Westward bound in Panamá

We are no longer in Guna Yala, but I will take us back to our anchorage in Suludup in the eastern part of that province.

Whenever we were on board Mantra, we often had canoes pass close by to look at our boat and to say hello. Sometimes, the fishermen would offer freshly caught lobster or fish, and occasionally Peter would buy some for his dinner. The Guna were always amazed that only two of us live on such a large vessel. Just the living area inside our boat is larger than many of their houses, which often contain multiple generations.

Dolphins after a rain near Ustupu

On Wednesday, Sept. 11, after a night of heavy rains during which we collected water in our tanks, we pulled up anchor and traveled westward to another island, Ustupu, where we stayed for two nights. On Thursday, Sept. 12, we went to shore. Ustupu is a larger village than Caledonia with fewer traditional houses. The concrete dock where the supply boats tie up was surrounded by these vessels, but we found a little spot on the edge next to the shore amid the coral rubble and the washed up trash to tie up. 

Supply boat in Ustupu

We wandered around the village, stopping to buy sodas from a small store (alas, no Diet Coke!) where an older, traditionally dressed woman on the porch was sewing a mola. I offered to pay a small amount to take her photo, but she refused. The Guna, perhaps from modesty, perhaps based on some belief that part of them is captured and taken away in the photograph, almost always refuse. I would have liked to have photographs of the women in their molas, adorned with row upon row of small, colorful strung beads from their ankles to their knees and from their wrists to their elbows, with precious gold nose rings in their nasal septums and, often, delicate necklaces of solid gold around their necks. 

The main streets were wider in Ustupu than Caledonia and the community seemed more active. Teenagers in their school uniforms, which included navy and white molas for the girls, were on lunch break. A few boys were gregarious and welcomed the chance to practice--and show off--their English language skills. When we asked them if they learned English in school, they told us that that, no, they learn to speak English by watching television. I do not recall seeing any satellite dishes in Caledonia, but some of the houses in Ustupu had them. There were also power lines, so the town must have a generator, although we did not hear it. From our boat at night, we could see that there are a few street lights illuminating the town. 

Students walking on the packed dirt streets in Ustupu

When we went back to the dock to depart the island, as we were untying the line and getting in the dinghy, about six feet away a woman entered the over-the-water outhouse and urinated copiously directly into the water. It is one thing to think about human waste going into the sea untreated but another and more nauseating thing to have it occur right beside me. 

The waterfront with outhouses in Ustupu

As we dinghied back to Mantra, we were startled when a small school of inch-long silvery fish, sensing we were a predator and making an evasive move, jumped out of the water and into our small craft. Not realizing at once what was happening, I jumped up off the tube in alarm. Peter was quite amused and thought I was ready to jump overboard from fright!

Fishermen in their ulus in front in front of Ustupu

When we pulled up anchor on the morning of Friday the 13th (but we lose track of the days of the week, so we were oblivious to the portent and unaffected), the tropical sun was beating down on us and there was a light breeze, but not enough wind for sailing, so we motored for five hours to Snug Harbor. 

Guna fishermen in Snug Harbor

As usual, ulus paddled by and one stopped to offer fish or lobsters in the afternoon. Peter chose a half dozen of the small lobsters (although he regretted that they were harvested too soon--but it was too late to save them) and paid five dollars for them. He was the chef that night, dropping the poor creatures into boiling water. I was content to join him for dinner with cheese and crackers and cucumbers, but I had to leave the table when he started digging into the inner parts of the poor crustaceans. Yuck!

Poor lobsters!

By the early afternoon, the sky was cloudy again. Although I love clear blue skies, the changing weather here offers respite from the blazing sun and heat (which is not nearly as oppressive as it was in Cartagena), and the clouds pile up on each other and form dramatic patterns, layering themselves in front of one another in cumulus pillows and wispy cirrus  threads of various shades of white and gray. Every night in Guna Yala, if there was not a nearby storm, we could perceive the sky in the distance being illuminated sporadically by unseen lightning bolts, backlighting the towering cumulonimbus clouds, black against white. Often, there were multiple far-off storms at various points of the compass. When the skies were clear, the black dome of the sky was speckled with millions of stars and the Milky Way was flung like a gossamer scarf across the highest expanse.

