Leaving and New Friends

I’m not sure how other captains feel about leaving their boat.  I am sure that I don’t like it.

All repair/maintenance halts, and it seems like no matter what you do – there’s always more broken when you return than when you left.   And I’m still new enough to this that I worry about leaving a hatch unlocked, or the watermaker pickled incorrectly, etc.  If you’re  a homeowner who has ever left for an extended vacation – it’s a similar worry (but multiplied by 100).  All that said – I’ve made enough friends in the anchorage that I feel pretty comfortable leaving S/V NOMAD, as far as location goes.

 

New Friends

I’ve gotten to know some of the semi-local cruisers.  They’re semi-local in that they’re currently in my anchorage, but live aboard floating/sailing houses that they can (and do) take wherever they want.  But for the next couple of weeks, while I’m in the States, these semi-locals are going to be a huge help.  Harry and his wife Linda (another catamaran owner in the anchorage) are watching S/V NOMAD like a hawk.  And Harry knows enough about the boat to move it around in case the worst happens – my mooring falls apart and the boat starts drifting.

We met when I helped them move a (really) heavy generator from their back deck to their engine rooms below-decks a few weeks ago.  I can tell you – it was less fun than I’d imagined (and I really didn’t think it was going to be fun).  Truth be told – my back was sore for a couple of weeks afterward.  Lifting with your legs isn’t always an option in tight spaces belowdecks…

Anyways, since we’ve met – they’ve been remarkably helpful in just about every way.  Including helping me doctor this rotten finger a bit.  They also fed me ham, broccoli and mashed potatoes one night- which is way better than I eat when I cook for myself.

Another American Spearfisherman

I was buzzing around the anchorage the other day, making plans to buy a small Honda 2000 generator w/propane conversion (way cheaper to run), when Phillipe (the guy selling the generator) noticed my finger and told me to run talk to a nearby boat about the infection – as the captain of the nearby boat had a similar issue. I asked the typical gringo question – does he speak English? – and thankfully the answer was affirmative.  Turns out he was an American.  Great news, but I’m a little skeptical of some American cruisers already.

Imagine my pleasure then, when a halfway decent guy walks out from below decks.  Even moreso when I find out that he’s an avid spearfisherman.  I believe his words, when he heard I was a spearfisherman, were:  “it’s my church.”   That’s a feeling that I can relate to.  I coming to believe that the younger sailing crowd are very often spearfisherman.  Though I’ll admit that they’ve tended to be in the “get dinner” camp as opposed to the “shoot big fish” camp.  Either is fine, but there are some techniques that the former camp often misses.  And the latter camp (where I believe I fall) often passes on fish that are near perfect for dinner… Alas.

Enough of that though.

This dude’s name is Alex Dorsey.  You’ve probably ran across his site if you’re into the cruising blogs:  Project Bluesphere.  We bonded pretty quickly.  I found out he’d sailed through the South Pacific and had some knowledge worth knowing.  He found out I had a car – and we both share a similar distaste for riding the bus into town.  That sealed the deal.

My last few nights in Puerto Lindo we traded off making dinner and generally shooting the shit on each other’s boats.  It was nice to have another opinion on boat maintenance, and someone with some mechanical chops onboard to walk me through my systems.  And his new wife Carla can cook!

It also turns out that Carla can do canvas work.  Convenient, as I needed a new sailcover for my main.  Hopefully we’ll be spearing and diving together a bit when I get back.  I have some tricks that I can pull out with two people in the water – and I’m dying to try my new Rob Allen Spearfishing Gear.  Rob, thanks again man!

An Infestation

I really hadn’t given much thought to infestations onboard a sailboat.  Like, for instance, roaches.  Or worse, rats.  I just assumed it was pretty unlikely.  Not the case.  In fact Alex and Carla had been fighting a rat onboard for a week or so.  I could tell it was stressing them out.  The rat was eating their food, likely chewing through their wiring, and keeping them up at night.  No fun. 

The last straw, though, was when the rat started chewing through Alex’s mainsail.  Jeez.  The good news is that Alex was pretty crafty making traps.  There were no fewer than 4 different kinds of traps onboard when I was around.

To make a long story short – the day before we needed to leave for Panama City (Alex and Carla were dropping me off at the airport) – Alex got the rat.  More specifically - Alex locked it out of the boat in the middle of the night, and in the morning he shot it with a speargun.  True story.  Here’s proof.  Never heard of that before – but it works, if you’re a good shot.

Alex vs the Rat

 

Back to Panama City

Alex needed to see a doctor in Panama City, I needed a ride to the airport.  The solution was pretty simple –  Alex and Carla come in with me, and drop me at the airport.  None of us have to ride the bus, we all get to Panama City.

Well – we got into a little trouble in Panama City.  First I backed the SUV up into a huge hole that was well-hidden on the street.  It completely bottomed out my suspension.  And, wouldn’t you know, the locals there knew exactly how to get it out – for a fee of course.  I don’t like the feeling that I’m being ripped off (getting the gringo treatment), but it’s better than having your SUV in a hole in a crappy part of Panama City. So the locals got us out, and we paid them.

Then I was having some trouble navigating through rush-hour in Panama City.  Ask anyone who has ever seen it – it’s complete and utter chaos.  If you’ve ever cursed the drivers in any American city, let me assure you – Panama City is horrible (but supposedly decent compared to other South/Central American Cities).  Well, I darted into an opening in a turn-lane.  It wasn’t a classy move, but I was still driving better than any of the locals.

