On Friday afternoon, Oct. 4, we pulled up anchor, and after motoring upstream for a mile or two to see if we could spot any more animals, we turned around and set off on an overnight trip to Isla Escudo Veraguas. A couple of times, we were able to travel using only sail, but most of the voyage was with light and variable winds, mostly from directly ahead of us, so we had to motor.
I took over watch at 4:30 a.m. on Saturday, Oct. 5. Some stars could be seen through patches in the high clouds, but the Milky Way was obscured. The clouds encircling the horizon were dense and bulging with moisture, so the sunrise was not at all spectacular; in fact, the sky gradually lightened as the earth turned on its axis, but the sun never actually made an appearance.
However, dolphins did, as they often do at dawn at sea. They love to ride the bow wake. About half a dozen joined us, jumping and crossing over in front of the boat and circling around to get back in a prime position, playfully (I assume, because they don’t seem aggressive) jostling each other out of the way. I watched them from the bowsprit. After about 15 minutes, they began to peel away, but one remained for a few more rides. Maybe because he has enough space and freedom, he not only skimmed the surface of the water but made a few complete, slow rolls, so I was able to see his ventral side. How exciting! This meant that I had enough details to identify his species, and after he left, I brought the reference book on marine mammals up to do my research. I was able to determine that these dolphins were pantropical spotted dolphins (Stenella attenuata) by observing the white-tipped beak; the spotting, quite distinctive on the lighter ventral side; and the sweep of the dark dorsal cape, dipping low onto the sides.
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| Pantropical spotted dolphin |
When Peter awoke around 7:30, I shared my excitement with him, and then I took my turn sleeping. As I slept on the cushions on the port side of the pilot house, I dreamed that Peter told me that he had seen and identified a different type of dolphin. When I woke up a couple hours later, I learned that it was not a dream! He had identified a two rough-toothed dolphins (Steno bredanensis), noticing the long beak with no crease at the melon and the irregular spotting and blotching as well as whitish-yellow scars, caused either by fighting with their own kind or by bites of large squid and cookie-cutter sharks. (I would not want to encounter their enemies!)
Both Peter and I love identifying species, not only dolphins but fish, coral and other life on the reefs where we snorkel as frequently as possible. Snorkeling is never, ever boring because, even if there is not an unexpected find of a spotted eagle ray or a large grouper or some other species not seen very often in these waters, there is always something different and fascinating to observe, even among fish that are ubiquitous. I almost always pull out the books after I snorkel to learn about some detail or distinction that I may not have noticed before.
Sometimes, the juveniles of a fish species are more distinctive and colorful than the adults. This is true of the young gray angelfish, which is the darkest black with three neatly drawn vertical, bright yellow stripes on its body, another a the front of its tail, and yet another extending from its forehead, around its lips and under the chin. The yellow-black contrast is stunning in this disc-shaped little fish.
The rock beauty, another angelfish, is a thrill to see in all its forms. As an adult, it has a orange yellow forebody and tail, and this same pigment outlines it on the top and the bottom of its main body, which is a dusky black. Its pointy mouth is gray-blue. Unusually, only one is seen at a time. The very young rock beauties, darting in and out of holes in the reef, are more orange than yellow and have curved rather than sharp tips on the ends of their dorsal and anal fins. In this stage, the black pigment is contained in a sky blue rimmed circle near the back of the body on each side, so the fish is mostly brightly colored. As it matures, the blue ring fades away and the black spot increases in size until the hue covers the body.
These species of angelfish and others, with their rounded foreheads and long dorsal and anal fins sometimes tapering back into delicate points, grow to about six to twelve inches as adults. Two much rarer and less disc-shaped species of angelfish in their adult form could be mistaken for juveniles because they are only about two inches long at maturity and are brilliantly colored. The cherubfish, which we seldom see except on walls like we encountered at Green Turtle Cay, is deep royal blue, iridescent in direct sunlight, and its face and the front of its chest contrast in yellow-orange. The eyes are encircled by a dark blue ring. The flameback angelfish sports similar colors, but the orange patch of the face and nape continues onto the back and dorsal fish.
