Early in the afternoon and without a trace of wind we were sweating buckets in the sweltering heat when we first sighted the lush green Jamaican shoreline. I’m not sure if was just the sensory deprivation of being out of sight of land for a few days or what, but the green mountainous view that raised up out of the water in front of us was absolutely incredible. Neither of us said much, we just sat there and stared. I’m convinced that there’s no better way to arrive into a new country.

The check in process was a snap compared to Cuba, only 3 officials and 8 forms to complete. Jaime set to work at completing the required paperwork and I busied myself with securing the boat and sandwich making. A couple of hours later we were off the boat and getting reacquainted with our legs again. The best was yet to come.

 

sunday april 13, 2008 (port Antonio, jamaica)

“At the close of the 19th century, Port Antonio burst onto the international stage as the banana capital of the world.” 

That was the opening line from a borrowed Jamaican guide book we used to plan out the next couple of days. Finally, we have fulfilled our life dream of visiting the primary purveyor of elongated yellow fruits and can now die happy. From our spot here in little West Bay we also have a great view of the picturesque Navy Island. It was once owned by Errol Flynn, an old school Hollywood star and formerly renowned international playboy. Believe it or not, these two things are in fact both related and relevant to our story.

In these parts old Errol has been credited (most likely for marketing purposes) for turning a traditional Jamaican mode of banana transportation into a pleasure cruise. Bananas grown in the surrounding jungles were loaded onto home made bamboo rafts and then piloted down the river. Once they made it to the harbor they were loaded onto waiting ships for exportation. At some point Flynn wondered why bananas should have all the fun and chartered one of these bamboo rafts for himself. It turned out to be a great way to see the inland river valley and far more importantly to the horny Errol, an excellent backdrop for cavorting with young starlets. Soon rafting the Rio Grande became a popular diversion, and today we found out why.

We hired the singing Captain Reebo to take us down the river on his bamboo raft. It was a fine day. Meet Reebo and sample his songs on our videos page. There’s a link there which will take you to a you tube video. While you are there you can also check out our short videos of the pigs from Big Major, and the reptiles from Allen’s Cay.

monday april 14, 2008 (port Antonio, jamaica)

wednesday april 16, 2008 (port Antonio, jamaica)

The big story in Jamaica has to be the roads. We thought that our last driving experience was bad but without exaggeration, Jamaica’s roads make Cuba’s look like the autobahn. We rented a car and explored some of the surrounding area. We had a destination in mind but had to change our plans when after a few hours we had barely made a hundred kilometers. Death defying rental car slamming pot holes, narrowly averted head on collisions, open trenches, and cliffs aside our anything but quite ride through the country was great. Sure we nearly met our fiery deaths a half dozen times, but the country really is beautiful. We lunched at a roadside jerk stand and then drank Red Stripes with the locals of a tiny little town that we found up a hill towards the Blue Mountains.

friday april 18, 2008 (port Antonio, jamaica)

This morning we were up early for our drive to Kingston. Laurell’s flight was at noon and even though it’s only a hundred kilometers away we needed to leave ourselves plenty of time to negotiate these crazy roads. The drive would give us a bit more time with Laurell and a chance to see more of this island that we seem to like more and more every day.

After sad farewells we set off to find Bob Marley’s house. We did, and it was worth the trip. His old truck is parked in the yard, bullet holes still line the walls of the room where he was nearly assassinated, and there are all kinds of personal effects throughout the house including his famous Gibson Les Paul. There are gold, platinum and diamond records all over the walls, and out in the garden we even found some of his personal crop still growing happily.  

sunday april 20, 2008 (port Antonio, jamaica)

It’s time to start thinking about leaving this place. Tough to do, we have a sweet set-up here and have been enjoying the relative civilization. Perhaps this is a good time to shoot down all the crap printed about Jamaica in the cruising guides. A little background, Jamaica is routinely trashed by a bunch of idiots (most of whom have never been here) for having hard to deal with officials, and sky high crime rates. The officials at the Errol Flynn marina in Port Antonio were friendly and fast. The facilities here are extensive, well maintained and cheap. As far as crime goes, we’ve been here over a week and the most dangerous situation we’ve encountered has been driving the weather beaten roads.  Oh, and Jaime came dangerously close to choking on a chicken foot that she found in her soup. I’m not saying that you should sling a camera around your neck, stuff your fanny pack full of cash, and take a midnight back alley stroll through Kingston… then again, if you are one of these clowns that still insist on scaring boaters away from Jamaica with biased and unsubstantiated bullshit then do us all a favor and go for it. Oh, and don’t forget to wear your brightest white socks under your sandals, they match the floral print shirt so nicely.