The next day, after a pleasant night in Snug Harbor, where we were, once again, the only boat (We had not encountered another yacht since we left Islas del Rosario in Colombia, but this is perhaps not surprising since we often find ourselves in cruising areas in the off season.), we set off again westward into a light headwind, with a slight current. As the morning passed, the sky behind us darkened and we could see that a squall was catching up to us, so we tucked in between an island and the mainland and anchored to let it pass. We enjoyed lunch at this spot just south of Niadup in Devil’s Cays, listened to the cheering at an outdoor volleyball match between the island’s school team and a team that had come by taxi boat to compete against them (They had no care for the possibility of rain.), and watched as the storm passed by north of us.

Approaching storm from Devil's Cays

Our destination that day was the islands of Nargana-Yandup and Corazón de Jesus, which are connected by a pleasant pedestrian bridge and situated at the mouth of Río Diablo. For the first time since Colombia, we encountered other yachts. Two catamarans were anchored near the bridge and two monohulls were south of the town of Nargana. On board one was a Spaniard who charters his boats to tourists, and on the other was a Danish/Polish couple who are circumnavigating on a 32-foot steel boat, Pani Jensen. We chose to anchor closer to the mangroves on smaller islands near the mainland to be as far away from the annoying loud noise of the town’s generator. (We are baffled by the town’s decision to construct this polluting power plant when solar energy seems to be abundant.) 

Nargana 

Corazón de Jesus with the traditional congreso

The community of about two thousand citizens of Nargana no longer embrace all the Guna traditions, including the Congreso meetings. We didn’t see any alcohol on the other islands, but beer and rum are available in Nargana (though, although we can’t be sure, perhaps not in Corazon de Jesus, the smaller island which has a more traditional ambience). Many people have cell phones. Indeed, our main purpose in stopping in Nargana was to buy a SIM card in order to connect with the outside world (since Digicel, which is the only provider in the San Blas, does not have a contract with Google Fi, probably because there is so little bandwidth available) and to hunt for Diet Cokes. 

On Sunday, Sept. Sept. 15, we went to town. As we were wandering around, we were approached by an older man who spoke passable English. He offered to show us where to buy produce and bread and sodas and to help us get a SIM card. Frederico talked all the time. The first place he took us was to his house and his family’s store. Many of the small shops on the islands are not places you walk into but large windows with a counter from which you can peer inside and indicate what you want. Unlike supermarkets in the developed world, they pick the pieces of fruit and vegetables for you. We bought tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, carrots, and a pineapple. (There is not a wide variety of choices.) Asking him about Guna bread and Diet Cokes, we were led, accompanied by anecdotes of his previous encounters with yachties, by Frederico from shop to shop. Apparently, it was too late in the day for bread, which is baked daily, and Diet Cokes were not to be found anywhere. Finally, we returned to the yellow-ochre building by the dock, which Peter said reminded him of the first house he lived in as a child, and were able to buy a SIM card and purchase short-term service. Neither the people there nor we had any small tool for opening the phone, so we could not put it in until we returned to Mantra. 

About an hour later, Frederico showed up in his canoe. He wanted me to help him with his English, so we sat in the pilot house while I wrote words for tools, weather and other things and taught him how to pronounce them. He was confused by the similarly spelled words “sky” and “ski,” so we discussed the difference. In turn, he helped me with a few Spanish words. Mostly, though, he spent the time he was visiting telling stories in great detail of helping white people who had been bitten by crocodiles or become ill and needed emergency services. He was proud of his accomplishments and we grew a bit weary of hearing about them. 

Frederico with his ulu, leaving Mantra

Later in the afternoon, we stopped to visit Carl and Agnieszka. In chatting from our dinghy, I mentioned that we had had no luck in finding Diet Coke. Agnieszka revealed that she had discovered a couple of cans on their boat, and we became fast friends! Over the next couple of days, we visited them or they visited us, sharing beer or wine and snacks and stories. They found a few more Diet Cokes each day, and I blessed them. Peter helped them with an electrical issue, so they were thankful for us. We really enjoyed their company and would have done so even if they had not been the first fellow travelers we had encountered since leaving Cartagena. Yachties form a community with transient friendships during their voyages, and we have rarely met anyone with whom we did not form bonds. We miss our family and community of friends on land, and the far-flung constellation of boats offer our only sense of connection with in-the-flesh people in real time.