Butterflyfish are similar to angelfish. They are usually less than 6 inches long and have thin bodies, as do the angelfish. However, their heads have a concave rather than a rounded shape, and their dorsal and anal fins usually extend to the top and bottom sides of the tail fin, making the entire fish appear more found than the angelfish. Often not as splashy in coloration as angelfish, they are nonetheless lovely. Their bodies are usually silvery-white. The aptly named banded butterflyfish sports broad black vertical stipes and light yellow edging on its fins. The smaller juvenile form includes a black, white-rimmed spot on the back of its dorsal fin.
A similar spot is seen on adult four-eye butterflyfish, at the rear of the body near the upper base of the tail. Dark, thin lines radiate diagonally from the midbody, and a grayish bar on the head runs across the eye. A much smaller spot is just at the outer edge of the rear dorsal fin of the spotfin butterflyfish, and it also has a dark band running vertically across its eyes. The distinguishing feature of this fish is the brilliant yellow color of the fins, which, because of the extension of the dorsal and ventral fins to almost merge with the tail fin, makes the entire body from the face back appear encircled by a glowing halo.
The reef butterflyfish is mostly light yellow on top and silver on the bottom and has only two broad black stripes, one through the eyes and the other along the rear of the body, extending from the dorsal fin to the anal fin. There are other types of butterflyfish, but these are the ones we commonly see in shallow reefs.
Butterflyfish are frequently in pairs, but other species aggregate. These include surgeonfish, so named because of the sharp spine at the base of the tail. Oval-shaped blue tang, whose color ranges from powder blue to almost purple, from 5 to 15 inches in size, are abundant and found on most reefs. Sometimes in their groups, they mix in other surgeonfish such as ocean surgeonfish, which can actually change color but are usually seen as bluish gray to light brown with blue edging on the fins. Both the ocean surgeonfish and the doctor fish are more streamlined than the blue tang. The doctorfish is distinguished from the ocean surgeonfish by 10 to 12 light vertical bars on the body, which can be quite faint. Sometimes there is a pale yellow band at the base of the tail, which makes it easier to identify.
Other fish seen in schools on reefs and on grassy bottoms have sloping heads and tapered bodies rather than round shapes. These include grunts, of which there are 18 identified species in the Caribbean. Many have similar blue and yellow horizontal striping, so special attention is needed to identify them. The French grunt is 6 to 10 inches long and has many yellow stripes on a pale blue background, with the stripes above the lateral lying on the horizontal and the stripes below extending at a slight angle; the fins are always pure yellow. In contrast, the bluestriped grunt has many blue stripes on a yellow background, although I find it hard to tell if there are yellow stripes on blue or blue stripes on yellow. The bluestriped grunt has a dark tail and rear dorsal fin, so that helps to differentiate, and the bluestriped is larger, 8 to 14 inches. And then there is the 7 to 9 inch smallmouth grunt, which has only five or six yellow stripes over a silvery body; it also has yellow fins. The 8 to 14 inch white grunt only has yellow and blue stripes on its head; large scales on its upper body make a checkerboard pattern of yellow and bluish silver, often with a pearly iridescence. Then there is the Caesar grunt (yellow over white, silver or blue gray, with charcoal rear dorsal, anal and tail fins), the Latin grunt (scales aligned to form numerous thin oblique stripes on the body, large black spot on the base of the tail), the tomtae, the cottonwick, the striped grunt, the bronzestriped grunt, the Spanish grunt, sailors choice, the black grunt, and the corocoro, the pigfish, the porkfish, the black margate, and the white margate. As juveniles, they often look even more similar, all with darker horizontal stripes over a silvery or yellow body. I enjoy the challenge of identification even if I don’t always succeed.