wednesday april 23, 2008 (port Antonio, jamaica)

Time to go to Panama. We’ve changed the oil, filled the water jugs and made an appointment with customs. We needed a couple of extra forms though because we’ll be leaving with one more person than we arrived with. One particular bumbaclot (bad word we learned in Jamaica) named Jeff arrived with a backpack full of licorice and Tim Horton’s coffee. The marina called us on our VHF to let us know that he was here so we hopped in the dink and picked him up. 

I’ve known Jeff (aka: mofo, bastard, bumbaclot) for at least 10 years or so. We’ve worked together, invested (badly) together and a few years ago hiked the West Coast Trail together, so we knew he would be a good third slapdash crew member for our longest passage to date.

We are planning to leave here around noon today and expect light winds and calm seas all the way. It should take 5 days. Our destination is the Boca Del Torro marina in Colon. Once we arrive we will find out the truth about rumors of massive delays for yachts transiting the Panama Canal. We’ve heard that people have been waiting for up to 8 weeks and that it’s getting worse every day so who knows. It could be a big problem for us but we won’t worry about it too much until we have the facts. Not saying we doubt the sources, but if there’s one thing we’ve learned on this trip it’s that most times we are better off to just go and see for ourselves (ie, Jamaica).

 

“a slaplog hijacking” by Jeff J (port antonio, jamaica)

Well, I guess I’ll get started by saying that if Seth says I fancy myself a funny guy, I’m willing to go with that.  I would have been happy with any words at all as long as he didn’t end with “he fancies himself.”  We are going to sea after all…

My sum total knowledge of sailing involves being able to maneuver a 20 yr old sailboard across a lake, and my knowledge of this trip came entirely from an email saying it will be about 500 miles and take about 5 days (or so) to complete.  I randomly doubled this length of time and booked myself a return flight from Panama 10 days after departure.  I left Calgary in a blizzard early Saturday April 19, the day after my birthday, with permission to take off on an adventure being a present from my wife.  I left seeking adventure and it was soon to begin.  An aborted takeoff in Dallas and resulting 2.5hr wait onboard a plane with no aircon lead to a missed connection in Miami and an unplanned overnight there.  Seth, Jaime and Slapdash are nowhere in sight and already I’m one day behind my anticipated schedule.

Made it to Kingston about noon on Sunday April 20 and was able to clear customs and immigration, haggle over the $100 cab fare to Port Antonio 115km away, and was on my way all within ½ hr.  3 hrs later I arrived in Port Antonio, the road is in serious disrepair, found the Errol Flynn marina and walked to the end of the dock where I could see Slapdash safely moored a couple hundred feet away.  I can now assure you that the condition and size of the dink have not been exaggerated.  Jaime and Seth puttered over with smiles on their faces in what appeared to be an already at capacity little inflatable, and Seth had developed a curious habit of bailing constantly as if it were a subconscious behavior.  It was great to see these crazy kids again.  They have been the source of much fun and frivolity in my life and as it had been 8 months or more since we’d seen each other, we were overdue for more.

The next 2 days were spent enjoying Port Antonio, a friendly little town, eating some tasty local food such as salt fish for breakfast, stewed fish and patties for dinner, and ensuring that the Red Stripe was in season.  11 days after arrival, Seth and Jaime finally cleared immigration to enter the country, pretty sticky on the regulations, these Jamaicans, and we confirmed our use of some local colloquialisms with Ian, the immigration officer, including the previously mentioned term ‘bumbaclot.’  For clarification, bumbaclot is a Jamaican curse term, akin to an obstruction in the bowel, or clot in the bumba.  We learned that it is a generalizable term and that if a Jamaican calls you any type of clot at all, it’s just bad.  We now take pleasure in calling each other various types of ‘clots’ whenever one of us is perceived to be the weak link in the system.  It was also the time to get the boat ready for the crossing and for my training program to learn how at least some of the stuff onboard worked.  My training was a progression of steps that went from (1)pass me a paper towel (2)find the wrench (3)suck on this waterline (4)this is the seacock.  Let me be clear that items 3 and 4 were completely separate events.  Having graduated from training and thus earned the prestigious title of ‘moving ballast’ it was decided that we would make ourselves ready to leave tomorrow.

