SEAL WITH A LOVING KISS

Chris and Patsy Watney

(Jalingo III left the UK during the summer of 1991 and reached New Zealand in November last year, one of several OCC boats currently circumnavigating.)

Following the usual Transatlantic / Caribbean run down to Grenada at the end of March 1992, we were bound for the South Pacific via Panama in Jalingo III, our well tried 18-year-old Nicholson 42. The route took in Venezuela, the ABC islands and, giving a wide berth to the Colombian coastline, on to Panama.

Panama

On arrival at Colon, VHF contact with Canal Control allowed us to enter through the wide harbour entrance and make our way up to the flats, a quiet section of the otherwise busy waterway where other yachts waited at anchor pending the visit by the authorities. There is a good and friendly yacht club close by.

The first euphoria at arriving at the entrance to the Panama Canal soon wore off. The only safe haven in Colon is the yacht club -- we could hear gunfire less than 100 yards away. Drugs, mugging and knifing make nowhere safe to walk and all shopping, visits to officials, etc have to be done by taxi. In Colon you don't wear watches, rings or anything attractive, and keep a constant eye out for groups of youths who are high on crack. Money belts are essential. Despite the huge earning capabilities of Colon, the Canal and the Duty Free Zone, little money goes to the desperately poor areas of the city. Instead it is channelled to Panama City at the Pacific end of the Canal, where most of the politicians live. No wonder there are strikes, demonstrations, an itchy army and police ready to fire off their uzi's, kaleshnikovs and pump action shotguns at a moment's notice. Democracy has a different meaning here.

Panama City is much better than Colon, but security is still a way of life and everywhere armed guards stand in the shops, banks and even restaurants. Eating lunch in Kentucky Fried Chicken (never go outside the yacht club after dark), armed guards outside have their guns at the ready. We wonder what training they have in their use?

The Canal itself is an awe-inspiring experience -- the sheer size of the locks, over a mile long, and the never-ending stream of large boats being nudged through the locks with mechanical mules hauling their lines. Tarpon play and get a free ride up through the locks to feed in the lake.

Yachts transit in groups twice a week. Getting the necessary paperwork completed is quite a performance, but the admeasurers are efficient and the briefing procedure is excellent. Organising line handlers is not a problem as they are readily available through the club -- sons of the club employees make a lucrative living from this work. On transit day the obligatory pilots come aboard and on approaching the first lock they organise the yachts into rafts of three and get the skippers to practice manoeuvres. In the locks, line handlers on shore throw their monkeys' fists and light lines onto the coachroof for the four line handlers on board to tie to our 120 foot lines (the shore handlers aim wasn't always that good). The lock walls are huge and the water boils as the lock fills. If you can get centre position in the raft so much the better, as the two outside yachts do all the work. Once in the Gatun Lake our pilot, an ex-tugboat captain, lost all interest in the proceedings, pulled out a well-worn copy of a Mickey Spillane novel and consumed half a bottle of our precious whisky.

The buoyage is excellent and one cannot really miss the way. Chagras River fills the huge Gatun Lake which in turn provides the water for the locks. It is an eerie feeling seeing the remains of the sunken forest, still standing after all these years as blackened stumps. The jungle is often only fifteen metres away from the channel and parrots and other birds provide a raucous cacophony as we pass. Alligators swim quietly by.

It was decided by the authorities that the transit by yachts should take two days, so we anchored for the night at the southern end of the lake on the instructions of the pilot. He then proceeded to visit his mistress for the evening, returning not too early in the morning looking distinctly jaded. Anyway, our virile hero had directed us to lay our anchor on top of some old railway debris left behind from when they filled the lake. It was well and truly fast, and after trying all the usual remedies the only option was to scuba down the seventeen metres to clear it. This was unpleasant, with zero visibility and thick ooze -- thank goodness for the strict training in cold gravel pits and elsewhere in the UK. An additional trip line was tied by feel, luckily the anchor broke loose, and we continued on our way. But by that time the other yachts had gone on ahead so, in solitary grandeur, we shared the huge locks with an enormous tanker. The Gaillard Cut, where many thousands perished in its making, really is a wonder of the world even by modern technological standards. The sheer organisation and initial surveying, not to mention the construction of such an undertaking, is breathtaking. Huge cargo vessels, tankers, and even liners passing by the rain forest -- it seems totally incongruous.

