This journal is transcribed from a handwritten journal of a voyage made in the South Pacific Ocean aboard Panacea from mid-March through early July 1996. Oliver Gardner, an old friend and business associate has had a life long dream of sailing around the world. Earlier he has sailed south to the Caribbean, and then on to South American and Panama. His current crew, friends,  are unable to make the long term commitment required for this leg of what he plans will be a several year circumnavigation.

Esther and I have signed on with no idea how long we might be gone. Our own boat, a small trawler, is perfect for us and we very much enjoy coastal and river cruising in the U.S. and eastern Canada. We had been planning to return to our boat later in spring, to cruise the Tennessee River. Now, we are about to fly to Panama, and sail west, with no idea how long we might be gone.

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do.  So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore.  Dream.  Discover." -  Mark Twain

My journal: S/V Panacea, South Pacific       March through July, 1996

Panama to Tahiti

Kissimmee, FL sometime in mid-January- 1996

"Hello Dennis, this is Gayle Gardner calling from Vermont. Ollie is wondering if you and Esther would be able and willing to meet him in Panama in mid-March and sail across the South Pacific"? I told Gayle I would discuss it with Esther and get back to her within a few days. When I hung up and briefly related the conversation to Esther, her comment was, "Why didn't you just say YES?"

Thus began several weeks of feverish activity: passport applications, required and suggested inoculations, purchase of needed equipment like "good" rain gear, harnesses and lifelines, rigging knives, airline tickets, packing up our small home, goodbyes for an undetermined length of time, and lots of well wishes from friends.                 

March 21, 1996

Played my last tennis with Keith Street and the boys at the Oak Street courts in Kissimmee. Drove up to Altamonte Springs to a good marine supply store for some last minute equipment purchases Ollie asked us to bring. Ollie Gardner, owner and skipper of Panacea is an old friend and business associate of 30 or more years. Ollie is 48 and suffers from a progressive nerve disorder. He has been in a wheel chair for several years now, although he is able to walk stiffly short distances with the aid of canes or hand holds. His wife, Gayle, while enjoying sailing, has her own career, and becomes desperately seasick.

I've sailed several times, years ago, with Ollie on Lake Champlain. He has spent the past eight or ten winters sailing in the Florida Keys, Bahamas, Caribbean, Panama, and South America. Ollie's disability requires that he have on board at least one or two able-bodied hands. An uncle who has accompanied him several years has grown too old to make this trip.
 
I spend the late afternoon taking a lot of ribbing from the fellows on the tennis courts about how my tennis career may be over. The upside is getting to kiss all the ladies goodbye.

This afternoon Jan and Jim Paulus put together a great bon voyage party for us with perhaps 50 or 70 friends gathered between the street, their motor coach and our mobile home. Lots of good natured ribbing, beer, music, and even a roast by Ray Wilton provided a great send off.

March 22,

We finish packing up our small mobile home and oversee the moving of it to a storage yard. Enjoyed a last dinner with the Larsens, and the hospitality of their guest room last night. A  big breakfast with Jim Paulus and Loren at Robinson's Pharmacy and Lunch Room in Kissimmee means this is a highly significant occasion! We hang around the Park for several hours, waiting for the hour to head to the airport. Lots of people come around for repeats on last minutes goodbyes,  kisses, and well-wishes. Who knows when we will see these old friends again? Plus, those more cautious than we are thinking they may never see us again should we be swallowed by the sea. No idea of danger ever crosses Esther's or my mind, although we are keenly aware of a sense of great adventure.

The trip to the Orlando, FL airport was routine, but the receiving area at the airport incredibly crowded. The US Air terminal was wall-to-wall people, pushing luggage ahead of themselves in line. Most are vacationers headed home from a spring visit to the Land of the Mouse, otherwise known as Disney World.   After one hour of line standing, we find our seat reservations were not made as we had been told, but we are able to  get on the short hop from Orlando to Miami. As usual,  flying over Florida was spectacular, with wild, undeveloped land and water seemingly everywhere.

A fast run to the COPA Air Panama gate on our arrival in Miami was needed. Again, no seat reservations, but we were allowed to slip on the plane in adjacent seats along with a couple hundred folks who look like would-be high jackers. Altogether we are in in 35 minutes. It turns out the would be high jackers are mostly young South American residents, returning from holidays in the U.S. They spend much of the trip singing, reminding us both of school bus trips as young people.

 
Leaving Miami in mid-afternoon, we fly right down the Keys. Having cruised the same area on our Sadie B, we can recognize much of what we are flying over. The western most Bahamas are visible to our left, then Cuba and Jamaica. At twilight the Panama Isthmus becomes visible in the distance, and we fly over Colon and cross the Continental Divide. Shortly, the Bridge of the Americas comes into view, spanning the Panama Canal and connecting the two great continents. The lights of Panama City are bright by the time we have circled out over the water and begin our approach to the airport.

