Into the Pacific

We left the Las Perlas Islands, in early April and had a generally pleasant sail. The wind was gentle and the sea fairly flat. I could sleep reasonably well, so didn’t get tired or bad tempered. The bananas began ripening too quickly so we had them raw, fried, frittered and baked as bread – I even tried drying them but the air was too damp and they just went rotten. We had some periods of no wind at all and had to motor, but that was good for the batteries anyway. On the eighth day, distressingly, ‘George’ the autopilot (despite the new motor) began, once again, to play up from time to time. Mostly, it worked well and we thought it must be lack of power.



On day nine a scruffy little white bird landed in the cockpit and remained with us for three days. We named him Egg – he looked like an Egret. His first day he just stood there looking exhausted, swaying on his skinny little legs to the motion of the boat, and tucking his head under his wing for long periods to sleep. His feathers were dirty (it looked like oil) and when awake he would try to clean them. He ignored us (and all offers of sustenance) completely. On the second day he accepted a little water and shortly thereafter spat a clot of something onto the teak. After that he improved markedly and became positively friendly, climbing onto Mike’s lap at one point. Unfortunately we had nothing suitable in the way of food, so though he would investigate our offerings, he rejected them all. On the third day he flew up and perched on the steel arch at the back of the boat and that night he disappeared. He was almost a pet by then and we were sorry to see him go and worried for his survival.

On day ten we crossed the Equator and celebrated with a tepid beer (the new 12 volt fridge had long since been switched off), splashing a little overboard as our obligatory offering to Neptune and/or Poseidon. We heard some yachties had huge celebrations - for many of them this was their first time ever to cross into the southern hemisphere. It was less of a big deal for us, having grown up down that end of the globe.



On the twelfth day we made landfall at Baquerizo Moreno (Wreck Bay) on San Cristobal Island. Our electronic charts, perfect in so much of the world, were up to 400 yards off out here, and we had to ignore them when close to land and use eyeball navigation only. There is a reef outside Wreck Bay, over which the incoming waves were breaking heavily as we arrived, and we had a few terrifying moments trying to steer clear of them. Once in, it was a good safe anchorage and full of yachts.

Wreck Bay - Forever bottom right

The Port Capitan was charming, though confused when we didn’t produce a Zarpe (which is the official check out paper from Panama). I’m afraid to say Mike had by now become a bit of a cowboy about such things, particularly after our debacle with the Americans. We’d heard that checking out of Panama was a long-winded and costly process, so he simply decided not to bother. When the Capitan asked “donde es el Zarpe?” we looked puzzled, shrugged our shoulders, waved our arms about helplessly, saying in our best Spanish “no se, no entiendo, no Zarpe!” hopefully giving the impression that the Panamanian authorities had slipped up somehow. We kept this up for about ten minutes, laughing hilariously, whereupon he gave up in frustration and processed our papers anyway. Well, what was his alternative? Send us back to Panama for the Zarpe?



We hate paying to enter a country, and nearly didn’t go to the Galapagos as we had heard it was very expensive. The cost of checking in was US$56 for the boat and $30 for Immigration for the two of us, expensive but less than we had been led to believe, certainly within the average cruiser’s budget, and definitely worth it for the pleasure of stopping in this exquisite place. We were given 20 days to remain in the archipelago and told we may visit the island of Isabella but not Santa Cruz. We could have chosen Santa Cruz as our check-in port, but having not done so, we were forbidden to go there. The logic of this eluded us, but that’s how it was. Those boats that had particularly wanted to visit Santa Cruz, had made it their landfall.

Panama - Canal Transit

 

20 March 2004

It was another two weeks before we went through ourselves. The big question was the advisor that one was allocated. It seemed the advisor could make or break your passage. We heard of one German yacht which had had a bit of engine trouble. He managed to fix the engine trouble within twenty minutes, but the moment the engine cut out, his advisor radioed for transport and abandoned the yacht. The skipper was obliged to anchor on the lake for two nights and await a second booking. He was not allowed to leave his yacht and lost his $800 deposit. We all felt terribly sorry for him, and made up our minds to do everything in our power to make friends with, pamper, spoil and generally suck up to our advisors.