The Canal, which runs north-west to south-east and is about fifty-five miles long, has much greater rainfall in the northern sector. Rain, even by tropical standards, was heavy; often all day while we were in Colon and non-stop for the first day in the Canal. The Pacific end is drier but the climate is still heavy and humid.

Eventually we passed through the last locks, under the Bridge of the Americas (Thatcher Bridge! Why?) and into the Pacific, eight months after leaving England. Going through the Canal had been an experience not be missed, but with the general air of poverty in Colon and Bilbao amidst riches for the few we were keen to leave Panama. The US army is releasing its grip, standards are falling, and the lethargy of the average Panamanian is rapidly taking over. One wonders what the future of the Canal will be and its importance as a main arterial route for shipping (it is too narrow for super tankers). The tonnage passing through is gradually declining in preference to the South African route, and with drugs regrettably an important part of the economy the outlook is distinctly uncertain.

The yacht club at Bilbao provided a grandstand view of ships passing to and fro but the roll from their wash was continuous, the worst being the pilot boats who seem to delight in creating this additional discomfort. Lightning flickered around the horizon, the air was heavy and we lay in the north of the doldrums.

At last Jalingo was ready for the first Pacific leg, to the Galapagos. With no guarantee of supplies there we took on three-quarters of a ton of fuel, half a ton of water and enough food for three months. The waterline had long disappeared. Sipping a well earned sundowner we noticed that our internal support for the deck-stepped mast had bowed in the middle -- one foot to starboard! We still have no explanation -- the shrouds did not seem over tensioned -- perhaps it was strain from the endless Atlantic roll? The metal tube, previously encased in wood veneer, was revealed as a 1.9 inch diameter pole and did not look anything like strong enough. Our faith in Camper and Nicholson's design was more than somewhat shaken. Very luckily a member of the Bilbao Yacht Club, a fiendishly cunning engineer, jacked up the coach roof and mast and replaced the whole support with a massive 5 inch galvanised steel tube with 1/4 inch walls. Not likely to bend! Thank goodness it happened there and not at sea or on some remote island.

At last we were able to leave for the Galapagos. The exit is well buoyed but the detritus of civilisation floats offshore for many miles. The next eight days were a period of fickle winds, with hot, oppressive days and nights and thunderstorms rolling and rumbling around the horizon. The afternoons brought no respite as the thunderheads built up in angry formation and coppery skies flashed with irritable lightning. Heavy drops of rain followed by a deluge washed the sea, replenishing our water stocks but still giving no relief from the heat, humidity and tension. Oily seas heaved and the sails slatted from side to side in bad temper, desperate for a sense of direction from the inconsistent winds and the eternal rolling.

The doldrums, or horse latitudes, were on our rhumb line to the Galapagos. Much debate took place among our fellow sailors regarding which route to follow. Some said to go well south to catch the trade winds, others to opt for the direct south-westerly route. Inevitably it means burning diesel in either case or being a great deal more patient than we are! Deciding on the direct course, we had filled every conceivable container with diesel at Bilbao, filtering everything as the fuel was dirty. For eight days we had a mixture of frustrating sailing and calms when the iron horse did its stuff. Listening to the Ancient Mariner on tape, Coleridge got it exactly right.

The Galapagos

The dawning of the ninth day indicated that we had done our penance in the doldrums and shone bright and clear, with a brisk morning breeze. To starboard the outline of Santa Cruz took shape, rising to 4500 feet in its centre. It is a volcanic island, or rather one of a number of islands which go to make up the Islas Encantados, the `bewitching isles'. Made famous by Charles Darwin who formulated his theory of evolution here, the islands are well known as home to a wide and unique range of mammals, reptiles and birds which have developed over the millennia in isolation from the mainland.