Following the usual wait to deplane, we step foot in Panama. It feels like 95 degrees and incredibly humid. A brief and reasonably easy visit to customs, and our virgin passports get stamped for the first time. We are world travelers.

As  Ollie had promised, at the edge of the airport crowd was a young Panamanian  man and his wife holding aloft a large "Panacea" sign. Michael had a van to transport us and our luggage the 40-50 miles of bad road to the Atlantic side of the Isthmus where the boat was located. First though, we waited for two additional crew members also arriving from the States on a later flight. Michael entertained us and his wife while we waited for Brad and Tony Stevens, of Essex Junction, VT, a father and son team who were to crew with us on the first leg of the trip, from Panama to Galapagos. They had agreed to crew this leg of the voyage for Ollie before we were asked.  However, when we were invited to join Panacea, it was decided that we might as well experience the Panama Canal transit and sail to the Galapogos.

Tony, Esther, Dennis, and Brad in Colon, Panama

With Brad and Tony collected and introductions made, we loaded in the van, now quite crowded, for the trip across the Isthmus. Even at 11:00 PM, the roads were crowded with trucks, vans, busses, and cars. Lots of horns, cursing, aggressive driving, and third world scenes along the roadside reminding that we are definitely a long way from home. The busses are all personalized, with very gaudy paint jobs and murals on the sides, either for route designations, or simply to express the individuality of the driver-owner.

We arrive at the Panama Canal Yacht Club in Colon around midnight. We've not seen Ollie since the previous July when we left Vermont to cross the Great Lakes in our trawler. I'm pleased that his condition does not seem to have worsened. With Brad, Tony, Ollie, Esther, and I aboard, plus piles of unstowed gear, the 38 foot Cheoy Lee sloop looks pretty small. Plus, we find that there is no forward double berth. We had just assumed that there would be a double bunk someplace for Esther and I. Bunks as available were assigned, with Esther and I opposite each other on settee berths on opposite sides of the main saloon dining table. So much for conjugal bliss!

March 24, Sunday morning

Esther and I were up early as usual, and before anyone could warn us otherwise, headed to town for a walk around 7 AM. We had only gone about ten blocks when two policemen  gestured to us to get in the patrol car with them. They lectured us in Spanish over and over, with us understanding nothing. Then they proceeded to drive us around town, for perhaps 45 minutes. On occasion, they would stop  to talk with other locals, point to us, and gesture, trying to tell us something. Finally, they came across someone who spoke enough English to explain that we had been in a very dangerous area, and not to travel by foot except in a very select places. We were politely returned to the Yacht Club by the police, and again admonished to be careful about where we walked.

"Yacht Club"  conjures ups images in the minds of United States people which are undoubtedly inaccurate here. A ramshackle building and collection of docks for berthing perhaps one hundred boats, about half of which look like they will never leave here again. There is however, a dingy dining room and bar, which houses a motley collection of derelicts, bums, world travelers, and vagabonds. The wealthy yachtsmen from the majestic Swan sailing vessel bellies up to the bar happily with the French kids crewing the Beneteau's bound for Tahiti's charter fleet. Accents of all kinds fill the air around the bar. Most of our lunches  for the next several days will consist of fried rice from the lounge (chicken, beef or shrimp) washed down with Panamanian beer. This is the last stop before jumping off across the South Pacific. One gets the impression that lots of cruisers get the jitters here, and never go further, dreaming rather than cruising.

We spend the day on odd jobs Ollie has been holding for the several weeks since his last crew had to leave.  A Panamanian lad has been keeping things clean, but several repairs and overhauls are needed. Earlier, the boat was anchored out on the flats, awaiting a berth at the Yacht Club. In a big blow one night a large  Amel sailboat dragged anchor, fouling Panacea's, and doing considerable damage to Panacea'a lifelines. The  Amel  got the worst of it however. It's mate got an arm stuck in Panacea's wind generator blades, inflicting a very deep wound, necessitating his return to France for medical treatment. It reminded us all that accidents can and do happen, and quickly.