Unfortunately for me, there was a pipsqueak of a police-officer that noticed I was a white guy with blonde hair, behind the wheel.  This means he wants to pull me over and write me a ticket, at which point he wants me to bribe him to not write a ticket.  But, of course, I don’t really care if he writes me a ticket – I won’t pay it.  I just leave his crappy city, and eventually his country.  I’ll repeat it – I don’t like being ripped off.  Alex and Carla were with me, and Alex pulled out an old trick – he started videoing the encounter.

The police officer got pretty defensive, and if looks could kill – Alex wouldn’t have walked out of that encounter.  I was legitimately worried the police officer might take a whack at Alex with his baton.  Rather, the police officer just handed me back my license and told me to get lost.  That’s a solid win for the visiting team.

And that was the last of the excitement.  Unless, of course, you consider waiting on a 2:30 AM flight exciting. I consider it a circle of Hell.

 

Leaving and New Friends

It’s been a busy couple of days around here, and I’ve been trying to make this post for two days – the Internet here is intermittent at best right now.  I’m getting everything in order to leave S/V NOMAD for a bit.  I really don’t like leaving the boat for any period of time.  It seems that when I come back there’s more wrong with it, and all repair/refit is completely at a standstill when I’m gone. That said, it’ll be nice to see folks back home, get some much needed boat gear, and generally take a little break.

The finger is fine.  I’m completely convinced is was a mycobacterium marinum infection.  I’m also convinced I’m on the right drugs.  It’s healing, to the point that it’s starting to itch – which is a great sign, considering how painful and infected it was just a few days ago.  The flip-side is that I banged it on the engine today – and it opened up a little, revealing a pretty deep hole.  So there’s quite a bit of healing left to do.

But on to the big news:

 

Rob Allen Spearfishing Gear Sponsorship

I met Rob Allen at The Blue Wild Expo in Florida.  We spoke briefly and then exchanged a few emails.  I’m happy to say this was my first choice in spearfishing gear sponsorship – quality gear, affordable prices, and a full range of spearfishing gear.  I’m even more happy to say that I was able to navigate the Panamanian postal system and get ahold of the gear.  Rob Allen shipped it to Shelter Bay Marina, as I was planning to be there with S/V NOMAD – but of course the plans changed…  Nevertheless, with a few delays, a few dollars given to the right folks, and a few hours of wasted time – I was able to get the spearfishing gear.

After getting back to the boat with the gear – I was as excited as any kid at Christmas.  I tore into the boxes and pretty soon there was spearfishing gear scattered all over the catamaran.

 

Christmas in August…

I’ll dig into the individual pieces when I have a little more time and a better internet connection – but I’m happy to say that I received the 4 pieces of kit I really wanted – a Rob Allen Snapper 130 Railgun (complete with reel and reel line), a Rob Allen Tuna 140 Railgun with a double-flopper shaft, some (super high-quality) Rob Allen carbon fiber fins and footpockets, and (finally) that 3MM Open-Cell wetsuit I’d been wanting (my last one started to disintegrate).  In addition to this, they hooked me up with a ton of spares – and perhaps more importantly:  a couple of coozies.

The thing that I was most concerned with was a quality set of carbon-fiber freediving fins.  Mine died in San Blas when I capsized my dinghy.

Remarkably High-Quality Freediving Fins/Footpockets

I’m a bit picky about fins and footpockets.  They’re really important to deep diving (and for comfort).  The footpockets I lost were my “soft” ones – meaning they were my all-day, go-to footpockets.  And I was naturally skeptical about any other footpockets.  You can imagine how excited I was, then, when I pulled out the Rob Allen carbon-fiber fins and footpockets and found them to be very high-quality and very comfortable.

The hardcore freedivers generally prefer a stiffer footpocket, as it transfers more energy to the fins.  I’m not a hardcore freediver though, I’m a spearfishermen.  As such, I need something that I can fight fish and current with all day without leaving blisters on my feet (even though that happens anyways when I’m diving hard).  The Rob Allen fins and footpockets look like just the ticket.

Of course, with a hole in my finger that’s far from healed – I’m staying out of the water for a bit.  I guess it’s good I’m taking some time to spend in the States – otherwise the temptation to try the new gear would likely be too strong.  So, when I get back and whip S/V NOMAD into shape – I’m going to put the gear through the ringer.

I can tell you this – a Rob Allen speargun was my first speargun, and that very speargun is hanging on S/V NOMAD right now.  It would be tough for me to have any better proof of durability, as I’m known for being hard on diving gear.  And I would have sold it in the States if it wasn’t deadly accurate.  If you’re looking for quality, affordable spearing gear that stands up to some serious punishment – look no further than Rob Allen spearfishing gear.

Crew

It sounds like I’m all booked up onboard S/V NOMAD.  A couple of folks reached out after my last post, and if schedules work out I’ll have a full boat for the next couple of months (when I return).  That’s cool with me, as I welcome the help.  At the end of the day, I think paying crew makes sense if you’re a single-hander.  They get a cheap ride in exchange for some helping around the boat, I get some help around the boat and split expenses.  As long as everyone gets along, it’s a win-win.

At least in theory.  The reality of it might be different, but this whole thing is one huge experiment – so we’ll see.

