8/3/2019 Colombia to Panama on a Catamaran - "Coast to Coast" - TRAVEL

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Coast to Coast

Land, sea or sky? All are methods of passage between South America and Central America,

but one rises (or should I say, floats) above the rest.

Travel by land is commonly perceived as the cheapest and easiest option. However, the narrow isthmus connecting Colombia to Panama, the Darien Gap,

not only obstructs passage, it vehemently opposes it. Denying both roads and public transportation, the jalopies available for hire could barely pass a

safety inspection, let alone an arduous off road inquisition. If the impervious swamps and bogs don’t get you, chances are the guerilla militants or drug

traffickers might.

The second and most obvious alternative, air travel, is easy to arrange between major cities. But for about the same price, a third and more fulfilling

alternate can be arranged – by sea!

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Some may view the five days spent afloat better served elsewhere, such as

in Colombia’s pre-eminent port city, Cartagena, or possibly, Panama’s

illustrious Canal, but what lies between the two are 378 of the most

beautiful islands the world has to offer.

Situated only 20 miles east of Panama’s main land, the San Blas Islands

 Archipelago remains a covert collection of white sand, prolific coconut trees

and unadulterated vistas.

Home to the Kuna tribe, these inspiring natives have fought to retain

ownership of their mighty archipelago since before Columbus “sailed the

ocean blue.” The natives humbly maintain a primitive yet expedient culture

despite the close proximity to Panama’s industry laden shores. No high

rises or umbrella drinks here folks.

The extreme variability in departure times and limited vessel choices are

the main deterrents for would-be passengers. Not to mention the stories of 

motors dying and boats drifting at sea for days. If, however, you arrive with

the attitude that waiting is normal and you can accommodate a few days’

lag time, I promise, your ship will come in.

Welcome aboard Fritz the Cat, a 50-foot catamaran,

complete with eccentric Austrian captain, Fritz, his

maiden voyage deck hand Jose and 12 eager 

passengers.

Life at sea could be a solitary existence but not for 

Fritz. Spending his “retirement” years chartering

travelers across the capricious Caribbean seas, his

days are anything but lonely, performing every task on

board from captaining to cooking – and most

importantly, socializing.

“Hoist the Anchor!”

Coinciding with gaining my sea legs was attaining my

seamanship. We were not only passengers but deck

hands on this cat. Let me tell you, steering a 50-foot

catamaran through unpredictable ocean swells was no

easy task. Grasping white knuckled to the monstrous

wheel, my forearms shook with agony, struggling to

keep her on a 260-degree heading. Just a little too

much of a turn and you were headed back to Colombia,

a feat I managed not once, but three times.

Sleeping was the day’s final challenge. Jostled between

the formidable swells, the elevated bunk presentedmore of a hazard than a safe haven. Slamming against

the berth wall one minute, we would teeter helplessly

on the edge of the bed the next.

Clink, clink, clink, the sound was exhilarating! Followed by a tight snap of the sail catching its first impregnating gust of wind meant we were ready for 

departure. Within no time, Cartagena's skyscrapers and busy shores disappeared behind the growing swell and the once gentle sea mist escalated into

torrential starboard waves. The only escape from the watery cataclysm required an even more perilous move – going below deck. It was here I learned first-

hand the true meaning of the expression “getting your sea legs”.

 As if confined to a perpetual state of inebriation, each step forward was usually followed by two steps backward, rocking back and forth between the

claustrophobic cabin walls. I have only one word: Dramamine … and a lot of it. That is, unless you want to join in the port side oral acrobatic routine.

Then came the wet awakening from above. Sea breezes were not the only substance entering the cabin. ‘Battening down the hatches’ meant sealing my

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Surrounded by an ostensibly impenetrable coral reef, our sandy

salvation summoned. Relying on years of seamanship for guidance –

and a few expensive boat toys – Fritz skillfully steered through one of 

the invisible coral gaps, entering calm, sequestered waters.

