The Panama Canal at Last

In March 2022, we felt as if we were finally progressing on our ultimate goal: sailing Wild Spirit to Australia. COVID had put us well behind schedule, but at last the Panama Canal passage was on the horizon. That is, we had a solid plan and a window of time to get through. We also had crew.

Initially, we planned to sail to Columbia and head to the San Blas Islands before reaching Panama. In Curacao during the Pandemic, we learned that anyone who went to Columbia would be denied entry to Panama. That’s how out of control things were. By 2021, we dropped our ideas about Columbia, promising ourselves visit by air another time. For now, it was the canal or bust.

In September 2021, when England opened its borders, we decided to take advantage of the loosened pandemic restrictions. While visiting a friend in England, we learned of his life-long ambition to sail through the Panama Canal. He had once worked in Panama and spoke fluent Spanish. He also loved to sail. When he told us, the Panama Canal was a long-held dream, we invited him to join us.

In mid March, together with another sailing friend of Kevin’s, we set off from Curacao bound for Shelter Bay Marina in Panama, 800 NM in total. We quickly found the wind conditions stronger than forecasted. The sea turned pitchy and the wind twitched in irregular bursts with inconsistent gusts up to 35 knots. It was all manageable until the vang broke without warning. The situation forced Kevin onto the deck with a drill in his hand. I held my breath watching him remove a jagged piece of aluminum that dangled wickedly in the rocky, unpredictable seaway. Even with a safety line attached, the boom still swung fiercely as the wind shifted back and forth without warning. Watching Kevin work took my anxiety to new heights. If the boom were to hit him, things would be messy. I didn’t exhale until the drill and Kevin were safely inside the cockpit.

We arrived in Shelter Bay without further incident to the sound of Howler Monkeys in the dense jungle nearby.

The following day, a man arrived to measure the boat and we were given a transit date in 12 days time. With post-Covid travel back to normal, the canal had a backlog of ships needing to get through. We didn’t expect to wait for such a long period. Twelve days seemed extensive. It also meant that one crew member had to step off because he was out of time.

But the delays also turned out to be an unexpected bonus. We decided to use the window to explore Panama with our Spanish-speaking English mate. We booked a restored Colonial hotel in Casco Viejo where we spent four nights. By day, we toured museums and strolled the charming streets of the old city. At night, we stuffed ourselves silly with Peruvian and Latin American specialities and good wine. We enjoyed mojitos in the main square at sunset and watched the streets come alive with tourists and music after dark.

Before returning to Wild Spirit, we stayed for three nights in the rainforest at Gamboa, where we hiked and took a speed boat on the waterways. We saw crocodiles, howler monkeys and capuchin monkeys and even an illusive and very hairy sloth. To through in some extra diversity, we drove to the Caribbean side of Panama and enjoyed another few chilled out days and nights before returning to Shelter Bay. All in all, we agreed we had used the down-time well.

Upon returning to Wild Spirit, w found a mass of enormous bulbous fenders sitting on the dock beside Wild Spirit—the sign our transit was imminent. The Panama Canal felt so close. One last meal of Ceviche at the Shelter Bay restaurant and we’d be on our way. The following morning, our agent confirmed our transit window. We would leave that afternoon with four experienced line handlers on board. The canal pilot would be ferried to our boat along the way. I was instructed that the additional mouths needed to be catered for. Meat, the agent said. No salad.

There were two significant variables in our canal transit. The first being the transit date and time, which by now was locked in. The second unknown was which boats would be rafted alongside ours. In our brief time in Shelter Bay, there was only one boat we didn’t want beside us. Opposite us on the finger wharf was an older model Amel 54 we had witnessed crash into the dock twice and the fuel dock once. The errors were so ridiculously egregious, we dubbed the owner, Captain Crash.

As luck would have it, at 2.30 in the afternoon, Captain Crash and his crew left the dock with a single line handler aboard. We’re doomed, we said. An hour later, our line handlers appeared. It was our turn. The excitement rose as we pulled away from the dock. This was it. We were finally on our way.

My concerns proved baseless. The process was stress-free. Kevin’s decision to hire the recommended number—four line handlers—made our job a breeze. We watched Captain Crash and his crew put their single line handler through hell. One of the wives chastised her husband repeatedly in French. Her husband, in turn, kept telling the line handler how to do his job. The yelling and the drama on Captain Crash’s yacht made me forget all about any nerves I might have had.

That afternoon, the pilot took us us through three locks before directing us to an enormous orange buoy big enough to hold a tanker in the middle of Gatun Lake. This would be our mooring for the night.

As the sun dipped, it was time to prepare the first meal. I cooked an enormous pot of chicken and rice and served it up with Sriracha sauce and Coca Cola. The no salad meal turned out to be a hit with the hungry crew. The pilot gave me a thumbs up before jumping aboard waiting powerboat, leaving the four young line handlers aboard our vessel.

In the morning, the pilot returned later than expected, but just in time for a cooked breakfast of eggs, beans, tortillas and Sriracha which got a second thumbs up. After rafting up with two boats this time, we continued our journey toward the Pacific. I had been told about breakfast, so I had adequate supplies, but when the following day turned into lunch time, I found myself cooking another enormous pot of rice—this time with prawns— in the galley in 97F/33C degree heat and 97% humidity. By the time I dished up 7 meals, I nearly fainted from heat stroke.

In the space of a few hours, three bridges, six locks and 48 NM were already behind us. The Pacific Ocean appeared on the horizon. We’d made it!

Another milestone achieved.