By the time we had picked up the mooring at the Balboa Yacht Club, in the mouth of the Panama Canal Pacific side, I was in a state of high anxiety and gross dread.

Our closest cruising friends, David and Suzi had left Sidewinder their own boat to meet us at BYC to take on the duties of line handlers and cheer leaders for our transit. I was to be the third line handler and we planned to hire the fourth from a pool of available Panamanians. Richard's sole job as helmsman would keep him busy, advised by an assigned pilot. These men are trained to make each boat's Panama Canal transit go smoothly, whether on a massive container carrier or a 28 foot sailing vessel. Some of the stories we had heard about these pilots is what filled me with trepidation. They required a cooked breakfast and a meaty lunch. They were schedule fanatics and sticklers for efficient deck work. And, when confronted with our non-conventional bathroom facilities, that is, our "bucket and chuck it" head, they might delay our transit and send us to the "Do It Center" to purchase a port-a-potty.

We were assigned a departure time of 0830 hrs on Saturday, September 12th. At 0600 we were woken by the sound of a canal control boat alongside. The megaphone voice asked us if we were ready to receive our pilot for transit. We tore around the boat looking for clothes and then radioed to the control station Flamenco Signal to question the change in our scheduled time, pointing out that we would have no line handlers on board until 0730 hrs. Flamenco Signal asserted that we should assemble our crew ASAP and we made a frantic phone call to Tony the taxi driver who was to deliver the fourth line handler. He agreed to pick David and Suzi up from their overnight hostel. By 0715 we checked in for departure and awaited the arrival of our pilot/advisor.

At 0730 hrs, pilot Dalton was delivered by the control boat. Almost the first words out of his mouth were that we had to wait for the companion boat that would share the locks with us. All that rushing around and now we had to wait.

Dalton had a baby face but the worry lines across his forehead described his job as stressful and demanding. I knew that at any moment he would request an inspection down below and discover our substandard head. The U.S. National Park Service formally approved of the eco-friendly "Wag-Bags" we use in our bucket when we are not able to chuck the contents out at sea, but would they pass muster with our Panamanian pilot?

While we waited, I cooked breakfast for Dalton and the crew. Mandy has never had so many people aboard, since we took six boys out for Archie's thirteenth birthday. Dalton loved to eat and he scoffed down the eggs, buttered toast, coffee and orange juice with gusto. He chatted amicably with us in excellent English about his work, his family, his travels and our transit. He was a fund of information about the Panama Canal, its history and its functions. He accepted peanuts and soda between meals and then put himself around the chicken, rice, lentils and fresh pineapple for lunch. Bottled water went down too, but he never asked to use the head; this man had a cast iron bladder.

By the time we reached our overnight stop in Gatun Lake we were all good friends. He bid us farewell as we would have a new pilot for the second day. Dalton's parting words were that he was happy to have seen Mandy safely through the first locks and to have delivered her in the same condition in which he had found her. He said that he knew that she was not just a boat but also our home and he thanked our crew for making his job easier. That night we set up sleeping pads and blankets on deck for our extra hands and thank heavens there was no rain or there would have been a stampede for cover.

The second day, there were fewer miles to travel and our new pilot Ahmet proved to be as amiable as the first. His preference was to have the ladies at the bow lines which gave Suzi and me the chance to see things from a different angle. Ahmet also ate a hearty breakfast and never required inspecting the below deck facilities. Before we knew it we had completed the final set of locks and the control boat had swooped in and picked up Ahmet. He waived mightily at us and grinned broadly as they sped away. And that was that! We were through and all was well.

Mandy had not quite attained the 8 knots required by all boats transiting the canal, but she had pushed along at a firm 5.5 and nobody had questioned her performance. We loved our pilots, we loved our friends who helped us so generously and we love Mandy most of all.