San Blas Islands, Part 2

by KARIS

February 27, 2022

We decided to leave Chichime to explore some more of the islands here. We let our FOMO get the best of us, all wondering if the other anchorages were as beautiful as this one. In retrospect, I can’t believe we left. We spent most of the day yesterday motoring to the next cluster of islands, the Holandes Cays. We headed outside of the reef way too late in the day and hit massive swells again, only this time they were accompanied by 25 knots of wind. We got hammered. The waves crashed over the front of our boat, ripping the cushions off the trampolines and shredding them in the corners. We got the sail all the way up only to decide we needed to reef, and then take it down entirely because the winds were so high and the seas so rough. At one point I came down from the flybridge with Trin so that she could go to the bathroom and the entire sliding window was dangling by one corner where the sliding door normally was - it had been totally derailed. For the rest of the passage, Malana and I stood wedged in the door frame with one hand on the door and the other on the window, keeping them from slamming into each other or sliding off the rail completely. All the while, we could hear (but not see) the refrigerator door slamming open, and all of the contents splattering onto the floor outside of our bedrooms.

We passed up the first two anchorages that we came to. Though both were recommended by our cruising guide, they looked super unprotected and windy. We got to our third anchorage just as the sun was setting so we had no choice but to make it our home for the night. We approached through a narrow break in the reef, which was tricky to navigate at dusk since we couldn’t quite make out the edge of the coral. As we dropped anchor between a couple of other sailboats, we saw SV Delos off of our portside. It was shockingly surreal to be in the same anchorage as the YouTubers who we had watched for years from the comfort of our couch at home. They were at least partially responsible for making us believe that it was a totally reasonable lifestyle choice to travel the world in a sailboat, and at that very moment I was not sure if I felt gratitude or resentment towards them (gratitude for sure, obviously). But I would have to ponder all of that later because at the present moment, it was getting dark and we had to set our anchor.

We tried to set the anchor over and over again as the sky grew darker and darker. It wouldn’t catch. We decided to try another spot in the same anchorage (maybe the ground where we were was just too soft? Or too hard?). We made one last ditch effort right in the most unprotected spot in the anchorage, where the wind funneled fiercely through the two islands at the outer reef. Neighboring sailors watched us with concern. One guy even came over on his dinghy, asked us if we had ever anchored before (so embarrassing) and assured us that if we just dumped out all of our chain, which we told him was 100 meters, he was 100% sure that we would be fine. As we let out our chain, we got to 50 meters and the windlass stopped abruptly. We looked in the chain locker. It was empty. That was it. Not 100 meters of chain. 50. The sellers had lied to us when they sold us the boat. Or maybe it was lost in translation? The bottom line - we thought we had twice as much chain as we did, and we were finding this out at the most inopportune moment. The guys stood on the front of the boat looking out at the chain and debating what to do. We were kind of holding for the time being, but we didn’t trust that to be the case for much longer. We set the anchor alarms. It was dark at this point so we had no choice but to stay put til sunrise and hope for the best. We decided we would take shifts on watch through the night and if the alarms went off, we would turn on the motors and wait for daylight. Malana made dinner and she and I slammed a beer to calm our nerves. We all took turns showering and went to sleep. Hailey and Mav took the first two watches, then Malana, then me at 3am. We let the guys sleep since they handled the majority of the rough passage earlier in the day.

So here we are. It is my turn on anchor watch. The anchor alarm has gone off a couple of times but the boat has made its way back into range, I suspect the GPS may just be cutting out sporadically. It doesn’t feel like we are dragging. I have my eyes on the anchor lights of the 8 other boats in the anchorage, and also on the moon and the stars as backup. Wind speed has been hovering around 12-15 knots but is now kicking up to 17. It is 4:45 am. I am pretty sure we have about an hour to daylight.

Again, I am contemplating my life choices. This is not boring, that is for sure. The chaos of nights like this (and days like yesterday) make the calm of a sweet anchorage all the more peaceful and satisfying. I wonder what effect this is having on the kids? Trin said yesterday was super scary. I’ll have to ask Nolan and Sloane what they thought. They watched Robin Hood and went to sleep as usual, so not sure to what degree they felt the tension.

It does feel like if we just had a few upgrades we would all feel a lot more safe: a bigger anchor, more chain (obviously), navigation, internet for weather and sea state. Do we just call it and head to the mainland to see what we can get? Or do we set out for a more protected anchorage so we can clean up our messes from our chaotic sail? Do we hire a captain for a few months while we learn to sail this boat? Or just pay closer attention to the weather and the sea state and play it super safe? Not sure what we are going to do today without any cell service, in terms of predicting the weather and deciding where to go next. Everyday is a series of many many critical decisions that need to be made as a team.

It is the ultimate test of our ability to navigate through ambiguity. We have to be patient with ourselves too, because this is such a huge lifestyle change. Not just learning to sail, but learning to read the weather, learning the geography of a new country and how to navigate it (by sea), learning to conserve energy and live off of batteries and a generator, learning to conserve water, live in a tiny house, live in nature, without connectivity. It's a lot. Sometimes I feel really unprepared and under equipped, but then I think, everyone must go through this transition period, right? It’s just like any learning period, but with a particularly steep learning curve. There is really no way through other than just doing it. Moving forward one day at a time, fixing yesterday's messes, learning from our mistakes, and hopefully not breaking anything we can’t fix.

5:01 now. Still dark as night. Boat is swaying slowly in circles, Wind down to 10 knots so that is nice. Cannot wait for sunrise.