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Yesterday was another adventure for Margarita, just to keep
us humble. The sky was dark and the wind was picking up (low on water, we were
hoping for rain) when we heard a "BANG" from the cockpit. I went back to
investigate and found that the helm/wheel was a little too easy to move. Scary
easy. S turned the wheel while I watched and willed the rudder to move.
Nothing. I said bad words. So, with big black clouds coming and the wind
building, we unloaded the lazarette (a big locker in the stern, our garage) to
get to the steering guts and see what was up. We are anchored in pretty good
holding but the shelter was poor from the current wind direction, better to be
able to steer if we need to leave this maze of coral. I get into the lazarette
to find a cable had come undone. Not a little thing, but easily repairable. I
got it apart for the repair while the weather built. Just in case, S and D
decided to get the emergency tiller access open (emergency tiller is an ungainly
metal and wood thing that fits over the top of the rudder post, bypassing all
cables etc for the wheel, always works as long as the rudder is still
attached). Unfortunately it was frozen shut, hadn't been opened in a year or
so. So now we start to get excited. The wind is howling to over 40 kts, wind
generator amplifying the noise very dramatically, awning (sun and rain catcher)
going nuts, ripped two grommets out, seas are building and the anchor is
starting to pull up hard on the bow roller. I start rushing to get the steering
back together, the kids and S are trying to harness the awning. We did it all
successfully, the wind died down and the rain set in. We got to sit down at the
end and tell each other how well we all did, then got on with collecting the
torrential rain. As S said, it is amazing just how fast things can totally go
bad on a boat. (wording altered to protect the innocent) --- We are still in the
San Blas Islands, or Kuna Yala, of Panama. As you have heard the Kuna are a
very primitive civilization, trying hard to keep their traditional lifestyle.
As we move West we find ourselves growing cynical. They are more and more
reliant on gifts from the tourists and fees from the yachties. In the
southeastern most islands we were left to ourselves for the most part, they
greeted us when we came ashore and were happy to make money or accept gifts but
it was at our initiation. We had some nice interactions, tried to help with sick
kids; gave away magazines and clothing and some food; had island chiefs out to
the boat for a visit; bought lots of molas (very special garment unique to the
Kuna), including a few "pity buys" ; gave a joy-ride in the dinghy to some kids
that helped me get water. Douglas and I even spent a very rewarding morning
helping fix a dugout canoe. (The owner applied some melted Styrofoam while we
patched a bigger hole with modern marine epoxy. The Styrofoam was melted with a
bit of gasoline and made into a gum-like paste that hardened overnight. A very
effective and a good use of that ubiquitous beach eyesore.) We attracted a good
audience, inspecting the process and the materials. I keep my epoxy jars in an
old peanut butter container. Studying the container, to remember what I used, a
local guy sounded out "C-r-u-n-c-h-y. Hmmm, Crunchy.") But here in the western
islands it is different. At every island you are met by dugout canoes, with the
ladies in them trying to sell their molas. These are indeed very special pieces
of art/clothing but we have a bunch now and are tired of the aggressive sales
method. They are very poor and they ask for anything and everything, no problem
if you say no, but it doesn't feel good after a while. And now we are tired of
it. It is a one-way street, especially as we get further west. We are now
anchored off of a small uninhabited island, the classic palm covered deserted
island. This morning, I went up top to look at the sky. It has been raining
hard since yesterday afternoon, we collected well over 100 gals, tanks are
full. I was startled by a man hanging off of the starboard rail in his canoe.
"Buenos," he greeted. He was decidedly underdressed, only in his underwear. In
the canoe was a nice speargun, a few baby lobsters, a squirrel fish, and a sad
little crab. He wanted to sell them. "No queremos, gracias." They are way too
expensive at about $4/lb. Then he started shivering, not surprisingly, and said
how cold it was. No kidding Mr. Holmes, or something to that effect, is what I
thought. He did it as if he was a second grade teacher reading a story about
the kids that stayed out too long on a cold winter day. "Muy frio," he kept
saying. So what to do. I was under the awning drinking a nice cup of hot tea.
He was out in the drizzle, very clearly cold. But he did choose to be there,
right? He then asked if I had some dry clothes to trade for his fish, he was so
cold, he said. "No." I did give him some tea, which he enjoyed without
acknowledging. Then back to how cold it was. I suggested he go to the island
where it is dry and he could get warm. Finally he asked for magazines and
pushed off. About 10m from the boat he put his shorts and a shirt back on,
raised his sails, and continued his day of fishing.
The towns are very primitive, and very dirty, with little
if any civil service efforts. They are built on the islands, sand and palm
trees. Bamboo walls, coconut palm frond roofs. Dirt floors. Outhouses line the
shore. Morning can be a disturbing time to go ashore. They have loads of
little shops with very little to sell. Soap, tinned sardines, tuna, tomato
paste, rice, sugar. There is little money. They sell coconuts to the Colombian
trading boats for 10 cents each. The Colombian boats are literally floating
general stores. We love them. The best vegetables come from them. Bought a
hand of 100 bananas for $2 one day. A bucket and 10kilos each of potatoes and
onions another day, never sure what they will have. We are without a watermaker
at the moment, parts comming with friends in 10 days. So we collect rain or
"jerry can" it from shore when there is running water. There is lots of rain
here, but unlike other places we have visited, they don't collect any runoff,
only get it from the river, piped or carried. --- Our days are spent doing the
normal work/school thing, or chores. Chores lately are focused on getting water
or provisions. Took 3 days to get propane bottle filled last week.
Unfortunately we hit the big 4 day independence festival, which is a serious
party. Had a very hard time (failed in fact) getting the local "man in the
know" interested in helping me organize getting propane from their local tanks
to our US tank. So S and I bought a big tank and hooked up hoses to make the
transfer (our tank in the sea to keep it cooler and help the pressure
gradient). Meanwhile we went to watch the festivities. Just like home the
seniors dozed while the never ending kids marched and drummed and danced their
way passed the reviewing stand. After that we took Margarita 4 miles South to a
village that had running water, paid the $2 and got 120 gals (11 dinghy trips).
In spite of all my whining, life is good. We have had a
great deal of fun reuniting (again!) with our sailing buddies, the Toads, and
met some new friends. Including a single hander that has finally demonstrated
the whole guitar-sing-along-on-the-beach-under-the-moon thing! Did lots of
snorkeling out on the reefs, saw a few BIG nurse sharks (harmless or not, at 8
feet long they make you suck in a big breath.) And we had a great Halloween,
with the second biennial Halloween Games on the island: blind obstacle run,
coconut bowling, and a three-legged Frisbee golf race. Followed of course by
trick or treating, when we get to tell foreign flagged boats how they must give
us something or else! (Scored a bottle of rum, which was what I think would
have to be called a mixed blessing.) Day to day life can seem tough out here
some times, but it's all relative. I commented on how you folks back home
wouldn't believe what it took just to do the wash, a two mile dinghy trip up Rio
Diablo with all of the locals. And then we all thought how right that was, that
you wouldn't believe that doing the wash included traveling up a beautiful
river, stopping from time to time to hear and watch the birds, to our washing
spot where we all had great luxurious baths and rinsed our clothes like they
never get in a bucket on Margarita. And we had the time to talk and laugh.
That's enough for now. Thanks for the correspondence, the
kids have inspired lots of you and we all appreciate the news from home.
Neill and the Margaritas 9 30'N 78 52'W
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