escapade sailing

8th May

So we are sailing away from Galapagos after 3 islands and 3 weeks.
Most cruising boats sail straight past the Galapagos these days, on their
way to the Marquesas.

The Galapagos are not particularly welcoming to yachts.  The permits are
expensive and there are lots of restrictions on what you can (and mainly
cannot) do.
But for us it was so worth it.  The islands are completely unique.  Very
entertaining wildlife, plus good fun Ecuadorian hospitality, there was no
way I could sail past and not stop for a look around.

The check -in desk at Isabela airport.

Dawn flew out this morning on her way home to Guernsey for a few weeks.
Jemima and I are adjusting to life without her.
There are certain aspects of the management of this ship which are really
Dawn’s domain.   All things electronic, for example.  And the precise
location of any useful thing stowed somewhere on board.  How will we manage
without her?  Don’t panic, we have 2 satellite phones and she has preset all
her numbers on speed dial..
This morning we jumped through the final bureaucratic hoops to get our
Zarpe.  We have permission to leave!  All we need now is some wind.
Up with the anchor and off we go, trying to get away from the large
volcanoes of Isabela with associated cloud, drizzle and light wind.  Giant
manta rays come by to see us off.
At dusk we sight a dismasted catamaran coming the other way, motoring in to
Isabela with the broken rig on her deck.  A bit ominous!

9th May

It’s Liberation Day on Guernsey, I raise a glass to the island.  Dawn should
be there later today.
Meanwhile we have been liberated from the Doldrums.  Today I felt some real
wind on my face for the first time in weeks.  Whitecaps!  Escapade is buzzing
along at 8 knots, feels good.
Our code zero headsail has a nominal upper wind limit of 15 kts apparent.
Dawn is a stickler for these things and we always furl in good time.  But
Dawn’s not here!  So we were romping along at 10 knots on a close reach and
the sail seemed quite comfortable in the freshening breeze, shame to slow
down.  I think that 15 knot limit is not actually about whether the sail can
handle it, it’s about whether you’ll be able to furl the thing.  It can be a
bit of a handful, somehow we managed to get it wrapped into a mess and it
had to be dropped and stuffed untidily back into its locker.  We shut the
hatch on that and skulked back to the cockpit.  That won’t be coming out
again until we are becalmed!  We are short handed but that was not our best
bit of sail handling and frankly, it would never have happened had my wife
been on board.

10th May

I hand over to J and I’m asleep by 0130.  Woken at 4ish by very bumpy ride
over disorganised seas.  We pull down the first reef.  Back to bed.  At 0500 I seem
to be hovering above my mattress whenever the boat launches off a ramp.  We
steer downwind to find an easier path across the seascape.  It was a rough
night.
We are still 1500 miles from Easter Island.  At our 0600 watch change we
seriously discussed the idea of just bearing away for the Marquesas
instead!  Had enough already?
Let’s see how wind and sea are today.

More flying food:
16 little squid and 4 flying fish collected from the trampoline and
scheduled for the sundowner tapas slot.

0800
The new GRIB weather file tells me the wind will back to a much better
angle, and soon.  I’m immediately happier.  When I see a forecast I like, I
accept it as certain fact.  If I’m not so keen on it I will question its
accuracy.  Well I’m banking this one, getting ready to ease the sheets
already.

2300
My forecast hasn’t come true yet, we are hard on the wind with two reefs in
the main.

11th May

Worse things happen at sea.
Jemima wakes me at 0230 to say the jib halyard has failed.  We put a deck
light on, the top of the jib is dangling down and the rest of the sail
looks like a sack of potatoes.  It’s dark, rough and windy.  The sail is not
usable but we don’t want to be working on the bow right now.  Thankfully it
is still furlable, so we roll it up without leaving the cockpit and I go
back to bed.  Deal with that tomorrow.

Daylight reveals that the head shackle failed, the top 4 metres of the bolt
rope have torn away from the sail, and the top swivel seems to be stuck up
the forestay.
This jib is our only working headsail in stronger winds.  We can’t really
get to windward without it, and we don’t have a spare.
We pull the wounded sail down and think about our options.  First idea was
to re-hoist it on a spare halyard, without using the foil track.

It actually set quite well, but would never get close to the wind with a
loose luff, and we were concerned about problems dropping and retrieving it
if the breeze piped up.
We really need a sailmaker to stitch up that length of bolt rope, an easy
repair for any sail loft.  Where is the nearest one? Ok lets’s see, we could
turn left for Peru, must be a sailmaker in Lima?  That’s 1200 miles.  Turn right for Tahiti? 3000 miles.
Any sailmakers left on Easter Island or Pitcairn?  Don’t think so.  We call Dawn on the satellite phone to get her to check online.  No.
We are on our own out here.
There are some needles and thread on board.  Start sewing!
We pick our moment between black clouds, drop the jib to the deck, bundle
it in to the cabin and start work on the dining table, trying a variety of
prototype repair methods and materials.

The other problem is that top swivel.  Even if we can repair the jib we
won’t be able to hoist it without one of us going aloft to bring that back
down.  This is no weather to be climbing a mast.
A long night pushing a needle through sail cloth, very tired, worried that
the repair may not work, just needing to sleep.
Oh well it’s only a sail.  I’m happy it’s not one of us that needs to be
stitched up, because out here, the answer would be the same.
On the plus side, Escapade carries on regardless.  Still humming away on a
close reach at 8 knots with just the double-reefed mainsail.