Despite the volcanic nature of the islands, the astounding greenness took us by surprise. The lower slopes, home to giant tortoises, were a green mass of shrubs. The dark rocky shore was enlivened by bright red Sally Lightfoot crabs and distinctive grey larva gulls, unique to the Galapagos. Further up the slopes, what at a distance looked like familiar English pastures were indeed green fields, although the grass was coarser and more robust than our own swards. Elephant grass, growing over six feet tall, is a welcome fodder for the cattle, horses and pigs -- many of them wild. Coffee, bananas, flowering trees grow among the larva rocks which are scattered over the mountain sides. Rainfall, mist and warm sunshine encourage growth on the rich laterite soils. Farming is haphazard -- apparently, some time back, the Ecuadorian government offered individuals twenty acres if they were willing to settle, but there were not too many takers. Most are family farms with scattered attempts to cultivate. Much could be done to make agriculture a worthwhile industry, however this may conflict with the government's ideal of preserving the unique heritage of the islands.

Arriving in Academy Bay, Santa Cruz, we found a good anchorage in 8-10 metres on sand. The water abounds with fish and evening entertainment is watching the ponderous pelicans and their ritual dive bombing of the huge shoals of fish. Often the birds are so full that takeoff is an impossibility and they sit on the water bloated with food and with slightly stupid expressions on their faces, not attempting the effort of flying. Digestion is a repetitive and noisy business! Seals are so undaunted that they sunbathe on the back of any boat which has a platform -- even when approached within six feet to photograph, no fear was shown and only one solitary eye opened.

Santa Cruz with its small and very friendly population is a most welcome contrast to Panama. Doors are left open, one can walk everywhere without fear of being attacked, the police have little to do except play football, and everyone enjoys a gentle and undemanding lifestyle. Proud of their island but not in any hurry, they do not want the trappings of modern life and seem content to enjoy the sun and gossip. The government is trying to keep tourism down to 3000 visitors a year but the actual level, encouraged by the Galapagians who, despite their sleepiness, are not averse to making money, is closer to 40,000. Despite this, Santa Cruz has not been spoilt and the most modern place is the Charles Darwin Research Centre. Also, a new desalination plant has just been established courtesy of the Italian government. Roads are primitive and the rattling buses kept going with frequent trips to the local garage, rough welding and asthmatic engines cajoled well beyond their life expectancy. Food etc is not cheap and the local government do extract considerable sums from tourists (US $40 per visitor) but they take the preservation of their heritage very seriously and long may this continue.

Many yachtsmen have been put off by frequent reports in the press emphasising the difficulty of obtaining a visa to visit the islands and that one is only allowed to stop without one if essential repairs are needed, and then only for three days after which you have to leave whatever the problem -- no fuel, no water or few supplies.

Reality is different. The Armada, the Ecuadorian navy, is responsible for the port and runs the whole operation very efficiently. We were greeted by a charming Port Captain who, having extracted the relevant dues (US $120) and read our carefully prepared letter in Spanish, asked us (in English) what diesel, water, food etc we required. We did have a broken spinnaker boom and the navy was put at our disposal to assist. We were transported by truck, and armed guard, delighted to have something to do, to a local garage full of ancient vehicles in various states of recovery. Their equipment consisted of various ancient tools, carbide welding equipment and machines guaranteed to bring cardiac arrest to any factory inspector. Dogs wandered round in a desultory manner, chickens scratched among the bones of long dead cars, wide-eyed children looked on from the welcome shade of the mango trees and long, heated discussions took place between the navy and the local garage man as to how to fix the recalcitrant boom. With much banging and muttering an entirely creditable repair was carried out. It still works.

Netball and football constitute a major spectator sport on the islands and are taken very seriously. The Port Captain, who we later learnt was a recent replacement for a much surlier individual and was normally resplendent in military uniform with gold braid and insignia, was transformed when he donned his football boots and became one of the lads. The playing field, surrounded by flamboyant trees, was very small but the panache and verve with which the navy played against the local team provided superb spectator viewing, not least the infringement of rules at frequent intervals and the various referees interpreting these to benefit whichever side they supported.

Visitors to the islands must see the wonderful wildlife. There are well organised daily tours by boat, which cost US $30 to $40 each but are very worthwhile -- when would we ever have the opportunity again? It is much easier than using one's own yacht, as even having obtained a visa you have to have a guide on board the whole time and also have the worry of anchor watches etc off very inhospitable looking shores. Our tour party was made up of a number of young Ecuadorean schoolgirls and ourselves. The craft are rugged and strong, designed for sea use, with powerful if noisy engines. The tour proper starts about three hours by sea from the north coast of the main island, to which we were transported by an ancient asthmatic bus -- 0400 departure!