On the eve of departure, I telephoned the authorities to confirm our transit, and was glad I did as he also told me that the departure time was 7.30am and not 5.30am as advised earlier. I enquired who our advisor was and groaned inwardly when given his name, as the gentleman we’d been allocated was infamous for being very picky about everything, including his food. We had an American single hander, John, and a Canadian couple, Art and Berenice, helping us as line-handlers. From the outset, Berenice and I made a huge fuss of the advisor, flattering him and plying him with all manner of delicacies. Perhaps we overdid it a bit, because he finally protested that he was not as difficult as his reputation, which he knew all about. He told us his side of the story which was that a particular boat had offered him nothing and treated him like a servant, so he had radioed food and drink in and they had had to pay for it plus the transport. We had a good laugh about that, but continued the grovelling, just in case our engine failed. He was not a particularly good advisor, but happily we suffered no major mishaps.

"He Who Must Be Obeyed"

The trip passed pleasantly enough, though the actual locks were fairly scary.



For reasons beyond our control, we got going very late in the day, and reached the second set of locks too late to catch the last big ship going through.  They normally tuck the yachts in behind the big ships, so although there were five of us yachts, they decided to leave us on Gatun Lake overnight.  I had prepared for that, as indeed one must as there is always the possibility that you will not get through in one day.  I fed the gang and we spent a peaceful night anchored on the lake.  Our advisor went home and returned next morning.  Still no big ships came along, so finally they opened a half lock for us and sent us through.  We were glad to go alone because the big ships can be a pain, actually.  Many of them seem to think it good sport to give their engines a good hard rev when departing the lock in front of the smaller yachts.  The resulting turbulence is very unpleasant and puts enormous strain on the yacht’s lines and cleats. They always did it once, then your advisor would radio them and tell them off and after that they’d behave.

It was an incredible feeling to pass through the last lock and into the Pacific Ocean – desperately relieved to have completed the transit safely and wildly excited to be in the Pacific Ocean for the first time.  The Panama Canal website provides camera coverage of the Miraflores Locks so Mike hung our Rhodesian flag off the back of the boat and we all waved like lunatics at the camera as I had told family and friends when we were going through.  Our advisor kindly radioed the camera attendant to ask her to angle the camera towards us, only to be told that it was out of order that day. Fortunately, none of our fans was disappointed, as no one had got around to watching anyway!

The last lock - Art at the bow

We finally sailed into the Pacific Ocean, passing under the lovely Bridge of the Americas, which connects the north and south American continents.  Mike returned to Colon with Art and Berenice to assist with lines on their yacht Samara II the following day, so in all he did the Panama Canal transit three times.

Bridge of the Americas

We spent a week in Balboa anchorage, then moved further on to the Flamenco anchorage and spent another couple of weeks, meeting and befriending more of the boats with whom we would soon cross the Pacific – Pam and Dick on Aliesha, Duncan, Irene and Huub on Moose, Sebastian and Heike on Kiwitt, Jocelyn and Ruedi on Globitou. The anchorage wasn’t bad, but having no dinghy dock was tiresome and the water was too dirty to swim in, so we were glad when the time came to leave. We shared a taxi with Free Lance and trundled into Panama’s fruit and vegetable market and spent a small fortune. Meat was cheap in Panama so we bought a whole lot of steak and converted it into biltong. Smarter folk than us stocked up on cheap booze and traded it for provisions in French Polynesia (where the natives are actively discouraged from drinking alcohol on the grounds that they don't handle it well).


2 April 2004


We sailed to the Las Perlas islands, forty miles southwest of Panama, where we anchored for a few days just enjoying the sunshine, taking our first swim in the Pacific  (a little cooler than expected) and bracing ourselves for the next leg of the journey – the 1000 miles to the Galapagos Archipelago.



Panama - Colon

(We're back from Ibiza, and had a fab time.  Good company, excellent food, plenty of booze and sunshine.  October is definitely THE time to go to the Balearics. Time now for a rest!)

23 February 2004


We had been told by someone in Florida not to miss a group of islands north of Panama, but he couldn’t recall the name and we didn’t have a cruising guide for the area, so gave it no further thought. As a result, we rather tragically missed the San Blas Islands, which almost every other boat we met had visited and RAVED about. The women of the San Blas Islands are famous for their exquisite needlework – layer upon layer of fine fabric in brilliant colours appliquéd one over the other in intricate designs. They are called molars. Our friend Jocelyn had bought dozens and kindly allowed me to purchase a couple of hers which I made into cushions.

