The Panama Canal

It’s now the evening of Wednesday, January 19th. Entering the Panama Canal area is quite a production. We checked in by radio with Flamingo Signal, who control all ship movements near the Pacific entrance to the Canal, and got clearance to proceed directly to Flamenco Marina.  It wasn’t on our chart, being quite new, but was shown on a sketch map in the Raines “Cruising Ports – Florida to California” book.  We raised Delfino Maritime (our ships’ agents) on the radio, then Flamenco, and safely made our way in after dark. Getting into the slip was tricky since we had to nose in between the dock and another boat sticking out along side our slip, then fit ahead of one behind us. Not my favorite way to arrive somewhere I’ve never seen, in the dark, but it all worked out fine.  We had a great reception, which was much appreciated, and the shore power fired up the air conditioning, so we all cooled off with a beer. Our agent Pete Stevens told us we should plan on a Saturday January 22nd transit, which was fine by us.

At 8AM the next day, two men from INPRESA, the local Northern Lights reps, showed up and started trouble shooting the generator. By noon, they’d isolated the problem as a bad 12-volt breaker and dirty relays, and we were back in business. By 9AM, Mike, Ian and Mark had washed a half-inch thick coat of salt off the boat, just in time for the Agriculture inspector’s arrival. We filled forms for 20 minutes, had a nice chat, I paid a $35 fee, and he left. Then the Balboa port captain’s office showed up, to complete the general declaration for our arrival in Panama. That took about 15 minutes, and cost $30.

The Capitania was followed by the Panama Canal Authority (ACP) admeasurer. That fancy term describes the man who takes a tape measure and decides how big our boat is, to figure out the charges for our Canal transit, and to ensure the ACP plans enough space in the locks for us.  We filled numerous forms, discussed the merits of center locking (lines to both sides of the lock walls), sidewall tying (not a good idea – since the boat can be pushed violently against the lock wall by upflowing currents as the lock fills), tying to an ACP tug (OK if available) or nesting with other yachts (OK if they have good line handlers).  We also talked a bit of politics. Seems the new President of Panama, Martin Torilljos,  is the son of the President (read dictator) in office in the ‘80s. But he was fairly elected and seems to be a modernizer who is honest. The previous president “didn’t do anything but throw parties” for five years.

Pete Stevens showed up around 6 PM, collected papers and passports, and discussed procedures over a glass of good single malt Scotch.  We then had dinner up the dock at the El Barco Restaurant. Pretty good, with an excellent inexpensive Argentinian wine, and Mark said his Covina, a white fish, was really excellent.  The guys then went downtown to check out the local scene. They reported later (in fact much later) the next morning, that a good time was had by all at the local version of the Hard Rock Café after a bit of a misadventure with a taxi driver who took them to a strip club first.

Late Friday morning Pete Stevens arrived with the bad news that the ACP had pulled the advisors (trainee pilots who handle yachts smaller than 20 meters – 65 feet) off yacht duty to staff a dredge which was working 24 hours a day. So, unless we hired an actual pilot, for an additional $2250, we could be stuck waiting for up to ten days. That was an easy, but expensive decision. It was costing us $100 a day just for moorage and electricity, and I certainly didn’t want to miss the San Blas Islands, so I told Pete, “hire the Pilot”.  Mark, Ian and I then went off with Luis Silva, a taxi driver Pete recommended, on a tour of the town. The old town is evocative of New Orleans, with overhanging balconies with wrought iron rails on tiny streets, a very attractive Cathedral (unfortunately closed) and a very interesting Canal museum. The captions were all in Spanish, which was too bad, as the exhibits were quite good, albeit a bit political.