12th May

Feeling much better after some sleep.  Sail cloth all over the cabin.  Keep
Sewing.  The needles are breaking, not many left.
By the end of the day the repair is nearly done.  Another dark and bumpy
night.

13th May

Repair completed this morning.  More good news: that top swivel has worked
its way down – no mast climb required!
We are ready to hoist our needlework and a bit nervous, will it hold?
First things first, it’s Sunday morning, which means Jemima is making
pancakes.
OK it’s now or never, quick test hoist to check our repair will all fit up
the track, it’s a tight fit, but so far so good.
We replace the shackles and clew lashing and up she goes…looks fine.  We
have a jib again.

On the chart this trip is 1,930 miles. (As the albatross flies.)
This evening we will be 965 miles from Galapagos and 965 miles from Easter
Island, so it’s our Halfway Party.
Plus Jemima is thirty-and-a-half years old today, so it will be a
celebration-and-a-half.
We found some potatoes to serve with this morning’s flying fish. Fish and
chips!
That jib still seems to be up..

14th May

This morning’s GRIB file promises lighter winds and more favourable
direction.  Well we’ve heard that before, but it does sound good.

On the water with my daughter.

Jemima and I made our first passage together when she was 8 years old. We
sailed an 18 foot bilge-keeler from Itchenor to the Isle of Wight. Pausing
for a few hours to run aground on a sandbar off East Head, finally arriving
in Bembridge harbour in the dark with Jemima asleep on my lap. We spent the
night at anchor, cooked breakfast, went ashore to explore the sand dunes,
then sailed back to Chichester Harbour the next day. It was an epic voyage
for us, perhaps 25 miles all told.

A few years later she stood her first night watch on our Biscay crossing,
whilst Dawn and I slept soundly below. Since then Jemima has covered many
thousands of ocean miles, she loves it out here. I still sleep well while
she’s at the helm.

We’ve been at sea for a week now and are settled in to the daily and
nightly routine. We don’t see much of each other!
The 10 hours of darkness between dinner and sunrise are split into two 5
hour watches. We can set our clocks to any timezone we like, right now the
sun sets at about 7pm down here, we eat dinner and Jemima retires at 8pm
while I take the first 5 hour watch. She re-appears at 1am, we have a quick
chat at handover, then I sleep until my alarm wakes me at 6am.
Another quick chat, then J goes to top up on sleep for another few hours,
leaving me to drink tea, watch day break, read, write, work out, eat
breakfast and potter around until 10ish.
Then we spend a few hours together, drink coffee, and plan the lunch menu.
We have a daily sort through the Galapagos fruit and veg and decide what
needs to be eaten most urgently. (controlled avocado ripening going
particularly well on this trip.) The fishing line only goes out when we are
both awake as it can get a bit hectic if there’s a strike when the boat is
sailing fast.
After lunch I’ll snooze for an hour or more, then we are together again at
4pm for tea and cake. Jemima is often busy in the galley during my siesta,
I wake to the smell of freshly baked goodies. She brings a whole new
repertoire to Escapade’s offshore cuisine, turning out all sorts of
delicious and interesting new creations.
So then we have a couple of hours to chat, cook dinner, play music,
continue the Scrabble marathon and celebrate another sunset.
It’s our world, the next nearest human is a long, long way away.
15th May

A change in the weather at last. We have sailed out of the SE trades and
into the Horse Latitudes, an area of high pressure between us and the
Roaring Forties.
The skies are blue, the wind is light and the sailing is easy. We shake out
the reefs, hoist the code zero and enjoy the ride. Gliding easily over the
smooth south swell.
Finally, a peaceful ocean. This is the ‘Mar Pacifico’ as it was named by
Ferdinand Magellan in the 16th century. Must have been on a day like this.

16th May

It really is different down here, we are now 20 degrees south of the
equator. The sea is a new bright blue, J says sapphire blue. No more flying
fish, and it’s getting colder. Socks and hats on for night watches and
blankets on our beds.

I have started turning off all the lights at night to enjoy the sky. The
stars demand my attention, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around to see
our nav lights anyway. We haven’t seen a ship or a plane for a week, so I
can turn off my own light pollution for a whileand really let my eyes
adjust to the show.
The boat leaves two phosphorescent wakes across the blackness, while above
us stars and planets rise and set, great balls of fire streak across the
sky and galaxies shine like white clouds. Tonight a new moon appeared
briefly, setting soon after the sun.

17th May

Change tack.
After 10 days on port tack, the wind backed around this afternoon and we
gybed. The big red gennaker is hauling us south, breeze is building.

18th May

Now we’re really travelling, up and over the big blue hills of the south
swell, getting a bit of a surf on the way down. If we keep this pace
tonight we could make landfall in daylight
tomorrow.

19th May

J calls me on deck at 0400 to help furl the gennaker. Boat speed up in the
teens, lightning all around, we press on with the embroidered jib and
reefed main.

At 0800 we emerge from a thick raincloud, surfing down a swell, and there
in front of me are the green sunlit slopes of Easter Island, with a
welcoming rainbow for good measure.