The silvery jacks are less ubiquitous on the reefs, but they are a bit easier to identify. They are usually one foot long but can be twice that size at greater depths. The yellow jack is one we don’t often see; they have yellow tails and their shiny silver bodies tend to have a yellow cast to them. More common are my favorite jack, the bar jack. This silver fish is quite handsome. A double stripe, black on top and bright, bright blue on bottom runs from the head along the dorsal fin and then crosses the base of the tail and onto the lower fork of the tail fin. Also striking is the palometa, a type of jack with extremely long dorsal and anal fins which taper to points, almost touching the ends of the forked tail fin.
Obviously, I could go on and on about reef fish, but I will stop with the parrotfish, which all conspicuously swim with their pectoral fins and have obvious scales (as do wrasses and hogfish). Since I started swimming in warm, tropical waters in the mid-1980s, the parrotfish has always been a favorite. They are often solitary, pecking at the coral with their parrot-like beaks to scrape off algae, although it is not unusual to see several in different places on the same reef. Occasionally they aggregate, and I saw a large school in the Western Lemon Cays. The blue parrotfish are, well, blue all over, and it has a squared-off head. The rainbow parrotfish seems splotchy, with orange and brown tones on their heads and various shades of turquoise and green from their pectoral fins back. Sometimes their squarish tails are orange. They show a lot of variation in pigmentation. I love the bright yellow highlights of the stoplight and princess parrotfish. The emerald green spotlight parrotfish has a small yellow spot at the upper corner of their gill covers, yellow on the base of the tail and a matching yellow crescent near the back of the curved tail. The blue-green princess parrotfish has just one orange-yellow feature, a stripe down the midbody and fades away as it approaches the tail. But then there are bluelip parrotfish, greenblotch parrotfish, redtail parrotfish and many others--14 identified species in the Caribbean. We have quite possibly seen most of them. Like the angelfish, parrotfish can look quite different in their initial phases and their juvenile phases, so identification does not stop with just 14 sets of distinguishing characteristics!
Parrotfish are quite interesting in their behavior. As they scrape off algae for food, they also ingest large amounts of dead coral (calcium carbonate), which is ground up by bony teeth plates. Marine scientists have found that, on average, about 75% of the gut content of parrotfish is inorganic material. This means they produce a lot of waste, and it is not unusual to see a plume of sand trailing behind them. In fact, they are one of the major producers of sand in the tropics.
But, enough about fish! Some other time I will write about reef coral, which we were delighted to find in greater variety in Panama than almost any other place we have visited in the last 20 years. Although we have encountered dead reefs, we have been surprised to find many, many healthy reefs, particularly in the clear waters of the San Blas Islands.
I digressed from dolphins to fish species, but now I will go back to the trip itself. We arrived at Isla Escudo Veraguas around 10 a.m. and dropped anchor. The water was crystalline, and we lost no time in getting in with our masks, fins and snorkels. Near the shore, there were several green topped little islands with 10 to 20 foot vertical sides of mudstone. Crabs scampered over the slippery, peeling surface above the waterline, and small fish darted around the 2 to 3 feet drop of the islands below the surface to a sandy bottom. I spotted a roughtail stingray, who spotted me and tried to disguise himself by burrowing in the sand. I also saw a solitary queen triggerfish, easily recognized by its two blue stripes across its face but seldom seen, in its intermediate phase by a small hole in the sand in the shape of an inverted cone. We also saw one of the biggest barracuda we have ever encountered, its body gleaming like polished chrome.