The first island we visited was Plaza. On this uninhabited spot, home to sealions, iguanas and countless sea birds, we were landed on a small stone promontory. This was also the sunbathing place for the seals, and with much reluctance and after great clapping and shouting they moved all of two metres to allow us ashore. Each harem has its own bull, who fights for the privilege of looking after the females. The bull will look after and serve his harem of about twenty suckling cows, seeing off any rivals and going without food. After six weeks he is apparently so tired and hungry that he goes off for a spot of `R & R' and a new bull takes over. The women seemed happy!

Iguanas, cold blooded creatures of both land and sea, sunbathed quietly under the cactus trees eating their favourite local foods, cactus and a type of portulaca, which grows abundantly. After feeding, they lie with their head in the shade and their body on a sunbaked rock and allow the heat to cook the food inside. The males, blessed with two reproductive organs, seem to enjoy a healthy sex life but, according to our guide, frequently fall asleep during their extended amorous couplings. Marine iguanas have a built in desalination plant and spit out the salt when they surface from their hour-long, 40 metre dives.

Boobies -- blue foot, red foot and masked -- together with frigate birds abound, the blue of the boobies feet startling and vivid. The scenery is wild and the eternal ocean crashes around the rocks, yellowfin tuna swimming in shoals in the sparkling deep blue water which teems with fish. The islands are kept for the benefit of the seals and the birds and unimpaired by man, and are a paradise for photographers as one can get so close to the wildlife. Our excellent guide -- they are all trained and licensed -- took us around the island, and when one schoolgirl was rash enough to drop a sweet paper it resulted in a very stern lecture and admonition from the guide.

The next island was a unique breeding ground for the frigate birds, supreme aerobatic pirates, and boobies who travel hundreds of miles offshore for their food. Boobies fish by diving from a height and will often go as much as five metres deep after their food. This repeated diving leads to a sort of decompression sickness, and after five years or so their eyesight begins to fail them. They return to the island of their birth to die. It is sad to see these creatures no longer able to feed themselves.

Male frigate birds puff up their distinctive red pouches to attract mates, the size of the pouch such as to dwarf the owner. Fluttering his wings, he waits the arrival of one of the many females who hover around to see which pouch `turns them on'. On top of scrub thorn bushes, under the blue skies, ungainly youngsters wait to be fed. Later they will be taught the skills they require to survive -- namely robbing other sea birds of their catch in mid-air, and catching flying fish `on the wing'. Frigate birds have superlative flying skills but are unable to take off from the ocean, not having enough waterproofing in the their plumage.

Returning to our boat in a rocky inlet we had time for a much needed swim. This we shared with a small colony of sealions -- to swim and dive in the company of these wild creatures who delighted in showing off their extraordinary underwater ballet and to be gently nuzzled by a sleek female underwater was unique. The bull sealion made sure that I didn't get too familiar with his young wives by swimming up and opening his mouth, showing his teeth. The message was clear -- keep off my women!

The Galapagos also have their own penguins, two of which were sunning themselves on a rock as we snorkelled by -- small but very definitely penguins. They swim long distances for their food, and share the water with large pelagic fish and sharks of many types including the hammerhead and tiger. Swimming in the water with sharks is a unnerving experience even though there have been no reported attacks in this area.

Lunch was served on board by the crew, father, son and guides. On the way back, the charming Ecuadorian schoolgirls decided to hold a disco on the foredeck. This was directly in front of the coxswain who, with considerable restraint, barely held at times, tried to pilot the vessel while looking between gyrating and scantily clad girls whose curves were already developing fast and who knew at an early age how to use their wiles on mankind.

After five days of enjoying the Galapagos islands and preparing the boat, it was time to take the plunge and head off across the Pacific for the Marquesas nearly 3000 miles away -- the longest non-stop voyage of our circumnavigation. A lonely Galapagos albatross escorted us on our way.