The Lightning

We had just spent six ideal weeks sailing the western San Blas, where gorgeous anchorages are abundant. Five friends had flown in to spend some time gunk-holing with us on Sea Quill, and we had been able to make airport pick-ups and drop-offs by dinghy, directly to the small offshore air strips of Kuna Yala.

On May 5, 2008, we brought Sandie and Ron, our last visitors, back to Corazon de Jesus to catch their return flight, and we turned our attention to our final passage. With just six weeks before our "go home date" -- a date dictated as much by the wedding of friends in NYC, as our own dwindling bank accounts -- we both wanted to explore the eastern San Blas, the less traveled part. We planned a leisurely two week passage, day sailing along the coast and anchoring at Kuna villages along the way. Then, we would check out of Panama at the border town of Obaldia and sail overnight to the Rosario Cays, just a day sail from Cartagena, Colombia. In Cartagena, we planned to haul out Sea Quill and put her into long-term storage. Our fantastic, eighteen month sailing trip was almost over; it was time to go home and make some money!

On the first morning of the passage to Colombia, Ulf caught a big barracuda on the line. He doesn't like the flavor of barracuda, so we hailed a fisherman floating in a cayuco nearby. His catch that morning consisted of a few baby snapper, just five or six inches apiece. He was happy for the gift, and even offered us a couple fresh mangos in exchange, but we had plenty. After we said goodbye, we watched him put up his sail and head home with the big fish, and a free afternoon.

At the end of the day, we arrived at our anchorage in the Ratones Cays, two miles offshore from the mainland village of Playon Chico. According to the pilot guides, Aridup is a beautiful, uninhabited island with lots of palm trees and great snorkeling. We had some difficulty anchoring in the 35 foot water. The 45 lb CQR rumbled and dragged on the rocky bottom before finally digging in. We lowered the 25 lb Bruce on a short cable looped around the anchor chain, to weight it down and dampen any tugging. There was a NW wind that afternoon, so a rolling swell was sneaking around the island and hitting Sea Quill beam on. Oh well. It would only be for one night, and we'd make the best of it. With half an hour until sunset, Jen decided to go for a snorkel, but there was a fierce rip current that she had to fight against to keep from being swept out to sea.

Over dinner in the cockpit, we watched nervously as thunder clouds accumulated over the coast behind us. Sea Quill was anchored about 300 meters from Aridup, because the fringing reef kept us from tucking in closer. We were all alone. For once, our main mast -- usually the shortest in any busy anchorage -- was the tallest thing around. Despite our concern about the storm gathering behind us, there was no question of moving. It was already dark, and the surrounding sea was shallow and poorly charted. We decided to go below and wait it out.

By 0100, thunder clouds were stacked up from the shore two miles away to the water behind us. Lightning was striking regularly, but there were still intervals of a few seconds between the flash and rumble. The swell slipping around the western edge of the island had intensified, and Sea Quill was jumping and jerking at the chain. Ulf turned on the GPS to watch for signs of anchor drag, and we lay in our bunks fitfully, worrying about the thunderstorm and waiting for dawn.

At 0400, in a downpour of rain, we jerked awake to another fierce bout of lightning. There was no interval between the flash and sound now. It was right above us. A second later: BANG! POP! POP! POP! POP! Flame-orange sparks fell out of the sky onto the deck. From our beds, we both saw the shower of falling embers. "We're hit," Ulf said, matter-of-factly.

For a second, we stood hugging each other. Then we grabbed flashlights and began to search for fire or water. Rain was still pouring hard outside, so nothing could catch fire on deck. But below, there was a definite burning smell. We had to make sure that the boat was sound. In a direct lightning strike, if the mast is not well grounded to the water, the electricity can blow a thru-hull right out, or blast a hole through the hull itself, trying to escape. Lucky for us, Sea Quill's previous owner had grounded the mast well to the engine block and out to the sea through the propeller shaft. Sea Quill was sound and dry after a direct hit. There was no fire either, despite the burnt smell. Amazingly, the boat's wiring system seemed to be okay. The electronics were another story. The GPS, which had been on, was totally dead: black screen and no power. The SSB radio turned on, but with a smear of digital gibberish. There was a whirring noise coming from the VHF and FM radios which were "off." The electric bilge pump worked for a few moments, then died.

But we were lucky. We were both safe and healthy -- and Sea Quill was still afloat.

When daylight came, Jen climbed the mast to check for damage. The rigging was fine and secure; every cotter pin in place. But the VHF antenna was blown off, totally gone except for a scorch mark on the mount and a ring of melted rubber where the base had been.