 

Boat Stuff

I should have been complete with all boat refit/repair by now.  The hole in my finger and the associated infection have kept me from doing even a fraction of what needs to be done, though.  That’s not a huge deal, but it is inconvenient.  Pressing projects:

• I believe that I’ve lost my fuel pump in my starboard engine


• I have a couple of saildrive seals that need to be replaced


• I’m positive that my generator needs some work


• I still need to rewire my instruments and autopilot


• I’m going to replace my fresh-water cooled refrigeration in the galley


• My sailcover fell apart in San Blas


• I’m replacing my solar panels with the new Kyocera 140W panels


• Replacing the dinghy w/an 11′ (+) Caribe and a 15HP Yamaha, both new


• I need to go over the bottom and the props when I return


• My watermaker keeps flipping the breaker (but it’s back in operation, other than that) – I think this is wiring-related

There’s more – but it’s getting a little overwhelming.  You get the point.

The real issue isn’t the work – all of that is pretty straightforward stuff.  The issue is that it’s so much damn trouble to get parts/wiring/etc here in Puerto Lindo. I know many people like this place, but I deem it a major PITA.  A refit would be so much easier in a first-world country, or at least in a major city of Panama.  Make no mistake – Panama is a third world country.  They don’t have a reliable postal system, they don’t have addresses (really), and the way Panamanians do business is nothing short of ridiculous.  Most of them are crooks, and it’s hard to tell the difference between honest folks and crooks.  Even the locals reference”Panama- time”  as a real excuse for never getting anything done.

All of this is pushing me to get to Columbia or cross the Canal.  The word on the street is that Columbia has three major exports:  cocaine, pretty women that like boats, and cheap boat work.  It’s kind of amazing how many single-handed white guys are running around with Columbian girls.  It’s almost a given.

Home

I’ll be in Houston Tuesday, and Austin by Thursday (maybe before).  And there’s a little shindig on Saturday that you shouldn’t miss if you’re in Austin.  Then it’s onto riding the motorcycles before they’re sold.  And finally, hopefully, some down time to just relax in the A/C with a real internet connection.  So I can do some work/updating on this site.

Rob Allen Spearfishing Gear Sponsorship

Back Onboard S/V Nomad

I’m back.  I didn’t think I could miss Puerto Lindo – but that’s what a week in Panama City will do to a man.

Truth is, I really don’t care for Panama City, at all.  I thought it was interesting when I first got there, but I can’t think of any reason that it’s special.  It’s just another big, Central American city.  Dirty, smelly, noisy.  No real culture to speak of.  Nothing particularly original.

But I did get a few days of A/C, and when I wasn’t running around looking for prescription drugs, arguing with doctors, and searching for decent street food (which I did find alot of); I was running a serious Netflix marathon.  I love Netflix marathons.  So it wasn’t all bad.

The only movie-bummer is that I didn’t catch up on Game of Thrones.  That show is addicting, in a serious way.

 

Back Onboard S/V Nomad

Yesterday I managed to get my SUV started (this is getting harder), get out of Panama City, do some basic provisioning, wrap my dinghy prop in my own rope (rookie move), clean out the cesspool that had become my fridge, and finally get into some clean clothes/shave my face.  I was looking and smelling like a hobo in Panama City, as I only brought a single change of clothes.

Anyways – I’ve been getting alot of “sorry you’re having such a rough time” emails/texts/etc.  While I appreciate the sentiment, this is par for the course.  Let me remind you, two months ago:  I didn’t know how to sail, had never bought a boat, had never worked on a diesel engine, and hadn’t the slightest idea what cruising was really about.  It was just a dream.

That’s changed, and I’ve done most of it by myself in a foreign country, where I don’t speak the language and I don’t know folks.  I like to think that’s pretty good progress.  There are going to be bumps when someone makes a big leap like this.  But last night I was treated to a heck of dinner by Harry and his wife (they’re anchorage-neighbors on a 45 ft cat nearby), and then sat onboard my Lagoon 380 and watched the sunset over the horizon – with no sounds but the howler monkeys and the surf.  It was nice.

So – thanks for the concern (really, I’m not being cheeky), but I’m doing just fine.

This isn’t supposed to be easy – it’s supposed to be an adventure.

 

Finger Update

My finger is pretty gnarly.  Once I’m sure it’s mycobacterium marinum (fish-handler’s disease) I’ll post some pictures, share some info, share my antibiotic regimen, etc.  Hopefully this’ll help somebody diagnose and treat this nasty disease more quickly.  I can tell you – 99% of doctors aren’t familiar with it, most antibiotics don’t work, it’s very painful, and it’s hard to diagnose.  It also takes months (sometimes over a year) to clear up.

Anyways, I woke up this morning and the finger looked better.  Noticeably so.  While it’s still oozing and totally disgusting, the swelling has gone down so much I can see (large) stretch marks on the skin.  The pain is almost non-existent (except when I bump it closing a hatch in the middle of the night), and the redness is decreasing.  There are no signs of anything becoming worse – no fever, no chills, no streaking, no lymph-node swelling.  So I think I’ve got this under control.

That said, I’m headed back to the States.  Not just because of the finger though.  I needed a trip back before I take off across the Pacific, I need a ton of boat gear, I want to see my dog and my family/friends.  So, the timing is because of the finger – but the trip home needed to happen in the next couple of months.  It’s rainy season in Panama, so I’m not missing much.