wednesday april 23, 2008 (port antonio, jamaica)

 

“I’ll take heading to sea with no preparation at all, for $500, Alex.”  A 160’ yacht rumored to belong to Alex Trebek came into Port Antonio and managed to screw us 3 times in succession, all before the start of the double jeopardy round.  They blocked us out at the fuel dock, with their uptake of 5000 gallons apparently taking precedence over our planned order of 30 gallons, then proceed to dock in the spot Seth had scouted where we could scam some free drinking water, which also happened to be the only place we could use the marina’s pressure washer to clean up Slapdash before departing.  Seth was preparing to affix the captain of ‘Sweet Pea’ (Alex’s boat) with the infamous Lennea Glare, when she turned out to be an attractive young woman and Seth realized his glare was likely to be mistaken as mere ogling.   A few more chores, including hoisting Jaime to the top of the mast to change a light bulb, and we’ll be ready to go.  The final chore is to plot our course into the GPS, and it is at this moment that I am to learn that our route is in fact 640 miles and with winds expected to be lighter than optimal, chances of making my return flight in Panama are now approximately 50/50.  This additional distance also raises the possibility of future fun as we will be heading out with a max fuel load, giving us about 500 miles of cruising ability.  Some where out there are the Trade Winds, which have reliably carried sailors along for hundreds of years, and we are relying on them to make up the 150 mile gap between fuel capacity and distance to destination.  At 3:00pm we untie from the mooring ball, Seth has the mainsail up before we even get out of the harbour, and we’re comfortably motor sailing at 4-5 knots.  We gobble down the last of the Jamaican patties for dinner (third meal of patties in a row) and the serenity and lack of activity produces for me a recurring picture of Bart Simpson at the detention blackboard writing over and over “there is no monotony in sailing.”  Flying fish are our frequent companions as we cruise still within sight of land, and we are treated to pleasant a Caribbean sunset.  A few hours later it is determined that I may in fact be capable of moving beyond my current station in life as ‘moving ballast’, and that I am ready to take on a regular watch shift beginning tomorrow morning.  Our watch routine will be Jaime taking 2:00-6:00 both am and pm, with Seth taking both 10:00-2:00 shifts, and me getting both 6:00-10:00s.

thursday april 24, 2008 (lost at sea)

Awoke today with a touch of the leprosy.  Rest easy though, it was later determined to be merely the result of sunburn which I acquired back in the ‘pass me a paper towel’ phase of my training, and that I would not be losing any of my preferred parts.

I also discovered that according to good sailing etiquette, it is apparently perfectly acceptable to sail your friends and their boat a couple miles off course on your first shift at the helm, and your questions about how to prevent this occurrence in the future will be cheerily answered, friendly pats on the back will be exchanged, and all will be well.  Thus began my second day at sea, and subsequent reclassification back to ‘moving ballast.’  The seas remain calm and the winds too light to be of much help, so we continue to motorsail.  We engage in conversations, catching up on the events of the past year, and sharing short and long term future plans, fluid as they may be.  About mid-morning I ask Seth about a curious dark grey line in the clouds off the starboard side.  Seth immediately identifies the funny little line as a waterspout, which happens to be the ocean version of a tornado, consequently the most feared weather phenomenon asea, and immediately adds more throttle to ensure we leave it behind.  The spout behaves exactly as the book Seth is now referring to says it should, and after about 20 mins, the bottom of the funnel breaks off and it fades away, becoming little more than a point of interest.  Occasionally the subject of the gap (between fuel capacity and distance to destination) comes up, but it remains lighthearted conjecture at this point. 