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| Isla Escudo de Veraguas |
The anchorage had no protection from changes in wind and waves, so we motored on into the Tobobe Bight, slowly sneaking past coral on both sides of a channel leading into a sheltered bay. We dropped anchor just south of the village of Tobobe. As we were anchoring, two large dugout canoes with outboard motors, carrying families stopped to watch the process. Afterwards, one departed, but the other stayed. The man idled his engine and they walked themselves around the hull of Mantra, peering into the windows. Then, they stopped their 30 foot long boat along the starboard side and just sat. There were six teenage girls attired in dresses or skirts and blouses, and the man was in shorts and a t-shirt. Obviously they were just enjoying a leisurely Saturday afternoon on the water. The man was sociable while the girls seemed timid and embarrassed; they were all enthralled by our boat. We really weren’t talking much with them; nevertheless, the man continued holding on to a stanchion while the girls were sheltering from the sun under their umbrellas. Even though I could converse with them in Spanish, they didn’t seem interested in conversation, but they didn’t seem interested in leaving either. Finally, we invited them on board, thinking they would look around and then leave.
Well, that didn’t happen. First, the six girls came up on the foredeck and either perched on the upside down dinghy or made themselves comfortable in other places. I asked them about their ages, their relationships to each other, where they were from; I received single word answers. They would not engage with me but just sat complacently, not talking among themselves either. They seemed to be expecting something, but I had no idea what. Meanwhile, Peter had helped the man (father to two of them, uncle to the others) tie his boat to the stern and was showing him around. Even though Peter does not speak Spanish, the two of them were having better success at conversation than I was.
At a total loss of what to do, I invited them down below. They trooped down the companionway and immediately seated themselves on the sofa or our bed--and just sat. At Peter’s prompting, I tried to have a conversation about the Spanish and the English words for various things around them. They were less than enthusiastic. I offered them water and they accepted it. Still they did not speak; it was really quite disconcerting. We had opened a bag of gingersnaps earlier, so I retrieve it from the pilothouse and offered them cookies. One after one, each greedy grabber stuck a hand deep into the bag and extracted not one or two pieces but large handful of cookies, as many as could be held. If they noticed my wide eyes, they gave no indication.
In some desperation, I picked up my cell phone and started showing them photographs of my family. That held their interest more, and they repeated English words for family members, but their interest waned quickly. Peter was showing the man things at the nav station, but he and I kept glancing at each other and subtly shrugging our shoulders. Would they ever leave?
Finally, I told them that we had navigated all night and that we needed to sleep. They nodded and did not move. Two of the girls had picked up a deck of cards and were playing War at the dining table. One was admiring herself in the bedroom mirror. Eventually, the man told them it was time to go. Slowly, reluctantly, they moved toward the companionway. One picked up her glass and held it by the water faucet in the galley. She couldn’t figure out how to turn it on, nor could her companions. I thought she wanted to rinse the glass out and appreciated her thoughtfulness, but then I realized she wanted another drink. And then everyone wanted another drink. Would it have been so difficult to say, “Mas agua, por favor?”
Meanwhile, they sat down to look at the computer screen, picked up objects and looked all around as they slowly made their way out. One bold girl tried out the hand sanitizer and then went into the galley and opened every drawer, inspecting the contents. I understand there are cultural differences, but in what society is it considered acceptable to linger around someone’s home until they eventually invite you in and then, without any embarrassment and in plain sight of the host, silently open drawers and cabinets to see what is inside? Their presence felt like an intrusion, and we were so relieved to see them leave. Only one girl said, “Thank you.”
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| Adiós |
A couple of other boats, seeing the family on board, approached, thinking they also would be invited to join us. We had had quite enough. One small dugout canoe had a single person in it, a boy, probably also a teenager, who looked at us with mournful eyes, expectant. The only thing was to stay below, out of sight, despite the heat. I retreated to our bedroom with the fans for comfort and a book to read. Peter had things to do on deck, so he did not avoid being approached. One man was offering items for sale, small, simple, loosely crocheted bags for $25. Peter brought one down for me to look at. I couldn’t imagine what use anyone would have for them and was outraged at the price. One man jumped right up on the swim platform and tried to get Peter’s attention. We had closed the gate to discourage anyone from coming on board; the swim platform is still part of our boat even if we can’t cordon it off, so this was just wrong. It is common courtesy throughout the world to ask permission to come on board a stranger’s boat, just as it is polite to knock at someone’s door and wait to be invited in rather than barging in. Meanwhile, the young, sorrowful boy was standing up in his boat and making his way around ours, putting his face to the windows to stare in. I immediately closed all the blinds to block his view. (I hadn’t thought to do this with the family of girls circling our boat, but at that time I was not yet bothered by the impertinence.) It made me very uncomfortable, the same as if a total stranger were walking around the perimeter of my house and stopping for a while at each window to see what was inside. It seemed not only rude but intrusive, almost invasive. I knew I would be happy to leave that anchorage promptly the next morning.
