On Saturday 7th May at 12.45pm we welcomed aboard our three young line handlers and slipped our mooring lines. We were bound for the anchorage just outside of the canal entrance known as The Flats. Despite the foul weather and 20 knot winds, Phylis miraculously managed to reverse perfectly out of her slip. I don’t mind admitting but I was feeling a great deal of pressure to get that maneuver right and in the end I did nothing! Waving goodbye to our friends Sue and Geoff on Spent, we made a sharp left and beautifully shot out of the marina with pride and determination. The 6 months waiting was at an end and we were finally on our way.

Our agent told us to be at the Flats by 1pm in case we were called upon to enter the canal before our allotted slot. No such luck, and as we waited in our anchorage the heavens opened and the first real rain in 6 months descended upon us. Blinding horizontal rain, driven by 25 knot gusts had Phylis bouncing around all over the place, straining at her anchor. The boat next to us managed to drag and off she went until her crew gathered their wits and got her back on station. The only dry spot in the cockpit was under the dodger where we sat huddled up for hours (seven, to be precise), waiting for the advisor to turn up.


And the Heaven’s opened


The only dry spot in the cockpit

Finally just before 8pm the advisor turned up; getting him on board was quite a challenge due to the heavy chop but the coxswain of the pilot boat really knew his stuff and the guy sailed through the air and landed aboard with only a minor slip. From that moment it was finally all go. Up anchor and head off to the canal entrance – at last.

We were to approach the canal and just before entering the first locks we were to raft up with two other sail boats, a small French sloop and an Australian Dufour 455 that had been waiting with us in The Flats. Half way there the French boats engine failed and a big conflab took place as to what to do. Just as the advisors had made the decision to abandon the French and get them a tow back to the marina, they managed to get their engine started. First bit of drama. As they were way behind us by now the Australian and French rafted up first, we came in last on the starboard side. All should havegone smoothly until our advisor (a really nice guy by the way) happened to push on the Australian boats stanchions and the skipper went absolutely mental – yelling and screaming at our advisor – he completely lost it. Then the Australian guy started on the advisor on the French boat who was having none of it and started yelling back, and I honestly thought there was going to be a physical fight – jeez, as if things weren’t tense enough! Somehow the crews managed to calm the Australian skipper down (what a complete arse) and we got going, slowly entering the first stage of the Gatun locks.


Rafting up outside Gatun locks


The raft approaching the first lock

The Gatun locks consist of three stages that take you from the Atlantic up to Gatun Lake, a combined lift of 26 meters. We watched the lock gates slowly close behind us and realised there was no going back now.


Inside the lock, the line being taken up to the lock wall


Bye bye Atlantic


Going up


Looking back, and down, from the top of the first lock

We were going through the locks behind a moderately sized bulk carrier but we had plenty of room. Our advisor took control of the steering of the raft and all I did was obey orders – forward, reverse, starboard a little etc – it all went off very well and we had no more tantrums from the other boat. Finally we made the last lock and got through around 12.30am. We dismantled the raft and we all shot off around the corner to anchor in front of the Gatun Yacht Club where we set the hook around 1am and collapsed in bed – what a day. The advisors reported the Australian skipper to the ACP authorities accusing him of verbal abuse. We honestly thought they were going to be denied transit.


At anchor in Gatun Lake waiting for our advisor

Now then, listen up everyone. Somebody told Kym that a previous boat had fouled its anchor where we were and had to cut the lot loose before proceeding. Knowing this we toyed with the idea of using our grotty CQR and all rope rode but I couldn’t really be asked to swap things around – we’ll be fine I thought, ha!

At 8.30am the next day we took on board a new advisor and upped anchor and……….hello, something’s not right here? Kym was on the bow and was having a problem hauling the anchor. Up it came very slowly with a whole load of new looking chain wrapped around its fluke – well I’ll be a sob …..guess what we had just picked up – yes that previous buggers chain. Fortunately we managed to get a rope around it and drag it off the fluke – drama over.

It’s twenty odd miles across the Gatun Lake to the Gaillard Cut and then a further seven miles to the Pedro Miguel locks. It was Sunday and it felt like a tootle in the countryside. Gently motoring along there was nothing much to do for the next 5 hours apart from follow the red buoys and watch out for any interesting wildlife. We didn’t spot anything much apart from a few crocodiles in the Cut.


Following the red buoys

Just in front of the locks we rafted up again, this time with no drama and Phylis was centre boat meaning she had to do the powering and steering – poor girl and at her age too. Needless to say that with her superb skipper in charge we got through the first locks with no problem, although we did have to give the French boat 5 gallons of diesel because they were running out (go figure). We trundled across the Miraflores Lake at sedate 3 knots and entered the Miraflores Locks with no problem. We were being followed through by a humongous bulk carrier that literally filled the entire width of the locks and positioned herself not 20 feet from Phylis’ bottom – she wasn’t very happy about that!


Rafted up ready for the Pedro Miguel Locks, our linehandlers Juan, Jamil and Jose enjoying the ride


The hulk entering the locks


Going down

The Miraflores Locks are in two stages that take you finally down to the Pacific. They are also a big tourist attraction and we had what looked like hundreds of rubberneckers all gawping at us from the observation decks. With a huge audience watching our every move I motored the raft into the final lock and just at the critical moment of maneuvering – the engine stopped. “The engines stopped”, I told the advisor who shouted out “the engines stopped” (useless bugger this one). I shouted to the other boats to stop. We knew what the problem was and how to fix it quick, and with no loss of face we managed to start up the engine and finish our maneuvering. Phew, that was a close one.


The observation decks at the visitor center lined with people


A little too close for comfort

Finally as the last lock doors opened and we sighted the Pacific for the first time. All the crews cheered and clapped. I must admit I felt quite emotional.


Hello Pacific

Just outside the locks we dismantled the raft and headed off to Balboa Yacht Club to drop off the advisor and the line handles. It was blowing 20 knots and with a following current we shot along at 7 knots. The Yacht Club moorings were totally packed and the only anchoring room appeared to be right next to the big ship channel so we abandoned all thought of staying there for the night and headed off to the Playita Anchorage where we spent a very relaxed night. Phew, we had made it. We were finally in the Pacific.


Our first Pacific sunset