aboard.
Bodies are available for hire--for a hefty fee, of course.
Transiting the
Canal takes two days. On day one, a group of sailboats uses the
three Gatun locks to climb nearly 100 feet from the Atlantic to an
artificial lake. After spending the night, we will use the four
Miraflores locks to descend into the Pacific. Each lock is a
thousand feet long, a hundred wide, and are primarily designed for
freighters. When they are flooded, the turbulence and wash generated
by the enormous volume of injected water is said to be the greatest
single danger to a small boat. To lift Orca up to Lake Gatun
and lower her into the Pacific will require the release of over fifty
million gallons of lake water.
Orca is
roughly scheduled to lock up to the lake on Friday, May 3 at about 1500 and
lock down into the Pacific at about 1000 California time the
following day. You can watch our transit live at
http://www.pancanal.com/eng/photo/camera-java.html.
On arrival in the Pacific, it is customary to toast the 30,000 men
who lost their lives in the construction of the Panama Canal.
Thanks again,
John & Kara
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