A mere 20 hrs into our journey, I achieve a major milestone.  In a marvel of combined seamanship and ergonomic mastery, immediately following lunch I am able to fall asleep right at the table.  Jaime, still feeling queasy, had to manage 8 dangerous feet of undulating hallway to her cabin to accomplish the exact same feat, and Seth, being on watch, had to take 3-4 steps out to the cockpit and could merely nap.  Look at me – I’m a sailor now!

Later in the day we engage in what appears to be the most common activity known onboard a small sailing vessel, the range of solar evasion techniques.  The sun here is hot and relentless.  Afternoon temperatures in the cabin have ranged in the 33-37C area thus far and floor areas exposed to direct sun are too hot to walk on.  Outside on deck the views are spectacular and the breeze makes the temperature quite bearable, but Evil Sol will fry you to smithereens in a matter of minutes.  So, we engage in an ongoing game of putting up and moving a specially designed group of 6 mini tarp/sunshades and thereby create moving pockets of shade that we huddle into.  I am making this perhaps sound worse than it really is, but for the first time in my life I really do consider the sun evil.  Late in the afternoon we engage in another solar evasion technique, a first for both me and my more experienced crew mates.  We shut down Beaker (the engine) and decide to go for a swim.  Now, I have been passed over as being too full of venom or gristle at the tourist buffet table by sharks in most of the world’s oceans, and I am fairly confident that both Jaime and Seth being much younger and more tender would be the clear choice for the discerning shark, but let me tell you that there is something eerily unsettling about standing on the back of the boat readying yourself to take the plunge into 6000-10,000’ of water.  I was surprised to find Seth and Jaime both feeling the same way, seeing as they are both very experienced divers.  I was about to take the leap of faith when Seth, ever the thinking captain, decided we should throw a rope in first, to grab in case there was a current and we started to drift away from the boat.  The rope proceeded to sink almost right away, but at least there was a chance I would get entangled if I was to drown right away, and given the nature of our relationship, that may have been Seth’s intention all along.  We all went for a quick dip, one at a time, and none of us dared stay in the water for more than a minute at most.

I forgot to mention that at this point we are a motor cruiser only.  The lack of wind lead to a lowering of the sail to prevent it from chattering about and causing unnecessary wear and tear.  The ‘gap’ continues to be bantered about, with a bit more detail entering the discussion, such as possibly heading to Providencia, a tiny Columbian Island a mere 150 miles away (I remind you that our current speed is about 4 knots per hour) or simply shutting down and being becalmed – waiting for wind.  Somehow getting becalmed does not lead to calm thoughts. We know those damn trade winds are out there somewhere.   I now rate my chance of making my return flight on Tuesday as 75/25 decidedly against.

In the evening we are treated to glowing seas that appear to be molten metal, pick a really expensive metal of your choice to make it more exotic.  This is the upside of these unusually calm conditions.  Around dinner time we have our first encounter with some unknown denizen of the deep.  Our depth finder typically flashes nonstop, indicating that it is too deep to measure.  While sitting at the helm I happen to noticed that it was now registering a mere 58’, and let J&S know.  Seth promptly springs to his feet, throttles the boat back and looks around for some uncharted land mass.  There obviously is none, so we conjecture that the sonar has picked up a school of fish, or more likely some huge creature we come to call Leviathan.

friday april 25, 2008  (lost-er at sea)

Awoke today with a touch of the scurvy.  It’s OK though, turns out to be the same sunburn as before.  Full recovery is assured.

At 6:00am we get a visit from a pod of dolphins.  7 of the little guys splash and play at our bow for about 15 mins.  I end up sitting in the bow seat about 3’ directly above them to enjoy the show.  Sailors are big on omens, and apparently this is a good one.  Sailors seem to be much more forthright about the good omens and seem to keep the bad ones secret so they can pull them out after the fact when things go bad.  The rest of the morning passes uneventfully.  The wind has died off almost completely, 2-4 knots, and mid-morning Seth simply states what we have been considering about the ‘gap’.  If nothing changes, tomorrow by noon we will shut off Beaker to ensure we have enough fuel for emergencies and to perform docking maneuvers upon our eventual arrival somewhere, still hopefully Panama.  There is no high drama or emotion, this is simply a statement of our current situation made to ensure we’re all on the same page.  I now rate my chance of making my return flight at about 10%.