So, having missed the San Blas, our first port of call in Panama was Cacique on the north east coast, which we found quite by accident. There was a nice little marina run by some French people and almost all the cruisers were French or French speaking, so I could practice my rusty French in readiness for French Polynesia. We spent two days there, including my birthday, which I celebrated by washing a rather revolting bundle of laundry in my two big rubber buckets on the deck. Fighting off the wallow of self-pity, I reminded myself that there were many less exotic places to be doing laundry by hand. You would think, would you not, that all this hand laundry (you try hand wringing jeans, fleecy jackets and sheets, fergawd’s sake!), hauling anchor chains, tying up yachts, dragging the dinghy up and down beaches, climbing ladders, carrying shopping bags for MILES, hefting 20 litre jerry cans of water, etc. etc., that I would have developed arm muscles like Popeye? Well, you would, wouldn’t you? Not a chance. Bruises, blisters and calluses galore, but no muscles, not even little ones. Life is cruel.


Laundry wash and dried, we took a slow, peaceful sail round to the anchorage mis-named The Flats, at Colon. This was not a particularly nice anchorage, very windy and bumpy, but the holding was reasonable, fortunately, as we were there for more than four weeks.

The Queen Mary at the Flats anchorage, Colon

Check-in was inexpensive and relatively simple and straightforward, the officials polite and helpful. We had a sail that needed repairing and needed new batteries, so we took our time getting to know who was good at what. Things were pretty cheap in Panama (relatively speaking) and we did our big Pacific crossing shopping here. In particular, we were able to buy Mike’s pills, Warfarin, here. In more sophisticated countries this is only available at a highly elevated cost, with a prescription, after consultations with a doctor and one or more blood tests, and proved to be one of the more complicated challenges of our journey around the world. (Warfarin was relatively easy to get in the Bahamas but excessively expensive, and though prices were more reasonable in America the doctors had become quite neurotic dealing with Mike’s cavalier attitude to his condition.) In Panama, however, one could buy the generic brand (of most meds) in any amount over the counter, at a fraction of the cost. On the advice of a friend (who had a medical chest that would have snagged the interest of the Drug Enforcement folk) we also bought some antibiotics – they languish to this day in our medical box. They’re well past their ‘use by’ date but we hang on to them, just in case.


Colon wasn’t popular with most yachties, but I rather liked it. It was somewhat like a busy shantytown and not at all attractive though I suspect it may once have been. It has now fallen into almost total disrepair, but it had loads of atmosphere. The traffic was terrifying; potholed roads jammed with ancient cars, at least half of which seemed to be buses or taxis; no traffic lights or noticeable road markings. They drove like lunatics, honking their horns all the time, whether to warn someone of their presence, just to say ‘hello’ to a friend, or to attract the eye of a pretty girl, you never quite knew. The streets were a hustle and a bustle with pedestrians everywhere, small shops bulging out onto the pavements, fruit and vegetable vendors on the street corners. We were warned of muggings and told not to walk anywhere but to take taxis. I walked frequently in the town and was never mugged, nor did I ever feel threatened, though I admit I hugged my bag tightly. Even the locals told me off for walking alone. They were very friendly and only too willing to help; if you asked for directions they would walk you to your destination, but then they wanted to be paid, so you had to watch that one. The buses were painted all over in bright primary colours with cartoon-like figures and lettering, and we took a couple of rides in them to Panama City and back.

The Panama Canal is a phenomenal piece of engineering and everyone was deeply impressed by it. The actual transit was a tremendous experience though quite nerve wracking and there were one or two horror stories doing the rounds - things can go terribly wrong, and if they did, we knew it would be very expensive. The cost to transit was US$650 for yachts under 15 metres plus a deposit of another US$800 to cover any mishaps. We paid by credit card, which is the easiest way, and they just reimburse you the $800 provided nothing goes wrong. We heard that this $650 barely covers costs and that small yachts are a nuisance to the canal authorities. However, we were not made to feel like a nuisance and we, of course, felt that $650 was more than enough.