Panama Canal, Caribbean on top, Pacific on bottom

March 25

Provision day! Ollie, Dennis and Esther head to the largest grocery store to provision, for six months. Ollie had never provisioned for so long, and Esther and I had never been more than 24 hours away from a major grocery. Mostly we thought in terms of a dozenscans of this and that vegetable or fruit, pounds or bags full of   dry beans, rice, flour, tubs of margarine, jams, sugar, etc., etc. Plus paper supplies, coffee, sugar, dry milk and so forth. In all we filled 5 grocery carts to the top and it took three taxies to get the groceries, the three of us, and the wheelchair back to Panacea. Then came the job of  reducing  the packing material to the barest minimum and stowing all the provisions in a somewhat ordered system where they could be easily found. When done, Panacea was full to the brim with provisions and had a smuggler?s waterline. Groceries had cost $850.00, but would turn out to be the cheapest food we would buy for several months.

Esther and Denis with Panamian boys in grocery

Lots of topsides jobs had to be done to get us ready for sea. Lifelines bent or broken in the anchorage fiasco had to be straightened, welded, and reinstalled. One hundred fifty feet of new chain had to be joined to the existing chain rode and storage space made for it. The roller furling gear on the head sail had jammed and chafed a line. A trip to the top of the mast for inspection and lubrication was needed. The junior crew member, Brad, was pressed into service for this. My turn would come later. Previous problems with a balky alternator were addressed by the local electrical guru. Laundry was done at the Yacht Club.

Ollie has had a serious rash for more than two months, reputedly conveyed by a monkey in Honduras, although shipboard rumor has it as a venereal transmission.  A Panama City dermatologist has diagnosed the problem as scabies, and the most serious  infestation he has ever seen. We tried to clean up Ollie's clothing and bedding as much as possible. These little buggers would come back to haunt us later.

Produce marketing was done the day before we left at an open air market, of the type which we would become more familiar as our travels progressed. Esther and I undertook this as everyone else was busy with other projects. As the most knowledgeable botanist on board,  I was expected to sort out those items we could recognize and would know how to cook. In fact, much of it was unrecognizable to this New England educated horticulturist. Four or five native boys carried filled bags for us as we dickered with merchants over prices. The boys wanted to take us to certain dealers, either relatives, or perhaps for commissions to be paid under the table. Local produce was very inexpensive, even by US standards. A real treat was to be able to buy a whole stalk of bananas, rather than the usual offering of a hand.

As Ollie is a vegetarian, we laid in no stores of meats of any kind. While we had not given this much thought ahead of time, it really was not any hardship for the next several months. It was probably more difficult for Esther, doing much of the cooking, to do meal planning without meat, than for we who ate the meals.

While we provisioned, Tony, with his good knowledge of Spanish, took care of exit permits and Canal clearances, as those offices were up a difficult set of stairs. Our scheduled canal transit was for 7 AM tomorrow, but late that night we receive word via VHF radio that its been delayed until 10 AM. Late afternoon was spent finishing up all the last minute projects, and taking on water and fuel. We docked overnight on the fuel dock. We all turned in relaxed that we will have until 10 AM to tie up loose ends.

Pilot boat comes alongside

March 27

Not yet dawn and a boat horn is blowing loudly off our bow. A pilot boat crew is shouting "Hurry Panacea, your schedule has been changed". With the pilot looking very upset to be held up we hustle about and by 7 AM loose our docking lines and head to the canal entrance. By 8 AM its obvious that a scheduling foul-up is  well underway. We jockey up and down the crowded fairway for two hours, and finally enter the first lock around 10 AM, right on the original schedule, immediately behind a 500 foot Nassau based steamer.

Kuna Indian ladies in traditional clothing

Four line handlers are required on any size boat, plus a helmsman, and the official Canal Pilot. Four heaving lines, each with a large monkey fist on the bitter end, are  tossed to us in the center of the lock chamber, and made fast to our four lines. The heaving lines are then retrieved to the top of the lock wall with our long lines attached, and our lines made fast to bollards on the top of the walls. As the water level slowly rises about 25 feet our line handlers, under the direction of the pilot slowly take up lines evenly, keeping Panacea centered in the lock chamber. When the water level reaches the next level, the lock doors open, and we slowly proceed into the next chamber under minimum power, the doors close behind us, and we rise another 25 feet. The total lift is about 75 feet in three steps to the level of Gatun Lake.

Sailboat centered in lock

Frieghter and tug for brake in Canal

Larger boats are held in place in the locks by steel cables controlled by small motorized cars called  ?mules?  driven by electricity on small gauge tracks along both canal walls. The large ships are  pulled from chamber to chamber by the mules, to avoid the propeller wash in the lock chamber that stopping and starting boats with their own power would cause.

All went smoothly in our locking, with none of the turbulence we had been warned about. Gatun Lake was beautiful, very tropical and undeveloped. The entire Canal Zone is protected against development and truly pristine in appearance. Monkeys are visible in the trees on the shore.

