When Vasco Nunez de Balboa crossed the Panamanian Isthmus in the early 16th century he probably made landfall somewhere near Colon. He is credited with discovering the Pacific, having, of course, been informed by the locals that it was just a couple days' walk over land. A couple of weeks and a bad case of malaria or two later he gazed on the world's largest single body of water. We rose on Wednesday the 1st of June hoping to do the same, minus the diseases and extra weeks, and plus our boat. There was still a great deal to do to make that happen. Joseph, our ACP connection, didn't show up to shuttle me to the proper offices. Well, that's Island Time for you; even though we weren't on an island, per se, the concept of a specific time for a specific thing to be accomplished is more nebulous than not. What else could we do in the meantime? There were the Canal lines to acquire, for one. Chino arranged to have dummy lines � stiff, thick, old cotton ropes that probably hadn't seen a transit in 10 years � put on board for the Admeasurement. It was understood that we wouldn't actually use them to transit, but they would represent that we'd paid to rent the proper lines and thus were in concert with the rules. Later, when we had our date, we'd switch them out for the real lines. Back in Key West Brian and I had gotten a set of horseshoe fasteners to make regulation chocks. Our classic, open chocks were not up to par with the requirements set by the Canal Authority for use in the locks. A line could slip out while we were raised or dropped the 70 feet in the deeper locks. That would be a bad thing, and extremely hazardous. However, we really did not want to take off our chocks. They all work well, are sealed tight, and are an original set. We knew that if we disturbed them they'd probably leak like sieves and be likely to tear off once we put them back on. Chock replacement could wait until some authority figure demanded we change them out. If that didn't happen�.I had faith that ours would be just fine.
Extra fenders were another matter. Boats undergoing the rigors of the crossing must have "adequate fenders to protect the hull." Most vessels don't carry eight or ten huge fenders so the majority use tires with garbage bags taped around them. You have to pay for them, but it is customary for sailors to give them away after a transit, since you also have to pay to get rid of them. (Now there's a business strategy for you: buy these, use them, and then pay us to take them off your hands.) We'd have to do some networking and see about picking up a few wheels on the sly�. We did have the opportunity to fill our water tank, charge our electrical and take care of replacing the GPS units. Brian had called Garmon the previous afternoon whilst Eric and I slingshotted around Colon. Thad, a cartographer on phone duty, had gone step by step through the possible fixes Brian could try. When all else failed he promised to replace them, even going so far as to contact all the local retailers who might carry the product. No one did, so Brian was asked to get a shipping address where Thad would send a new set. Brian and I figured that it would be best to send them to Balboa Yacht Club, where we could pick them up after the transit. This would allow sufficient time for the shipping and Customs clearance and we wouldn't need them until leaving Panama, anyway. (Thad and Garmon were as good as their word � in fact when we did pick them up they'd been waiting for five days. If you need a product with great service package check these guys out first! Go Garmon!)
With our navigation, line, and liquid priorities out of the way, and still no sign of Joseph, I put up the bivy. You're required to have a covering over the cockpit so the Canal Advisor can stay dry while on board. I used an old tent cover, bright orange, with some poles from Brian's dome tent as support ribs. Slinging it over the boom, it made for a relatively dry passenger area. Eric emptied the head. This is a disgusting and horrible necessity. Our toilet lets out into a five gallon plastic container that is removable. You take it to landside bathroom and empty it. Sounds easy, but for the few minutes while you're emptying and rinsing you're bombarded with the smell of the collected waste of, in this case, eight days. When the task is complete your ravaged nostrils take an hour to recognize anything but vile scents. Thanks, Eric! Way to take one for the team, so to speak!
General cleaning and organizing followed. At last we were shipshape. But still no Joseph. It being late afternoon, we congregated in the PCYC with the others and proceeded to revel in stories of the seas, the Canal, and points of interest we'd come through or were going to. Rick, a Canadian helping transport a barge to the Bahamas for his employer, met us there. About my age, 30ish, he has been all over the world transporting boats. Eric and he became thick as thieves, sharing beer and tales of adventure. At length Rick introduced my 2nd mate to the employers and it looks like Enrique may be going to sea � and getting paid for it � upon our arrival in San Francisco. I found Chino and explained about Joseph's absence, assuring him that it was no problem, but could we maybe get him tomorrow? "Of course, man! Noon at the latest!" I then invited Chino to go see the third episode of Star Wars with us the following night (Eric and I had noticed that it was playing in a magazine add while waiting at Customs the day before.) Chino said he'd like that and would call his girl. Meantime we met Jan and Patrick. Captain Jan and his Chicago Irish first mate had just come though the Canal that afternoon. Jan, late middle-aged, friendly and retiring, had sailed his old 45 foot wooden boat around the world from Northern Europe and was on his way to Cuba. We got on famously, in part because of our own Chitown Irish roots in common with Patrick. Patrick himself now lives in Costa Rica, Golfito in particular. By the end of the evening Patrick was giving us all the inside info on Golfito, our next port after Panama. "I'll write it all down," he promised and was as good as his word, the next day handing us a ream of paper with names, locations, recreations, and personal messages for his friends. "I'll meet you there if I get back in time," he glowed, "we'll go croc hunting and eat what we catch!" Wow! Now that would be an experience!
I met Sergio and Caroline, of the good ship Ummagumma (Pink Floyd fans, like myself, will get the reference) who were coming from France and would be transiting about the same time we were hoping to. A flotilla? I queried. Good possibility�maybe we'd know tomorrow�.