Having never transited the canal prior to the takeover from the Americans by the Panamanians, I can make no comparisons, but things appeared to run smoothly and the paperwork wasn’t overly cumbersome. Each boat had to have on board the skipper and four line handlers plus an advisor (provided by the canal authorities) who must be obeyed in all matters. One could hire professional line-handlers, but most yachts simply used other cruisers and everyone helped everyone else. You also had to have four good lines, 120 feet in length - you may not need them all, but you had to have them, and if you didn’t have your own, you could hire them. You needed adequate fenders to protect your boat, but that wasn’t regulated, it was in your own interests to have them; old car tyres, bound with tape, were available for a small fee. We booked and paid, they came and measured Forever and checked we were properly equipped, and we were given a certificate with our ship identification number - which is Forever’s forever. Ha.

To get some experience of the transit in advance, we went along as line-handling crew on the New Zealand boat Free Lance. They had a pleasant advisor and the crossing was uneventfully completed in one day. Our hosts, Neil, Lynnis and their son Sam, had champagne and beer on board and we started toasting a successful passage before we’d even got out of the last locks. On the other side, they bypassed the Balboa marina and went on to the Flamenco anchorage, where we all went out to dinner. There was no dinghy dock at Flamenco and we had to haul our friends’ dinghy, plus heavy 15 hp motor, up a rough slipway beyond the (very) high tide mark. After dinner, and a few more beers, we had to haul it back down again whereupon Mike slipped and landed on his bad knee. All sportsmen have a ‘bad knee’, don’t you know. It’s an old rugby injury.

At the time, of course, he felt no pain. We spent the night on Free Lance, slept well, and the next morning after a good breakfast we bade farewell to our hospitable new friends, and headed off to the bus station in Panama City. Well, it took us about four hours in the hot midday sun (mad dogs and Zimbabwean men!). Mike insisted the exercise would do us good – never mind the hangover - and ignored my plaintive pleas that we catch a taxi or a bus. Well, we got lost, of course, and had to ask directions from two young policemen on bicycles. They obligingly escorted us for about half a mile, then flagged down a passing bus and pushed us on, instructing the driver to take us to the main terminal – which he did at no charge! From there we caught the bus back to Colon which was comfortable and blessedly air-conditioned, but in Colon we had to face another long walk out to the Yacht Club. By this time Mike’s knee had begun to swell and next morning he was in considerable pain and couldn’t walk. Our own plans to leave Colon that week had to be shelved whilst he recovered. He refused to see a doctor and I’m sorry to say I wasn’t terribly sympathetic.

During this time kicking our heels and waiting for our own transit, we made friends with two South African boats - Des and Ali and their two boys Jared and Dillon on Alii Nui and Colin on Solvester whom we had originally met in Trinidad – and Ron and Suzanne on the American boat Tapasya. We would continue to meet up with them (and numerous others) throughout the Pacific trip.

West Plana Cay

(We are off to Ibiza today for ten days of sea, sun (please God) and paella, so this is my last post for a short while.)

13 January 2004

We set off together with Bob and Deb Jobe on Wandering Course as they intended to come down to the Florida Keys and then the Bahamas with us. Firstly, we all stopped at Miami for a night and anchored in the city harbour. We took a long dinghy ride into town and then Bob, Debbie and I (Mike refused to come) walked to South Beach just so we could say we had been there! Didn’t see any famous faces, needless to say.

Abandoning the idea of the Florida Keys, Forever and Wandering Course set off across the strait for the Bahamas after supper on the night of the 15th  The wind was hard against us, the conditions nasty and some way across Bob called on the radio to say he was having engine trouble so they were turning back. Worried, we bid them goodbye, and hoped they would catch us up later. Sadly, they didn't make the trip that time, and we never saw them again though we have continued to keep in touch regularly by email.  Mike, stubborn as ever, kept motoring on till eventually the wind eased a bit and we could put the sails up.