The next morning (Sunday, Oct. 6), I slept late. At breakfast, Peter told me that one of the people who had stopped by that morning spoke a little English and invited us to visit the village of Tobobe later. He was sure we would like it. I rolled my eyes!
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| Some houses in Tobobe |
After breakfast, we pulled up anchor, and with a couple of dugouts tailing us as we departed, exited as quickly as we could. Heading northwest, away from the heat of the mainland which was unrelieved by any breeze, we motored to the Zapatilla Cays, part of Bastimentos National Park. We snorkeled to inspect the anchor and check out our surroundings and decided that we could re-anchor closer to the island. Unfortunately, the water was clean but had a lot of plankton, so visibility was not good, and we didn’t encounter any reefs on the south side. It is a nice anchorage, though, and we decided that we would probably stay for two nights. Peter swam to the island and returned to say that it is lovely and has reefs on the other, outer side. Also, it is a sanctuary for nesting hawksbill turtles.
It was a lovely evening with a light breeze, and we decided to sleep on the cushions in the pilot house. Plagued by insomnia, which is all too common for me, I watched the clouds dissipate as the night progressed. By the time the moon had set in the west, the skies above were clear. I contemplated the various manifestations of kinetic energy all around me. From far away in distance and time, the burning gases of millions of stars created a twinkling dome above. Small rippling waves rolled across the mirror-like surface of the water, in which blue-green flickers of bioluminesence flashed. On the white sand of the nearby shore, the waves created a pleasant sloshing rhythm. Beyond the eastern horizon and over the mountains to the south, strobe flashes indicated where charged ions connected to form radiant lightning. Listening to the quiet, I eventually fell asleep.
The next day (Monday, Oct. 8), I somehow managed, not having gone to sleep until 4 a.m., to wake up early to clear skies and bright sunshine. A perfect day for laundry! I did all of it, three loads, in one day; everything dried so quickly on the lifelines.
After the first load was in the washer, we splashed the kayak and paddled to the island. Along one part of the northern shore, the coral was covered in flowing algae growth. Perhaps this is not a good thing environmentally, but the emerald green color of the water was spectacular. The reefs were calling us but we had neglected to bring our gear, so we kayaked all the way around, stopped at our boat to pick it up and returned to the north shore. Pulling the kayak up on the beach, we found a hawksbill turtle’s nest vertically exposed on a foot-high sandy cliff where the waves had washed away part of the beach.
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| Hawksbill turtle eggs |
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| Eroded turtle nest |
The snorkeling close to the beach was not spectacular, but further out where there were little breaking waves, the coral reefs began. We didn’t see anything notable but decided to keep swimming out. Then we found the place where the reef dropped off about 20 feet to a sandy bottom, and we found the fish--angelfish, butterflyfish, grunts, surgeonfish, parrotfish, grunts, wrasses, sergeant majors. Just off the reef was a really large ocean triggerfish, easily identified by its unusual shape. Swimming back in, I encountered an enormous, glimmering barracuda.
Coming out of the water, we saw an old man working on an outboard motor. I probably would just have waved a greeting, but Peter always stops to chat with people, which is a good thing. The man had lived on the island since 1960 and is now employed by the Sea Turtle Conservancy to monitor the nests along with two young men whom he supervises. He spoke perfect English, which was fortunate for us because he was so knowledgeable.