"Electric Mules" for moving ships in locks

Due to our late start, limited speed, and probably another scheduling screwup, we were forced to anchor in the lake overnight. The pilot directed us to an anchorage and was picked up around 3 PM and we were left to enjoy ourselves, swimming and sunbathing. I don't think anyone at the time appreciated the fact that no one would have another  fresh water swim for a very long time.  Late in the afternoon several other boats joined us in this idyllic anchorage, some of which we would meet several thousands of miles later.

Two brand new Beneteau's were on their way from France to Tahiti to join the charter fleet there. The crew was to deliver a  "New Boat", and were not to use facilities such as the sinks. They slept on plastic covers on the bunks, and did dishes in the lake from the swim platform.

Memorial to 20,000 who died

With their usual efficiency, the pilot boat crew had said they would deliver a new pilot at 9 AM the following day. By noon the next day, we had all enjoyed the swimming about as much as we could and we were ready for action. Finally, at 1 PM the pilot boat arrived, delivered our pilot, and we headed toward the Continental Divide and the famed Culebra Cut. A small marker on the bank commemorates the lives of the tens of thousands of  workers who died of several tropical diseases during the construction of the Canal. The French had labored for 15 years to build the Canal in  the late 1800's, only to be defeated by the jungle. In the early 1900's,  the US took over the project, completing it in 1914, saving thousands of miles and the treacherous passage around Cape Horn. While we were waiting for the pilot to rejoin us I was reading a loaned copy of David McCullough's epic, "Panama Canal". With some literary inevitability, the book was soaked and ruined by a sudden tropical downpour. I bought the loaner another copy after we returned to the States.

Culebra Cut, Continental Divide

We passed under the Bridge of the Americas, the only joining of the two continents. When entering the three "down" locks into the Pacific, for reasons we were not sure of, our pilot had us raft with two Beneteau's, with us in the center. A minor problem ensued when the three pilots, one on each of the three boats rafted together, gave conflicting orders to each helmsman. With the pilots shouting expletives to each other, and orders to the helmsmen of all three boats, it was like a Chinese fire drill for a few moments. Finally, seniority ruled and the confusion ended with the junior pilots silenced.

Pilot and Panacea crew

The locks were similar to the Atlantic end, three steps down in increments of 25 feet. Here the linesmen had to be careful to let out slack in the lines as the boat went down, keeping the raft of three boats centered in the lock. As we were the center boat we enjoyed the free ride, with our crew having nothing to do.

Finally, the last lock doors opened, and we met the waters of the Pacific. Because of the funnel shape of the Gulf of Panama, tides run 15-20 feet, compared with only 2-4 feet on the Atlantic side. Two to three miles down the waterway we came upon our last stopping place,  Balboa Yacht Club. Again, one has visions of a  "Yacht Club"  based on observations made in the USA. In fact, Balboa Yacht Club was built as part of the Canal construction project in the 1910?s, and perhaps last painted around that time. It is a three story building perched on a steep  bank, and up close, seemed to be about to slide into the Gulf of Panama. A major oil spill just a few days before had left oil on the water and on the hull of every boat in the mooring. (In 2004, when we passed again through the Panama Canal, we were saddened to hear of the demise of this facility in a raging fire)

Panama "Yacht Club" and anchorage

Panama City street scene

We picked up an open mooring and awaited the launch, finally being transported to the floating fuel dock, on a pier perhaps 1000  feet long. The Yacht Club, with an excellent bar and view of the bay,occupied only one floor of the derelict building. The bar was filled with the same collection of salty bums, wealthy yachtsmen, solo circumnavigators and world adventurers.

Anchorage, Panama City

As four linesmen are needed for each vessel transiting the Canal, many crews are made up on the Caribbean side, transit the Canal, stop to wet their whistles at the Balboa Yacht Club, and then head back to Colon by bus to collect their own or another boat. Almost all the traffic of private sailing vessels is east to west bound, with most of the vessels at this time of year headed for the same destination; the famed Galapagos, and then on to the South Pacific.

March 29

The whole crew spent a long hot day in Panama City. Ollie needed a last check by a dermatologist, and a whole array of needed items, was revealed on our shakedown cruise on the Canal. Our crew of five plus the wheelchair commandeered a small taxi for the day to:  see a doctor, buy propane, shop at for hardware items, fishing tackle,additional charts and more Panamanian beer. Phone calls home were made by all. A big treat was a last ice cream cone at a scoop shop.

Capt. Ollie under way

The old Canal Zone still carries a regal aura of a day long past. Magnificent old buildings contrast with abject poverty and a public with little respect for order or authority. The Canal is to be turned over to Panama completely in the year 2000. Many question the ability of the Panamanian government to administer it. From what we have seen,
we doubt it as well.

