3/3/02 | Green Island to the Holandés Cays

We spent nearly a week at Green Island, snorkeling and socializing. But eventually the folks we knew headed out for various destinations, and we headed out also, to explore some other nearby islands. The Naguargandup Cays looked plenty good on the chart, but they turned out to be mangrove islands, rather than palm-and-sand islands, so the water was not very clear and the close-in reefs not very interesting. But in front of the mangrove islands was a shallow lagoon protected by a long, breaking barrier reef, with blue water beyond. We looked for a gap to dinghy through, to get to the good diving on the deep outer side.

After travelling for over a mile, we saw nothing, and Britt, frustrated, tilted the motor to its highest position and aimed right for the breakers. I was not too happy when we skimmed over the tops of the coral, even less happy when the prop began banging on the coral and we had to break out the oars, and my happiness reached a nadir when Britt began to scream at me, "Can't you paddle any faster!" as we started to get tossed around in the breakers. We would progress a short distance against the wind and current, then get thrown by the big waves, right back to where we started. I yelled, "I want to go back!" He yelled ,"Not after we've come this far!" I was sure something was going to break -- an oar, the motor, a dinghy tube, possibly our marriage. Finally Britt jumped in (it was only about 6 inches deep) and towed the dink through the waves to the drop-off, where he swam and pushed until I could start the motor and he could scramble in. I continued to drive along the edge of the reef until we found a place we could put an anchor...right by a gap in the reef. Oh well -- at least we had an easier time going back!

The reef wasn't extraordinary, but there were more and bigger fish than we'd seen elsewhere in the San Blas, probably because it would be tough to anchor over it for handline fishing, as the Kuna do. We saw quite a few sizeable snappers (which we both shot at and missed) and a couple of crabs (one of which we took). Schools of various types of jack cruised the edge, but it was really hard to get close enough to get off a shot. At one point I was surrounded by what must have been a hundred or more bar jacks, so close I could feel the water disturbance against my swim fins, but as soon as I turned to aim they skittered away. Britt has much better technique to avoid scaring the fish, and he was able to get a small yellow jack out of one of the schools. He also found a deep coral head with a cave behind it, in which lurked big groupers and snappers -- unfortunately he didn't get any of them.

Much to my delight, I was able to descend to the cave to see the big fish. I've been working on my free diving, and although I can't get as deep or stay as long as Britt can, I can get down to somewhere around 50-60 feet. At those depths I'm just down for a quick look-see, as I can't hunt effectively much deeper than 30 feet. Although lately I haven't been hunting effectively at any depth; I switched weapons, to a pole spear I bought from Dan on Calliope, and I'm still getting used to it. Not that I was any great shakes with the Hawaiian sling, but so far all I've done with the pole spear is wound one dog snapper.

After another disappointing reef behind another island, we decided to move to the Holandés Cays (pronounced by most cruisers, "Hollandaise", like the sauce. These same cruisers call these islands the "Sandblast" -- or at least, it sounds that way to us. We prefer the more Spanish-sounding "Sahn Blahs"). This is the outermost island group, and the most popular entrance into the San Blas, with wide channels leading in from the ocean from both sides. Unfortunately, our course toward the islands was directly into the 20-knot wind, and those wide channels did a darned good job of channeling ocean waves into our faces. (Sometimes literally.) The waves were steep and nasty, some of them twelve or more feet high, making for a slow, wet, and uncomfortable ride. We would grind up the face of a wave, crash wetly through the breaking tip, teeter a moment, then dive off the back into the trough. Over and over and over. The worst part was that we hooked two fish -- and lost both of them!  The second fish, a big wahoo, took some great leaps out of the water, so we got to see in exciting detail exactly what we would have had for dinner had the fishhook not bent and allowed the fish to slide off.

The seas flattened once we were inside the arc of the Holandés. We chose to anchor between two of the islands, behind the protection of the outer reef, guaranteeing us lots of wind for our generator but a smooth, flat anchorage. In fact, it is exceptionally smooth because the constant assault of waves on the reef causes a strong current, which flows in the same direction as the wind. Just as wind against current builds unusually large, steep waves in places like the Gulf Stream, wind with current suppresses the waves that might otherwise form. Our plantains and bananas, hanging on strings from the ceiling, don't sway at all.

We're off by ourselves again, too, as we have been since leaving Green Island. That is to say, we're the only boat in this particular anchorage; other yachts are tucked into other spots among the Holandés, and although we can't see them from our boat, a short dinghy ride will bring them into view. A few Kuna live out here, tending the coconuts, and others come by on their hopeful mola-selling rounds even though we are very far from any village. Yesterday a particularly obnoxious canoe-ful stopped by, asking first for water (which I gave them a few gallons of, since we'd made lots while motoring here) and then for magazines, coffee, candy, and soda, none of which I gave out. I said that yes, we did have magazines -- what would they trade?  "Regalo, regalo" chanted one -- "Gimme a present." No way, José. I was regretting even giving them water, since they didn't even say "thank you."  But today a much nicer group visited, a bunch of ladies wrapped in plastic tarps against the rough seas, chauffeured in an outboard-equipped canoe by an older man who greeted us with "Good morning," in perfect English. He showed me a large, oozing scrape on his finger; did we have any medicine? I went below and got soap and water, antibiotic ointment and a band-aid, and fixed him up. Britt wrapped it carefully with athletic tape, to keep the bandage on in the wet environment. The man told us that he'd cut his hand on coral a week ago, and since he didn't have any medicine it had just been getting worse. Hopefully our amateur doctoring will help. He thanked us, then glanced at the women who were all whispering and murmuring. "They want to know if you want molas?"  I smiled but shook my head, and they took it in good grace, waving and smiling as they left.

We will hang out here another day or two, maybe move over to one of the more popular anchorages where we hear there is a beach potluck planned for Monday. Then we'll move on to another island group, as we inch closer to the Canal Zone.