Later that day, after meals and lunch and laundry and Peter’s tinkering with instruments (which now work better) and the stovetop, we kayaked back to shore to find the old man and ask if he could give us a tour after dark when the turtles are active. He told us to return at 9 p.m. and one of the young men would take us on patrol with him.
Excited, we arrived on land at nine and the old man sent us off with Ruben. With my limited knowledge of Spanish and his limited command of English, we managed to learn a lot about the turtles. They nest much further in from the water than we suspected, maneuvering up small inclines and over roots and leaves to find a sheltered place. Sometimes, the mothers, after some digging, apparently do not like the spot they chose and usually return to sea to come back another night. When they are successful, the whole process, from leaving the water to returning after making the nest, takes a couple of hours. We were amazed to learn that each mother lays about 150 leathery, white eggs the size of golf balls, all of which hatch if the nest is undisturbed and there is no predation. There are no natural predators on either of the Zapatillo Cays, which both are nesting areas, so the nests are safe. The real problem for this critically endangered species is not loss of habitat for nesting or destruction of the nests but the slaughter of the adults of the species for illegal trade in hawksbill turtle shells for jewelry and objects.
Ruben tried to find hatchlings for us. Each nest is marked with a bright pink plastic tag tied to a branch or to a stick put there to mark the nest. The tag indicates the date the nest was made. The baby turtles hatch after about two months, so the three men who take care of the nests on the islands know when it is about time. Ruben would carefully dig his toes into the sandy ground to assess whether it was hard-packed or loose. At first, we didn’t realize what he was doing, but the sand starts to heave up when the turtles begin to hatch and then have to dig their way up a foot or more to the surface. When he thought a nest might be ready, he dug down with his fingers, usually scaring away a crab or two, but if he didn’t find any turtles after about six inches, he put the sand back. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see any hatchlings that night after an hour and a half on patrol.
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| Crab near a turtle nest |
On Tuesday morning (Oct. 8), we dug out some old snorkeling gear (which had been left on the boat by the previous owners) to give to the two young men. Paddling in one more time, we walked through the trees to their house, a wooden structure built on stilts, about six feet off the ground, with no external walls. In the center were closets and shelves, but the sleeping cots and kitchen area were all in the open--a nice way to live if the temperature is constant year-round and the ground is so benign that there is no need for shoes.
We talked to the caretakers a bit more. We learned that they have been monitoring the nests since 2002, and each year the number has increased. Ruben was just marking nest number 483 that morning!
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| Hawksbill turtle nest made the previous night |
The day was heating up fast, and the wind was negligible, so we had to motor again, but at least the monotony was broken up by frequent dolphin encounters.
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| Bottlenose dolphin |
Our plan was to move west and anchor in a lagoon close to a cocoa plantation; Peter had read that there are tours. As we got near to the mainland, we finally picked up a signal on the Google Fi phone. Finding the website for Green Acres Chocolate Farm, we called for more information and learned that the tours are only in the mornings and that there is no tour on Wednesdays because that is when the staff goes to Bocas Town for supplies. Quickly changing plans after deciding to anchor there on Wednesday evening and do the Thursday tour, we reversed our course and anchored at Johnson Cay. As usual, we had the place to ourselves. I was hungry and hot, so after lunch, we both took siestas.
Later in the afternoon, with low expectations, we slipped off the swim platform into the green water for snorkeling. Surrounded by mangroves that act as filters, the anchorage was unpolluted, but recent rains sometimes cause turbidity, so the water was not crystal clear. Swimming above a grass and sand bottom, which looks like it could have been imagined by Dr. Seuss, we were delighted to discover hundreds of cushion stars in shades of pale yellow, ochre, pumpkin orange and green. Wrapped around a flaming orange chunk of coral were a few spiny brittle stars, which we haven’t seen yet this year. There were a lot of sea cucumbers of various types as well as urchins and patches of small coral in a rainbow of colors. Thousands of greenish-yellow narrow fish, about an inch long each, saw in schools among the roots of the mangroves. Heading back to the boat, I was surprised and excited to see something I hadn’t seen in over a decade, a spotted seahare. This six to eight inch oddly shaped mollusk without a shell was greenish yellow with irregular light spots outlined in black, connected by a network of fine lines. It looked slimy and squishy. The only way to tell the back from the front is to notice the projections on the head. Above a pair of rolled tentacles are a more pointed pair of rolled rhinophores (sensory tentacles). Behind the head and all along the back are parallel, undulating flaps, the mantle skin.
