First off, I apologize for the delay since my last post. We have been fairly busy recently with all sorts of fun activities and adventures. Hopefully no one thought I was lost at sea. Since I last wrote we were in the Pearl Islands, enjoying freshly speared fish off the local reefs, BBQ'd lobster dinner with rice, plantains and a chilled white, an ancient submarine wreck and abandoned air-strip, and the joy of island hopping through one of Panama's greatest spots. After a weather window presented itself, we left the southern most island (Del Rey) about 2 days ago and sailed 212 miles, to make the 189 mile leg to Cebaco, which is a really neat spot. Every day we receive weather gribs (showing pressure zones, wind speed, etc) through the boat's email system, along with weather faxes through the boat's SSB system (high frequency, single side band radio dummy terms: very expensive radio that makes funny noises and has lots of blinking lights), so we generally have a good idea of what Mother Nature has up her sleeve. However, like most women (at least in my very brief, and unsuccessful attempts), one simply cannot compete with her, or entirely predict her moods. We expected a nice 10-12 knots of wind with fair seas, a pleasant and easy-going, first offshore passage. Instead we got 20+ knots of wind, excellent waves, lots of chop, wicked squalls, and nasty currents!! It was somewhat slow going, but my first offshore passage was an experience to say the least, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Most importantly was the fact that I got to wear my newly purchased foul weather gear and safety harness, which really got the testosterone going. There is nothing like putting on heavy and expensive equipment or being in precarious situations for extended periods of time. Actually, the weather wasn't too bad, but definitely exciting at times.

For not entirely understanding how this high-performance boat sails, I think I did fairly well and managed to steer us off course by just 4 miles over the course of the entire trip. I figured that wasn't too shabby for my first time and hope to bring that number down to 0 very soon. Actually, in my honest and good-faith defense, I didn't actually steer us off course, I just forgot to turn when I was supposed to. Anyway, we split up the watches into 3 hour increments, mine being 4-7 and 10-1. That means I am responsible for the boat from 4am-7 am, 10am-1 pm, 4pm-7 pm, and then 10pm-1 am, and so on, or until we reach our destination. Unfortunately being "on watch" means more than "watching for ships", which was a big part of my 10-1 night watch. I had a brief "radar 101" crash course, and wished Chris sweet dreams as I sailed his prized possession through a heavily trafficked area. Every large, southbound, and canal-bound tanker passes through this area which creates nerve-wracking radar screens. At about 12:15 am I was completely surrounded by 4 tankers, their lights slightly visible in the dark, and often times, rainy distance. I must have made 15+ trips from the cockpit and navigation station, checking one ship's heading, marking another ship on radar, and watching it all with binoculars on deck. And by the way, looking through high-powered and ridiculously heavy binoculars in the pitch black and on a pounding boat is not the easiest of tasks. So that particular watch went by like a fart in the wind. I slept the majority of the time I was not on watch, or climbed around the cabin like monkey on a jungle gym, looking for cookies of course, which is what I've been existing on the past 48 hours. Actually, I managed to cook up some gourmet Mac N' Cheese both nights for dinner and made Peanut Butter N' Jelly wraps (ran out of bread, we have 58 tortillas left) for lunch. I love my peanut butter like a bear loves its honey. I can't get enough of the stuff and get excited every time I spread it on this or that. All four limbs were required when moving about the cabin as the boat's rail dug into the water and the bow slammed into the waves. Sailing upwind in 20 knots of wind and waves is not for the faint of heart and quite a wild ride. I can only imagine what 30 knots and big waves will be like. Hopefully I'll be watching that weather go by from a cozy anchorage.

We pulled into Cebaco just after midnight last night, quickly secured the boat, and fell fast asleep. This morning I was happy to eat my watered-down Raisin Bran (we are running a bit low on boxed milk) upright and enjoyed holding my coffee cup on an even level, without the risk of spilling. The boat heels and pitches quite violently when sailing upwind, so one is forced to walk around like the guy that hasn't had his V8 juice. We plan to hang out here and explore the region for a bit. Coiba area is most likely our next stop with hopefully lots to see and experience. We may venture up a nearby river too, which I think would be really exciting and different. If we do, I'll be sure and crank up some Credence Clearwater Revival, wrap my t-shirt around my head, and sing along to John Fogerty's howling voice and twangy guitar in, "Green River". "Whhhhheeeeeell, take me back down the cool water flow ya'll!!..... I can hear the bullfrog a callin' me!!!"