 After only one brutal night below deck, the urgency for better sleeping

arrangements was more than apparent. Though vying for a spot on one

of two coveted catamaran trampolines, most passengers found

themselves surprisingly content to sleep anywhere outside. Tucked in

by a thick blanket of stars, we were dreaming even before falling asleep!

With hundreds of islands to choose from, I spent the next three days

exploring but a handful of these tiny terrains, often relishing entire islands

solely by myself.

The only spectacle capable of rivaling the beauty above was what lay below.

With visibility well over 80 feet, the only thing clearer than the water was my

compulsion to dive in. Snorkeling emerged (or should I say, submerged) as

my favorite pastime. Suspended between one of nature’s greatest

dichotomies, a maze of thriving coral masterpieces and abundant sea life

existed to one side, while a few feet way, life fell away into the sea’s deepabyss.

one “port hole” to the outside world. The subsequent humidity and stuffiness completed the recipe for some maritime insomnia.

Our second day at sea was no easier then the first, but thanks to Poseidon's good graces (and fast moving trade winds) just as the sun dipped below the

horizon, the outline of an island replaced it.

“Land Ho!”

The star dotted curtain slowly lifted and the day streamed forth to an anxiously awaiting crew. Still rubbing my eyes from the blissful night’s sleep, a few

disbelieving blinks followed before I could comprehend what lay before me. There we were, anchored between four tiny palm studded islands, layered on all

sides by azure, sapphire and emerald.

While my mind tried to fathom the inconceivable beauty, my body pursued validation. Plunging into the cool, crystalline waters was all the warrant my body

and mind required. This was paradise!

I was lucky enough to spot some of nature’s most illusive creatures, as dozens of stingrays lined the ocean floor. Perfectly camouflaged from predators,

their sword-like tails remained their only discernable feature. My prolonged sojourns were taken as more predatorial than observatory, and with a few big

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It was hard to imagine interrupting this beautiful sea existence, that

is, until Fritz handed me aquatic ammo: the lobster catcher. For 

those of you like me, who didn’t know what a lobster catcher was,

 just imagine a retractable wire loop situated on the end of slender 

metal pole. Slipping the loop undetected around the prey’s slick body

was surprisingly not the most difficult part, it was the battle that

followed. Success, however, would be bittersweet. I returned

victorious only to learn the seemingly once satanic crayfish who put

up the fight of the century was nothing more than a baby. Remember,

objects underwater always appear larger than they really are.

 Although I quite literally failed to bring anything to the table, other 

amateur hunters caught more than enough. A cornocopia of crayfish,

snapper and even a giant eel offered as a welcoming from

flaps they were off again. Precise undulations of their pancaked bodies enabled escape from not only me but the water altogether, breaking the watery

plane with miraculous airborne acrobatics.

one of the local Kuna fisherman. Combined with Fritz’s world-class culinary ability – did I mention he was a 5-star chef – going hungry was never a threat.

Having enjoyed smooth sailing so far, undoubtedly meant our first tribulation was only a matter of time – Panamaniam time that is. Operating on a time

schedule all its own, Panama’s Customs Office was closed upon our arrival, requiring us to anchor for one more night.

It was this unanticipated night at sea that nearly became Fritz the Cat’s final day ever.

We were awoken first by resonant scraping from below, then by the emphatic commands of our captain. "Alle manos on deck!" Spanish, Deutsch and

English collided in a flurry of instructions. Disoriented by the blackness of night, we soon realized the anchor had dislodged from its initial hold. Where the

anchor was now, and more so, where we were now, was anyone’s guess. I had a “sinking” feeling, reciprocated by the fear I saw in the eyes of many other 

rookie passengers. Coercing the anchor from its new hold, we eventually yanked it aboard, ripping free from the razor-sharp reef.

 After five days (well, actually six) at sea, the journey from Colombia to Panama came to full fruition, as did my transition from landlubber to sea-

scalleywag. And, in the process, this neophyte sea-woman discovered not only the incredibly glorious paradises above the swell, but also a hint of those

that existed below.  © 

For more of "Reggie's Backpacking Chronicles" please visit her website: http://www.backpackerswanted.com

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