Of course, we didn’t know what this unusual creature was until we returned to the boat and consulted our reference books. In a hurry to do so, I almost missed a rarely seen, solitary scrawled cowfish resting in a large, black circular piece of stony coral. The blue lines on its head and its long tail (most fish only have tail fins and not discernable separate tails) make it unique.
By the time we were back on the boat, a breeze had picked up, making the temperature bearable.
Wednesday, Oct. 9, was a lazy day. By late morning, we had put the dinghy in the water and then motored over to Crawl Cay. We were hoping for cellular service, but it was non-existent. So, we stayed for lunch at noon at a waterfront restaurant where we were the only customers.
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| Crawl Cay |
En route back to Mantra, the dinghy motor died. Peter was able to restart it and we almost made it back, but it died a second time, and we had to paddle the rest of the way. After that, we set off snorkeling in a different direction to discover more life forms. There were not many fish, certainly no large ones, with the exception of enormous schools of identical, almost translucent 1-inch fish with bright yellow and green lateral stripes near the mangroves. Without the distraction of colorful fish swimming, feeding and darting in and out of the reefs, we could focus on the coral, the sea stars, the urchins, the sea cucumbers and the plants and algae.
None of the coral is as large as on the outer reefs of islands in the Bocas and the San Blas, but the variety is stunning. In the patches of reef, there are many gorgonians, including sea fingers, sea rods, sea fans, sea plumes, sea whips, and encrusting gorgonians. The plumes and whips swayed in the currents. Many of the sea rods have spiny brittle stars wrapped around them in contrasting colors--purple, chartreuse and yellow. There are small growths of star and starlet corals in shades of ivory, pale blue, lime, yellow, red, brown and orange, displaying a multitude of patterns. Other stony corals include several types of brain coral, maze coral, rose coral, lettuce coral, cactus coral and cup coral.
Interspersed among the coral are flowering marine plants and algae. Ubiquitous is the turtle grass with erect, flat, ribbon-like leaves. Particularly attractive are the dense patches of leafy rolled-blade algae, white scroll algae, watercress algae and three finger leaf algae. Looking like miniature green trees, flat-top bristle brushes and bristle ball brushes stand erect on individual stalks growing directly out of the sand. The bluish-green sea pearls, another type of green algae, look like large, glassy marbles, half an inch to two inches in diameter, nestled in small cracks and crevices among other algae. Each sphere is a single cell, representing one of the largest single cells found in either the plant or animal kingdoms. They are often partially encrusted with other algae, such as lavender crust algae (a red algae).
Among the grasses, algae and coral there are also numerous creatures: sea anemones and tube-dwelling anemones; hydroids; flatworms, feather duster worms (that retract when approached), calcareous tube worms and ribbon worms, fan worms, tube worms and spaghetti worms; colonies of delicate bryozoans; and a variety of mollusks. Beautiful to see but painful to touch are the various types of urchin--long-spined, reef, common arbacia, variegated, heart--as well as sand dollars and sea biscuits, which are all in the same biological class. I have never seen outside Panamanian waters so many types of sea cucumbers. I have been able to identify furry, five-toothed, three-rowed (which have a number of color variations), donkey dung, and harlequin sea cucumbers, but I may have encountered other species without recognizing them.
Almost every time we return from snorkeling, I look at all the reference books. While looking for the species I noticed that day, I always learn about other kinds and am better prepared to appreciate the wondrous variety of life underwater.