We followed pretty much the same course as before, but in reverse – Gun Cay, Chubb Cay, Nassau, Shroud Cay, Blackpoint Settlement, Adderly Cut and then back to George Town to check in (and out). The cruising permit we’d paid for in Bimini back in November was still valid, so we didn’t have to pay again. At George Town we met up with our good friends Sharon and Pete on Carefree again and had fun socially. My beloved computer was beginning to give me enormous problems by then and I presumed it had been infected by a virus. What kind of person wastes his energy causing heartache to people he doesn’t even know? Sharon spent some time working on it, and the problem eased, briefly.  I didn’t have internet access on the boat so was always reliant on internet cafes, wherever we could find them.


4 February. After a particularly horrible bumpy sail to Clarence Town on Long Island, the weather settled and we stayed a few peaceful days.


8 February. In no wind we started motoring towards West Plana Cay when a huge storm suddenly blew up. Foolishly, we were trailing our dinghy behind the boat (in such calm weather, we thought we’d been safe) and the hard plastic ring at the nose of the dinghy snapped. One of us looked back by chance and spotted it bouncing around on the waves way in the distance. We turned back and circled it, then, without thinking too clearly about it we decided Mike should jump in. So he did, but neither of us thought about him taking either a life jacket or a rope with him. Pratts! However, Mike is a strong swimmer so no problem, he got in the dinghy and then I had to throw a rope to him, all of which took some time, then I hauled him up close but the sea was so rough it took the poor chap ages to leap safely from the dinghy back onto the boat, and he finally arrived cold, battered and bruised.  It was too rough to bring the dinghy aboard, so we just tied it tightly to the back of the boat and slowed our pace down.


After a particularly hard journey we arrived the next day, tired and salty, at our own personal Paradise – West Plana Cay. We had been there before, but there had been other boats. This time, we were all alone, in solitary splendour. There are only two Plana Cays, they are small and uninhabited though there were the inevitable signs of human visitation – plastic trash. The wind had now calmed and though we placed our anchor on hard rock, the boat never budged. We stripped naked and swam to shore, wandering along the beach like Adam and Eve. It was quite magical.

Mike found a beautiful conch shell (for me) and an old plastic water container (for him).  For both of us, this remains as the most special place and time of our entire trip.

13 February. Eventually other boats arrived, so, proudly sailing off our anchor, we did an overnighter to Great Inagua. There was another boat there, Pearl, and we joined them on their boat for a dinner of fried plantains and conch fritters (unusual but delicious).

15 February. Montego Bay in Jamaica was our next destination, but a day later changed our minds (Mike’s mind, that is - I was very disappointed) and set a course direct for Panama. Eight days and 837 miles later, we arrived at the Punta Cacique marina in the north of Panama. Here is the same Caribbean map with our outbound journey marked in red.


Add 1 country – Panama. Total 19 countries visited.
Latest mileage – 1475nm. Total 10830 nautical miles.



Melanie and Disney World

6 December 2003

Winter in Florida is from December to April, so by now the weather had cooled off and life was much more pleasant. Apart from mosquitoes, the summer months produce some spectacular thunderstorms, the worst I have ever witnessed. We got caught in a storm one day and the lightening was so violent that we took shelter in a shop on Las Olas Boulevard. When it eased, we jumped on a bus, bikes and all, and discovered on our return that one of the yachts in our marina had been struck and suffered considerable damage. 2003 was a particularly active year for hurricanes and in early September we held our breath as Hurricane Isabel came howling along. The locals had us worried stiff with tales of the appalling storm water surge that is so destructive. We were debating whether to take Forever way inland up some little canal when Isabel obligingly turned and headed up the coast, making landfall in Virginnia and the Carolinas. Lucky for us but not for them, though the intensity of the hurricane had dissipated by then.

Melanie flew in the day after our little ‘run in’ with the Immigration folk and once again dear Bob Jobe drove us to the airport to collect her. She was exhausted on arrival but I had booked tickets to take her to the Fort Lauderdale Christmas Pageant that evening. It was wonderful but the poor child fell asleep on my shoulder half way through. Melanie was with us for five weeks and we thought she had a really good holiday.

We took a memorable three day trip to Disney World, picking Sea World, the Magic Kingdom and Paramount Pictures as our three venues and were all extremely happy with our choice.  Orlando is cooler than Fort Lauderdale and it was positively chilly during our visit, which made a welcome change for us.