That evening Esther, Dennis and Ollie turn in early while Brad and Tony party at the Balboa Yacht Club.  An annual trans-canal canoe race is scheduled for tomorrow, sponsored by Absolute Vodka. Tony and Brad somehow win three bottles, seemingly having drunk several more, and return to Panacea in high spirits.

March 30

We are awake with eager anticipation to be getting off. Ollie goes into a serious orientation program to explain rigging, first aid kits, procedures, abandon ship kit, life raft, emergency water maker and so forth. This two hour talk about what we will do in case of emergency sobers everyone. None of us has any great apprehension of danger, but we are certainly aware of the hazards and perils of the sea.

The rigging is mostly new, even to the Skipper. Several things still have to be worked out, like a  preventer to be used when running downwind to prevent an unwanted gibe. Ollie has had no experience with the new whisker pole used to hold the head sail out when headed downwind, so we are fumbling about a bit, each of us guessing as to what lines  should control what and the best way to lead them to minimize confusion.

Ollie reads the assembled crew a passage from the beginning of Moby Dick about Ishmael going down to the sea when he had allowed land problems to grow too large. Good thoughts for the five of us as we prepare for the longest uninterrupted ocean crossing any of us has ever made, the 850 rhumb line miles to the Galapagos. After taking on water and fuel at the last marina dock we will see for four months (we did not know that at the time) we motor out into the Gulf of Panama on a falling tide around 3:30 PM. My  thought is that such a late start is singularly unlike my own preference for early departures, but if we are going to sail  850 miles, I suppose it really doesn't make much difference when we start.

Esther and tony on deck detail

Watches were set by the Skipper on what he described as a  modified Swedish system as follows:  12-4, 4-8, 8-1, 1-7, and 7-12, with the five person crew standing  watch in teams of two,  in a one off, one on rotation. Only a Swede could come up with such a complicated system. Each crew member is to have one full day off out of every three.  I never did figure it out, but continually had to ask Ollie where I was supposed to be that day. The member with no watch is responsible for cabin cleanup chores. Cooking and meal clean up is the responsibility of the individuals on duty at mealtime. The watch buddy system is chosen so the novice crews have two people on duty at anytime to share responsibility for decision making.

Early on, all the men quickly find Esther a soft touch for providing help with both menu ideas and food preparation. Left to themselves, the men would fix spaghetti every night, and tuna sandwiches for every lunch, with cereal for breakfast. After Esther, Ollie is the best cook, followed by Brad, then Dennis, then Tony. With Esther's help we all produce at least passable meals.

Several items of equipment are completely new to some of us. The Monitor vane steering needs regular adjustments to course, each GPS has its own idiosyncrasies, radar is unknown to several of us, and there is a growinglist of things to learn. For the first two days the novelty of the experience keeps us all awake much of the time. We are hot bunking with the on-duty crew, and below decks is, at first, very noisy and sleep comes hard. Plus, with the boat chocker block full of provisions, and personal gear stored everywhere, there is a considerable amount of clutter.

Esther and Dennis on watch

We are crossing the Equatorial Doldrums, beginning at 8 degrees north latitude and are headed for the Galapagos, on the Equator. This area, sandwiched between the northern and southern trade winds, is famous for its undependable winds.

April 2

Two days out, we are making around 110 miles per day sailing under full sail headed southwest. Light winds are not allowing us to generate any electricity with our wind generator. In running the auxiliary diesel engine to generate electricity,  Ollie notices a low charging rate. He has spent several hundred dollars in Panama having a local guru rebuild three alternators to supposed high performance capacity. We have the supposedly "good" alternator mounted and two spares in reserve.

Beginning to feel a little sleep deprived, I laid down for a nap around 7am to prepare for a  12-4pm watch. The Skipper was working on a dismantled alternator, fussing with what looked like burned brushes. At around 11, I awaken to a lot of commotion to find the Skipper rebuilding the head pump, because of a stoppage in the plumbing. It's beginning to look like Ollie's saying is correct. "We cruise only to be able to work on the boat in new surroundings".

We install new brushes on the alternator, after completing work on the electric head pump. Still, it's taking several hours of engine running to put a charge in the battery bank, rather than the one or two it should take. With our limited ability to generate 12 volt electricity, we decide to shut off the refrigeration system. As we have no meat on board, this does not seem like any great sacrifice. For the most part we are refrigerating produce, and keeping some drinking water cold.

Wednesday we spend becalmed. Ollie spends the entire day in the starboard cockpit locker, tearing out what looks like miles of wiring, convinced that a wiring defect near the ignition switch is responsible for our charging problems. As on many old boats, the wiring is of several generations in an ongoing state of evolution. Wire functions have been changed, new wires added and old wired not removed, and the whole thing is a maze to all of us, including Ollie. His capacity to remain crouched in the locker on his knees for hours at a time astounds me. Of course, with him standing or kneeling in the locker, all the tools and equipment normally in the locker are spread out over the entire cockpit. It is beginning to look like the tools will be out more than in.