After snorkeling on Wednesday, we motored (still no wind!) to Porras Lagoon, surrounding by a peninsula of the mainland. On Thursday morning (Oct. 10), we dinghied over to the palapa of Green Acres Chocolate Farm. Robert, a retired American dentist who bought the farm six years ago with his wife Julie, provided us with a three-hour tour and an overwhelming amount of information about cocoa horticulture and small-scale chocolate manufacturing. By the time we returned to their house, Julie had arranged a display of their products on a large table, and we were offered orange juice, coconut water, freshly baked brownies (so yummy!) and cold chocolate tea, which has a subtle but definitely chocolate flavor and is quite refreshing.
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| Opened cacao pod |
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| Beans drying after fermentation |
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| Processing equipment |
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| Cacao flowers, which bloom for one day |
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| Green Acres Chocolate Farm |
We saw not only the four types of cacao trees on the farm, sheltered in the shade of taller rainforest trees, but the place where the cacao beans (or seeds) are fermented and processed into chocolate using basic equipment cleverly created from things like a hand coffee grinder, a small mill for corn, a vacuum cleaner, part of a Clorox bottle, PVC pipe and basic motors. On the walk through the trees, we spotted two green and black poison dart frogs, one of the three types of poison dart frogs on the property.
After the tour, which only included a young couple from Manhattan on their honeymoon as well as us, Peter and I stayed behind and talked about cruising with Robert and Julie. They had sailed their catamaran to this location almost seven years ago and got diverted by the chocolate farm, which they have just sold. In two months, they will start living on their boat and cruising in the Caribbean again.
Later that afternoon, we pulled up anchor and headed for another location without having any definite destination in mind. We ended up anchoring east of the little town of Boca Tortillo on Isla Cristobel among mangrove cays, in sight of a large house on a rise above the water. The inhabitants, expats from Oregon, helped us find a good place to drop the hook and then invited us up for a beer. We were debating whether to go, because it looked like it might rain, but we finally jumped in the dinghy. Sporadic drops of rain started to fall as we set off but not enough to even make us wet. However, shortly after we arrived at their place, a recently finished large barn/workshop which they are using for their home while their house is being built (not yet started) on the same property, the rain became torrential. Debbie and Kelly served us beers and we chatted in the living room section of their open floor plan house, increasing or decreasing the volume of our voices as the rain varied in its intensity on the tin roof. With broad eaves, they are able to keep all their large screened windows wide open (There is no glass, just shutters.) in most weather, enjoying the breeze accompanying the storms. Like Robert and Julie and the other people in the area, they are living off the grid, collecting rain water and using solar panels backed up by a generator.
After an hour or so, when the rain lessened, Peter and I returned to our boat. We picked a good time, because the rain came back in full force and stayed that way for most of the night.
On Friday morning, Oct. 11, we dinghied among the mangrove cays, weaving through narrow channels in some places, and found a good spot to snorkel. Dropping the little anchor, we dove in. Like Johnson Cay, the area has a sandy bottom mostly covered in turtle grass and spotted with patch reefs. Even though there was not good sunlight, the colors on the sea bed were stunning, ranging from pale shades such as lilac, ivory and peach to vibrant splashes of magenta, orange, plum, teal, green and yellow. The highlight of the morning was the discovery of a rough textured, well-camouflaged, sandy color fish hiding in a recess in a coral patch, with only its head and the front part of its body visible. It was a rare toadfish, a mottled toadfish, I think, although, because I could not see the entire fish, I cannot be sure.
In the afternoon, we motored to the eastern end of Isla Colon and anchored near Bocas Town among dozens of other boats. This is the capital of the Boca del Toros Province and it is the biggest town we have seen since leaving Colombia. There are even a couple three or four story buildings.
On Saturday, Oct. 12, we re-anchored to get out of the chop and be farther away from other boats, then we chatted with some other yachties and eventually made it into town. We have Internet service, supermarkets, good waterfront restaurants, and shops, and we were able to offload our trash and use an ATM! Modern conveniences all in one place!