Mel particularly loved the big roller coasters and we had trouble getting her off them!  Luckily we went during school term so there was no waiting time for the rides and she could go as often as she liked. We went round and round on the roller coasters till Mike and I felt sick, and then she’d go again on her own!  She loved the dolphins and we all fell totally in love with Shamu. 

 

She was just at the right age - old enough to appreciate but young enough to be charmed by everything – but even we old fogeys had a ball.

We also took her to an Imax cinema to see Cirque du Soleil in 3D, took a day trip to the Everglades, and a ride in the dinghy down the New River.



Bob and Trissa’s daughter, Ali, was only a year or so older and the two girls became great friends. Ali and her friends included Melanie in all manner of things - movies, parties and ice hockey matches. They lived on each other’s boats and during the Christmas school break we hardly saw them. Despite the lack of extended family, we had a festive Christmas dinner with most of the marina residents in one of the ground floor flats which the manager kindly made available to us.

Together with Prue, we tracked down a South African pub called the Kalahari Bar and went there a couple of times to watch rugby. They also had a shop that sold biltong, boerevors and pies! The Kalahari was run by a bunch of good Afrikaans people who befriended us and invited us to a great braai party on Pompano Beach one day.

In early January, our marina friends arranged a farewell party for Mel and she was given a few gifts. Broken hearted, we said goodbye and put her on the plane back to Johannesburg. Our next plan was to sail across the Pacific Ocean and we expected to get to New Zealand (where Mike’s brother Nick lives) by November 2004 so we knew we would not get to see her again until then, when we hoped she would come and spend Christmas with us, her uncle and aunt and cousins. Sadly for us, she declined, and we didn’t see her again until 2006.

We had our farewell party at the marina on 9 January and everyone came, including Prue and her friend Stephanie. We’d made such good friends in FL, I felt really sad to be leaving but it had to be. We had given some serious thought to doing the Green Card thing and had investigated various business opportunities, but it was going to be difficult and in the final analysis we decided that America was not for us. My greatest regret is that we didn’t see more of the States. It is a beautiful country and Florida is just not representative - at all. Our plan to sail up the Intracoastal and then through to the Great Lakes and down the TomTenn never materialised, partly because we didn’t have the money and felt we would do better staying where we were and doing what little work we could and partly because of Melanie’s planned trip. We needed to stay in one place.

We had bought a new motor for our recalcitrant autopilot, which we’d tested during our visa trip to the Bahamas and it worked beautifully. We also bought a small 12 volt fridge which operated off the batteries and a (very expensive) 406MHz EPIRB to update our old, and totally obsolete, 121.5MHz. Mike also bought a new storm sail.

And so, with Forever in ship shape condition, we sailed under the Las Olas Bridge and out of Fort Lauderdale for the last time on 13 January, heading for the Panama Canal.

Goodbye Fort Lauderdale



Bahamas Visa Run and a 'run-in'

23 November 2003

At the end of November our six month visa was due to expire and after much discussion and advice from other yachts, we sailed off to the Bahamas for a nice little nine day break, starting with a calm overnighter to the nearest check-in point, the island of Bimini. There was nowhere decent to anchor so after a quick check-in - and $150 for a sailing permit, double what we’d had to pay the first time – we moved straight on to Gun Cay, arriving after dark. Spent two pleasant nights and did some good snorkelling, and then set off eastwards towards Chubb Cay, via what is called ‘The Banks’ – a large very shallow area of sand banks. Beautiful coloured water. At nightfall we anchored in a few metres on the banks – amazing to be anchored on what feels like the middle of the ocean, with no land visible. Mike had caught a huge barracuda that afternoon so we had it braaied for supper, and it fed us handsomely for another two days.

Later that evening the wind sprang up and our anchor dagged slowly all night, but with nothing to bump into we weren’t worried.  Early next morning we sailed east to Chubb Cay and spent two sociable days in the good anchorage there with Pete and Sharon on Carefree.  