I’m planning to spend a week or two in Austin, coming back to the boat around/before Sept 1.  While there I’m going to see a specialist and confirm my belief that it’s myco marinum. I’m also going to ride my BMW S100RR, which is what any sane human being would do (Aldo/Derrick/Jim, if you read this – we’re riding).  I can safely say that’s the only possession I’ve missed.

Taking On Crew

I’ve been waiting for friends or family to come visit (some have said they were, nobody has).  So I haven’t taken on any crew – despite the fact that I could really use another set of hands down here.  I’ve decided they’re being indecisive, so I’m going to be decisive.  I hate indecision.  Not making a decision is a conscious decision to do nothing, and it’s chickenshit.  I used to have a mentor that would tell me: “You can’t fix chickenshit.”  He’s right.

Bottom line:  I’m going to bring on some help.  I need another set of hands for basic boatwork (“hand me that wrench”), some help provisioning/shopping/cooking (free me up to work on the boat), and some help documenting the trip (being the captain, the mechanic, the provisioner, the cook, and the cleaner is leaving me with little mental energy to photo/video).

If you’re reading this and you want to lend a hand and sail through:  San Blas, Columbia, the Panama Canal, or around the Pacific side of Panama in the near future – let me know.  I’ve posted ads in the typical places as well.   You can split expenses or we can agree on a day rate.  Shoot me an email by clicking here.  To be clear, this won’t be a vacation, if you want that – charter a catamaran.  It’ll be working on the boat, mixed in with some sailing/diving/kayaking/fishing/exploring.  People with skills that relate to sailing/boatwork have a decided advantage.

 

Finger-Purgatory

Since I’m now out of  oh-shit-I-might-lose-my-finger mode, I’m starting to realize that recovery is going to be exactly zero fun.  I can’t drink (meds), despite having a nice bottle of Scotch onboard. I can’t dive (despite there being some tasty blue-runner under the boat as I type).  And I can’t sail (single-handing with a single hand is no fun).  I can do a little basic boatwork, but even that is tough as I’m always banging the finger (and that’s  painful).  I also can’t get the finger, with an open wound, in the seawater here.  That’s a constant struggle.

The plan is to line up some repairs, start shipping boat parts to mi casa in the States, and relax/take care of the finger.  That does leave me with some time to kill, though – so I’m going to dig into Nietzsche (I love this guy), read up on more cruising info, and some options-trading material.  Let me reiterate – I love Nietzsche.  Guy’s a genius.

Hopefully I’ll at least expand my mind a bit.

Back Onboard S/V Nomad

The Middle Finger

Quick update on my finger, because there’s been alot of emails, texts, and questions.  But first – thanks for the support.  Dan, Rachel, Mom, and Tess – you’ve been awesome.  I really appreciate it.  Readers and friends too – thanks for the info, the comments, texts, and the emails.

No pictures on this one, the finger is pretty gross.

Self Diagnosis

I’ve been holed up in a hotel not too far from the hospital here in Panama City.  I came into town last Wednesday, with the intentions of spending a single night, buying some supplies, and heading back to the boat.  I have laundry at the cleaners in Puerto Lindo, my dinghy is still at the dinghy dock, food is rotting onboard, and I only brought one change of clothes.

When it came time to leave Thursday, my finger was very painful and inflamed.  That night that I had trouble sleeping due to the pain, so I self-diagnosed a staff infection (cellulitis).  Fairly logical conclusion, given the symptoms.

From there I found an antibiotic that treated that condition and was locally available.  From what I read, in 24 hours it should have stopped spreading, in 48 hours it would start reacting.  Not the case.  In fact it was more painful, the skin had broken, and it was noticeably more inflamed/red by Friday afternoon.

New Diagnosis

At this point I’d done enough research to find out about mycobacterium marinarum infections (fish-handler’s-disease).  That made more sense, considering I’d pricked myself scaling a fish in San Blas (just a minor fin-prick) and I’d handled many fish, crab, and lobster.  The downside is that this is a slow-growing and slow-reacting disease.  Which means that I could be in for months of antibiotic treatment.  And I also needed different antibiotics.

All that said, I wasn’t totally convinced that it was myco. It could still be cellulitis or MRSA.  So I went to the ER in Panama City.  I can say that it was (at least) cheap.  It cost $2 to be seen, and $13 for IV antibiotics and an X-Ray of the finger in question.  But it wasn’t easy – nobody spoke English, and I was having trouble figuring out where to go, who to see, and what to tell them.

When I finally got in front of a doctor, I showed them the finger, explained stuff, and even showed them a couple of pages on myco from the web (translated, of course).  When I broke out the iPad to show the doc, though, they laughed.  My idea that it might be myco was dismissed – they insisted it was cellulitis. So they hooked me up to IV antibiotics, and told me to come back Monday.

I wasn’t convinced about cellulitis, so I texted a couple of friends and got some recommendations from an infectious disease specialist, and from a small-town doctor my Mom knew.  Their advice was to add another antibiotic to my regimen, one that has been prescribed for myco. In theory, I’d covered all my bases.

 

No Improvement

Saturday was painful.  Sunday was worse, and the redness had grown again.  At this point I was pretty sure it was myco – other than MRSA, it’s the only thing that wouldn’t have reacted to the plethora of antibiotics I was on.  The thing with myco is that it can keep growing, even when being treated.  It’s very slow to react to treatment.