In the afternoon we engage in the next on the list of solar evasion techniques, which Seth refers to as ‘trolling with live bait.’  While the previous afternoon we were all freaked out about going for a swim while the boat was stopped, there is no hesitation what-so-ever in hanging off a slippery wet stanchion at the back of the moving boat, 4’ from a churning propeller.  Turns out the greatest danger here, assuming you don’t let go, is the losing of your swim shorts.  This danger is evident enough that I am quite sure that if I wasn’t here, there would be no shorts involved.

Leviathan visits us once or twice during the day, with random depth readings of as little as 23’ showing on the sonar.  About 5:15pm our trip changes flavour as we are visited by wind, glorious wind.  At 6-8 knots, it is still too light to shut off Beaker completely, but we are able to raise the sails and throttle back to save fuel, while actually increasing our speed.  Calm thoughts of not becoming becalmed abound.

One of the main duties of the person on watch is to scan the horizon looking for freighters.  There is some urban myth folklore amoung the sailing crowd about small vessels being run over by these giants of the sea.  OK, maybe a couple of the cases have actually been documented, but based on my vast knowledge of all things oceanic, I maintain that it’s all a hoax.  The combination of this myth, an idle mind, and riding on the coat tails of the highly successful Pirates of the Caribbean series, leads to the following leaked press release document designed to create a media buzz:

Slapdash Pictures presents the soon to be released docu-drama, Freighters of the Caribbean.

Cast of characters: glamorous young Hollywood couple.  Tall slightly dorky male lead played by Jeff Goldblum (remember him as Seth in The Fly?).  Sweet and sexy female lead played by Jennifer Anniston.  Ruggedly handsome and mysteriously unexplained additional male crew member played by (insert your current favorite dreamboat here).

The Plot: Crew is huddled out of the sun on small sailing vessel.  Anomaly is spotted on the horizon. 

5 mins to determine that anomaly is real and not imagined. 

10-15 mins, crew repeatedly stares at anomaly in attempt to identify it. 

Commence use of technology (ideal opportunity for dazzling special effects) meaning pull out binoculars.  Verify that anomaly is in fact a dreaded ‘Freighter of the Caribbean.’  Initiate defensive maneuvers – watch ship closely for next hour or so to determine if we are on collision course.

Begin glaring at freighter to let them know we will not be sunk without a fight.

Relax defenses when it is determined that we are not on collision course with the evil freighter – crew remains seated in the positions they have held throughout the entire scene.

Suspense builds as this riveting scene is repeated every 12-24 hours.  Then, in a plot twist reminiscent of Hitchcock at his finest, it is determined that the Slapdash has never actually been in any danger from the evil freighters, and the world of Slapdashers everywhere is safe.  Truly the feel good story of the year.  Ok, so there’s not all that much to do when you are considering being adrift at sea.  Back to reality, whatever that is. 

Jaime whips us up some delicious pasta with clam sauce for dinner and we end the day sipping some ‘dark and stormies’ (rum and ginger beer –mmm delicious) and me entertaining (?) the crew by playing along to some blues on my harmonica.                                                  

saturday april 26, 2008  (closer to nowhere)

Awoke today with a touch of the rickets.  Only danger is in annoying other uninfected crew members when flakes of skin waft into their food.

When I get up to take over watch before 6:00am, Jaime greets me with the update that the throttle has been pulled back even further and we are maintaining good speed.  At about 9:15am the wind picks up enough to finally shut off Beaker, and instantly we have become a sailing vessel.  It’s a cool experience – way less noise and it seems more authentic somehow.  The sails are arranged in a wing and wing configuration as we are running with the wind, and little Slapdash manages a more than respectable 5 knots from 12 knots of wind.  It seems we will in fact make it to Panama at some point.

We pass part of the afternoon trying yet another solar evasion technique, the joyous bucket bath.  The procedure basically involves gearing down, huddling on the back step of an undulating boat, dipping a large bucket into the ocean while avoiding have the drag of the bucket pull you off the moving boat, dumping the pleasantly warm sea water (water temp has been 80-85C) over yourself, rubbing your entire body with Joy dish soap, rinsing and declaring yourself clean.  Joy is apparently the only soap that lathers in salt water.