On the first of December, in excellent sailing conditions we hurtled the 140 miles across the ocean and over the Florida Strait at 7 to 8 knots (assisted by the current of course, but still an incredible speed for Forever) back to Fort Lauderdale, arriving in our berth at 8 o’clock the following night, exhausted but pleased with ourselves.
Two days later our good friend, Bob Jobe, drove us down to Immigration in the port (to save us the long hot walk) and waited outside for us whilst we went in to check back in again and get our permit extended for another six months. Imagine our surprise when we were treated offensively by a large, overfed, young ‘John Wayne wannabe’ with a gun strapped to his fat arse. He informed us that it wasn’t permitted to simply go over to the Bahamas and then come back again, which is what we’d been told everyone did – all the time. We tried to explain that our daughter was arriving to spend Christmas with us in two days time but he remained unmoved. He stamped our passports for that day and told us to ‘get out of the country within 24 hours’. Considering the so-called friendly relations between the UK and the US at the time, we were totally shocked. His personality was such that there seemed no point in arguing, so we left. Bob drove us back to the marina in subdued silence whilst I contemplated the prospect of remaining as an ‘illegal immigrant’. The thought didn’t appeal.

Back at the marina that evening we discussed the problem with our other friend, Bob Harrison, and he gave excellent advice: when you don’t get the answer you want from someone, go to their superior officer, and continue going up the chain until you do get it. So, next morning Bob drove us back to Immigration. The offensive young man wasn’t there and this time we insisted on speaking to the Senior Immigration Officer. After some time this harrassed looking but very polite gentleman came to see us. We explained our problem, he said ‘why don’t you just go over to the Bahamas for a week or so and then come back?’, ‘aha’, we said, ‘we already did that, here’s the stamps’, ‘ oh, for goodness sake’, he said ‘here you are’, and he stamped our passports giving us another six months as we’d asked!  What a relief. Melanie’s flight was the next day!
 By this stage, we had sailed a further 2212 nautical miles bringing our total to 9355, and added another 13 countries (Trinidad and Tobago, St Vincent & the Grenadines, Martinique, Guadeloupe, Antigua, St Barthelemy, St Maarten, USVI, BVI, Puerto Rico, Turks & Caicos, Bahamas and the United States) making a total of 19 countries. Here’s a map of our journey from Trinidad.



Florida - Fort Lauderdale

Fort Lauderdale, known as the ‘Venice of America’ is the most extraordinary, flat city, the seaboard side sliced up with hundreds of canals, bordered by palatial expensive-looking waterfront homes.  Actually, anything waterfront was horrendously expensive.

We weren’t really prepared for it and entrance by yacht was alarming and confusing, particularly as the Americans use slightly different navigation symbols and light colours to the rest of the world.  Fortunately, we had hooked up our computer charts to the boat GPS and the chart for the area was VERY detailed so we were able to follow the boat’s progress accurately (Forever’s mast managed to just slide under the first bridge) down this maze of canals all the way along the New River till we got to the down town municipal docks near the 3^rd Avenue Bridge.  This was right in the centre of town and sliding alongside into an empty berth, the top of Forever’s mast hit the branches of the lovely shade tree growing on the banks, breaking our wind instrument.  So busy making sure not to ding the side of the boat, we just never thought to look upwards!  We never did manage to find a replacement wind instrument and sailed the rest of our journey taking wild guesses at the wind speed – we got quite good at it actually.

In the city itself there are about 85 miles of canal but in the greater FL area there are 300-plus miles of navigable inland canals - part of the Intracoastal Waterway – which stretch from the Atlantic Ocean to the Everglades. Alongside the beautiful homes is a sophisticated high rise city, the whole stretching along miles and miles of beautiful beach.

We were too late to check in with the municipal marina, so secured the boat and went out to dinner in the charming Downtowner pub – we downed Buds and clam chowder.  I had been in touch by email with the Zimbabwean sailors, Malcolm and Marilyn on the yacht Grace, who we knew were in FL, but our latest news was that they had left. We phoned the marina where they had stayed, Riviera Marina on the Isle of Venice, who quoted an acceptable (groan!) price and we moved there two days later. On this journey we had to call up the bridge attendant at the Las Olas Bridge to open up and let us through. By chance we took the empty spot vacated by Grace.