The other thing about myco is that it’s very hard to identify.  Mostly because it to culture it takes 6 weeks, and a negative result doesn’t necessarily mean that it isn’t myco.  I have no idea where I’ll be in six weeks, and I can hardly wait around to see if it’s myco before I treat it. Finally myco responds best to anti-TB drugs.

So I went in search of a couple of the anti-TB drugs. But, as I suspected, they’re tightly controlled and not in a typical pharmacy.  But I need them.  So my buddy got a couple weeks supply and stuck them in the mail.

The Hospital, Again

Since things hadn’t improved much I went to the hospital on Monday (today).  It was an outpatient consult.  What I didn’t realize is they’d sent me to orthopedics (?) and not an infectious disease specialist.  When I inquired about the infectious disease specialist, the doc told me that they’d have to check me into the hospital for a few days in order to see this specialist.  So I showed him a ton of info on myco, including the need to treat with anti-TB drugs – then I asked for a prescription for them.  The doc said he can’t prescribe them.  The only way I could get the drugs was through the infectious-disease specialist, and the only way I could see this specialist was if I stayed in the hospital for a week or so.

The doctor also made it pretty clear that he didn’t believe it was myco.  He said it was too rare.  I told him I’d had IV antibiotics and a variety of oral antibiotics, and there had been plenty of time for them take effect.  I also told him that I’d been handling fish, lobster, and crab.  He wasn’t really sure about anything, except that I was wrong.  I did, however, convince him to write me a couple of scripts – one for an alternative to the TB drug (for treatment of myco).

 

No Hospital

The hospital stay wasn’t really an option today.  I’ve been wearing the same clothes for almost a week already, haven’t shaved, my dinghy is still at the dock, and there is food rotting in my fridge on S/V NOMAD.  So I found another drug that was easier to get, that also had positive results with myco.  The plan, now, is to head back to Puerto Lindo and give this other drug two weeks.  As long as there isn’t any major complication (if it’s myco, there shouldn’t be).  I don’t have a fever, I don’t have chills, there aren’t any streaks running out of the wound, and the pain is (somewhat) controlled by Advil.

I’ll get a mail-shipment of anti-TB drugs from a doc in the States, shortly.  Of course, if it gets noticeably worse I’m heading back to the hospital for a fairly long stay.  Or maybe straight to the States.  That’s a bridge I’ll cross when I come to it.

Big picture:  I’m alive, and I think I’ve got it under control (but I’ve said that before)…

 

The Middle Finger

Sailing in San Blas, Again (Part II)

I’m back.  San Blas was awesome, honestly pretty hard to leave. Some gear died, and I didn’t do as well spearfishing as I’d have hoped – but the Pacific is calling.  The big wins are keeping S/V NOMAD off the reef, and coming back in one piece.  But I also learned a ton about the boat, a ton about anchoring, and properly shook her down.  Other stuff like provisioning and keeping food good was a bit harder than I’d imagined, but I didn’t starve and always had plenty of water.  Right now, though, two weeks is about the max on my recipes.  Things start to taste really similar after that…

But before I kick this off, here’s a pic of that pet monkey from last post.  Everybody loves monkeys.

Baby monkey

Sailing in San Blas, Again

So I left off last time eating some crab.  It was delicious.  Afterward I visited the island I was anchored next to, where I found some interesting Kuna folk.  Prado (pretty flamboyant) and his mother were the resident mola artists.  I took a look, but I’m not really into nick-knacks and souvenirs.  Here’s Prado modeling, this is right before he made some pretty overt advances.  It’s funny though – he wasn’t ostracized, made fun of, or treated any differently than the straight Kuna.  Maybe they’re a little more advanced than us, socially.

Prado, the model

The other little family on the island I gave my saltwater-tainted gasoline to, so they could use it to burn trash and clear brush.  They were stoked.  I asked if they dive, one guy said yes.  I asked if he wanted to kayak around and dive the next day – he said yes.  Win.

Then I decided to do something I’d been threatening for awhile:  put up a hammock onshore and watch the sunset over my boat.

Not bad, eh?

The next morning I woke up early and went and picked up my Kuna guide.  He took me to two spots to dive – the first being very shallow and unproductive, the second having a wall and being more productive.  The first spot had a nice Mutton Snapper on it, but my Kuna guide blew the shot.

Spot # 2 had a wall, one side being 0-5 feet deep and the other as deep as 60 feet.  Far more productive, but I wasn’t pushing it as my Kuna guide wasn’t watching – being more interested in shallow lobster hunting.  It was cool watching him dive in gear from the 60′s.

I made a few good, deep dives and blew it on a giant Schoolmaster.  There were a ton of snapper on the reef – but when you dove, they dove.  Clearly they’ve been hunted before.

I cut our dive short as I needed to head back to Chichime to stage for the sail back to Puerto Lindo.  Then my Kuna guide challenged me to a kayak race.  He lost.  We said our goodbyes, I left him with a fish.

Chichime Again

The sail to Chichime was uneventful, besides my autopilot, wind, and depth instruments going berserk and then failing completely.  I decided to sail into Chichime and deal with it at anchor.  Of course that meant that I was guessing on the depth, and also on anchor scope – but not a big deal.