I call up the Capitan del Puerto who tells me it is not possible to anchor at the main port of Hanga Roa in this weather.  He directs me to Hotu Iti on the south coast to find shelter. We gybe onto the new course, reel in a good size mahi-mahi and sprint round the last headland. Up into the cove, we drop the hook in 16m of water and Escapade finally comes to rest after her 2000 mile romp.

Hotu Iti takes a bit of getting used to.
First there is a large south swell. The waves lift us a couple of metres on
their way to the reef where they explode a few boat lengths ahead of us.
Then there are the large barreling waves peeling towards us down the
western side of the bay, pounding the volcanic rocks, uncomfortably close.
It’s cold, grey and still super windy. All feels a bit mad!
This is really the best anchorage? Anywhere else in the world I think you
would look for an alternative.

Welcome to Easter Island. A row of giant carved Moai heads line the shore
just in front of us.
We are happy to be here. Tidy up the sails, fillet the fish, fry a few
chunks for lunch, celebratory beer, siesta.
Anchor alarm on, no night watches tonight!

Isla Santa Cruz

Having dragged Jemima away from the sea lions of San Cristobal, we sailed to Santa Cruz.  The doldrums continue to produce glassy calm seas for us, sailing weather best suited to diesel engines.  I am so looking forward to the trade winds further south.

Santa Cruz is the centre of tourist tripping in the islands.  A pleasant little place with plenty of cafes, wifi, t-shirts and the Charles Darwin Research Institute.  It is populated by laid back local Ecuadorians and roaming gangs of sun burnt eco-tourists dressed in wide brimmed hats and beige safari suits, being led by a National Park guide.

One spin-off of this tourism is the recent arrival of some great restaurants, we ate well.  They are growing quite a few crops on Santa Cruz, so rather than the usual fried snapper with plantains, we are offered ‘farm to table’ modern Ecuadorian fine dining no less!

There is also a great Saturday morning farmers market to top up our stores, a huge open barn full of fresh produce, followed by a trip to the breakfast stand where they fry up a very sustaining plateful for the early morning marketeers.

There are lots of young black-tip sharks swimming around the boat, large eagle rays, the usual boobies and pelicans dive-bombing.  On land there are plenty of iguanas and another breeding centre for giant tortoises.

There is nature to see here, but most of it has been packaged up to sell as a tourist day trip, which I have an irrational aversion to.

We head for the next stop, Isla Isabella.  Past the spectacular Isla Tortuga, a jagged crater rim emerging from the sea, swell surging around its rocky walls.

Isla Isabella 

A large hammerhead appeared to welcome us to Puerto Villamil, a lovely shallow lagoon to anchor in.

This feels like a real sleepy backwater in comparison to Santa Cruz.  Sea lions playing in the mangroves around the shore, sandy dirt roads in the village.

More surf, not the powerful point breaks of Cristobal, but a very fun beach break a few minutes away, I have surfed it every day.  Lots of waves here. I remember watching Sir David Attenborough’s programs from the Galapagos years ago and being distracted by the waves peeling behind Sir Dave.

Los Tuneles

This is really a one-off landscape, unique to the Galapagos.  The only way to see it of course is to sign up for a boat trip with a local naturalist as your guide. (I am trying.)

It’s a remote area of mainly collapsed ancient black lava tubes, leaving arches and bridges standing in a labyrinth of clear aquamarine pools, channels and caves.  Sea-lions chasing the boat.  Tidal waters full of life, we snorkelled with sleepy white-tipped sharks and huge grazing sea-turtles.   Above the water are mangroves and candelabra cacti hundreds of years old.  Outside the reef we saw giant manta rays.  The whole trip was pretty amazing.  Sometimes you just have to be the tourist.

Dancing Boobies

I have read about the ‘complex and comical’ courtship dance of the Blue Footed Booby.  In flight, boobies look much like a Guernsey Gannet in shape: streamlined fuselage, feet tucked away, low level gliding and a powerful dive from a great height.  We have seen a few of these birds around the islands but not up close, and certainly not dancing.  In Los Tuneles we almost tripped over a pair, mid performance.  It’s wonderful.  Slo-mo foot raises, whistling (male), grunting (female), all sorts of posturing.  Apparently the male needs to persist with this dance for WEEKS before the female acquiesces.

We have noticed that several birds, animals and fish here are not afraid of us, or camera shy, but seem to be positively performing and posing for their close up!

The Booby dance is on the video, if you make it past the sea-lion footage..

Penguins

This special Galapagos penguin is only to be found here.  Penguins!  On the Equator!  They are often seen in the bay where we are anchored, but it’s still too warm here, they are enjoying colder currents in the western islands.  So I had given up on seeing penguins here, but just as we were swimming back to our trip boat, the skipper called out “Pinguino!”  And there he was, a solitary penguin waddling along a rock next to another pair of dancing boobies.  Only in Galapagos!  I may buy a safari suit.

Now what?

Dawn is flying home to the delights of springtime in Guernsey, catching up with family and friends.

Jemima and I are planning to sail the next part of the Pacific and meet Dawn again in Polynesia in a few weeks.

Hare brained scheme

The traditional route from here is to sail to the Marquesas, the closest, northernmost islands in French Polynesia.

It is a well-trodden path these days.  This is the start of the cyclone-free season in Polynesia and most of the boats we met in Panama are making their way to the Marquesas.  I’m told the anchorages get crowded at this time of year.