Ulf opened the electronics cases and looked inside. There were no signs of damage. Even the fuses looked okay, but there was no life. Ironically, the least expensive instruments survived the hit. The VHF radio ($150) turned on, and only seemed to require a new antenna. The navigation and anchor lights at the masthead ($40 each) even worked! But the SSB radio ($2000), SSB antenna tuner ($1000), GPS ($1000), and autopilot ($5000) were toast. The depth finder, wind meter, radar, and Linksys battery regulator were also history.

We started up the engine. The ignition key was still working -- at first. The Yanmar came to life with a healthy rumble, but then something strange happened. A few seconds later, a high-pitched squeal began, the sound of metal rubbing metal. The propeller axle was grinding dryly against the shaft. Our main mast had been grounded to the engine block, which leads out to the water through the prop shaft. That good bit of planning mitigated the damage of the lightning strike. But every bit of lubrication had sizzled off the axle and shaft in the heat of the escaping electricity. The axle was completely dry. Ulf re-lubricated the shaft and the Yanmar restarted without any more scary noises.

The following day when we tried to start the engine, the ignition switch and engine instrument displays were no longer working. As with the bilge pump, some cables and instruments seemed to degenerate progressively. While they appeared to work correctly just after the lightning strike, they stopped working afterwards, sometimes even a week later. We have learned since from other sailors struck by lightning that this "progressive damage" phenomenon is fairly common. Our final weeks on Sea Quill, were spent cold-cranking the engine to start it (the technique is described expertly and clearly, as usual, by Nigel Calder), and scrutinizing the engine's vitals with our ears, eyes (and imaginations) versus the instrument gauges.

We had both looked forward to cruising the east San Blas and hauling out in Cartagena, but we agreed that it was safer to retrace our path back to Colon. With no depth meter, no steering aid, no bilge pump, no engine instrument gauges, not even a clear idea of the extent of the damage, we decided it would be too risky to continue on to Colombia -- particularly since we did not have sufficient paper charts.

Our first goal was to reach other sailboats, so that we could get some advice. But since leaving Nargana, 25 nautical miles to the west, we had not seen a single other yacht. Before the lightning strike, it was a simple matter to call up boats in the vicinity on our VHF -- or anywhere within the Caribbean basin on the SSB -- but without a working radio, we were completely cut off from anyone beyond hailing distance. We decided to head back to the western San Blas, which were full of cruising sailors and several friends.

Jen laid the course back through the western San Blas, and on to Linton, Portobelo, and Colon, with paper charts and compass bearings. In the past, navigation for us began at the computer, using navigation software with a data link to the GPS chart plotter, which we triple checked against paper charts and pilot guides. But without the chart plotter or ship's GPS, our process began and ended the traditional way -- on paper, with dividers, parallel ruler, pencil, and math.

Over the next few days, the instrument we missed the most was our depth meter. Who knew how heavily we had relied on it for pinpointing our position on the chart, as well as a sense of comfort, as we traveled through shallow water! Now we dug the lead line out of the extreme bowels of the cockpit locker, and Jen began pitching. With Ulf at the helm, and Jen on the bowsprit throwing and calling out the numbers, we inched Sea Quill around the reefs and shallows of the San Blas.

Getting struck by lightning introduced a host of problems and unwelcome expenses into our lives -- most of which we have yet to solve -- but (according to Jen, at least, since Ulf is still unconvinced...) there are also unforeseen benefits: for one, we now have the opportunity to examine how we have relied in the past on electronic gizmos to get ourselves and our boat around the sea; we have an opportunity to learn more and become better navigators and sailors, so that we can make better educated decisions about which electronic gizmos are really worth the expense of re-buying and the trouble of maintaining. There is some truth to the saying that the more hi-tech systems you have on your boat, the more time you spend fixing them. The people we know who have the simplest boats, also seem to have the most leisure -- and sailing -- time.

In the aftermath of the strike, we also made some wonderful, and welcome, new friends, whom we would not have met otherwise. First, there are Pierre and Christine of s/v Lara. We met them in the Lemon Cays a couple days after the lightning strike. Lara was also hit by lightning in the San Blas several years ago. We have learned that the San Blas -- particularly the area between Nargana and Playon Chico, where Sea Quill was hit -- have a reputation for fierce lightning storms during the rainy season months of June, July, and August. Each year, one or two sailboats are struck by lightning in that area. Sea Quill was precocious, being hit as early as the middle of May.

With their experience and moral support, Pierre and Christine generously helped us sort out the damage. For a couple days in the Lemon Cays, and later Portobelo, Pierre mucked about in Sea Quill with Ulf, trouble-shooting the damaged cables and instruments. Later, when Jen came down with a bad earache after scrubbing barnacles, Pierre and Christine -- a doctor and pharmacist, respectively -- were there to help again.