Chichime was crowded.  Too crowded.  I should have just turned around and left.  But I didn’t.  So I tried anchoring, but kept ending up too close to other boats for (my) comfort.  I’m still new at this game and really don’t want to pull anchor into somebody else’s boat.  So I raised anchor and moved into deeper water, away from the other folks.  Here my anchor pulled, and didn’t set.  So I raised anchor again and tried once more in the deeper water.  This time it stuck (finally) and I was comfortable with the distance between myself and the closest yacht.  Finally.  Then I played with my instruments and got everything working, then took a dip.

Cooling off

I went to shore, played a pickup game of beach volleyball, and had the first beer of the night.  Onshore there were a ton of charter captains.  It was so nice to hear about their problems with their much larger and much newer boats.  This whole boating thing is about solving problems onboard.  A boat is a floating problem, no doubt.  Bigger the boat, bigger the problems. New doesn’t mean it won’t have problems.

I noticed a Canadian flagged Lagoon 410 when I pulled in and met the guy onshore at the beer-buying spot.  Greg was his name, and his yacht is Oceana.  He’s a surfer, spearo, and roughly my age.  Nice to finally have someone my age to talk with.  After a few minutes he asked if I had a website, I said yes.  He asked the name, I told him.  He got really excited and said he’d been reading and hoping we’d catch up at some point.  He’s heading through the canal to the South Pacific soon as well.  The goal being to spear, surf, and explore the South Pacific.  I have a feeling we’ll be dive/surf buddies for a couple of years.

The party soon moved to Oceana.  We talked boats, sailing, and fishing.  I looked at his layout, and got a little jealous of his sailing performance and space.  The 410 is a great live-aboard, for sure. That night we all tied one on.  Not quite a real shitshow though.

The next morning I woke up a bit hungover, but nothing serious.  I was in a hurry to get underway though, to avoid what happened on the way into Chichime (anchoring at night).  So I pulled anchor and hauled ass out of Chichime.  There wasn’t much wind.  I hate light wind sailing, but I needed to get back… so I raised sails and put on the engine.

No wind, throttles forward

The damn autopilot, wind, and depth instruments went out again.  So I switched the relay, but it still didn’t come back on.  So I monkeyed with connections – and got it working again.  Note to self:  rewire that stuff, it’s important.  Shortly thereafter I realized I couldn’t find my sunglasses.  Seems I left them aboard Oceana the night before.  Polarized sunglasses are a must, and they were sorely missed.

Back in Puerto Lindo

Coming into Puerto Lindo

Pulling into Puerto Lindo was nice.  I know the spot, the people, and know that my anchor won’t drag (I’m on a mooring ball).  It’s also pretty protected, and the Dutch guy (Hans) cooks a mean chicken dish.  The downside is the monsoon-like weather, which I was reminded of shortly after pulling into port.  They were also out of water in Puerto Lindo, which is a bummer because I’d been rationing water pretty and don’t have my watermaker operational yet.  I had enough to drink, but not much else.

Stuck in Panama City

I need a million things for the boat.  Including groceries, rum (I’d also left that on Oceana), and some boat parts.  So I fired up my not-so-trustworthy SUV and took off.  But I now have a pretty serious medical complication that began to make itself known on the way to Panama City.

It started as a small red bump with a small dark spot in the middle.  I passed it off as a bug bite, hardly anything to worry about.  The next day it was inflamed and very painful.  The next day even worse.  So I got on WebMD and started trying to figure it out.  I came to the conclusion that it’s either Staph or FHD (fish-handler’s-disease).  Both are bad news.  Both are pretty serious.  If you haven’t heard of Fish-Handler’s-Disease, please do yourself a favor and check it out here. It’s really serious and more common than you’d think.

 

Check out the progression below (unless you have a weak stomach).  It’s gnarly, and super painful (especially when I’m typing):

 

 

So now I’m holed up in a hotel, in Panama City.  I’m staying here, close to the hospital until I can get this figured out.  The ER wasn’t very helpful, so I’ve been consulting with friends and family who are doctors in the States.  I’m on two pretty strong antibiotics, and they appear to be slowing the infection down.  But it’s still super painful and tender.  If it gets worse, rather than better, I’m headed Stateside.

I really hope it doesn’t come to that. And after driving in Panama City, I realized how important that middle finger is…

 

 

Sailing in San Blas, Again (Part II)

So I know what you’re thinking:

Nate’s been sailing around, having a nice time, and hasn’t done anything truly idiotic in a bit.  There hasn’t been enough excitement. He’s not managed to hurt himself, or put himself in a really stupid situation.  He hasn’t lost any gear, or caused himself any unnecessary pain and trouble. 

Well, wait no more – I’ve got something for you.

I’ve seen it written that the difference between an ordeal and an adventure is attitude.  This story was definitely an ordeal, but today it seems more like a learning experience.  Not quite an adventure, but I’m getting there.

For Your Entertainment

Yesterday started out phenomenally.  I sailed, anchored, and put up my tent-shade-thing on the front of the catamaran so I could relax on the trampolines in the shade.  It was so nice that I fell asleep.  What a life, right?

Well, then I decided to go check a couple of spots to see if the fish were home.  First spot – the current was ripping so badly I had trouble getting back to the dinghy immediately after jumping in.  So I moved to spot # 2.