Tools and related supplies are stored in a starboard cockpit seat locker, about 4 feet deep by 4 feet long by 1.5 feet wide. Perhaps 12 separate tool containers, bags, and boxes plus electric power tools are stored here. Putting the various things back into the locker efficiently is an art, resembling the assembly of an intricate puzzle. Invariably, the items placed in the locker first, thus on the bottom, are those required for the next project.  It seems as though as many a five repair projects might be going on at any one time, with the cockpit sole generally completely filled with tools removed from the locker to access  items needed for that particular job. Of course with tools and supplies strewn about the cockpit and saloon sole, it's nearly impossible to walk anywhere.

Brad, Toney, Dennis, and Esther eat on deck

Ollie's skin is showing no signs of improvement. The treatment  the  Panamanian  dermatologist prescribed is a both a cream and a lotion containing benzene hexachloride, or BHC, a long lasting and potent chlorinated hydrocarbon;  the same material  is highly regulated in the US, and available as "Borer-Miner Killer" for birch trees. Ollie takes a considerable amount of ribbing about this. Also, because of the language difficulty, Ollie is really not exactly sure just what the dermatologist suggested in the way of a treatment regime. All of the crew are beginning to develop psychosomatic itches as well. We all hope they are imaginary.

On Wednesday we are totally becalmed. Sails hang totally loose, or slat noisily with too little wind to fill them. We swim a bit, but fear of sharks keeps anyone from being comfortable. It is disconcerting swimming with the knowledge that solid ground, the bottom, is 5000 feet away. Shortly after we swim a shark does show up, lazing around for 5-10 minutes. No one is much interested in swimming again that day.

Around twilight, the wind picks up again when Esther and I are sharing a watch. A full moon rises on the horizon, keeping it almost light enough to read. Over a period of 15 minutes, I realize its getting progressively darker. Esther and I discuss what might be happening before we realize that we are in the middle of an almost total eclipse of the moon. We have seen eclipses before, but never an unexpected one. I can sympathize with early peoples who assumed some mystical happening was occurring.

Interestingly, Ollie is so tired from working on wiring and alternators all day he can't even rouse  himself to look out on deck to observe the eclipse. Retrospectively, it seems that we were not even sure it was an eclipse until it was almost over. With no publicity to hype the coming event, it was a complete surprise, and over before we appreciated it.

Shortly, the winds switch to south and build. We alter our heading to west, we hope not prematurely. The Humboldt Current will be in our face as we approach Galapagos if we go too far west before we approach the latitude of the Equator. The wind continues to build from the south through the night until we are making 7 knots due west under three reefs in the main  and a handkerchief of a jib.

We talked that night to Jennifer and Mike on Sea Otter. We have not met these people, but they are a couple of days behind us, and have established a network of sideband radio contacts with other boats who have left Panama around the same time as we. We will continue to keep in contact with them as we cross the South Pacific. The people behind us are in the same doldrums we have just escaped, at least temporarily.

April 4

The days are beginning to run together. With our watch system, it seems like we are either on watch or trying to sleep. Generally there is not enough for two watch mates to do, so one is busy reading, or perhaps napping while the other is more actively on duty. We are still close enough to Panama and the American continent to see some shipping, particularly at night. None of us has had enough night cruising experience to be comfortable interpreting the distance to and the course of the vessel from their light display, so any ship sighting, calls for rousing the crew mate and doubling the watch.

Also, we have plenty of time to tweak the sails and experiment with headings and adjustments of the vane steering, trying to maximize performance, and simply learning how the boat responds. Neither Esther nor I have ever sailed independent of the person who owned the boat being right on deck all the time and actively being the Captain, so we've mostly simply followed orders in the past. Now we are free on our watches to try a little experimentation with adjusting the sails to observe the response. We have had a couple of very abrupt wind shifts and squalls, but Panacea is by far the stiffest ship I've ever sailed on. Even very heavy gusts simply tip her down a bit,  maybe more than a bit, round her up to the weather slightly, then the vane steering takes over and the course is reestablished. She is a deep, heavy keeled vessel, with the addition of a heavy Perkins diesel engine immediately under the main saloon floor, a great place to put all that weight, unless you want to check the oil. We understand an entire collection of mechanical tools is located under and around the engine in the bilge, having been inadvertently dropped by various mechanics, paid and unpaid. None has ever been successfully retrieved.