Leviathan continues making sporadic visits.  The winds have picked up marginally and we are making good steady progress, 4-5 knots. 

Jaime has been seasick the entire trip.  She seems fine when outside, but suffers whenever she goes below deck for anything except sleep.  It may be getting to her more than she lets on.  Last night at their shift change at 2:00am, Jaime accused Seth of wearing her jacket and then hiding it on her.  This was an obviously delirious statement (take a quick peek at their pictures again if you need to) because the size difference between them is substantial.  Seth does not wear Jaime’s clothes, not for lack of want, but because he can’t.  I’m guessing that Seth did not sleep overly well knowing there was a crazy woman at the helm.

sunday april 27, 2008 (another day closer to nowhere)

Battled the dengue fever through the night.  It has affected my vision to the point that when I arose and did a complete sweep of the horizon, I could not see any visible objects.  Recovery will be complete, but may take a few days.

Sailing etiquette installment #2.  It is generally acceptable to perform advanced maneuvers such as the ‘heave to,’ where the sails are positioned to work against each other so effectively that a vessel can be stopped completely and hold position even in strong winds, (a bit like a fire drill or emergency evacuation procedure) on your friends boat.  It is more appropriate, however, to advise the captain prior to commencing such maneuvers, and it may be wise to choose a time other than during a required change of course for the first attempt.  Such minor indiscretions are likely to be met with direct words of correction, a few friendly pats on the back, and the subtle corrective measure of assigning the primer ‘basic sailing skills’ as required reading.

Today I have decided to resurrect the ‘earth is flat’ theory.  Having observed several freighters appear on the horizon exhibiting the noted property of the top being visible prior to the bottom, I suggest to you that this is a flimsy piece of evidence on which to base such a grandiose conclusion that the earth is round.  Residing in Calgary, I have frequently made the observation that the tops of the Rockies are more readily visible than the bases.  Rather than make some willy-nilly leap of logic and say that this is further evidence of the earth being round, I suggest to you that a more appropriate thesis would be the simpler and more directly supported statement ‘from a distance it is easier to see the tops of objects than the bottoms.’  Combine this with the mysterious complete disappearance of 100% of the freighters off the horizon, and using the admittedly same leap as the earth is round people use, the conclusion that they sailed off the edge of the earth is no greater a stretch.   More over Isaac Newton, there’s a new kid in town, and stand back from the edges, my friends.

Leviathan makes his daily visits on the sonar, but is still afraid to show his ugly mug lest we affix him the affeared occular horribilus.   The day ends as usual, with dinner, a great sunset, and rounds of dark and stormies.  Jaime sails us through a small squall in the night, but other than hearing the rain patter on the deck I don’t even know this has occurred.       

monday april 28, 2008  (your guess is as good as mine, caribbean sea)

Last night it was the malaria.  Awoke this morning to discover that it may not have been the fevers at all, and rather, that sleeping in an oversized plastic coffin with tropical temperatures may have been the source of my night sweats.

Cloudy and cooler today – only 27C in the cabin at 6:00am when I start my watch shift.  We are currently sailing on a beam reach with 1 reef in our mainsail and the head sail currently flying in a genoa configuration.  We are headed 174 degrees due south with 10-14 knot winds hitting us abaft at 120 degrees, generating 3-5 knots of speed over ground.  Not bad for a landlubber who a couple of days ago could not have told you the difference between a main sheet (it’s actually a rope) and a bed sheet.  All of this information I am now able to glean simply by gazing out to sea.  That and the mere coincidence that my good friend Otto the autohelm lies directly in line of sight between me and the sea.

We are now just over 100 miles from Cristobal Marina in Colon, Panama.  Last evening Seth called an audible and switched destinations to Cristobal because it is 50 miles closer to the entrance to the canal, and due to the confusion geometry, is also 40 miles closer to us.  We will now make landfall in Colon, purportedly having one of the highest crime rates in Panama.  I have stopped reporting my chances of making my return flight as for a while now they are effectively zero. 

