June 8, 2012

Journal notes:

• Navigating the Panama Canal
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Pictures:

Clipper Endeavour

Bahia Castillo

Ships waiting to go through the canal

Gatun locks

New lock under construction

Gatun dam

The Panama Canal

The canal's construction has caused some erosion along the banks

Here is a run-down campsite with picnic area

Tugboat

The prison

The canal is fed from the surrounding mountains

A train passing us.  That's the captain and pilot by the steering console

Pedro Miguel locks

Miraflores locks

Lock chambers

When I went to bed last night, around 0100 or 0200, we were still docked in Colon.  I wake up around 0815.  Geting dressed, I open the door to find Roman outside.  He asks if he can come in to clean and change the bed linens.  He tells me that we are still in the canal, and have "two more canals" to pass through, which I take to mean two more locks.  I grab my camera and camcorder and run outside to find the ship anchored in a lake, about 2 or 3 miles from the lock and dam.  I take several photographs - there are ships all around us - but decide to save my camcorder (which is very small - less than 900 mAh) for our passage through the lock.  At 1000, I feel some motion and venture into the hallway to check the ship's progress.  I find Harvey at his computer, his door open, and he informs me that we are scheduled to go through the lock around 1445.  He says he was up at 0600 and watched our last ascent, through a 3-chambered lock, where we were assisted by a tug pushing from behind and a locomotive engine pulling on either side, with about 2 feet of clearance between the ship's hull and the lock walls on either side.  The whole operation, he tells me, took nearly two hours.

Lunch consists of "fish and chips" with steamed broccoli and delicious ham and bean soup - I have two bowls, scalding my tongue on the first.  I ask the chief engineer if I might have a tour of the engine room while we are anchored.  "Not today," he answers.  His voice is deep and gravelly from years of smoking, with a thick Romanian accent.  "Busy day.  Longest day at sea.  Maybe the day after tomorrow."  I thank him and return to my cabin to read.

At 1340, I feel the engines kick on, signaling our departure.  I apply more sunblock, grab my camera/camcorder, and make my way up to the bridge deck.  The captain, seeing me, waves me onto the bridge.  "You are welcome any time.  Other captains don't like passengers on the bridge, but I don't care."  I plant myself in a chair in the corner, as much out of the way as I can get.  The pilot gives instructions to the helmsman.  "Starboard 20."  "Starboard 20," the helmsman acknowledges.  He turns the wheel and checks the rudder position overhead, watching the needle move slowly across the dial.  "Rudder starboard 20 now," he announces a few minutes later.  We navigate up the river channel.  "Half ahead," instructs the pilot, and the captain slows the ship to half speed.  A few minutes later, he orders us to slow ahead, and finally dead slow ahead.

The pilot is a heavy-set man, in his mid-50s.  He wears a girdle pulled tightly across his belly, and waddles as he makes his way across the bridge.  He explains that he has recently undergone back surgery, in perfect English with a thick northern accent.  He has dark skin and black hair, and sometimes communicates over the radio in English and sometimes in Spanish.

We soon enter a heavy rain.  Lightning strikes, maybe 50 meters from the ship.  "I can't see a damn thing, " declares the pilot, and he orders the ship to stop and drop anchor.  All the other ships are anchored already.  He radios to the pilot in the ship ahead of us and asks him to call when his ship starts moving again.  There are 3 ships ahead of that one, moving very slowly.

At 1458, the pilot orders the captain to heave up the anchor.  "It's starting to clear up on the port side.  Let's move forward, and if it gets bad we'll drop anchor again."  The captain turns to me as he waits for the anchor to be raised.  "This your first time in Panama?" he asks.  "Yes," I answer.  "It's like a woman.  The first time it's great, very nice.  Second time is okay.  Third time, 'ah, you are not my type.'"  The pilot is growing impatient.  "They're not washing the anchors, are they?" he asks.  The captain does not answer.  "Fuckin' around, fuckin' around, fuckin' around."  He waves a hand astern.  "Tell him to get that anchor up before those ships run into us."  I peer outside and spot another ship, about a mile or two behind us.

We move forward through the channel, and the water clears up enough for me to take some pictures outside.  It is beautiful here.  We enter a straight stretch, and the captain and pilot make small talk.  The pilot asks how Tahiti is.  The captain complains that it is expensive, because it is so far away.  He and the chief engineer dined there on their previous voyage together at a nice ("but not five stars") restaurant, paying on the order of $250 for dinner and a bottle of wine.  The pilot asks for two crewmen to assemble on the aft station in 25 minutes.  The captain pulls out a map and relieves the 2nd mate, asking him to send up the cook.

At 1545, the cook arrives, and the captain asks him to prepare some barbecue for a party tomorrow evening, in celebration of crossing the equator without an accident on board, instructing him to start the fire at 1600.  We turn into another straight stretch, passing a dredger on the port side.  The pilot checks our wake, commenting about a colleague of his who was suspended after passing a dredger at 16 or 17 knots and knocking three people off the tubes with its wake.

I learn that the pilot is from Panama, his father American and his mother Panamanian.  He went to school in Baltimore and has worked on the canal for 38 years - first for the US government, then for Panama after the transfer of ownership.  He likes his job, especially since he can sleep at home (unless he is on the night shift).

At 1620, he joins Harvey and I on the port deck and points out a prison on the shore.  It used to be an American prison, but is now used by the Panamanian government to hold political prisoners.  I take some pictures, including some of the prisoners and guards walking around the prison yard.  The rains have washed away the heat of the day - it is in the mid-to-upper 70s, very humid, with only a slight wind.  At 1640, we make our way around a narrow bend past a barge.  Our pilot is very good.  Rounding the bend, I see a huge suspension bridge, maybe 2 or 3 miles ahead.

At 1700, we pass the continental divide.  Above us, we pass below the bridge, which I learn from the pilot is the Pan-American Highway.  Tugs arrive, and we are boarded by men with hard-hats.  We pull in behind ships bearing the Maersk and Hamburg Sud logos.  We must wait here for another pilot, who is possibly stuck in traffic.  The current pilot points to a massive construction project to our right.  "That's going to be the third set of locks.  They're going to extend it all the way past the bridge.  They're going to use the same channel, but it's going to be deeper.  We hope."

At 1750, we are docked waiting for the ship in front of us to exit the lock.  We have exchanged pilots while waiting.  The captain has his dinner brought up the bridge - fried chicken, along with two cartons of cigarettes.  The helmsman steps outside for a smoke.  The new pilot is on his phone, talking to his wife or possibly his girlfriend.

At 1850, we are making our descent through the lock as the sun sets behind us.  A northbound ship enters the neighboring lock, and I take a few pictures and videos.  My camcorder battery soon dies.  Eric comes up, and I move out of the way - he has the nicer camera and should get the better positioning.  At 1859, we begin to move forward, and at 1910, we move past the gates and out of the lock.

Towards the end of dinner, we enter the final lock chamber.  I make my way up to the bridge deck once more, and we pass another ship headed upstream.  Off to our left, at the end of the lock, sits a restaurant in a tall building, at eye level with us.  A little girl, about 6 or 7 years old, stands out on the balcony, waving at us.  I wave back, and she umps up and down in excitement as her mother snaps a picture of the ship.  I stay on the bridge until about 10 or 15 minutes after the pilot leaves.  I bid the men good night and make my way down to my cabin, fighting to keep my eyes open long enough to get to my bed.