It rained like hell all Friday night, starting at about six. My boat was dry but the battery was low. A friend told me that the two members of Con Leche a local band had decided on the day of her party that they were “Not in the right headset to perform.” I suspect this had something to do with the full moon party on Friday night that started at midnight. Ok, I'll pack some music, I called a friend to get my disk drive out of his office, but he was attending to a boat at a house he had been house-sitting that sank Friday night. Shit and double shit.
Boat Parts Swap
My room-mates and I headed to a boat parts swap at Bocas Marina. There were boat owners and home owners scattered at various locations with crap from their boats, everything from respirator masks to bicycles. It took but a few minutes to survey everything.
Some plastic compartmentalized boxes grabbed my attention. “They are of the highest quality. Made in Germany.” I opened one up, molded into the bottom it said they were made in Turin, Italy. Whatever. He wanted $5 apiece; I bought all three for $12.
Brandy and Becky were standing at the end of the pier. “You ready to go?” Brandy was looking at a Scuba Pro Knighthawk BCD. Hmm, here is an extra large, never been used, tags still on it. I picked it up for $350. Not a great deal, they retail for near $600 but can be found for as little as $359 on line, but then there is the issue of shipping, my telescope has been lost in the system in Panama by Mail Boxes Etc for 10 weeks. He also had a propane refrigerator, the same as the one I have at home but with only five months on it. They sell new for $1,000 to $1,200 dollars. For sale for only $400. “Go home, fire it up, if it works, I'll take it.” He said he would deliver it to my house. When I advised that my house was 100 steps up from the dock he said “To your dock.” We were going to an overnight party at Michelle's but I was not surprised to see that they (Brandy) had changed their (her) minds (mind) once again and now decided not to go. A guy in town was going to hitch a ride with me but as I had my two room-mates and two band members, I told him I had no room. Gas up, $66 and head out to Lomo Partida. Adding to my growing list of things not working, the GPS on my boat was out. I had been there but once.
To the party
From twelve miles away the general destination was clear enough. Lomo Partida is Spanish for 'split hill' look for the dual mounds in the Southeast, bearing 130. Past the tip of Isla Solarte, Isla Christobol, Isla Popa down through the mangroves, down the split, around the bend. Whoa! First attempt, about 15.6 nautical miles.
Arriving, guests were on the dock eating Hungarian goulash made with otay, the starchy root of broad leafed plant, rather than potatoes. Other than the beef, everything came off the little 2 1/2 hectare organic farm. The food was wonderful. More boats arrived, guests bearing salmon mousse, potato salad and salsa. We sat around and told boating stories, Scott related the stories of starting on of big (871) Detroit Diesels on his Hatteras recently and blowing an exhaust vent, water flooding the engine compartment though the below water fitting. I almost sank a yacht the same way one not so fine day on Lake Texoma. The $15,000 windlass that was destroyed on first use because the installer had failed to add quart of oil to the gearbox. Stephen's new sunken boat. The paint job and electrical repair on my boat. Everybody had a story. Boats are expensive to maintain.
Michelle recruited me to walk up to the house to get the other puppies, litter mates of my puppy Jessica. Up the 187 steps to the house with my dog Hayu leading the way. He walked down the steps, I heard a yelp and laughed when Hayu running for life, being chased by a house cat. The victorious cat let him continue running and the monkey, Topo took over the chase, sending Hayu further on his way. Now that he had put Hayu on the run he was to be provoked mercilessly. We returned to the dock. The monkey chased my dog who bounded off the pier and fled for safety in the water. After returning to the dock, the monkey chased him until Hayu sought refuge on my boat, standing at the stern, balls to the water and head to the monkey. This went on all evening.
A drizzle turned into a tempest, my boat rocked and started to bang against the pier. I let out as much line as possible, got on the boat, dug out the anchor and threw it as far as possible and lashed it to a stern cleat. The grabbing the bowline I pulled in as much line as I could as the anchor set and stepped four feet from a slippery gunwale to a slippery dock. Check the bilge pump, checked. Soaking wet and cold I returned to the party which was now in the one room house on the water, the only building on the property when Michelle bought the place. One of the guests was dancing with Hayu, unaware that I had been teaching him how to dance.
After much animated conversations the locals returned to their nearby houses and those that had come from more remote islands or as far away as Panama City stayed and went up to the house for entertainment of a sort not to be engaged in front of the staff. My trusty 200 lumen flashlight helped illuminate the dark, slippery winding steps, but some managed to misstep and fall off the walkway. Eventually I went to my designated quarters, a thatch roofed cabina constructed of cana blanca. On my bed was kit with mosquito netting, two towels and four washclothes. There was no water running in the nearby bathroom as all water is generally turned off throughout the facility to stop the terror of the island, Topo, from turning on a faucet, flooding some building and depleting the rain catchment water.