With our sailing plans changed, we had a chance to meet up with our friends on Taiga one more time, even though we had said goodbye the week before, when we thought we were going to Colombia.

Without our radio, we had no way to reach Jean-Luc and Magali. But their bright yellow bimini and dodger are a beacon wherever they anchor. Finally, the friendly man from Miramar, who sells fruit and vegetables by lancha, helped us find them. We asked if he'd seen our French friends in the yellow boat. "La tortuga?" he asked -- referring to the painted turtle on Taiga's hull -- "I saw them this morning in the East Lemons." We decided to pick up anchor first thing next morning and see if we could catch them before they moved on. When we arrived, they were already waiting for us. The man from Miramar had gone out of his way the evening before to tell them we were hit by lightning and were coming to find them.

Lock up, Lock down

The sail from the western edge of the San Blas to the next good anchorage at Puerto Linton is a long day sail, so we staged the trip from Chichime, the northwest-most cay, where we first entered the San Blas. Just after daybreak we motored out of the Chichime anchorage, waving to another couple who were up on deck, lifting their own anchor. Throughout the day, we sailed west along Panama's coast, with the other boat keeping pace (politely, we should add) just behind us. At the end of the day, when both boats turned in at the harbor at Linton, they called over to us, "How 'bout a drink?" That's how we met Kim and Simon, of s/v Woodsia, who were sailing home to west Australia.

We had a fun conversation that evening, and the next morning they asked if we would like to line handle for them through the Panama Canal. We were both excited to do a canal transit and learn how it's done. We spent the next couple of days in Portobelo, enjoying the good pizza and cold beer at The Drake, and getting back in touch with family and friends after more than two months without internet or phone.

Then we joined Woodsia for the Panama Canal transit. Around 1700, Woodsia motored from Shelter Bay Marina out to the Colon Flats to wait for the arrival of the Canal advisor and rendezvous with the two other sailboats to which she'd be rafted in the locks.

Before entering the locks, the sailboats are festooned with old tires (wrapped in plastic bags to keep the sidewalls clean) to protect them from the other boats in the raft, as well as potential accidents in the locks.

Vast resources in water, electricity, and manpower are required to move a vessel through the locks, so private yachts, which are miniscule in comparison to the commercial ships for which the locks were designed, lock up and down rafted to one or two other sailboats, and usually behind a large ship in the same chamber.

Four line handlers, in addition to the helmsman, are required for each sailboat. Line handlers are responsible for controlling the heavy lines that secure the rafted sailboats to the chamber walls as millions of gallons of fresh water are pushed in or out of the lock chamber. Massive turbulence is possible as the water fills and leaves the chamber, as well as when the container ship ahead puts it's engines in gear. Under the direction of the Canal advisors, the line handlers tighten and loosen the control lines as the water level rises or falls, thus keeping the sailboats from fishtailing or slamming into the chamber walls.

About three hours later, Woodsia was through the Gatun Locks and nearly 30 meters above sea level, the altitude of Lake Gatun. We untied from our raft partners and made our way separately to the enormous buoys where we would moor for the night. Early the next morning, the advisor for the second half of the trip arrived, and we took off, motoring through the Banana Channel -- a route too narrow and shallow for the large ships.

We motored through Lake Gatun at a minimum speed of 5 to 6 knots to keep on schedule for our appointment at the Pedro Miguel and Miraflores Locks on the Pacific side. Along the way, Woodsia passed hundreds of small islands, which are actually the tops of hills submerged when Rio Chagres was damned to create Lake Gatun and the Panama Canal. As the water level was particularly low that day, we saw the tops of trees that were submerged 100 years ago, and are still standing, preserved.

Along the route outside the Banana Channel, we passed dozens of massive container ships making their own way between the Caribbean and the Pacific.

By early afternoon, we arrived at the Pedro Miguel Locks, and finally, Miraflores. We repeated the motions we had learned the previous night. The three sailboats tied up into a single raft again. We caught the flying "monkey fists" thrown down to us from the chamber walls, and tied our control lines to them. Then we fed the control lines up to the Canal employees, who advanced our lines from one chamber to the next.

From the viewing platform above Miraflores, the final set of locks, a crowd of spectators watched Woodsia "lock-down" the last 18 meters into the Pacific.

And then we were motoring under the Bridge of the Americas, out to Panama City's vast harbor, having crossed from the Caribbean to the Pacific in less than 24 hours.