Spot # 2 looked promising.  Deeper water, patchy reef, clear enough.  So I dropped the dinghy anchor.  And it pulled.  So I moved a few feet and threw it into an area with a hard bottom.  Stuck!  So I began slowly getting my diving gear on – when I noticed the dinghy was moving into the swell, too close to where it was breaking.  So I pulled the anchor and went to a calmer spot for attempt # 3 at spot # 2.

Which is when everything went to Hell, very quickly.  I dropped the anchor, it stuck.  I waited around to see how the dinghy would pull, and whether it would head into the breaks again.  Looking good.  So I went back to getting my dive stuff together. As I was getting everything together, I noticed the current had switched, and the anchor rope had swung under the dinghy.  I looked up into a 7 foot wave breaking over me.  The dinghy capsized in slow motion, and I bailed to avoid getting hit by the engine/prop as it turned over.

When I came up all of my gear was gone, the only things visible were the oars, the gas tank, a bottle of freshwater, and my capsized dinghy.  Adrenaline had me – I was a long way from my boat, which was a long way from any other boat.  So I jumped up on the nearest reef, and manhandled the dinghy right-side up (no easy task in breaking surf, with a 10+ ft dinghy and 10 hp outboard).  Next up was grabbing the oars and getting the gas tank back inside.  I had about 8 inches of water in the dinghy.

I lost everything – my handheld GPS, my handheld VHF, a pair of carbon-fiber fins and pockets, a 130 railgun with a full reel of line, my favorite mask and snorkel.  An expensive mistake.  Painful too.   The old adage:  if you’re going to be dumb, you’ve gotta be tough came to mind

Naturally the outboard  wouldn’t crank, so I popped the cover and found the engine seized.  I monkeyed with it a bit, eventually getting it to turn over, but not enough to run.  During this time the dinghy had started to pull away from shore, noticeably.  I gave up on the engine, noting that I only had about an hour before it started getting dark.   Paddling a dinghy is tough by oneself, against the current – but I managed to get to shore.   I tried the engine a couple more times, but I didn’t want to run saltwater through it and do any permanent damage…

At this point I was over two miles away from my boat, with an island between us, and it was getting dark.  There wasn’t much choice – I had to pull the dinghy up as far onshore as I could, cover it (hoping the Kuna didn’t find it), and head back to the boat on foot (across the island).

As it was starting to get dark, I made it back within sight of S/V NOMAD.  But there was a solid 500 meters of water between us.  I was beat, but managed the swim.

 

Anchor Worrying

My adventure (ordeal?) wasn’t over quite yet though.  While I’d been out ruining things and losing gear, the wind had switched.  There wasn’t much room between NOMAD and the nearest reef anymore – and if I pulled anchor at all, I was going to be ontop of said reef.   So I raised the anchor, dropped it, and the anchor pulled.

So I raised the anchor, dropped again, and the anchor pulled again.

So I raised the anchor, looked around, and saw another catamaran anchored in a protected area only a mile or so away.  Full speed ahead, hoping to be able to enter the anchorage with a little sunlight left.   No dice on entering the anchorage with sunlight.  So I used the depth meter, the Panama Cruising Guide, and the other catamaran to guide me in.  Luckily I got it hooked the first try.   It was a tight spot though – with another catamaran close by, a reef on two sides, and an island on the other.   I set the anchor alarm, made a stiff drink for my nerves, and started dinner.

Sleep came pretty early, but was interrupted about 4AM by a terrific gale.  I’m becoming accustomed to the early warning signs (and becoming a very light sleeper).  The wind starts picking up, the catamaran starts to rock, and a few drops of rain make it through my hatch – enough to wake me up.  I did the “close all the hatches half-asleep” drill, consulted my anchor alarm, and settled into anchor watch.  I almost made coffee, but I was too tired to move.

Two hours later I’d blown around in a couple of circles but had held, and hadn’t bumped the other catamaran or the reef.  That’s a win in my book.

New Friends

 

Cruising bonds people.  I’ve found that it’s been strong, and very quick.

The next morning, I needed a lift to pick up my dinghy, otherwise I was going to have to row the kayak all the way around the island and back – dinghy in tow.  So I went over to my neighbors (the other catamaran in the lagoon).  I was hoping for English or Spanish speakers (my Spanish is now passable).  I got English.

There was a pretty huge age gap between us, and the gentleman onboard didn’t seem very happy about my request (fair enough).  But he obliged, and I was very thankful.   He warmed up shortly, we talked diving, fishing, and sailing.  Then he asked me if I’d like to help them get through the Panama Canal in a month or so.  YES, I would.  Nothing better than a little firsthand experience for something like that.

Long story short, we eventually found my stranded dinghy.  Then we towed it back.  Then I changed my gasoline (and lost 4 gallons), in case it had saltwater in it.  Then I flushed the engine with freshwater.  Then I couldn’t get the dinghy engine to crank, so my new friends suggested pulling the sparkplugs and spraying some WD-40 in there.  With that complete the dinghy started.

I went over to give them the last bottle of good wine I had onboard.  We talked about where we’d meet next, where they were headed, and both wished each other fair winds.   Now I’m settling in to eating a big crab dinner (a giant, right?).

 

Crab Dinner…

So there it is.  My latest act of stupidity that cost me a ton of money, caused some pain, and rattled my nerves.  It’s not all lollipops and rainbows out here, folks.  That said, the main picture on this post is my view right now.