The bed was very comfy, fitted with fine cotton sheets and I slept well, though actually a bit chilled for the first time in Bocas. The cool air rolls down the mountains on the mainland and pours over the small expanse of water cooling the south side of this island by ten degrees Farenheit.
Morning
We were all going on a one hour boat ride to Rana Azul Pizzeria. (blue frog, yes there are blue frogs there, of the same species as the frogs on my island which are red in some locations and blue on other parts of the island). I went up to fetch Jessica, couldn't find her and was told that she was under the deck of a palapa. I finally managed to dig her out. A yelp, a scream, much commotion, Michelle took off and returned with a bloody monkey. Apparently Hayu had decided enough was enough and grabbed the monkey, puncturing his chest and was thrashing it about but dropped it when ordered to by Michelle. The right shoulder was dislocated, but within minutes it was eating. There was very little sympathy from the guests. "That should teach him to leave the dogs alone." To which Michelle, replied, "No, it won't, he's a monkey."
Michelle wanted some cigarettes and I boarded Scott's boat along with his wife, Belinda and Linda, a writer who had just moved from Troy, Michigan to Boquette. This was Linda's first time in Bocas. West, north into the channel we docked at the tiny wooden shack. A three by six foot mesh container housed live lobster. A unfortunate toucan perched in an immorally small enclosure, hell any cage is too small, this bird deserved to be free. Six or eight shelves held about 20 products. Toilet paper, cigarettes of some strange brand. Ship Virginia tobacco to Vietnam, roll them into cigarettes and ship them back. That's a lot of burning oil. Marlboros sell for $2 a pack in Costa Rica these sell for $3 and taste like some reject from a Canadian factory. I figured the total inventory in the store couldn't have amounted to $200. Gas was brought out in five gallon buckets and siphoned into the boat, kick started with a suck on the hose. Linda, welcome to the jungle. Back to Michelle's. Express sorrow about the state of the monkey and once again am told something to the effect that it was nature.
My boat was full of water, I'm glad it didn't rain hard at night or I would have had a sunken boat as the bilge pump had gone out. It was working fine just before I went to bed. With a 27 year old buxom Panamanian and a couple my age we boarded my boat while the rest of the party took the house panga or Scott's boat. I asked Jeff to drive the boat while I pulled the plug. We neared the gas station and Jeff throttled back, "throttle up!" Got to be moving faster than 9 knots or water comes in the hole. I put the plug back in the hole. He never turned back and I missed a chance to off two passengers. I was hoping I could transfer a couple of passengers to the other boat, which was much lighter, but we drove on past them. I didn't know the way, we followed Michelle's boat which is the same length as mine, but doesn't have a floor, a console, two coolers a foredeck or two fiberglass bench seats. With five rows of wooden plank seats and a forty horse power she could ride in circles around me. Off to hristobol, through a cut off to the mainland around a bend, to find 30 boats lashed three abreast to the small dock.
Good, but not great pizza was prepared in brick wood burning ovens. By the time I had arrived several people wanted to buy Hayu a beer for tearing into the monkey. I still felt bad about it it was a response to extreme provocation
Back to the boat north and west of Cristobol, around the point avoiding the shoals by swinging wide of a buoy, unlit, hell, none of them are lit in here, even channel buoys that guide the giant banana boats.
I went to Casa Verde to drop off Sol, "Jessica, Hayu, Jim." Even with some new guests I knew most everybody on the dock. Walter was looking disconsolate; he had failed to get anything done on Stephen's boat other than have the plugs pulled and oil injected into the cylinders. This is going to be one expensive repair. The boat could not be pulled the three miles to the spot on which it was to be repaired as the outboard tilt was inoperative and the boat was to be beached. "Jim can you jailbreak an iPhone for me?" I have other things to tend to right now.
I took my remaining passenger over to Bocas Marina, where he is a diesel mechanic, running his own shop out of a small room beneath a large, termite eaten green wooden house. A few minutes later, I found the fuse had blown. A five amp fuse protecting a 10 amp motor. No tens available, put in a twenty, which would blow in the event of a dead short. The only draw on the lead was the bilge pump. It would be running because of rain, surely to sink on failure during a heavy rain without the pump, the risk of fire was hugely smaller. A squall was kicking up, time to head for the always tranquil water in front of my house.
Why no pictures? I haven't been carrying my SLR camera and frankly, I hate the pictures I get with my waterproof, shockproof Canon.
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