A taxi boat met Woodsia in the rough swell outside the Balboa Yacht Club. We said goodbye to Simon and Kim and wished them a good Pacific crossing. A few minutes later we were in Panama City, boarding a bus back to Portobelo and the Caribbean, where Sea Quill was waiting for us.

Read about Simon and Kim's Pacific crossing here.

Read about the Panama Canal, it's history and current operation, here.

We would like to add that the Panama Canal advisors and pilots we met were fantastic -- all of them, professional and friendly. We were universally impressed by how well the Panama Canal is run. We would also like to give a plug for Rudy, the professional, Colon-based, line handler, whom Kim and Simon hired for the trip. He has fifteen years of experience line handling yachts through the canal, and he was excellent company, as well. His phone number is 6743-7241.

Magical Chagres

We had one more pleasure planned with Sea Quill. We had decided to spend a few days in quiet Rio Chagres, six nautical miles west of Colon. There, we planned to meet up with Claes-Olof and Laila, of s/v Comedie, new friends whom we had met in the San Blas and again at Shelter Bay when we joined Woodsia to line handle. Laila and Claes were eighteen months into a circumnavigation, which they began in Gothenberg, Sweden, Ulf's old stomping ground. We agreed to meet and head up river together.

A shallow coral patch and a wide sandy shoal partially block the mouth of Rio Chagres. Pitching our lead weight "depth meter" out over the bow, we nudged Sea Quill around the hazards and into the river. It's an easy entrance, once you have your bearings.

Two shots of Sea Quill, at anchor inside the mouth of Rio Chagres.

You get your bearings from the old fort, atop the limestone bluff over the river's mouth. Fort San Lorenzo was built by the Spanish around 1580, to ensure the vast cargos of gold, emeralds, slaves, and other commodities, they were extracting from Central and South America. Over the centuries, the fort was sacked repeatedly by pirates, most famously Henry Morgan, who wanted a piece of the treasure.

Ever since then, Rio Chagres has been strategically vital to first world powers: first, as the highway for most of the wealth extracted from the Americas; later, as the indispensable water shed for Lake Gatun and the Panama Canal locks.

Despite it's bloody history, Chagres is a sublime river environment surrounded by dense tropical rainforest. It is pristinely peaceful and quiet...

... until the howler monkeys begin their remarkable roaring.

Our first anchorage with Comedie that night was in a deep bend, under a high bluff. When night fell -- and again the next morning -- the howler monkeys hailed us loudly.

s/v Comedie at anchor in Rio Chagres

The birdlife in Rio Chagres is legendary. Mated pairs of wild parrots chattered in the tree tops above us. A pair of yellow-breasted birds soon began building a nest of soft, fluffy capoc fibers on Sea Quill's boom. Oropendola nests, surrounded by wasps' nests, swung from the branches of the mid-river islands. And swallow-tailed kites swooped through the air above our rigging.

If you've ever wondered what a crocodile in the wild looks like, this is it:

When the sun is shining, you can sometimes see a crocodile sunning himself on the river bank. But more often, we noticed a funny log or branch moving steadily up stream.... At night, we shined a flashlight around and saw more than a few bright red dots -- crocodile eyes -- flashing at us from the brushy river banks.

No, we did not swim much (or at all) in Rio Chagres. But we did have a great time exploring the surrounding jungle with Claes and Laila. We followed trails from our second anchorage near the top of the river, to the damn that created Lake Gatun. From there we could watch the parade of cargo ships moving through the Gatun Locks.

We enjoyed some delicious vegetarian meals together, and lots of good conversation. Being Swedish, there was plenty of "fika" (i.e. coffee and something sweet) too.

We were so happy to get to know these wonderful people, just as our own sailing trip was coming to an end. You can read all about Claes and Laila's continuing circumnavigation (in Swedish) by clicking here.

Click here to read more about Rio Chagres.

A week later, on June 3, we sailed reluctantly to Shelter Bay Marina, to haul out and say goodbye to Sea Quill. Taiga had one last surprise for us. As we rounded the Colon breakwater, we saw their bright yellow bimini making the final turn into Shelter Bay. We moored just behind them, under the travel lift. Jean-Luc and Magali had rescheduled their own haul out to coincide with ours. Having their company over the following week on the hard, was the singular pleasure of that grueling week. We miss them a lot.

We didn't take any pictures on the boat yard. It was hot, hard work preparing little Sea Quill for long-term storage in Panama's tropic climate. But mostly, it was an emotional time for both of us: a mixture of sadness to leave our boat and our cruising lifestyle, as well as excitement to see family and friends again, and re-join land life.

 

To read Jen's post-cruising blog, click here.