Juan flying a kite
Before they were able to work on our sails, due to scheduling, we took the opportunity to explore the area. We headed NW along the SW coast of Isla Colon (the island on which Bocas del Toro town is located). We stopped at a couple of calm, protected and serene bights filled with the sounds of birds, howler monkeys and the occasional kayak going by. The kayaks are dugout canoes of all sizes from 1/2 m by 3 m to larger ones up to 1.5 m wide to 10 m long! While the longer are moved by outboard engines, most are smaller and are still paddled. We relaxed, read, snorkeled and explored some trails heading into the surrounding jungle. Our next berth was Starfish Bay, where a mostly uninhabited beach runs a mile or two with overhanging palm trees (one of which has a phenomenal rope swing into the ocean which we hope to never be too old to enjoy). At Starfish Bay we met Paula and David camping in their tent by the beach. While young at heart, they are both in their mid-60s, still sleeping on the ground and living very healthy lives while they continue to fight for many environmental causes, which they have been doing persistently since the 1970s. It was in the 70s that David was hired by the United Fruit Company for environmental education and soon after that that the UFC fired him for doing his job so well! To this day he continues to study and to educate people about the toxic run-off from the banana company as well as (among other things) to study the ecological health of the coral reefs and fish population.
While the reef near Starfish Bay was unhealthy and dying, possibly due to the UFC, our next anchorage on the SW of Isla Colon lay beside a pristine, healthy and thriving reef. We spent the next day snorkelling and admiring the colorful labyrinth of reds, yellows and greens.
On May 19th,we returned to Bocas del Toro to meet up with Lobo and Erica and to do some much needed maintenance on Chandrika. We were extremely fortunate to have met Lobo and Erica and to have had the opportunity to have some much needed modifications made on our sails by such experienced and hardworking sailmakers. We now have a properly sized yankee-cut working jib, a hank on staysail (which originally had an improvised and poorly functioning roller-furling system), and we extended the life of our mainsail. Lobo and Erica allowed us to come aboard Arenas to watch and to learn the tricks of the trade.
While in Bocas del Toro, we also did some repair and maintenance work on the boat, as well as making some improvements. Most importantly, using white reinforced PVC fabric, we sewed ourselves an awning that rests over our boom while we are at anchor to provide some desperately needed relief from the burning tropical sun. We also designed it to serve as a rainwater collection system. The tap water in Bocas del Toro is not potable (even the locals do not drink it) and bottled water is over twice the price as we have encountered elsewhere in our travels through Central America. It being the rainy season, we are now able to collect more than we use. However, we worry about the many locals who live in small one or two room wooden shacks with either thatched or tin roofs. Do they run out of drinking water during the dry season? The cost of $5.50 for 20 liters of water seems prohibitively expensive for many in this area.
Additionally. the price of food on this island has been increasing dramatically. In the course of 2 months we have seen the cost of some food items increase as much as 50%! Because of Bocas del Toro is on an island and food arrives by boat from mainland Panama, rising fuel prices will have a significant impact on the lives of many in this area. We also wonder if food prices are due to gentrification and the increasing number of foreigners that are moving to the area.
On June 17th, Sue´s brother, Peter, arrived from the states for a 2 week visit. Peter was rather jetlagged and chose not to join us as we provisioned the boat for his visit. The following day after Peter came out of his hibernation, the three of us visited the Bocas del Toro branch of the Smithsonian Research Institute, where we saw various colorful indigenous frogs amd we talked with scientists about their ongoing marine research. Soon it was time to head out for some experiental learning of marine wildlife.
Our first stop was Zapotilla Cay Numero Uno. To get there we had to navigate through the treacherous Crawl Cay channel. The inaccurately charted and unmarked channel weaves for 2 nautical miles through submerged yet shallow coral reef patches. In our favor, we had excellent light for visibility, at least until the last half mile when a thick cloud moved in front of the sun. We exited the channel without any mishaps and set sail for the Zapotilla Cays. There anchorage behind the first island turned out to be very rolly as the northeast swells from Columbia quite commonly contradict the local currents and winds, causing Chandrika to sit with seas abeam. Fortunately, the uncomfortable motion did not bother Peter in the slightest. We went for a walk along the white sandy beach, being careful to stay below the high tide mark, as this island is a common turtle nesting area.