Before darkness, Peter and I kayaked for some distance along the mangroves looking for crocodiles but only found washed up trash. The mangroves predominate the landscape, and a few small areas with sandy beaches support coconut palms. Sometimes we were in deep water and at others coral heads were right beneath our hull. However, with the sediment carried down by the river and the pollution caused by the population, we chose not to snorkel or go in the water at all around Río Diablo. 

Watery tunnel into the mangroves

One of the reasons we were so anxious to communicate with people by phone and by text was that Matthew was leaving in a few days for London to matriculate at University College London for his master’s degree, and an Oxford student, a complete stranger, was expected to arrive at the house on the same day as Matthew’s departure to stay with Katya for a couple of days. (I was anxious about this, but it turned out in the end that Benedict was a very nice young man and he and Katya had a good time together.) We wanted to be available to Matthew if he needed any help with last minute tasks or planning. However, despite my ability to read Spanish much better than I can speak it, we were unable to set up the Digicel account with the unlimited international calling and Internet service we had purchased; the calls went through but there was no Internet service. We would have to return to the office the next day to find a way to get it to work. Luckily, we were able to talk with Matthew (who did have a few questions, such as “Where is the large suitcase?”) and with Katya. 

On our second night in this anchorage, there was a long-lasting, tremendous storm which sat for some time over the bay. The sky trembled with frequent thunder and the sky became bright with each shock of lightning. We saw one bolt zig-zag down to the water and seem to explode near where the catamarans and the Spaniard’s boat were anchored. Just yesterday, when we again encountered Carl and Agnieszka, we learned that the Spaniard’s boat had been hit and the current had flowed through the water and fried Peni Jensen’s portable generator (although they did not make the connection between the lightning strike and the sudden failure of the equipment until Peter explained the probability of it to them yesterday).

Mantra at anchor before a storm

Sunset from Río Diablo before the storm

We stayed anchored until Thursday, Sept. 19, until after Matthew had got on his plane to London and Benedict had arrived on Sept. 18. Reassured that everything was fine on the home front, we left in the late morning. Before that, we passed our time visiting with Carl and Agnieszka, going into town for more supplies (Frederico was not as friendly when he encountered us and realized that we had already purchased everything we needed without stopping at his store.) on Wednesday morning. We had to make another trip in the afternoon because the beer, for some reason, was not available until later in the day. 

During our stay, we met two young Mormon women from the US on a two-year mission in Panamá. They had already stayed for a few months each at other places in Panamá and had just arrived in Nargana. We enjoyed chatting with them, learning that they had started out with no knowledge of Spanish and that they were living exactly as the locals did, using the over-the-water outhouses, washing clothes in buckets and taking bucket showers. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.

One morning, we took the kayak up the river. At the mouth littered both with trash and dead wood washed down the river, glossy-leaved mangroves line the shore. As we paddled upstream, it was apparent from the vegetation where the fresh water from the mountains begins mixing with the saline water brought in by the tides. The dense mangroves gave way to large flowering trees, bananas and palms. One particular but unknown-to-me species of tree with a large, round canopy was filled with clusters of tiny white blossoms which perfumed the air with a scent similar to jasmine. Sometimes, a canopy of various shades of green sheltered the stream and at others the river widened and the trees parted to reveal a blue sky. Where the water became purely fresh water, along the shores the small cultivated fields of coconut trees and bananas appeared. The agricultural patches were neat and well-tended. The Guna penetrate deep into the jungle to grow their food, but we did not land our boat to explore out of respect for their privacy on their land. Ulus were pulled up on shore in some places and we could see the men working, each alone in his place.

Río Diablo

Río Diablo

Although we were sorry to leave the company of Carl and Agnieszka, we pulled up anchor to move on to the islands and cays north and west of Nargana, an area more visited by yachties and tourists. And this made all the difference! There was no more concentration of people in small towns, and the garbage, which was at its worst south of Nargana, where floating plastic bottles were always in sight from the deck, virtually disappeared. 