We then spent an hour at the Miraflores locks, the first set on the Pacific side, watching ships come through headed south from the Atlantic to the Pacific.  That was fascinating, and was a great education as to how the locks worked, what sort of turbulence to expect and how long the process should take.  We stopped at a pretty good grocery store on the old Albrook Air Force Base, stocked the boat, and returned to meet Pete Stevens, who had the good news that our transit was on track for tomorrow, Saturday January 22nd.   We fueled the boat – diesel is $1.80 a gallon, the cheapest we’ve seen on the entire Pacific coast – put in water, and made final preparations for tomorrow’s transit. The two line handlers we’ve hired will arrive about 630 AM, and we’ll be underway at 7AM.

Saturday, January 22nd, our “day” for the Panama Canal, came early, with “Tula” and “Robinson” , Tula’s 75-year- old and very spry father, our two line handlers showing up as advertised at 630 AM. I held a safety briefing with everyone, making sure they understood that safety came first and the boat came second, and that Mike was in charge of all four line handlers (Tula, Robinson, Ian and Mark). Just before 7 AM, Pete Stevens arrived with breakfast bread, collected my $2250 check and we were off.  I cleared our departure with Flamingo Signal, who told us to meet the pilot between Flamenco Island (where we had been moored) and buoy 6 (in the Canal entrance channel) at 730. 

The pilot, Alex Jean-Francois, showed at 815 and we were underway again for Miraflores Lock, the Pacific entrance to the Canal. Alex was a fascinating guy, just turned 40, a fourth generation Panamanian whose French great grandfather had worked on the original French canal project in the late 1800’s, a graduate of the US Merchant Marine Academy at Kings Point, NY, and most personable. 

We even got into Panamanian politics. Alex was optimistic about the future. He said the ACP from a technical standpoint was doing a good job running the Canal, and that the staff were well trained and qualified. He wasn’t happy with the administrative side, saying ACP were pinching pennies to squeeze out the maximum return for the owners, the government of Panama.

Alex even commented that he thought Panama should have insisted the US keep some of its bases, for example Howard AFB and Rodman Naval Station on the north side of the Pacific entrance, and Fort Clayton, just south of Miraflores Locks. The bases relieved Panama of the burden of defending the Canal, and provided lots of good jobs.

I would agree. My take is that President Carter was far too soft, and did not look after American interests when he agreed to hand over the Canal in 1977, an action consummated in January 2000. If President Bush is paying attention enough to Central America, he’d be wise to negotiate reopening Howard AFB on a long term agreement.

There are two sets of locks, but the Canal is running pretty close to capacity now.  America has a vital role to play, indeed if my memory serves me right, we have a responsibility under the 1977 US – Panama Treaty on reversion of control to the Panamanians.  Without forces in place, we’re not doing the job, and goodness knows the Panamanians aren’t capable of it.

From what I could see, the Canal itself appeared well run and well maintained.  The whole transit process was well organized. I am suspicious of the “advisor shortage” which forced us to hire a pilot for an additional $2250.  There is an impression the ACP are trying to discourage yachts. They are threatening the Balboa Yacht Club, on the Pacific side, and the Panama Canal YC, on the Atlantic side, with eviction, and not offering any replacement sites.  So it’s hard to see what the future holds for the continued smooth, safe operation of this vital waterway.

We reached Miraflores Locks, running on the main at high RPMs plus the wing engine, to make maximum speed, by 910 AM, entered the lock at 930and were side tied on the ACP (Canal Authority) tug “Amistad” by 940.  All went smoothly, and we were out of the two step lock (two chambers to go through) by 1010.  Apparently we had some spectators up early on the west coast to watch us on the Miraflores web camera, but we weren’t spotted, I’m told.

We crossed the two miles of Miraflores Lake and, with Mike McFadden at the helm, entered the single chamber Pedro Miguel Lock at 1050, this time side tying to the ACP tug “Parfitt”.  Clear of Pedro Miguel by 1110, we settled in for the three and a half hour crossing of the Continental Divide, through the infamous six-mile long Gaillard (Culebra) cut with all its troublesome mudslides during the construction and up to this day, and then across man made Gatun Lake to the Gatun Locks on the Pacific side. 

