Panama Canal

The Panama Canal Transit in two paragraphs

Sailboats like Gerty begin the Panama Canal transit behind a ship. The forward view is completely obstructed. So at first, mariners tend to look behind at the closing iron doors and watch the water rise. Severed from the Caribbean Sea, separation anxiety inevitably sets in.

Sailboats finish the Panama Canal transit in front of a ship, enabling a clear view ahead. All eyes are on the welcoming Pacific as it rushes into the open arms of the Mira Flores lock. Worries wash away and spirits lift to the sky.

The devil is in the details below if you want to know more.

We arrived in Panama from Puerto Rico on March 18. The night skyline was lit by hundreds of ships waiting in line to transit the canal. We weren’t one of them, not yet. We carefully slipped between the tankers and into Shelter Bay Marina, where Juan Jo welcomed us and secured Gerty’s lines. Five and a half weeks later, we have transited the Panama Canal.

When John and Stacey arrived on April 21st, Michael and I were ready. Gerty was in tip-top shape, and we were prepared for our 4:00 am departure the next day. Michael briefed us on our transit plan and safety protocols. Then he reviewed John and Stacey’s expert bowline knots, and nothing was amiss.

So we set out in search of monkeys before dinner. Apparently, the howlers and capuchins got the memo because they all came out to play!

At 3:30 am, we gathered wide-eyed in the salon, nobody having slept but John. Next, we motored into the staging area with Juan, our fourth line handler, on board. Then, out of the darkness came Gilberto, our advisor, completing our transit crew. 

Gilberto’s radio garbled out updates in Spanish, and he relayed the information to Michael. We would tie up port-side, and another catamaran would tie up starboard-side to a third, middle boat. Then, we would enter the first chamber of three in the first lock. All was well until we saw our middle boat. It was small, much smaller than Gerty. It had a port-o-potty precariously strapped down in its cockpit and tires lining its hull. 

“Don’t worry, Gilberto reassured us, “Its engines are big, and I’m on the right boat, the one with the proper bathroom.” 

Then dawn followed us through the massive iron gates of the Gatun lock, and our Panama Canal transit officially began.

Intense heat and humidity ushered us along on our twelve-hour journey. A repeating choreography of the boys catching hurled monkey fists, tying bowline knots, and feeding thick, abrasive blue lines through Gerty’s fairleads played out in front of me as I stood at the helm following Guillermo’s meticulous instructions. Stacey was everywhere all at once, filling her crucial role as photographer, and all the while, our entire flotilla was rising and lowering with the water as the gates opened and closed. Only during our time in the lake, between the Gatun and Pedro Miguel locks, did everyone but the Captain have a moment’s rest.

It was then that Michael reported things were going well. Crocodiles weren’t lurking hull-side, nothing was broken, and everyone was fed despite the inferno-like conditions in the galley. We were on track for success. Yet, an ominous, steely sky was looming to the north.

It was time for our descent after five hours of mandatory motoring (no sailing allowed) across Gatun Lake. We passed through the Pedro Miguel locks with no concerns other than the blooming dark clouds above. Then, an accident in the fifth chamber gave us pause. The wretched sound of Gerty’s port aft cleat being pulled out of place echoed against the walls. Fingers were checked—ten per line handler. Then Michael tended to the over-tightened line and instructed us all to focus; the damage could be repaired another time. So onward, we went into the final chamber of the Miral Flores lock.

Immediately, distortions surrounded us. The car carrier ship grew to gargantuan size, and the walls of the canal stretched. The sky cracked in half, releasing a torrent of otherworldly rain, and the whole world got wet.

Then, the last iron doors opened to a becalmed ocean that felt true to its name. Finalmente, The Pacific!