So Jemima and I have decided to sail 2000 miles south instead, along the much less frequented route to Rapa Nui (Easter Island).

Bit of a detour.  If it all works out we’ll enter Polynesia via Pitcairn and the Gambier islands, (another 1200 miles) by which time it will be winter down there.

So thermal underwear possibly, but we will be 900 miles south of the crowd.

Next Update

Well Dawn won’t be onboard to run the IT department!

We will try to send some text via the sat phone, if not it may be a quiet month on the blog!

Video

So here’s the roundup of footage from the last month, sorry but the sea lions have really stolen the show.  Again.

The first thing I become aware of here in the Galapagos is that there are quite a lot of rules restricting my usual behaviour.

We are used to exploring by yacht, dinghy, paddleboard and windsurfers.  Finding deserted anchorages, freediving with the fauna, spearing the odd fish for supper, swimming ashore and generally doing exactly as we please.  Here of course the whole place is rightly protected from the likes of me.  A national park to ensure the future of a globally important natural wonder.  This does mean that if I want to go and see much beyond the three anchorages we are permitted to be in, I have to sign up to a tourist trip and be processed with the herd, which I’m just not good at. But I’m trying.

The Sea Lions

The first day I went for a swim at the town beach and was joined by a frolicking young sea lion darting around me.  A lifeguard in a tower blew his whistle and said I was too close to the pup.  Well really.  These young sea lions are just ridiculously playful and friendly, more about them later.  First a word about their biggest fan, my daughter Jemima.

She does like a pinniped, her face lights up at the honk of a nearby pup. She spent a summer teaching sailing and hanging out with the sea lions in California, which became the subject of the final dissertation for her marine biology degree.  Then there was an orphan fur seal pup she nursed in South Africa, the Kiwi fur seals she found to play with in the wilds of South Island and most recently some sea lion spotting in the Falkland Islands on a yacht delivery stopover.

So the Galapagos Archipelego could be described as ‘right up her street’.

The sea lions here really steal the show.  They are everywhere, living all over town, swimming round every boat and hauling out for a nap on any flat surface available. 15,000 individuals live here, and sometimes it sounds like they are all within honking range of the boat.  Hundreds of them on every beach, all around the rocks, lounging on any moored boat or pontoon they can climb on to.  Most sailing boats have rigged a defence system of fenders to prevent mass boardings, the sea lions would love to be lounging on our cockpit cushions given half a chance.

They think they own the place here, sprawled out sleeping on the public seating along the harbour front.  They will tolerate humans nearby as long as we don’t disturb their lazy nap in the sun.

They are so entertaining.  The young pups bleating for their mothers, grumpy old bulls barking, snorting and harrumphing around the colony.  Families curled up together, lying in the sun until one of them changes position, disturbing everyone’s sleep so they all have to wriggle around to get comfortable again.  Adolescents romping through the sleeping mass and jumping on everyone.  The very comical way they move on land and seem to be continually exhausted and only capable of lying in a heap.  We find we can watch and enjoy all this behaviour every day.

But then you see them in the water.  We have been joined by excited pups on several snorkelling trips now.  At times they swim straight for us at high speed, porpoising with excitement to come and play with human swimmers.  Then they will cavort around us, coming closer on each pass, gaining in confidence, jumping over us.  Lithe, sleek, twisting bodies, changing direction so fast and gliding around us for the sheer joy of it.  It does put a big smile on your face.

We had a long encounter with one individual.  We anchored our dinghy in about 8 metres of clear water over white sand, pulled our fins on and slipped in to snorkel.

The young sea lion saw us, launched off the nearby cardinal mark he had been lounging on and came leaping over, spinning around us.  Then we started diving with him, I was wearing some weights and could easily go down to the bottom to watch him swimming above.  He seemed to enjoy this and then would repeatedly swim from us straight to the bottom and wait for us to join him.  I would dive down, we both lie on the seabed for a while, looking at each other, then he would zip off and we spiral round each other back to the surface where we both take a breath before he goes back to the seabed to wait for me.  “Again! again!”.  A playful, freediving puppy.

This seems like a pretty intense interaction with a wild sea creature and we were all buzzing from it.  Between us we have swum with dolphins and whales in a few different scenarios, but this contact seems different, much more personal.  The sea lions are actively engaging with us.  Friendly, unafraid, inquisitive and playful.

It’s easy to (mis?)interpret some of the behaviour as cheeky humour.  We were all resting between dives on the glassy, sunny surface.  The sea lion approaches Jemima horizontally, almost motionless, putting his whiskers right up to her mask, they lie there for a moment eye to eye, then the pup blows a huge bubble in Jemima’s face and cavorts off.  I’m sure he was laughing as much as we were.

After a few days the pups in the local ‘nursery’ area of the anchorage have become so accustomed to Jemima’s regular visits on the paddle board, they are now coming for rides on it!

Surf

I’m tired tonight after a full day in the Galapagos.  Paddleboarding, a boat trip, two scuba dives and a surf session.

Surfing arrived here relatively recently, and it arrived on sailing boats like ours, bound for Polynesia.  A few decades ago those surfing sailors would have been anchored where I am now, and could not have failed to notice the quality of rights and lefts wrapping around the points on both sides of this natural harbour.  The surfboards came out of the yacht lockers and the locals took note.  The new generation of San Cristobal kids are now charging the waves in their backyard and loving it.

