Thursday 6th March we were up early and ready to depart Santa Marta anchorage by 6am. Prior to lifting the anchor, we called the port authority on VFH channel 16. There was no response. We tried again and again and still no response. We weighed anchor and began motoring out of the bay, calling on channel 16 every couple of minutes. By 0645 hours, we had called more than 20 times. I guess, although it's essential to call for clearance to leave, they don't actually start work until 8am! As per yesterday, the swell was on the bean, as we left the bay and the boat rolled uncomfortably but at least, this morning, the wind, what little there was, was from the northwest, as forecast. We didn't get another visit from the Navy but we did have three dolphins alongside for a short time. Eventually the wind started to pick up and we deployed the foresail, which counteracted the rolling somewhat. After another twenty minutes, at 0935 hours, we had sufficient wind to sail and turned the engine off. We had set a course to keep at least six miles off the coast at Baranquilla, as the outflow of the river can cause rough seas and also brings with it debris, in the form of large logs, dead cows and abandoned sofas. However, the swell actually died down and we had a gentle and pleasant sail downwind and didn't see any logs. The water was like the Humber, silty and brown, eventually turning a murky green as we headed further west.
I had selected 10pm to 1am for my first night watch, hoping to make best use of the moonlight. Pete and I had both had naps during the day, although I only managed to rest my eyes. After tea and sunset, I had a G&T, to help me sleep and headed for the lee berth at 8pm but as usual, I couldn't sleep. The batteries weren't holding their charge again, so we were having to run the engine for two hours in every four, through the night. At the change of watch, Pete said there were no other vessels in sight but as soon as I entered the cockpit I spotted lights, in the distance, off the starboard quarter. I completed a 360 degree visual and then concentrated on the lights. AS they grew closer, I could make out the two white lights of a ship over fifty metres long and the lower light was to the left, meaning the ship was going in the same direction as us. It kept me interested, between alround checks, for a good while. It never showed up on AIS so must have been at least 3 miles away. There was a half moon and no cloud, which was illuminating the sea very nicely. The swell wasn't too big and the wind was around 15 knots, making for a comfortable sail. At 1120 hours, I spotted a single white light ahead and slightly off to port. We were not too far from Cartagena, so my first thought was that this could be a small fishing vessel. I watched the light and determined that the boat was heading in the same general direction as us and at a similar speed, so it was more likely another yacht or catamaran. Eventually, I could occasionally see another white light, not far ahead of the original light. Was this yet another yacht, maybe smaller, with the light disappearing in the swell? I was wrong again. I could now see both white lights all of the time, the aft one higher, so it was another ship over fifty metres long, coming ever so slightly across our bow but moving rather slowly. The ship was still there when Pete came on watch later. The moon set, a burnt orange colour, at 0051 hours and with the darkness, I was treated to some pretty phosphoressence, in our bow and stern waves, the lights dancing over the water. My night watch had passed quickly and surprisingly pleasantly. I alerted Pete to the ships in the distance on our port side and climbed into the bunk, hoping for a decent sleep, as the ride was now fairly comfortable. Pete doesn't make notes about his watch, just fills in the log book, so I have nothing to report from his watch, other than I didn't get much sleep, despite Pete leaving me in bed an extra 90 minutes.
The sky was growing lighter with the impending dawn, as I started my second 'night' watch. I soon spotted the lights of a ship, directly ahead of us but still many miles away. Then the lights disappeared as he turned then off, a little too early for my liking. The sun rose behind me but wasn't visible for a while due to low cloud on the horizon but with the daylight, I was able to pick out the shape of the ship on the horizon. I watched expectantly for the shape to cross our bows but the ship didn't appear to be moving. It couldn't be anchored as the water was 2800 metres deep. Eventually it appeared on AIS and was reported as under engine. The CPA (closest proximity of approach) was veering from 1.5 miles to 200 metres and back again, as we rode the following swell. Then the AIS signal disappeared, so I had no choice but to change to a more northerly course and pass around the stern of the ship, which was inconvenient. About 1.5 miles out, the ship came back on AIS and I have no idea why they had turned it off. I passed behind the ship and reverted to our original course, adjusting slightly for the detour.