A camouflage painted helicopter made a mysterious fly-by at 9:00 this morning, but apparently we do not look enough like drug runners to warrant being blasted from the water.  We are starting to see tankers fairly regularly now, but as of yet no evasive maneuvers have been required.  Lots of glaring, though.  No dark and stromies before bed tonight, but the real dark and stormies were soon to come and find us.

At about 9:00pm I start to close the windows as it is beginning to rain.  Seth pops out to see what’s going on and Jaime comes out right away too.  Within 2 minutes we are in a full scale squall and the winds have gone from the 10 knots they have been averaging to 25 knots.  We have both sails out fully, and apparently that is not a good thing.  It is not until the whole event has ended that I learn how not good it can be.  We get the headsail in during a bit of a lull but there is not time to address the mainsail and during a gust which registers 46 knots we perform an accidental jibe (good thing I had us practicing a couple of days ago) and the force is so great that a rope tied to the boom actually tears a cleat right out of the hull of the boat.  It would be nasty if it hit someone, but the cleat clatters to the deck without hitting anyone.  We release the mainsheet and spill most of the wind from the mainsail, and are back under control.  In the middle of all of this a couple of lightening flashes add to the fun, more so as we are basically the only tall metal pole within a hundred miles.  When I say ‘we’ did all of this I mean Seth did all of the dangerous stuff, Jaime capably took the helm to allow Seth to do dangerous stuff, and I mostly stared into to sheeting rain to make sure we didn’t get run over by a tanker.  The worst of the squall lasted only 15 mins or so, but a lot had to happen in that short time frame.  In an obvious example of ignorance is bliss, I was actually quite enjoying the whole episode.  It somehow makes you feel like a real sailor of old to face the stormy seas.  I was glad it was happening, it really added to the whole experience.  It wasn’t until after when things had settled, that it was splained to me that having full sails up in a squall can flip a boat or brake it’s mast off etc.  Hmmm, I’m marginally less happy it happened now, and poor Slapdash will need a bit of a patch at some point.

tuesday april 29, 2008  (some little piece of plastic with a wire running into it and the letters GPS on it says we’re close to Panama, but I think we’ve been going in circles for days)

Awoke with sailor’s malaise.  Not much matters, just get us there. 

It remains cloudy and it rains off and on most of the morning.  There has been lightening in the sky non-stop since the squall last night.  There are multiple tankers around us and we have switched back to motoring as the weather still looks sketchy.  Seth raises the yellow quarantine flag as part of arrival protocol, not in honour of my many afflictions.  I mention to Seth that I think our imminent arrival into Panama would be a classic if it happened in a downpour and we had to traipse into some little office where a cigar smoking official in a Panama hat stamped our passports.  Did you know that I can predict the weather?  About 15 miles out, the skies close in on us, visibility drops to less than a mile, and tankers which now surround us appear and disappear from view eerily.  The skies commence to open and it pisses on us just as I asked for, but the timing is a bit off.  If we were at anchor this would be great.  Instead we are motoring blindly just outside a bay in one of the busiest shipping lanes on earth.  We spot the markers to the harbour entrance but visibility drops again and we are forced to circle around for a while using an anchored red freighter as a reference point so we know where we are.  For a couple of hours now we have been standing or sitting in the pouring rain, reigniting my thoughts of the Vikings and I am proud to stand and stare into the rain despite how ridicules and probably unnecessary this is.  When the rain lets up a bit we follow a tanker through the markers and the breakwater into the beginning of the famed Panama canal. 

Woohoo!  A couple of high fives are exchanged and other than finding a place to anchor, I assume the adventure is quickly coming to an end.  We set anchor at about 3:00pm and Jaime whips up some bacon and eggs.  None of us has eaten except for a piece of bread and cheese hastily gobbled down in a lull in the storm.  Arrival procedures require that only the captain is allowed to go to shore until we have cleared customs and immigration.  We are about to lower the dink so we can at least consider when that can take place, when Seth notices a 3 foot gaping hole in the front of little dinkus.  This is not that good.  Basically, 3 feet of the floor of the dink has become detached right at the bow.  We are ½ km from shore and now have no real way of getting there, and other than Seth, we’re not allowed to go to shore anyway.  After a bit of pondering we decide to pull the dink up onto the deck of Slapdash and attempt to patch it.  Removal of the outboard and hoisting all go according to plan.  Then, out comes our high tech repair kit consisting of rags to try to dry things off with and a tube of ‘gorilla glue,” the kind you can buy at any hardware store.  We smear the entire contents of the glue on the patch/seam and then add another entire tube of some other miracle adhesive for good measure, spreading the goop around with our fingers.  It seems almost farsicle that we (Seth again) will actually have to trust this to keep the dink afloat on a mad dash to customs in the morning.  We cover the glue with duct tape and cover the whole dink with a tarp to try to allow some chance of glue setting as another rain storm approaches.