Peter looking for coral reefs as we approach the Coco Bandero Cays

Rain behind us

Our first stop was in the Coco Bandera Cays just a few miles north of Río Diablo. The color of the water changed from brownish green to turquoise blue as we fled proximity to the mainland and the villages with their lack of public sanitation programs. We could swim again for the first time since we left Suludup! As soon as we dropped anchor just south of the island of Orduptarboat, on which we could see only a couple of small structures, we pulled out the snorkeling gear and dove into the crystal clear water, the likes of which we had not seen since leaving the Bahamas earlier this year. What we found on the reef on the north side of the island was an abundance of fish and the best and most healthy coral we have encountered in a long time, much more vibrant and varied than the islands of the Bahamas. 

Orduptarboat when we arrived

Sunset to the west from Mantra . . .

and a simultaneous rainbow over Orduptarboat to the north

The next morning, we went again to the reef, and then we swam to the pristine white sand beach of the little island to walk around the perimeter. As we were walking in the glaring sunshine, we were beckoned to come under the coconut palms by a sole woman by some rusty metal tables and a few plastic chairs. The area under the trees was raked and tidy. On the north side of the opening in the trees was the kitchen hut and toward the south was the sleeping hut, beyond which there was a cane and thatch outhouse with an unplumbed porcelain toilet. (I don’t know where the waste went since it would be difficult to dig very deeply into the hard coral, but at least it wasn’t going directly into the sea.) She led us to the tidy sleeping house, which was surrounded by a cane fence, to retrieve a couple of buckets and bags containing molas and beaded work. After complimenting her on her accommodations, we helped her carry her wares to the tables. The molas were made entirely by hand and were even more impressive in their craftsmanship than the ones we bought at Caledonia. Each had a tiny paper note attached with a straight pin on which was penciled in tiny lettering the name of the maker and the price. The woman herself was so friendly and charming that we couldn’t resist buying a couple of items. However, we had nothing but our snorkeling gear with us, so we had to swim back to our boat first. I returned to the island alone with a floating dry bag to make our purchase and in hopes of getting a photograph. When I arrived, other people, friends or family from other islands perhaps, were there getting ready to make lunch. When I asked the first woman about a photograph, she politely refused but her friend, Luz Marie, who was sorting rice in a shallow metal bowl, was willing. 

Luz Marie sorting rice with beadwork on display for sale

Although there were half a dozen or more other yachts anchored in the Coco Bandero Cays, they were on the eastern end (where there was no more room for us), so we were peacefully alone that night and enjoyed the solitude and beauty of the spot. 

Mantra from Orduptarboat

Fish swam in giant schools all around Mantra

Peter had begun to clean the bottom of the boat when we were anchored by Suludup, and now he had a chance to continue. However, it is hard work to do it free-diving with mask and snorkel, so he decided to break out the compressor and regulators and hoses which we had not yet used to make his work easier. We spent the morning at anchor while I either swam or switched on or off the equipment from deck and he scraped barnacles and other lifeforms from the hull, keel and rudder. 

After lunch, we pulled up anchor under mostly clear skies and sailed in light winds on toward the Western Holandes Cays. Accompanying us was a little glossy blue and black barn swallow. As we were getting ready to leave, he came into the pilot house and flew onto Peter’s shoulder, and then he found a good spot on the top of an aft cushion and hitched a ride for about a half an hour. He was surprisingly tame and allowed us to get quite close to him.

Peter with the barn swallow

Barn swallow enjoying the ride

Soon we were being chased by a squall and we ducked into an anchorage behind the island of Miriadiadup before we reached our intended destination at the far western end of the cays. However, we were quite satisfied with our new spot. The storm passed by. The light was not good, but we were surrounded by coral, so we snorkeled anyway, finding large schools of fish of various types in the shallow reefs. 

The next day (Saturday, Sept. 21), the wind hardly registered on the Beaufort scale, so we motored under very sunny skies to the Eastern Lemmon Cays, where we wiggled our way through the northern reefs of the cays to anchor south of Yansaladup, another pristine island. A couple dozen boats were anchored close to small islands with buildings offering drinks and food to both the yachties and guests ferried over from the mainland, but we kept our distance, thinking rightly that, since some of them were vessels with foreign backpackers or Panamanians on vacation, there would be loud music into the night, and we prefer the lapping of waves on the shores and against the hull of our boat as we go to sleep.