Zapotilla Cay
We continued on towards the Bluefield Range the following morning with good but light sailing winds. Once we were no longer in the protective lee of the Zapotilla Cays, we experienced the full effect of the 6 foot ocean swell hitting us abeam. Because this contradicted the light winds from astern, we soon resorted to motoring. What surprised us even more than the fact that Peter prefered to stay down below reading his dictionary instead of seeing the sights, was that with no sails up and motoring with seas abeam, Peter didn´t find this motion all that bothersome. For those unfamiliar with sailboats, these conditions cause one of the most uncomfortable motions that can best be described as being trapped inside of a washing machine. Were it either of us sitting down below reading, our faces would be pale green from seasickness. Why didn´t Sue inherit Peter´s lack of motion sickness? After a couple of uneventful squalls hit us, we reached the entrance to the lagoon into Bluefield Range, where we anchored in the first bay in front of Playa Raya.
The Bluefields is where we were first introduced to something that has unfortunately been persistent during our stay in Panama, begging and swindeling. That afternoon we went for a walk on the beach. On our way back, there was a man standing beside our dinghy clearly waiting for us. First he asked us if we had used the trail that goes across the peninsula to Playa Verde. We said we had not, but we were considering hiking it in the morning.
¨You have to pay to use the trail. Not very much money. Only $10 or $15. Since you are going to use it tomorrow, you can pay me now,¨ he said.
¨No, if we use it we will pay you in the morning,¨ Sue replied.
We had no intention of paying him anything to use a public trail knowing the chance was highly likely he would keep the money for himself.
¨You need to pay for your walk on the beach today.¨
At this point, Graham was sick of the bloke and was pulling the dinghy into the water telling Sue and Peter that we needed to walk away and go back to the boat, which we did. The following day, guess what, the Ngobe indian paddled up to our boat with a pineapple we were happy to pay a buck for.
We also had another Ngobe gentleman paddle up to our boat in a small kayuka, a dugout wooden canoe. He informed us that he was a member of the Panamanian National Guard. ´In a dugout canoe?´, we thought to ourselves. He then said,¨You will need to pay to visit Punta Sirian.¨ Punta Sirian is the town just a short walk down the coast from Playa Raya. ¨It is not much. Only $15. Something to help the community.¨ Of course he wanted payment right then, and of course we refused.
Later that day, we hiked on the trail to Playa Verde, or so we thought. The path led us through dense jungle and up and down muddy, slippery slopes. The trail forked and we were uncertain which way to go. We picked one path and soon realized it was incorrect, so we turned around. Peter who was in the back, was now in the lead. The other path went down a hill and around a bend. Just as he was rounding the bend, Peter discovered the vegetation was not growing on firm ground, but over about 2 feet of muddy swamp (or as Peter liked to call it ¨Quick Mud.¨)
While this type of experience happens quite commonly while walking around in the jungle in the middle of wet season, Peter did not find it nearly as entertaining as we did. We decided to retreat before the jungle followed us whole (or at least before it swallowed Peter). On our way back, we passed a few thatched homes where we asked directions to Playa Verde. An older woman showed us the way. She walked barefoot with great dexterity over the wet slippery logs. We were soon to follow suit. We found Playa Verde and walked through the small town along its single concrete path. We met a men there who mentioned the delicious oranges in the surrounding jungle. After returning to our dinghy on the other side of the slippery, muddy, log-covered trail, we saw him following us, carrying a large bag of oranges that he had collected for us. ¨Regalo¨ (which means ´gift´), he said. We sat with him and ate our oranges and shared some carrots we had brought. How nice of him to collect the oranges for us and to walk all that way to bring them!