With that being all we can accomplish for today, we settle back inside and have time to enjoy what we have accomplished.  Sailing 600 miles of open sea in a small boat is adventurous and it takes a lot of work.  We finish the last of the Red Stripe, a bottle of wine and unveil the poem we have been writing since Port Antonio.  The person going off at the end of each 4 hr watch shift has added 2 lines to the poem, and folded the paper so that only the last line is visible.  You have no idea of the context or what has been written other than the single visible line.  We laughed at our efforts and were surprised that sections of it almost flow.  We sat up and looked at most of Jaime and Seth’s photos thus far, and it was a fitting way to see that we had added another chapter to their tale.           

wednesday april 30, 2008  (technically we’re in Canada)

Psychosis threatens the entire crew this morning.  Panama and all it has to offer (chief among these offers is land) remains about ½ km away, and as we still have no way to get there, it seems to be constantly taunting us.

Our fresh provisions are getting low but Jaime manages to whip up breakfast and she is obviously much happier to be stationary and inside a breakwater where the boat moves much less.  Seth and I inspect our ridiculous attempt to patch the dink to find that lying upside down on the deck of Slapdash, it appears completely patched and seaworthy.  We re-launch the dink and Seth crosses his fingers and toes and heads for the marina to do the customs and immigration stuff.  As captain, he is officially the only one allowed to go to shore until we are properly checked in.  A couple hours later he radios back to us that he may be able to complete the check in process without us, but it will take a couple more hours.  Jaime and I are mostly surprised to hear that the dink is still afloat.  I am hopeful that Seth will be able to contact my wife Brenda while he is ashore, as I obviously did not make it back to Calgary last night as intended, and I have not been able to contact her with any update.  I do have the benefit of previously lowering the bar of expectations on a trip to Mexico with Seth and Jaime where I left for 3 days and eventually made it back in a week. 

Well, my friends, all things good and bad must end, and so it is for my time aboard the mighty Slapdash.  I came seeking adventure and leave well satisfied.  Was it a life altering event?  Naw, probably not.  Have I become an expert sailor having made 600+ miles at sea?  No, definitely not.  Did I get my fix of a new kind of fun?  Yep.  Did I re-cement a couple of important friendships?  Sure hope so.

For those of you not fortunate enough to visit Jaime and Seth, rest assured that they are in good hands – each others.  Despite being ill the entire length of our sail, Jaime remains smiley and never misses a shift at the watch.  While ashore, her ability to make fast friends among locals and other travelers means they will never lack companionship.  It is important for Seth to be good at whatever he does, and he is already a very competent sailor. Despite remaining a large annoying human, the wandering life has resulted in him talking more slowly, rarely glaring, and exhibiting a remarkable level of new found patience (lucky for me). They will return home one day to be better friends to all of us.

Jeff J

Working Ballast, First class

 

Appendix 1:  Critters We Encountered (relax we’re not Darwin and the Beagle)

 

Flying fish – fish with wingfins that flee by flying

Sea grass – our most common catch on the fishing lines we dragged almost the entire 600 miles.  Being plants, not much of a fight.

Dolphins – small 4’ olive green speckled guys with white tips on their noses.  As playful and enchanting as advertised.

Sea gulls – same shithawks here as at home

Barn Swallows – small fast moving swallows named for their tendency to land on Seth’s head, which big as a barn.

Frigates – large dark birds with pointy elbows. The kind that can soar for hours without flapping their wings.  No frigging idea if they are actually frigates.

Blow up jellyfish – little purple jellyfish that can inflate their jelly sac (looks like a sandwich bag) and thus create a sail to move them along in the wind.  Very cool.

Leviathan – sea monster of ill repute