There is a great Galapagos flavour to the surfing here.  A water taxi will pick me up from Escapade, drop me at the peak and come back for me at sunset.  Black volcanic boulders everywhere, marine iguanas patrolling the rocks, huge turtles in the water, the ever-present sea lions riding inside the waves at high speed.

As we sat at an empty break one Saturday morning, a visitor from mainland Ecuador told me the locals are complacent, or surfed-out, having too much fun.  There is no shortage of waves, look at where this archipelago sits on the equator.  Swells from the North and South Pacific arrive year round.

But it’s also in the doldrums, I haven’t rigged my windsurf gear since Panama.  Even if there was wind, I’m sure it’s not allowed, might disturb the sea lions. (But they would love it!)

Tortoises

There is a limited road system on San Cristobal, well one road really, across the southern part.  The whole of the rest of the island is wild national Park with no access.  We took a taxi down ‘the road’ to visit the breeding centre for the Galapagos Giant Tortoise. They are to be found foraging in the hot, dry vegetation, plodding heavily through the bush.  Magnificent creatures, the eldest of which may have been plodding here since the late 1800s!

Scuba

We dived the cold waters around the walls of Kicker Rock, 7mm wetsuits and plenty of lead, with lots of fish, sharks and turtles.  Many of these fish are new to us, as is the endemic Galapagos Shark, streamlined silhouettes circling above us.  We tried to pick a low-swell day for our dive trip, but visibility was not great in the churning waters around the rock.  We have a few more dive sites on our Galapagos to-do list.

Next island

After nine days at anchor here it’s time to move on.  We are leaving for the next stop on our Galapagos tour.  Isla Santa Cruz, 45 miles to the west.

Day 1

Farewell Panama.

Thanks for everything!

Our first full day at sea.  I think I already mentioned that this sea seems to be teeming with life.

Today started with a fin whale close by as we left the last of Las Perlas astern.

Then the manta rays started jumping.  Really jumping!  High back flips, all around the boat.  Mating displays?

The breeze was light and variable all day.  Sometimes we were reaching at 9 kts, then barely creeping along at 3 or 4.

The afternoon was glass calm, Escapade still somehow gliding on at 4 kts.  Big manta rays on the surface all around, 2 metre wingspan.

Dolphins, turtles, schools of fish.  We landed another Spanish mackerel, protein for the day.

This evening the sea was glowing, mesmerising, the three of us each quietly absorbed in the beauty of it all.

We’re not used to sailing in such light wind, it’s very quiet and peaceful, and very satisfying to be crossing the smooth sea at the same speed as the wind.

The wine-dark sea.

I think that’s the title of one of the Jack Aubrey books, the HMS Surprise sails in to an unnatural dark red sea and her superstitious crew consider it an ill portent.

Well today we crossed a vast red patch, my marine biologist daughter tells me it is caused by the upwelling of nutrients resulting in an algal bloom. Swirling dark red clouds below the surface.

Tonight the phosphorescence was a good show, fish appearing as comets and a large manta like a spaceship alongside.

Day 2

Off the shelf

After all that marine wildlife, the next day was so different.

We had sailed west, straight off the continental shelf and out into the empty Pacific.  The sea bed 150m below us dropped away to 3,500m. We left the Americas behind, along with all signs of life at the surface. Not a bird in the sky or a single bite on the hook.

Day 3

The Doldrums

The Equatorial sea areas previously known as the Doldrums seem to have been re-named.  So we are now sailing through the Inter Tropical Convergance Zone (ITCZ), but I think we’ll stick with the old seafaring term.  We are only about 4 degrees North of the Equator now and the winds are lacking in power and consistency. No problem if you happen to have a light boat, a keen crew and some big sails to play with, but we’re not breaking any speed records.  This area is also known for overcast skies and thunderstorms which we seem to be dodging at night.

Day 4

Malpelo

Sea mounts rise from the ocean floor 3000 metres below, we sailed over one summit just 100m beneath us, an underwater mountain that would be a pretty good size Alp.

But one breaks the surface, a Gibraltar style rock emerges from the ocean, the tiny island of Malpelo is a Colombian possession, a remote naval outpost.  It is almost on our rhumb line to Galapagos.

I have heard stories of spectacular diving, pristine waters and huge schools of hammerhead sharks.  We hoped to stop and have a look, but it seems that it’s now off limits to visitors.  Dawn’s VHF request for permission to approach the island was denied by the Colombian Navy, so we sailed on by.

Scale

I still like a paper chart.

If you want to buy a nautical chart in Panama City you should go to see ‘Mister George’ at Islamorada International.  He has a huge colour printer and will run off an official, full size Admiralty chart of anywhere in the world, at the touch of a button. We bought a 1: 20,000,000 scale planning chart of the South Pacific.

Now I have had time to unfold it and start to understand the size of the area. It’s daunting.

Our first Atlantic crossing in 2004 was 2,850 nautical miles I think, from Canaries to Antigua. It seemed an epic voyage. The Pacific at the equator is 11,000 miles East to West!  All of the land masses of the world could fit in the Pacific basin with room to spare.