While Pete was still snoring, I had a visit from a large pod of dolphins who were using the boat to help with their hunt for fish. The fish tend to jump away from the bow wave. Dolphins raced like spears towards the boat from the starboard quarter, while others on the port side and off the bow jumped in the air, spinning and slapping their tail fins, presumably stunning the fish. When the dolphins jumped, I could see they had pink and turquoise speckled underbellies, a species I had not encountered before. The dolphins stayed for well over an hour, so Pete also managed to see them when he awoke. I went back to bed for an hour, as I felt worn down by lack of sleep.
We had covered a useful 68.9 miles in our first 12 hours of passage and 73.2 in the second 12 but this would fall to around 63 for each of the next 12 hours, as we headed west and the wind dropped off. This had been expected, along with a reduction in swell. However, the swell was up and down, sometimes slight but with 3m rollers thrown in for periods. The current seemed to be pushing us north and with the light winds, we were struggling to stay on course, after the detour to avoid the ship, so we put the engine on from midday to 2pm, to help with speed and direction. Pete went for a nap and I was sitting in the cockpit on the port side, facing the stern, when I was hit by a flying fish, which made me shriek. It was a beautiful, irridescent blue and silver and it was sitting in my lap, wriggling frantically. They are renowned for stinking, so I picked it up by the tail, using a pair of shorts and flung it overboard.
We had planned to anchor overnight in San Blas, on our way to Linton Bay, Panama but with our reducing speed we risked arriving there in the dark, which is not recommended with the shallow reefs, so at 1800 hours, we reluctantly changed course again to head directly to Linton. This would mean a third night at sea, with almost 175 miles to cover instead of 115. I headed off to the lee berth at 7pm, feeling a bit despondent and I still didn't sleep.
At 10pm, Pete again reported no ships in sight but my first 360 degree visual spotted two white lights to port. Eventually I could see lights in windows along the full length of the vessel, so took it to be a passenger ship. We passed it quickly so it must have been idling. Just before I completed my watch, the wind picked up, along with the swell and for the first hour of my downtime I was thrown around like a ragdoll in my bunk and then, as things calmed, I slept, on and off and Pete woke me just before 6am, having pulled a five hour watch (bless him).
I let Pete sleep for as long as he needed and I passed the time monitoring the ships that were crossing our bow. Container ships look enormous when only 0.75 miles distant! Pete surfaced just before 10am and noted that I still had the engine on. We had barely any wind and would be bobbing around, going nowhere without it. We had had a look at our options. We could continue to Linton and slow down to avoid arriving in the dark in the early hours of tomorrow morning, or we could take a more southerly course, leave the engine on and arrive in Holland Cays, San Blas around teatime. We chose option two and increased the engine revs. The sea was pretty flat, so we did the change of courtesy flags, removing the flag of Colombia and replacing it with the Panamanian flag and the yellow Q flag, as we would be anchoring overnight without clearing in. At 1125, I saw a Portuguese Man of War passing the boat with its bright pink sail. We spotted another two later on. We refuelled the diesel tank from cans, while the going was calm and then had lunch - cheese spread on biscuits, with a small can of beer. This resulted in a carb coma for me and I fell asleep on the cockpit floor for an hour. By 1545 hours we could just make out the dim shape of very low islands in the distance and an hour later we were really closing in on our destination. We could see masts everywhere behind and between the tree-covered, little islands. Using the chart plotter for navigation, we eased by the first big reef and cut across an area which was shown as being 10-20 metres deep. The depth sounder suddenly shot down to 3.4m and then to 1.5m and we did a 180 degree turn to go back and circle round wider. We now knew that we couldn't trust the electronic charts in this area. We progressed slowly, watching the depth guage as well as keeping a look out for gently breaking water and changing colours, which might denote shallow water. There looked to be plenty of space in the anchorage but once inside, most of the lagoon was at least 15 metres deep, much deeper than we like to anchor in. We cruised around slowly and eventually found a space where we could drop in 2m of water but it was rather close to the reef. The anchor didn't catch the first time, so had to be raised to have another go. The second time it caught. We turned the engine and instruments off and fitted the bridle to the chain. The batteries were flat again after raising the anchor, so there would be no fans in use tonight. The France Digicel sim was showing as connected but only with H+ and there was insufficient signal to even receive notifications. Hopefully friends and family could see us on Marine Traffic if we had been picked up on AIS. We had a couple of G&Ts in the cockpit, ate dinner and went to bed. We had the mosquito nets in due to the risk of 'no see ums'. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the cabin and no rocking, making it very comfortable and we both went out like a light.