Sunset, Eastern Lemmon Cays

Most of our days are fairly inactive and non-eventful. If we are not moving, we read or play games. Peter works on various things on the boat and I clean or do laundry or cook. But Sunday (Sept. 22), the first day of autumn--although there is no indication of it here--was a day of activity and adventure. The facilities abounding on the islands further away gave the promise of Diet Coke, so we set off in the kayak in pursuit of this treasure. We first stopped at a small island with a single outdoor bar. Alas, they did not have any Diet Coke, but the friendly man indicated that if we paddled to a slightly larger place three islands down the chain, we would likely find some. Continuing on our quest, we paddled westward and reached a holiday island where apparently local people come to camp. There was a bar and restaurant and, yes, they had Diet Coke! I bought one to drink and then requested 12 more. “Doce?” “Si, doce.” Raised eyebrows: “Doce?” “Si, doce.” Expensive at $2 each, but worth the money! They people in line behind me where amused and curious and I explained that we were living on our boat and my supply was depleted. Peter walked by snidely remarking about my addiction.

Peter with our kayak in the Eastern Lemmon Cays

This place was charming and lively, and we decided to stay for lunch. (We hadn’t had a meal off the boat since we left Cartagena.) Sitting looking over the clear water toward the mountains on the mainland, we ordered food, pleased that they had a vegetarian dish. It arrived in minutes, and the food was delicious. Peter, of course, had a whole fish, the flesh of which he peeled from the scales and bones (not pretty to watch). 

View from our table

Sneak photograph of one of the waitresses in traditional clothing

Enjoying a Diet Coke!

After our relaxing repast, we set off again in our bright orange kayak, exploring more territory and eventually returning to Mantra. Immediately, we exchanged the paddles for our snorkeling gear. There was not much coral close to us, but there were grasses and sandy bottoms to explore. Tiny, colorful patches of coral, smaller than my hand, popped up through the gently waving light green and brown grasses--a new reef being born. Small but delightfully varied fish darted around, sometimes in large schools. We found the carapaces of heart urchins, some of which I collected; conch shells, inhabited by crabs, so we put them back; cushion sea stars up to a foot across, with thick, short arms and knobby spines creating a geometric pattern of darker pigment against dark orange; and large sea cucumbers, including a type I don’t think I have encountered before, the furry sea cucumber. 

After afternoon tea, we set off again in the kayak with our snorkeling gear to explore the northern reef. We dropped anchor inside the reef and then found a passage through the coral. The sun had hidden itself behind some cumulus clouds in the west, so the light was not optimal, but we don’t think we have ever before swum with such large schools of large fish--hundreds of blue tang and doctorfish, an abundance of parrotfish, various species of grunts--all among an amazing variety of coral. We even spotted a large ocean triggerfish, pale gray with symmetrical dorsal and anal fins shaped almost like right triangles attached to the top and bottom of the fish. Larger than most fins on reef fish, their height is approximately one-fourth of the length of the body of the triggerfish. It was a joy to see this fish. Normally, they swim in groups in open water, but they can be observed, as we did, during nesting, when they individually find sandy patches to lay eggs and then remain by the nest to defend it against predators.

The sun was close to setting as we returned to the kayak. It had occurred to me after we jumped off to snorkel that I wasn’t sure I could get back in when I couldn’t touch bottom. Peter assured me that it was easy and noted that I used to be able to do it in a kayak or a canoe a decade or two ago. It’s not so easy now; in fact, it was impossible no matter how hard I kicked my fins. (Let’s not even think about the various factors involved in this failure.) Peter, agile and fit, leaped aboard with ease, and he paddled for a while to a more shallow place where I could stand. I didn’t really mind, because I can always keep snorkeling, and it was glorious to watch the sky and the surface of the sea turn to deeper and deeper shades of red from exactly sea level. 