Day 5

Fish 

Having trolled a lure from dawn to dusk without so much as a click on the reel, I finally had some fresh fish on board tonight.  Reading in the cabin on my night watch, I looked up to see a fish flapping around on the galley floor.  It can only have arrived through the open hatch in the ceiling, a good 4 metres above sea level, obviously cruising altitude for this flying fish.  He seemed a bit surprised, as was I.  I guess he would have been swimming for his life to outrun a predator, breaking the surface and soaring to windward to escape, only to ricochet off the hatch of a passing yacht.  What are the chances?   Talk about ‘out of the frying pan in to the fire’.

A tiny adjustment to his trajectory would have actually landed him in my frying pan!

He wasn’t really big enough though, and seemed very keen to be swimming again, so I scooped him up and re-launched him into the night.  Good luck.

Hydro Power

It took a while to run this sea-trial as the wind was not blowing in the doldrums.  When we did finally get up to 7 knots the new generator worked great, 16 amps coming in at that speed, rising to 30+ amps at 10 knots.  As soon as the boat is moving at her usual sailing speeds we have complete power autonomy.  This is really a game changer on passage, not only will it keep all the systems running day and night, without ever having to burn any diesel, it means that we have more power than we can use.  I can run the water-maker anytime, we have switched from gas to an electric kettle.  (Tea consumption is very high on this boat so that saves a lot of propane use.)  We have just sailed all night at about 7 or 8 knots, autopilot driving, and the boat batteries at 100% this morning!

So the tea is hot, the beers are cold, we’re charging laptops willy nilly, I could use an electric drill all day, I might buy myself a hairdryer!

Day 6

A fine pair of boobies

At night we are joined by birds, usually in pairs, fluttering round the boat using our lights for a bit of night-fishing.

Last night at sunset a pair of boobies were doing laps and riding the airwaves off the code zero headsail.

One landed on the port bow and sat there resting his wings.  We are still 350 miles from Galapagos so there’s nowhere else to perch within a few days flight.

A pod of dolphins arrived and we went forward to see them.  Jemima had taken the booby’s seat, he flew a lap of the boat and tried to land on her head!

A squadron of squidlets

My rounds on deck this morning were rewarded with this little haul.  Jet propelled protein snacks.

I found them at 7am, before the sun cooked them to the deck.  They were scattered from bows to transoms, ink splattered everywhere.

Now cleaned and in the fridge, to be fried with some garlic at lunchtime, and served with a chilled glass of wine perhaps.

Ship’s stores

It’s two weeks since our trip to that market, and 6 days at sea on this passage.  The on-board tomato ripening program is going well.  We ate the last avocado this morning, our daily papayas are coming to an end, last mango is ripe, the miniature green bananas are turning yellow at a manageable rate.  We still have lettuces, broccoli and plenty of cabbages and 50 limes, so we are keeping the old scurvy at bay for now.

Keeping busy

Dawn and I are used to sailing without crew, so having Jemima on board makes life much easier.  The night is split into three watches of four hours each, so we all get 8 hours sleep.  Luxury!  The code zero and full main have not been touched for days.  Escapade is cantering along at 8 and 9 knots to windward in a 10 kt breeze.

So days are filled with eating, reading, music, sewing, workouts, fiercely competitive Scrabble sessions, charades, an audio book of Darwin’s 1835 voyage on the Beagle, and lots of gazing at the ever-mesmerising ocean gliding by.  But our main pre-occupation is food.  The discussing of options, menu ideas, planning, preparing and consuming three square meals a day, plus elevenses, afternoon tea and of course sundowners.  Don’t forget treats for the nightwatch.

Day 7

Equator

The funny thing is, it’s getting colder.  The heat in Panama was up there at the top end of our operational temperature range, day and night.  That was about 5 degrees north of the equator.  Since we have been sailing south, the temperature has dropped quite a bit.  This morning we are only 2 degrees north of the line and there is a chill in the air.  We are attributing this to the Humboldt current bringing a touch of Antarctic freshness to us via the coast of Chile.  That would also account for the penguins swimming around the Equator in Galapagos.

90 Degrees West

A less significant meridian this one, but 90 degrees west of Greenwich means that Escapade will have sailed a quarter of the way around the world.

I don’t need much of an excuse to start chilling a bottle of fizz for sunset and 25% of a circumnavigation is surely a worthy cause?

The Big Blue

Only the cleanest bottoms are allowed in the Galapagos.

The rules of the national park ban any foreign barnacles from arriving and we have heard tales of yachts being sent back out to sea to scrub off any growth before being allowed in.  We’re about 100 miles off, the wind died away tonight so we dropped the sails and jumped in for a sunset swim to check the hulls.  They were still spotless as you would hope, having been recently antifouled.  I polished up the props and I’m sure we will pass any inspection.  It was great to be swimming round the boat again, although we’re not used to that glowing mid ocean blue.  A few gossamer jellyfish drifting by, lit by low evening sun. Nearest land is only a mile away… straight down.

Day 8

Landfall

Our first Galapagos island on the horizon at 8am, Isla Genovesa.  As we trolled our line into the fishy waters close to the island, we attracted a large and noisy crowd of frigate birds all swooping down on the lure.  We thought that announcing our arrival in the Parque Nacional with a drowned seabird in tow would not be a good look, so I quickly reeled in while Dawn tried to scare them off with a fog horn!  Disaster averted.