For Your Entertainment

Sailing San Blas, Again

Sailing through San Blas, as captain, has been a blast.  I dig it.

The wind has been decent, the weather has been fantastic, and I haven’t put S/V NOMAD on the reef.  All positive things.    The only negative thing is that I’ve failed pretty miserably in the “bringing home dinner” department.

 San Blas, Again

The first day I sailed to Western Hollandes Caye, where I dropped anchor and hung out for a couple of days.  I got to try out the new kayak (awesome), do a bit of diving, and hung out the underwater LED light to see what came around.

The diving was decent, but not great.  I managed to get outside the reef and saw my first Black Grouper here in San Blas.  Great, but they are skittish here.  Moreso than in the Bahamas for sure.

At night the LED light would bring in huge tarpon.  At first I had no idea what they were – they were 5 + foot long, though.  Sharks?  Huge mackerel?  Cobia?  Eventually I got up the nerve to stick my head in the water (remember, it was night) and saw them.  Massive things, great fighters, but no good to eat.  If they would have been worth eating, I’d likely have jumped in and tried to put a spear in one.  I tried everything to catch them on (hook and line) light tackle, but they weren’t interested in anything but the baitfish under my light.

Eventually I headed to Eastern Hollandes Caye, where I anchored for a couple more days.  I had a little trouble finding a good spot to anchor without crowding the other yacht in the area.  I drug anchor once, and decided that he’d have to deal with a neighbor.

The fear of dragging anchor at night is horrible.  It keeps me awake sometimes and is always in the back of my mind.  It’s even worse when I’m diving alone and have the dinghy anchored somewhere.  If I lose that, I’m up shit creek for sure.  I’m getting bigger anchors and more chain.

Finally anchored I started exploring a bit – all around the Swimming Pool and Hot Tub, to most of the islands (except the aptly named Bug Island).  I found a couple of spots that I was sure would hold fish – but they didn’t.

Nonetheless I managed to spot a Hogfish in shallow water when I was kicking around.  He came back with me and was promptly scaled.  Not a giant, maybe 6 or so pounds.  But he’ll eat.  I absolutely love Hogfish, probably my favorite of the reef fish.  Good, white, flaky meat.  Great in ceviche, great panfried.  If I’d done better keeping my vegetables good I’d have made ceviche – but I screwed that up a bit.

I also found a Kuna family with a little pet monkey.  Cute thing, but I felt pretty bad for it.  No camera with me (I’m doing horrible with pictures right now, aren’t I?) so you’ll have to take my word for it.   By the end of it, I was having trouble prying the damn thing off of me so I could leave.

I got tired of Eastern Hollandes Caye pretty quickly.  Not much there.  Pretty anchorage, no doubt, but it was time to move on.

 Coco Time

The next stop was Coco Banderos.  Another group of islands that’s almost as far offshore as Hollandes Caye.  Sailing here was great, but getting into the anchorage and anchored wasn’t easy.  I had to squeeze between two other anchored yachts on my way in, then I couldn’t find a shallow spot to anchor.  I’m a 3X scope kinda guy, so dropping anchor in 10 meters of water means I need to let out at least 30 meters of chain.  And I found out that I only have about 40 meters of chain on my main anchor.  Meaning that I’m pushing it anchoring in 10 meters, preferring to be anchored in 5-7 meters.

So I pulled NOMAD almost up on the beach on one of the islands, dropped anchor and backed down on it.   And the anchor pulled.  So I picked it back up, circled around a bit and eventually found another spot in about 8 meters.  Good depth, and by the time I’d let out 3X scope – I was almost onshore of another island.  It’s a great view when I wake up, for sure.

My backyard…

But it’s also a little worrying to be that close to shore/coral.  The anchoring thing is still pretty stressful for me, I’m hoping that starts to go away as I get more salty. Fingers crossed.

 

Diving Coco

I’ve dove this area pretty hard now.  Hard enough that I’ve got serious blisters on both feet.  In three days I’ve seen two interesting fish – a 25 pound Mutton Snapper and a larger Black Grouper.  Both of which took leave before I had a chance to dive on them.  Skittish, really skittish.   I’ve also blown a couple shots on small Cero Mackerel too, so it’s partly my fault.  When they’re that skinny, it’s hard to hit them.

Yesterday I had a nice lobster lunch and went out to a spot much further offshore.  The rollers were coming in pretty high and breaking over the reef.  Not exactly the weather I needed to get into the deep water to make some proper dives, in search of proper fish.

After nearly running the dinghy aground on some coral, nearly flipping into the rollers, and definitely having a bit of a scare – my survival instincts got the better of me and I moved back inshore.  This is the kind of thing that I want a 12+ foot dinghy for (with a 25 hp Yamaha).  Unfortunately I can’t afford a boat big enough to put that kind of dinghy on, so this one will have to do.

Today I’m sailing back to Western Hollandes.  Thanks to a fellow diver/sailor/fisherman (Mark, thanks dude!) I have a couple of numbers to spots that ought to produce a dinner or two.  Which is going to be necessary after tomorrow – as I’m running out of protein onboard.

 

Sunset Over Coco

The protein lasted longer than the beer though, that’s for damn sure.   I have no idea how I’m going to store enough beer for the Pacific crossing…

Sailing San Blas, Again