One of the most novel  aspects of night watches is the opportunity to observe the night sky over a period of time. First, the southern hemisphere sky is completely different from the northern hemisphere. The big dipper is just visible, and the north star well below the level of the horizon. Also, while I had been generally aware of the movement of stars and constellations in the skies over time, I had no idea of the magnitude of that movement or its regularity from night to night. Particularly Scorpio, a constellation of which I had only read, becomes clearly visible every night as it rotates across the night sky. The Southern Cross is always visible to act as a compass without having the on board compass lighted at night.

April 5

We continue on with light winds and calms mixed about evenly. After several days of good progress, the calms seem to last forever. This is my day off from watch duty. Nothing particular to do except cabin cleaning. The entire cabin sole is dust mopped, and floor wax applied, all from one's hands and knees. The head is rinsed out, including the commode and floor. The head floor boards are removed, and the sole wiped down with detergent. No matter how you do it, you can't stretch the chore to last more than and hour or two.

Esther is giving more and more help to the men as they discover she can provide the necessary imagination to come up with something for a meal beyond simply opening and warming cans of vegetables. Everything she produces or has a hand in is warmly received. Appetites range from hearty to ravenous on the part of the men. Red hot sauce seems to be the condiment of choice among several of the men.

April 7

Easter Sunday. The weather continues mostly cloudy, with little wind and lots of sail flapping. The worst time is off-watch at night, as the sails make ALOT of noise as they slat and the sheets flop on the decks. Ollie produced a great pancake breakfast.

We caught our first fish last night. A 15 pound tuna provided great fillets. We hooked another fish at about the same time, but the line broke immediately.  We are trolling a rubber squid-like lure, just below or at the surface, about 300 feet behind the boat. I suspect we are traveling too slow for trolling for these aggressive fish. Later we got advice that one should troll immediately behind the boat, only a few feet back in the transom wash.

Dennis and fresh fish

Esther produced a great but nontraditional tuna casserole for Easter dinner. The terms Easter dinner and vegetarian seems to me to be mutually exclusive, however. By evening we are within 30 miles of the northern most of the Galapagos Islands, but we are either sailing very slowly or becalmed. While not moving with an easily seen wake, we are actually doing about two knots to the north, away from the Islands due to the Humboldt Current. When calm, the surface is just as flat as our small ponds at home. I had no idea the ocean could be so flat. Not even a suggestion of a roll on the horizon.

We hot wire the alternator directly around the voltage regulator so as to charge the battery bank as rapidly as possible. It works great except that we can't run the engine for more than a hour or so without having a danger of overcharging the batteries, very expensive new gel cell units. We carefully watch the volt meter and shut down at just over 14 volts. While the engine is running we are in gear, providing forward motion of 5-6 knots. Unfortunately, when we shut down, we begin to drift slowly backward.

April 8

More drifting. Everyone is tired and anxious to get ashore to continue the adventure. My watch is 12-4 AM. We've been drifting since mid afternoon, with so little wind that its almost impossible to keep the boat heading in the right direction. Since so little is happening I don't bother to wake my watch replacement, but stay on until 7:30 AM watching first the stars and constellations, then the coming dawn. By around 8 AM we finally get a little breeze to fill the sails and the sun comes out for the first time in several days. Perhaps life is not so bad after all. In midmorning Esther comes up with a great omelet. It's cool, in the mid 70, with lovely blue skies.

Land Ho! Genovese Island looms on the distant horizon around 6 PM. We had been thinking of stopping there before heading to the main island and village. But, with darkness we elect to go on the Academy Bay as originally planned. In the middle of the night we are very close to the equator and making good speed toward our destination, about 80 miles away . Our hope is to get there by mid-afternoon tomorrow.

Galapagos Islands (click to enlarge)

We all know there is something special we should be doing to celebrate crossing the equator, but no one can remember what. Around 11:30 PM I decide to call an old friend in the states who was in the navy as a young man. I  spoke on the sideband radio, to Dick Vilamil, in Vermont,  after midnight, who did not know I was in the South Pacific, nor recognize the name of the boat. "Collect call from the sailing vessel Panacea. Will you accept the charges?". Three or four times the operator went around with this message. Finally I spoke over the operator. "Dick, for God's sake accept the damned charges. This is Dennis".
When he got over the shock of  realizing he was talking with a boat in the South Pacific, and it was costing him $5.00 per minute, he was rapidly informative. We should, he told us, be naked, crazy as possible, offer alcoholic toasts to Kings Neptune and Poseidon. No problem. We could deal with all that.

With the northward current  heading us at about the same rate we are sailing south, it becomes apparent that we erred in heading west as far as we did. Had we followed the lead of some of the other boats, we would now be riding the Humboldt into the Galapagos from the east instead of bucking the current from the north.