Crossing The Line

Ceremonies to mark the passing of a ship over the equator have been a naval tradition for hundreds of years.  It was seen as a rite of passage for new hands and an excuse for a bit of dressing up and nonsense for everyone else.

Dawn and I are sailing across for the first time, so we are ‘pollywogs’, about to become ‘shellbacks’.  Jemima has crossed the line already so she was to preside over the ceremonies.  Around 14:00 she appeared as ‘Queen Codfish’ (standing in for Father Neptune) in a glorious home-made costume decorated with shells from Las Perlas.

The first requirement from us was to ‘enliven her spirit with fruits of the land’ so a bottle was opened.  Offerings were made to Neptune in the forms of song and dance to request safe passage.  We sat by the chart plotter and watched the numbers click down to zero and the N became S.

Welcome to the Southern Hemisphere!

We furled the headsail, circled round again and jumped in to swim across the line.

Celebrations continued with Jemima’s chocolate and banana Equator Cake.

Day 9

San Cristobal

The little town of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno sits on the shores of Wreck Bay.  We sail in, drop anchor and sails at about 9am.  A few minutes to savour the stillness before we are boarded by uniformed representatives of Customs, Immigration, Quarantine, Ecological Service, plus our agent, a diver to check our bottom (“limpio!”) and a fumigation team to exterminate any Panamanian insects who may have stowed away.

Time to go ashore to stretch our sea legs and celebrate a long passage with light winds all the way, but almost all of it under sail.

Our Galapagos exploration begins..

It is very hot and the wind is not really enough to motivate us to hoist a sail. We are waiting for some breeze to take us 850 miles across the Pacific to the Galapagos. Our GRIB file forecasts are relentlessly light and variable.  So we have had a few days island hopping in Las Perlas.

Our first anchorage at Pachequa was surrounded by so much life, in the sea and the air.  Squawking seabirds in vast numbers. Pelicans dive-bombing, whole colonies of cormorants taking flight, fish jumping, dolphins never far away.

We made our way to Isla Contadora with the promise of a bar or restaurant, we found both and had a memorable return trip to the boat that night. 3-up on the paddle board splashing towards Escapade through bright bioluminescent sea.

Next anchorage was a hot swampy lagoon. Just us and a million birds. We were too worried about crocodiles to swim.

The following day we found the pearl in Las Perlas. The tiny islet of Boyaneta is a bank of white sand on a ridge of rock. Clear water to cool off in, no sign of crocs. A wild and beautiful speck of land.

I am loving the freedom to explore again. Open the pilot book, pick an island and plot a course, nobody around, go where you like and probably catch supper on the way.

We visited the village on Isla Pedro Gonzales and threaded the narrow and shallow channel Ventura Cruz through the jungle to Isla del Rey.  While we were keeping an eye on the depth and calculating the tide, we couldn’t help noticing the sharks and crocodiles in the channel, so no swimming there.

We plan to leave tomorrow, next post should be from The Galapagos, wind permitting!

Getting out of Panama was starting to feel like one of those dreams where you just never quite get where you’re trying to go.

The weeks went by, antifouling, waiting for a rigger, waiting for the Watt & Sea, installing it, waiting for the canal transit date, provisioning, last minute jobs.

Living in a marina, which is not our natural habitat, using our shore-vehicle fleet: two folding bikes and a skateboard to get the three of us out to dinner.

Finally the morning arrived for us to cast off the lines and sail away.

How different can it be? Another stretch of tropical sea, a few miles from the one we just left.

But it is different.  We are now entering the largest expanse of ocean on the planet.

Let’s see, the first difference is that there is no wind!  At this time of year the trades blow reliably and strong on the Caribbean side, but over here they are light and fickle.  Caribbean Panama sees plenty of cloud and passing rain squalls, over here it’s blue skies.

We motor away from the Panama City skyline with zero wind, past the last of the anchored ships and all the canal traffic, out into the smooth blue world with a low long swell sliding under us.

The beginnings of a breeze reach us, we hoist main and gennaker, turn off the engine and we are ghosting along at windspeed, 4 or 5 knots in silence. The simple pleasure of feeling Escapade under sail again at last.

Large numbers of rays are swimming past, great packs of 20 or 30 at a time, close to the surface.  They look like mantas, but small and golden brown.  Haven’t seen those before.

A few spotted dolphins join us briefly, but they are distracted by the rays, ambushing them in what looks like a feeding frenzy now astern.

The skies are full of sea birds, wheeling above shoals of fish.  The sea is full of life!  Whales surface close by, my new fishing lure attracts a nice bonito for our lunch.  (And dinner).

By now the wind and boat speed are creeping up to 9 knots as Jemima tiller-steers us round Isla Pacheqilla, the northern most of the Perlas, our first Pacific island.  We sail on to Isla Pachequa, furl the kite, drop the main and anchor off a white sandy beach, densely covered by the colonies of pelicans, frigates, cormorants and egrets.  The pungent scent of guano wafts over the bay!

Tides are not really part of life in the Caribbean, except perhaps to time the best current for a trip.  But anchoring here needs to be carefully calculated, there is a 5 metre range, Dawn is consulting a tides app for the first time in years. Get this wrong and we could wake up sitting on a rock.