Heading down the canal to Riviera Marina
 

Isle of Venice - Forever at the arrow

The Isle of Venice was tranquil, full of live-aboard yachties, and very conveniently situated off Las Olas Boulevard between the beach and the city centre. Our marina was small, just 14 boats, and all our neighbours were good people. On shore were two small blocks of apartments, each with an ablution block, a bbq area and swimming pool surrounded by lawn. Each yacht had shore power and cable tv. Yachts were also supposed to be connected from their holding tank to a pump-out facility - this was to prevent the black toxic water in the canal being further polluted by our waste. Our holding talk wasn’t the correct sort that can be pumped out, so we simply attached the fitting to our diesel inlet (which looked the same) and made sure we always used the shore loos.

Once settled in, we took a long bus ride over to the main port at Fort Lauderdale, produced our passports and got grilled at the port entrance, after which followed a long hot walk through the port which covers a massive ground area till we found the Customs and Immigration offices. Immigration gave us six months, although we had ten year multi-entry visas. Tongues lolling from thirst and heat exhaustion, we started plodding back again but soon got stopped by a police car, lights flashing. Walking towards us - a pair of middle aged yachties in shorts and baseball caps - I heard this stout little cop mutter anxiously into his radio for back-up! He stood off from us, asking questions about who we were and what we were doing in the port, until his ‘back up’ arrived – another car, lights flashing. Only then did they pluck up the courage to approach us and demand our passports. Still not satisfied, they called up the Immigration office to check we had actually been there, and searched Mike’s rucksack – aha, I think it was the rucksack that frightened them. Eventually, they let us go. Personally, I thought they could have offered us a lift at that point as we still had a long way to walk! Mike’s a bit of a mad dog when it comes to long hot walks.


So, we had missed our one ex-Zimbabwean friend in FL, but happily the other, Prue, was still living there and was incredibly kind, driving us all over the place, showing us where everything was and we had lots of fun with her. She lent us a mobile phone for which we bought a sim card. We had one bike and Prue lent us a second so we could cycle around together. At that time she lived in a lovely condo in a high rise building with fabulous views and she entertained us there on a few occasions. She and her brother and partner also came to several parties and gatherings at our marina.

View from Prue's balcony

We finally, through Prue, got to meet Rob and Liz Fordred, who also proved to be excellent friends to us and so kind. They came to a couple of bbq’s at the marina and we went to parties and dinners at their house on many occasions. Liz signed our copy of her book, ‘An Ocean to Cross’ – highly recommended reading and you can find it on Amazon.
 
Our neighbours to starboard were Chris, Paula and 5 year old Brittannie on Jayhawk. Chris had wireless internet on his boat and gave me his second card so I had continuous connection the entire time we were there. I had to sit in the cockpit to get reception, but that suited me as it was cooler up there under the shade canopy. When Melanie came to visit, Paula took her under her wing and she and Brittannie took Mel out and about.


It was full summer now in Florida and hot as Hades. All our neighbours had air conditioning on their yachts and they tended to stay indoors all the time with their hatches closed. The marina manger arranged to install 220 volt on our boat which meant doubling the normal American 110 volt. Sadly, our air conditioner, in the aft cabin only, worked directly off the batteries, so even with shore power we could only use it for a very short period. We’d put it on for about half an hour before bed time to cool our cabin down. Evenings were a blessing when the sun sank and temperatures eased. Even so, we found it too hot to cook on board so we’d take our beers to the garden area and cook our food on the bbq. Slowly but surely, the rest of the marina – the more friendly ones that is – came out and joined us. They were all great but we were particularly fond of Bob and Deb, Bob and Trissa, Nick and Thea, and Richard and Mary. We had good fun and remain in contact with most of our American friends to this day.


One day we scrubbed the decks, and lifting the life raft discovered it was heavy with water. So we opened it up and were appalled – everything was soaked, rusty or ruined. We washed it down as best we could, spread the raft itself and the usable bits in the sun to dry and then repacked everything. We were both quite positive that the gas cylinder would not open when required, but as we had already decided that our chances of survival in a life raft were slim and we’d rather take the dinghy, we didn’t really care.

We worked, briefly and illegally.  Mike sanded beautiful wooden artwork for a French artist, Philippe, whereas I cleaned yachts.  The pay was pitiful and the work was hard, but it brought in a little money.  Later, Liz and Pete gave me a job at their annual stock take – it was only two weeks work but I was grateful as it was in-doors and less fatiguing than cleaning.  The marina was expensive and the cost of living in America was fairly high so money was becoming (even more of) a serious problem.