The night sky continues to be incredibly clear for viewing the travel of constellations. Orion, visible in early evening is vanished by midnight. Scorpio comes into view  around midnight overhead, and heads south with the passing night. The southern cross burns brightly, and is a readily visible beacon for steering, even without a compass light. Right now we are trying to keep the cross dead on our bow.

We actually cross the Equator at 5:20 AM with all hands on deck for the celebration as we very slowly count down the last few seconds of latitude on the GPS.

April 9

It's 40-50 miles to Academy Bay, our destination  (On the round Island in the center of the chartlet. The airport is on the very small island just to the north with an aerobeacon symbol). We are motor sailing when the winds are absolutely calm, but we can only run the engine 30-45 minutes without overcharging the battery bank. Everyone is becoming increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress. So close and yet so far. It's obvious we will not make it in daylight, so we decide to anchor instead offshore of Baltra Island, just before dark. As will be a tradition in the future, we try to avoid making landfall in daylight. Too easy. Much more challenging to come up close to an unknown dark shore with radar and anchor in the dark.

Just before anchoring we lose another lure to a very large fish. We go to sleep with the sound of surf breaking for the first time in 11 days of sailing.

Our first Galapagos anchorage

Today we have seen dolphins, sharks, sea lions, seals, and many bird species, including penguins. We are gaining also an appreciation of the size of these islands. On our charts, they appear as mere specks in the middle of a vast ocean. As we approach, they loom into massive rocks of volcanic origin 3-30 miles long and separated by vast gulfs of open water, as much as fifty miles apart.  Altogether they span an area of ocean  about 120 miles long. Usually they show up first as a patch of clouds in an otherwise cloudless clear sky, then resolve themselves into visible land masses.

April 10,

For the first time in 11 days everyone slept soundly. No slating of sails or slapping of sheets, and watch crew mucking about in the middle of the night. The whole crew slept until 8:00 AM. We are all a little nervous about being anchored in a non-permitted area. The entire Galapagos Island chain is a national park of Equador and tourism, cruising and anchoring is tightly controlled by the government. We are anchored off Baltra, the small island where the only airport is located. We can see people, blinds, and wildlife watch areas on the shore. No plane traffic is seen or heard, but we can see seals, sea lions and penguins on the shore as well as frigate birds, boobies and terns everywhere in the air. From this anchorage we can see several larger craft we assume are tour boats from the large island just to the south of us.

We have to sail through a pass between Baltra and the big island, Santa Cruz, and then about 30 miles to the south end of that island and Academy Bay, and the village of Puerto Ayora, the only anchorage for customs entry for transient yachts. At 9:30 we haul anchor for what we hope will be a 5-6 hour sail to reach Puerto Ayora.  With practically no wind, we alternately motor sail for 30-40 minutes watching the voltage meter like hawks, then drift  for an hour or two using dc battery power as fast as we can by running all the electric appliances we can find. When the voltage drops to 12 v we start the engine again and motor sail.

We finally arrive at Academy Bay at midnight, in what will be the first of many night landfalls. The approach to the Bay is very poorly lit and aids to navigation are not in existence,  so we go in slowly under radar, creeping along nervously. It's decided not to try to motor right into the anchorage in the dark, but rather anchor outside overnight. We pulled off to the side of the channel, hopefully out of the way of shipping and let the anchor go in 70 feet of water, the first test of the new longer chain rode. With 70 feet hanging straight down, plus the anchor, it was a tremendous amount of weight and the chain rhode got away from Tony and Brad on the foredeck because of their lack of experience in letting the clutch out on the gypsy. We were anchored, but a big jam had occurred in the chain pipe under the gypsy. This was to be the first of several problems with the chain gypsy and windlass.

With the sound of surf in the near distance, and being near a shipping channel, and in a rolling sea of 3-5 feet, most of the crew slept poorly. In the middle of the night several boats raked us with search lights, reminding us of a night on Chesapeake Bay when a  speeding fishing boat cut the rope anchor rode on Sadie B, out small trawler.

But, we had made our first real ocean crossing, 850 miles west out into the Pacific in ten days of sailing. In total we had three great days of sailing, never touching the wheel or a sail for 72 hours. We spent several days in the grips of the Equatorial Doldrums, drifting aimlessly or trying to keeps the sails filled in very light winds. The monitor steering vane worked nearly flawlessly and the crew was getting along well. Even though the boat was somewhat crowded, Esther and I both appreciated the help and input from Brad and Tony as we crept up the learning curve of ocean sailing knowledge. But, with the cramped quarters, we were going to be happy in a week to have the ship to ourselves when they left to fly back to the States.