Now humpbacks are breaching, bottlenose dolphins slowly cruise by and the air above us is dark with birds.  So yes, it all feels new and different.  The plotter shows this anchorage is still only 45 miles from the Caribbean, but we are floating in a whole new ocean.

Image from http://www.panamericanworld.com

The two giant continents of North and South America were connected by a tiny thread of land, just 30 odd miles across, until 1914 when the Panama Canal opened for business. And what a business! An audacious civil engineering project that included the biggest dam ever built, the world’s largest man-made lake, and the locks which were world’s largest concrete structures at the time. It was superbly conceived and executed in the era of steam trains. The flooding of high valleys to create a 30 mile wide inland lake, requiring locks and cuts to connect to the two coasts. The whole enterprise runs on simple mechanical principles and gravity. It has operated flawlessly every day and night for over 100 years.

It was our great privilege to take Escapade through this extraordinary feat of engineering. We left Shelter Bay Marina on the morning of the 29th March. Decks loaded with rented nylon lines and fenders for the locks. Our friends Josh and Suzee were aboard as line handlers, joining Dawn, myself and Jemima. Spirits were high, everyone excited to be on our way at last. I was a little jumpy, checking all the systems and instruments were working, trying to remember how to drive the boat after the long lay-up. We had one of those cylindrical radar-reflectors that sit at the top of a shroud. Lots of UV up there, it must have degraded, then filled with rain in the wet season, and the motion of the boat leaving the harbour was enough to shake loose the cooked cable ties and allow the water-filled plastic cylinder to start it’s journey towards the deck 60ft below. This brittle plastic water-bomb landed inches from my head in a spectacular explosion, starting the trip with a bang and doing nothing to calm me down.

We arrive at the anchorage off the container port at Colon to have lunch and wait for our pilot to come on board.
Our pilot Roy arrives and explains we will be transiting with another yacht, rafting up together to go through the locks behind a ship.
The ship appears and we follow her below the unfinished new bridge to the Gatun locks, rafting up to the yacht Aequus just outside. Her pilot is also called Roy. As we motor slowly in, lines are thrown from the walls on both sides. Light lines with a ‘monkey’s fist’ flying accurately to the four corners of our ‘raft’. We tie them to our heavy nylon lines which are hauled up and secured.

The locks are 980ft long and once the ship was tied up there was room for our little raft in the space behind her. The gates close and 150 million litres of Panamanian rainwater fill the lock, lifting the giant ship and two sailing boats up 9 meters in as many minutes. Turbulent waters as the fresh and salt mix around us. Gates open, we all move forward in to the next two locks and the process is repeated until we have the bizarre view from the top of the third lock, looking back down to the Caribbean, now 27 metres below.

There are jungly hilltops up here, and a lighthouse! Escapade moves into the strange environment of the Gatun Lake. Our ocean-going boat in fresh water for the first time, 85 feet above sea level.
We tie up to a huge ship’s mooring buoy for the night, a launch arrives to pick-up the Roys, and we settle down for sunset and supper on the lake.

Next morning we wake to a chorus from the howler monkeys and a steamy, windless day.
Today’s pilots arrive in time for breakfast; Luis, a trainee advisor and Ricardo, his examiner. Together they will pilot us across the 30 miles of lake to the Miraflores locks. The buoyed channel runs around beautiful islands in the lake, lush rainforest filled with wildlife, a few feet from the world’s freight plying endlessly between oceans.

Little boats like us don’t tend to get too close to giant bulk carriers and container ships, generally best passed at a distance. But here we are invited in to the big ship’s world. Sharing locks and channels with the largest craft ever built.

For 100 years, ships have been built to the dimensions of the Panama locks, apparently squeezing in with inches to spare. They are hauled through with locomotives towing them on steel hawsers.

Last year a set of new, wider locks opened for a new generation of even larger ships. ‘Neo Panamax’, the one-way toll for these giants to use the canal is a million dollars.

One of these broke down as we were approaching the locks, delaying us for two hours before our final sprint down the Gaillard cut and under the centenary bridge to the Miraflores locks.

Then down through the Miraflores lake, into the last two locks tied up against a tourist ferry, and finally the last set of gates open and we untie and motor out into the Pacific Ocean. Pelicans diving as we glide under the Bridge of the Americas in the golden sunset. Quite a moment.

Then a few more days in Panama City, preparing and provisioning. Dawn and Jemima run a highly organised victualling program, filling the boat with food, wine, beer and finally a trip to the Mercado Abasto, the huge clearing house for the fresh fruit and vegetables of Panama.

It begins at 03.00 every day, farmers arrive with truck loads of farm-fresh, never-been-refrigerated produce, just how we like it. Lots of hard green tomatoes and papayas to slowly ripen on board as we head west. We were there at first light, browsing the huge piles of fresh greens and fruit in the cool of the early morning. As the sun rose higher the aromas of ripe fruit became headier. Our patient porter followed us with his barrow, loaded with our growing haul of goodies. Get that lot stowed, nearly ready to go now…

I am writing this afloat in the Pacific Ocean!

Here is the video of our Canal transit.

The cutting room floor

Tidying up the Escapade files we found a few scraps of film from last year plus some recent shots of San Blas.

Dawn stitched it all together for this quick end-of-season roundup featuring Dawn, JP, Jemima and special guest Monkey…