Our next adventure was further inside the Bluefield Range lagoon, where we dropped anchor outside a small village called Punta Allegre. Upon arrival we were immediately approached by a group of school aged children in kayukas. ¨¿Qué hay?,¨ they demanded. As this translates to ¨What is there?¨, Sue was at first confused. We had only just arrived. How did we know what there was here? It did not take long to realize what they meant. They wanted to know what we had brought for them. ¨Notebooks? Pens? Pencils?,¨ they asked. Well, even if they were rudely begging, at least they had their priorities straight. We gave them a choice. They could each have one pen or one pencil. Upon receiving one, without even saying thank you, they then demanded the other. Realizing we were not going to give them another pen or pencil, they wanted to know what else we had on board. Then they started to lay it on thick. ¨Tengo hambre,¨ (´I am hungry,´) one girl pouted while putting on her best starving puppy dog face. We glanced at the fish, lying in the kayukas, that they had just caught. These were young con artists at work. It was difficult to get rid of them, but finally they gave up their act and left for home.
the kids who told us they had nothing to eat
A little while later a middle-aged man approached us in a kayuka. He said, ¨Buenos dias¨ and introduced him as the mayor. His name was Orlando Hooker. He told us that there were different classes of people here. Some just wished to benefit from our visit. He told us of a man by the name of David, who used to charge sailboats $20 per night to anchor in the Bluefields. David used to put $15 in his pocket and give the remaining $5 to the community. Orlando had arrested him for fraud. Orlando told us not to give anyone money. It was free for us to explore the land, as all the land here is public and owned by the community Ngobe elders. He wished us a good visit and continued on his way.
We visited the small town of Punta Allegre with its approximately 200 residents. All of the inhabitants of the Bluefield Range are indigenous Ngobe indians. During WWII a number of Americans also used to live here, but they have since left the area, leaving behind only their last names, Hooker, Johnson, Smith, etc, and their bright blue eyes. The village had one store, a small elementary school and numerous one or two room thatched-roof homes. The insides of these homes are typically one open room with one mattress (shared by an entire family) against the side, dirt floors, and clothing along with their few other material possessions pushed up along the walls as there is no other furniture or cabinetry. Chickens, pigs and goats roam around freely often wandering inside their homes.
the town of Punta Allegre
The three of us wandered through town, crossed a small stream that split right through the middle and continued along a muddy path into the jungle. The surrounding forest contains numerous banana trees of several different varieties, bamboo, and many other plants that the Ngobe cultivate and use to build their homes and kayukas and to collect for food. There is no private property here. All of the land is communal and is shared by everyone.
Later that afternoon, while Peter was relaxing and reading on the boat, we went to shore to stretch our legs. We were approached by a young woman, named Loreica, who asked us where the third member of our party was. She turned out to be the daughter of the mayor, Orlando Hooker (one of his approximately 60 children). Upon discovering that Peter was Sue´s brother and not her husband, Loreica was delighted. She was further excited to hear that Peter was single. ¨Quiero un gringo!¨ (´I want a gringo!´) she yelled with glee. She said she found Peter very attractive and asked if we would bring him by later to introduce them. We brought him by later that day, but could not find Loreica.
Loreica was on the hunt for a gringo as she came up to our boat that evening in her kayuka. Though not the ideal dating situation with his sister translating every word, it was soon deciphered that Loreica, who enjoys fresh sea turtle on a regular basis and saw nothing wrong with her father´s killing (and eating) off the entire Howler population on the peninsula, was not the best match for a vegan gringo. She told us how the fisherman go out early to hunt the endangered and actively protected turtle so as not to get caught by the vigilantes (care takers). As Peter and Loreica struggled for common ground, we learned how the Howler monkey meat is eaten to cure nose bleeds. This ¨date¨ was at least entertaining, and Loreica is very fun to talk with as she has a happy and energetic spirit. (We later heard a first-hand account of turtle hunting from a gringo that we met. Apparently the Ngobes go out of sight of land in sometimes 10 to 12 foot seas in their paddled wooden kayukas. The Ngobe at the bow stands in the kayuka and harpoons turtle at a range of 20 to 30 feet. Amazing!)