Many large ships started passing southbound, as the morning “convoy” reached us. It’s pretty intimidating to be almost under the bow then 75 feet away from the side of an 800 foot container ship heading the opposite direction.  Big ships actually pass each other everywhere in the Canal except in the Gaillard Cut. The ACP is widening the Cut itself, a huge undertaking.  Ian Rolfe and Mark McIntyre each took a stint at the helm, so by the end of the transit, the whole crew had helped navigate Resolution across the American continent in just one day.

About two-thirds of the way across Gatun Lake, we entered Banana Cut, a shortcut saving small boats two miles. The jungle was thick and close on both sides – shades of the “Cruise of the Jungle Queen”.  At the east end of the lake, just south of  Gatun Locks, we anchored to await our scheduled locking. The guys went in swimming, although I couldn’t resist teasing them about crocodiles. Seems they do indeed exist in the lake, but only come out to feed at night. Our pilot, Alex, was taken off here, and almost immediately replaced by a new pilot, Franklin Arosemina.  He had gone to University in Mexico and had served seven years in the Mexican Navy, although he is Panamanian. 

Gatun Locks are three steps down to the Atlantic. We entered with the tug “Paz”, ahead of a huge container ship, the “MSC Yokohama”.  The first chamber went smoothly, with us side tied to “Paz”. In the second chamber, I misjudged the current and the turbulence, and ended up doing a 360 degree pirouette, then another half pirouette, and we side tied to “Paz” facing the wrong way! We locked down that way, much to my embarrassment, but no harm was done, no one got hurt and I didn’t hit anything. Only my ego was bruised. The crew and the line handlers responded beautifully during the whole fiasco, which helped me not hit anything.  The moral of the story is that on downlocking, you must get the stern line tied on first, or you loose control.  I should have remembered that from going through the Ballard Locks in Seattle. The principles are identical, and the architecture as well, as both were built within three years of each other.

The third and last chamber went better, and we steamed out into the Atlantic Ocean at about 530 PM.  I gave a big sigh of relief, and Mike told me he was sure glad he hadn’t been at the wheel. I now hold the distinction of being one of the few captains to take his boat part way through the Canal backwards.

We dropped our pilot Franklin off just outside Cristobal, then, with permission from Cristobal Signal, went off into the old French canal cut in Cristobal, and found a prime mooring at the end of one finger of the Panama Canal Yacht Club. Here Tula and Robinson, our line handlers, left us, and we decided to stay the night.  The club is an old concrete building with corrugated tin roof, rather shabby and sad, with concrete floors and walls, vinyl furniture, cheap but adequate food, and a bar full of aging Americans. Probably retired GI’s and Canal employees, I’d guess.  Carlos Solano, who drives a van giving tours for customers of Pete Stevens, our Canal agent, met us, and we arranged for him to give us a tour 30 miles east along the coast  to Portobelo the next day.

Transiting the Panama Canal at the helm of your own boat is the experience of a lifetime, at once exhilarating and draining. I was either at the helm or keeping an eye on things for almost eleven hours, as we navigated through a constantly shifting channel, up three lock steps and down three, and staying out of the way of numerous huge ships passing no more than 100 feet away from us.

The Canal transit cost about $4000 (two thousand more than I was expecting) because of the advisor shortage, plus one case of Coke!  We fed the pilots and the line handlers Cokes constantly, and I gave a can to each of the seamen on the three tugs we rafted against. That paid big dividends in cheerfulness and care on their part.  We made the right decision to hire just two line handlers, as Mark and Ian were most capable, serving as the other two handlers. In the event, we never locked through center chamber, so Tula and Robinson carried the biggest part of the load. 

Pete Stevens’ services as ships’ agent were invaluable. We’d still be sitting in Balboa, on the Pacific side, in early February if we hadn’t had his help, and his connections. All in all, it was a fantastic, if tiring, experience.