Bocas is at the head of a ten mile long lagoon that gradually shallows as one sails east. Thus, as we left Bocas in a
strong west wind, we felt we could only safely sail fast for about an hour. The shallowest parts of the lagoon are less
than 8ft deep, amongst a maze of islets and reefs with only a narrow, hard to spot, gap to the open sea. So we
lowered the mainsail and sailed on cautiously, at one point we even rolled away the genoa yet were still doing two
knots under bare poles, which felt plenty fast enough. In late afternoon we had cleared the last shallow reef and
headed out to sea towards Salt Creek, where we anchored for the night, close to shore, having weaved our way
through yet more coral reefs.

Next morning the wind was stronger still, and we ran downwind under genoa alone in a very steep confused sea,
presumably caused by the river currents running out of the Bocas lagoon, to the isolated riverside village of Tobobe.
Tobobe has no road access and is twenty miles by sea to the next village; it was a real step back in time, the village
looking much as it must have done when Columbus passed by.

Villagers paddled out in their canoes, a few had fruit and fish to sell, but most just hung onto the boat, staring.

Jetti made them a cake and traded toys for bananas. After 2 days the village harbourmaster came past in his
dugout canoe, took our details and asked for 20USD harbour dues. Or maybe he was just a conman – we
didn’t get a receipt, and we are still not sure, in any event he was very convincing.

The 130 mile sail to the Rio Chagres, just west of the Panama Canal, would be our longest sail for the next two
months, so we stayed at Tobobe until the rain stopped and the wind moderated. We left in another westerly
(they are common during the rainy season) and so, for the first time since leaving Guatemala six weeks earlier,
we were able to sail downwind in open water. Sadly, after fifty miles the wind dropped and then veered round
to the east, so it was back to windward bashing. At midnight I woke Jetti with the words. “It’s your watch,
and by the way – Happy New Year!” Two years ago New Year was spent at anchor in Grenada, last year
it was in Nassau, but this was the first New Year when we’d actually been at sea. Where will we be next year?

The river Chagres is one of the main Panamanian rivers and had caused huge problems when building the
Panama Canal until it was eventually dammed, thus helping to control the water level in Lake Gatun. The
river entrance beneath the ruins of Fort San Lorenzo is very narrow and in the dawn light it seemed impassable.
But fortunately a local boat was entering as we arrived, so we followed it in, through a 60ft wide gap between
two rows of surf and inside a reef. It reminded me of entering Bigbury on a bad day but at least there was no
one on surfboards here! Once inside all was quiet and calm, and we found that the jungle came right down
to the water on either bank. We motored up river for about three miles and anchored only a boat length from
the shore in 45ft - the shallowest place we found. Blue and yellow macaws flew overhead, while as dusk fell
howler monkeys began their roaring; that was a familiar sound, but what was making that other noise?

A couple of canoes had passed us during the day so that night we debated about turning on the anchor
light – it would warn approaching boats of our presence, but what would it attract? In the end we compromised
and left a cabin light on. Next morning on the cruiser’s radio chat session someone reported seeing a large
snake swimming past his boat. So the discussion started – could they/ would they climb onto a boat? Maybe
transom steps and a boarding ladder are not such a good idea after all! It was certainly not what we wanted
to hear anchored in the middle of the jungle.

We were still trying to get to the San Blas for Christmas(!), so all too soon we were on again, bashing into a
25 knot NE wind, past the breakwaters and anchored ships that mark the entrance to the Panama Canal.
As dusk fell we dropped anchor in Portobello, thirty miles nearer our goal.

And that’s when the real waiting started. Except in strong westerlies, Portobello is a really safe anchorage
and has two claims to fame. First, it is where Sir Francis Drake is buried. Second, it is officially the wettest
town in all of North America. Like Drake, Eclipse’s home port is Plymouth. There Drake is a hero and spent
part of the wealth he gained on the “Spanish Main” building houses and making Plymouth’s first good water
supply (his reservoir is still there). In Panama, as elsewhere in Central America, he’s considered a villain.
Travelling round the Caribbean I’d seen forts built by the Spanish to protect their colonial towns from
Drake – in San Juan, Havana, St Augustine - he certainly got around! And don’t forget he also claimed
San Francisco for England, was the first commander to sail round world and he played bowls before beating
the Spanish Armada (his bowling green in Plymouth is still in use today). Yet after all that, he died of yellow fever
aged 54 and is buried in a lead casket off Drake’s Island at the entrance to Portobello.

Four hundred years ago Portobello was the main despatch point for all the gold and silver taken from the South
American mines, and we learnt that in its heyday silver ingots were left lying in the streets as the warehouses
were completely full of gold. Now it’s run down, while the four forts guarding the harbour were partly dismantled
to build the Panama Canal. Fortunately the Customs House was recently rebuilt, but there is still no proper museum
and nothing to indicate that for two hundred years Portobello was the most important town in Central America.
Despite that, we liked the town. There were several small restaurants and four shops, all run by Chinese.

Day after day it rained and the wind blew hard. Officially the rainy season was now over, but clearly
Portobello deserved its place in the record books.

One day though, we took a one hour bus ride to a “real” supermarket, the first we’d seen in over a year of cruising. 
On another day we did a double take, for coming round the headland we saw a square rigged ship. It looked too
big to be the Golden Hind and as it came closer and anchored, I spotted the Australian flag flying astern. I had just
finished reading “Blue Latitudes” and so quickly realised that it was the replica of Cook’s Endeavour. But it made
us realise how vulnerable the bullion ships were as they waited for their cargo. No wonder they needed four forts
for protection. Next day the locals called it the “ghost ship”.

Since leaving Bocas we had been looking for somewhere to leave the boat when we fly home at Easter.
In Portobello we learnt of a new marina, Panamarina, just a few miles further east. After a week at anchor
I could wait no longer and in a still strong wind (25-30 knots) and big steep seas (probably reaching 14 ft)
we sailed round the corner and checked out the marina.

It is run by a French couple and looked OK, and so we booked Eclipse in for late March. Eclipse will be
the first English yacht to stay there. Then it was on a couple more miles to Isla Grande and Puerto Lindo,
reputedly the safest yacht anchorages on this coast. Twenty five other cruisers certainly thought so.

More waiting.

Eventually, after eleven days, the wind began to moderate, and we left to sail in a steadily decreasing wind to
Escribanos. Another narrow entrance between two reefs took us into a shallow river, only 5ft deep, where
we spent a quiet and peaceful night. Then finally a short fifteen mile sail next morning to the very crowded
anchorage at Provenir, the clearing in port for the San Blas.

                                                            At last we’d got there.

                                                                 Route Bocas to Porvenir