Loreica in her kayuka
Turning 180 degrees, we made a stop-over at Cayo de Agua. The anchorage was rolly and the coast was littered with No Trespassing signs. Just a year ago, the 20 Ngobes who shared ownership of the island were holding a meeting with a broker regarding selling a large portion of the island. As is custom with such meetings, the broker offered them drinks, which were not refused. Quickly, as is typical of people of Native American blood, the alcohol hit strong and it wasn´t long before they were all well intoxicated. When the socializing was over and the negotiating began, the broker threw them a low-ball figure of $100,000 for the 100 hectars (approximately 250 acres). The eyes of the Ngobes bulged out at all those zeros and they accepted this ridiculously low offer. The following week the Ngobes paddled over to the island to harvest coconuts as they had been doing for generations. When they reached the island, they were told that they were no longer allowed to set foot on the property as they had signed over ownership. Apparently, at the time of the negotiations, the Ngobe were not fully aware that selling the land would prohibit their ability to use the land, as ownership and private property are not part of Ngobe culture. The property is now being subdivided into lots. It would not surprise us if this property were split into 100 parts, each selling for at least as much as the entire purchase price. History is known to repeat itself and events like these are no exception to the harsh reality.
As the bulk of Cayo del Agua is now private, we were not permitted to explore very much of the land. We decided to go for a row around the northern point which was semi-protected by reef. The swells were getting big and there were breakers in the distance so we finally decided to turn around. We were being cautious some might say, yet after 5-10 minutes of heading back, Sue and Graham are looking up at a 7 to 8 foot wave breaking over Peter´s head. Amazingly, the dinghy did not flip! But, it was filled about 3/4 full with sea water and the dinghy was now very tipsy because of it. As the water sloshed back and forth in the dinghy, more water came in. We were sinking. We all jumped out. We flipped the dinghy over and then righted it, in an attempt to get water out, but to little success. Unfortunately, not all of our possessions floated, and we lost three masks, three snorkels and a speargun. The flippers however floated and we put those on. While Sue guided the boat away from the rocky shore, Graham bailed the dinghy. After all land is the enemy (though Peter at the time begged to differ). We were thankful for the extra 100 pounds of flotation we had added to our dinghy and once it was empty, we all got in. Peter, who just days prior was not able to get into the dinghy from the water, had no trouble hopping in. We rowed back to Chandrika without a scratch. This was one of those waves that only breaks once every half hour or so, and it is possible this was the first breaker at this spot since we arrived near the reef. Although, we also had a number of thoughts in retrospect. First of all, Graham was rowing, Sue was in the bow, and Peter was in the stern. This meant that as we rowed towards the reef, he was the only one with a constant view of where we were going. We should have put him on designated watch. Secondly, though it goes entirely against instinct, we should have jumped out of the dinghy immediately with the painter (dinghy rope) in hand, thereby eliminating any more water from entering and raising the waterline on the dinghy by about a value of 500 pounds of bouyancy. This would have made recovery easier.
Our view of the coast right before being swamped
After an adventure packed two weeks, it was time for Peter to return home. We sailed back to Bocas del Toro so he could catch his flight. Between the ´quick mud´ and the swamped dinghy, we hope we haven´t scared away Peter from a return visit. Perhaps we can lure him back with more eligible bachelorettes? We always cherish visits from family and friends, and it was wonderful to be able to spend such close time with Peter.
enjoying a meal on the boat
The night after Peter departed, we were harshely awoken by a flash of blinding white and a simultaneous loud thunderous boom. We jumped out of bed to turn off all switches and unplug anything that could be unplugged. After an hour of nail-biting, nerve-wracking waiting, the lightning storm passed without hitting us. There is nothing like sitting in an endless pool of water (the ocean) with a tall metal rod rising up 54 feet in the air during a lightning storm to make the heart start racing. The following morning, we turned on the laptop (to update the blog). It turned on, but was making all sorts of funny noises. The next time we tried to start it, it would not start. Even though the laptop was unplugged and turned off through the entire lightning storm, the charge from the nearby lightning still put it out of service. We now keep both hand-held GPS, our portable SSB radio, and our MP3 player in the over to create a metal cage to protect from lightning. As we continue cruising, we learn more and more lessons. This one was learned the hard way.
May to July, 2008
May to July, 2008