Aruba is slowly shrinking on the horizon.
This morning we had to check out in person with the catamaran in Barcadera Harbor; only then are you allowed to leave Aruba.
There’s barely any wind, so we quickly decide to unfurl the Code Zero. This huge, lightweight sail gives us extra speed in light winds, but as soon as the wind picks up you need to roll it in immediately. All afternoon we’re sailing beautifully at 7–8 knots. Just after sunset we decide to furl the Code Zero anyway, we don’t want to deal with that in the dark, especially not if a squall comes through.
But the wind has already increased and furling becomes a struggle. It’s a manual job: JM pulls a line while a drum should roll up the sail, but the moment there’s too much tension, it partially unfurls again. It takes ages and we can’t get it rolled neatly; a small flap remains loose at the top. While the jib is already set again, we see that flap getting bigger. The sail even starts to unfurl itself — a big no-go, because if the Code Zero and the jib tangle, you can’t get either of them in. And now it’s getting really dark…
We roll the jib in as fast as we can. Just as I’m done, a big loose section of the Code Zero flaps free. Phew, just in time!
We decide to fully deploy the sail again and roll it properly, but it only comes out halfway and jams. This is bad, if it keeps flogging like this, it will tear. There’s no other option than to drop the whole thing and remove it half-furled.
By now it’s dark, but thankfully the full moon gives us some light. After a lot of heaving and sweat, the Code Zero finally lies on deck and ten minutes later it’s tucked away in the locker again. Enough stress for one evening and fortunately we furled the jib in time, otherwise we would’ve had a real problem.
Once we’ve calmed down, we start our night watches. The rest of the night is peaceful, illuminated by a giant natural spotlight in the sky.
Cabo de la Vela
The next day we round the sailor-feared Cabo de la Vela with a pleasant 15 knots of wind and a calm sea. We’ve heard enough horror stories of stormy winds and huge wave, friends of ours even lost a window here during their crossing so we’re glad we picked a good weather window.
But the closer we get to Santa Marta, the more unstable the sky becomes. At night thunderstorms develop. On the radar we watch them grow; the more intense the yellow and red, the faster we try to avoid them. Lightning flashes continuously around us and thunder rolls non-stop, but until morning we’re spared the worst.
Then a large storm system approaches, impossible to dodge. With 20 knots of headwind, we motor straight into the waves toward Panama. Not fun anymore. According to the forecasts we knew something was coming but not this early. And behind this system: days of headwind. No thanks.
We change our plan and look for shelter in the Rosario Islands, about 30 miles from Cartagena. We push the throttle a little to arrive just before sunset. The entrance is blocked by a coral reef and the buoys shown on the chart no longer exist in real life. Luckily, through a sailing app (NoForeignLand) I find a track from another sailor we can safely follow.
When we drop the anchor, relief washes over us. Lightning still flashes in the distance and out at sea we see steep wind waves breaking.
We stay here for three nights under our yellow quarantine flag, you can’t clear in on these islands. Luxe beach clubs contrast sharply with the small corrugated-metal huts in the village. On weekends, luxury motor yachts do their “Instagram tours” in our bay. On Sunday, before the crowds arrive, we lift anchor.
On our way to Panama
The passage starts windless. On one engine, to save fuel, we chug into the night. But like every night in this region, heavy thunderstorms form around us. Escaping is impossible.
All night we pound into wind and waves. Everything on the boat is shaken around. At dawn, cross-waves make the sea even rougher, but eventually the land gives us shelter and we enter the bay of Obaldía.
A few spinner dolphins welcome us. We drop anchor in the middle of the bay. Obaldía is the border town with Colombia decades ago, during Escobar’s smuggling days, it was a real no-go zone. Now it's quiet: a military post, immigration office, police station and a handful of local houses.
Immigration helps us very friendly and even in English. At the Port Captain we are sent away: he needs two copies of our passports and boat papers. The “copy shop” consists of two printers and a few shelves with notebook, wonderfully simple. Two dollars lighter, we return.
Inside, papers are stacked almost to the ceiling; I don’t spot a single computer. The Port Captain writes and writes, sheet after sheet, even using carbon copy paper, something I hadn’t seen in years. Then come the stamps… at least five impressive ones, which he lines up on the table before stamping each document with dramatic dedication. It’s so comical I don’t dare look at JM for fear of bursting out laughing.
After paying 12 dollars in “administrative fees,” we receive two neatly stamped bundles: one for the police, one for ourselves.
We wander through the village, buy some vegetables and fruit, and sail on to idyllic Puerto Perme: a circular bay with a Kuna village on one side, palm trees and a white beach on the other, and a reef partially blocking the entrance. It’s paradise… until the no-see-ums appear. We flee indoors, even mosquito spray does nothing.
Navigating the reefs of Kuna Yala
Each day we sail a short distance to another bay or village and spend the afternoon and night there. A huge barrier reef lies off the coast here, with many smaller reefs and shallow patches. This is a different kind of sailing and something we need to get used to and the worst part, our charts are wrong 80% of the time.
We combine Navionics (phone & tablet), GuruMaps (satellite images) and the fantastic Bauhaus charts which I imported into OpenCPN. This way we plan our routes carefully and constantly cross-check while underway. A lot of work, but better safe than sorry.
Where possible we follow the Bauhaus routes behind the reefs so we don’t have to go out to open sea each time. From waypoint to waypoint we weave between islands, reefs and shallows. Sometimes we dodge wooden canoes paddled by locals heading to their land. It almost feels like a tropical version of the old rally drives we used to do with the classic “tulip-diagram navigation.”
We leave early every morning so we have the afternoon to explore the villages. They are surprisingly clean, with trash bins on almost every corner. The huts are built from bamboo poles and palm leaves, perfectly watertight and very simple inside: a few hammocks, a box with essentials, and sometimes the 15HP outboard motor stored right in the middle of the room. Priorities!
The little shops sell mostly canned food, toilet paper, pens, notebooks, loose candies and sachets of instant coffee. Fresh fruit and vegetables are not easy to find. The green bananas we bought weeks ago are still green… and now slowly rotting.
Plastic, waste and paradise with cracks
We’re eager to go in the water but not near the villages: the toilet huts are built over the water, there’s no sewage system, and lots of trash floats around. The Kuna often have no idea what to do with waste and throw it in the sea. We see plastic bottles, chip bags, and to our shock even entire tied-up garbage bags drifting by.
Can you blame them? There’s barely any space, no proper waste facilities and every day new ocean-borne plastic washes up from elsewhere.
Finally: turquoise water and coral
After a week we find a stunning little island with palm trees and a white beach. Two local fishermen paddle over in their wooden canoe to sell lobsters. They live here with eight people, mainly surviving on lobster and fishing.
We do a drift snorkel, the dinghy towing us along, and float past large, healthy coral formations. After the bleaching and coral disease in Curaçao, it’s a joy to see big, intact brain corals again. We spot sleeping nurse sharks, a large stingray and a few hefty groupers.
We enjoy the most idyllic anchorages between tiny uninhabited islands with palm trees and white sandy beaches. Every day we sail or snorkel around to discover new places because soon the young gang will be joining us: Leander, Karsten and cousin Siebe.