Squid hanging out by the anchor chain

Traveling through the western San Blas islands

The next day, with no wind yet again, we motored for another hour and a half to another group of islands, the Western Lemmon Cays, anchoring, with four other boats in sight, northeast of the island of Tiadup. Peter wanted to stay out of the sun for a while, so I plunged into the water myself and headed to the reef to the south, nicely indicated by brown pelicans sitting on coral just at water level. I encountered the largest school of parrotfish ever for me as I swam along the top edge of the wall that dropped off to unseen depths. The pelicans were not perturbed by my presence on the reef and I was able to swim close enough to discern individual feathers and the shapes of their webbed, rubbery feet. 

Peter snorkeled on his own later in the day, and the next morning (Tuesday, Sept. 24) we explored together. Peter thought he had seen a passage large enough for Mantra through the reef and we searched for it but did not find it. Returning to the boat, we pulled up anchor and headed north and then west again. We actually had enough wind to sail on a close reach for about an hour and then had to motor for another to reach our next anchorage north of Punta San Blas and the reefs to the north. For once, I chose not to snorkel; my skin felt like it wanted no more sun. I stayed in our cabin, the fans blowing on me, and later Peter took the kayak to paddle near the point. He had planned to explore a little bit on the land, but the no-see-ums deterred him from even getting close to the shore.

The next morning we left the Guna Yala province and entered the province of Colón. Crossing the provincial border with us was a white egret, who perched on top of the mast as we departed and stayed with us until we anchored. We were thrilled that a south wind was blowing up to 17 knots and we were able to sail on the port tack on a beam reach for three hours at 7 to 8 knots of speed, with bursts up to 9. The wind in our sails was exhilarating while it lasted. After three hours, we fell into the wind shadow of the land, and we motored for another two hours to reach Green Turtle Cay. Although there were boats, mostly local ones, in the marina around the bend of an inlet from the bay, we were the only one anchored in the reef encircled bay. Swimming from the boat to the inlet entrance, we then followed the undulating reef as it came up to the surface. The reef, which seemed to go on forever, folding in and out from the land, formed a wall descending six meters to a sandy bottom which then deepened to 12-17 meters. Small fish swam in the crevices and canyons near the surface, and larger snappers and groupers traveled around at the base of the reef over the sand. Most delightful was a large spotted eagle ray which sailed past me and then allowed me to tail if for a distance before darting away. Sad to say, we saw no turtles.

Peter and I swam to the beach and went to the La Perla restaurant to inquire about dinner; we were informed it was served at 6:00. Then we walked along the white sand shore, so similar in shape to the beach of Olbadia but much more appealing in its absence of trash. Donning our gear again, we snorkeled along the western edge of the bay until the light dimmed. We swam back to the boat, showered and dressed quickly, splashed the kayak and paddled in for dinner. The restaurant with its table by the beach facing the sunset over the bay was in a lovely setting, but the sand flies and no-see-ums were annoying and we paid very little but still too much for food that was mediocre.

We were following Peni Jensen on AIS, so we knew they were at the marina in Linton Bay. This was our next destination. We were able to sail for two hours. The scenery along this stretch of coast is quite pleasing, with small, conical, tree covered islands emerging from the sea, with their rocky bases exposed at water level, volcanic black and coated with a filigree of white salt. There are dozens of boats anchored in Linton Bay, although the majority of them seem to be unoccupied and a few are quite derelict. 

Mogote de Afuera

Linton Bay

An injured, half-eaten butterfly on the deck, still able to fly

After settling in, we put the dinghy in the water and puttered over to the marina. Carl and Agnieszka saw us coming and were excited to see us. After we paid the dinghy fee and I found three novels for trade in the slightly grubby looking open-air restaurant, we visited with them on their boat on the dock. They are having electrical problems, and Peter returned later in the day to try to sort it out. (Unfortunately, they need to find and purchase a new piece of equipment.) 

Carl, Agnieszka and Peter in our dinghy

Today, so far, has been a catch-up day for me, and Peter has worked on the VHF speakers and done other chores in addition to talking with Katya (who is trying to get the Range Rover in for repairs since she now needs to drive it because she had a small accident in the Honda Pilot and the radiator is leaking) and with Matthew in England. Now it’s time for lunch and a trip to the little marina for Internet and possible provisions nearby.