The Nature Channel on JOY

With our morning coffee and the cruisers net this morning:

Breakfast time!

Oh my, that's a big fish.  Better hold it over the dinghy,because it's still wiggling.  

Drop it in the dinghy a few times, peck at it.
It's getting deader, but not any smaller, so....

...Gulp!

Wow.  That was a big fish.

Stretch... gulp, gulp...

Lip-smackin' good fish.

Phew.  That was a big one.

Breakfast over...

Time to go...

Note:  This.  One of the things I'll miss about living on a boat.

Sloth Hunt!

Dear Ean....

I went to dinner at Mi Ranchito with Heather and Ron (s/v Sundancer) and Jill and Matthew (s/v Rock and Roll Star).  Back to the scene of the crime, so to speak.... But I'm proud to tell you that - this time - when Heather suggested a second bottle of wine, I Just. Said. No.  And having said no to Bottle #2, the question of Bottle #3 never came up.  Phew!  We had the kind of conversation that I know you would have enjoyed, so it made me miss you: we talked about trash and plastic and human impact and evolution, and many other Topics of Great Importance.

When we walked back from el restaurante, it was black dark.  A beautiful night.  We were walking towards the Smithsonian gate, just about to take a left into the marina's parking lot.  (Here's what it looks like during the day: did you ever notice those cables overhead?)

This is the cable that the "night sloths" were hanging on.

 When Jill pointed up, I couldn't process what I was seeing at first.  Big indistinct blobs hanging from what I knew to be the overhead cable.

But then the "blobs" became "sloth blobs."  I didn't have the camera - to my great regret. We continued walking to the dinghy dock, slid down the ramp (supermoon low)....  Then I dinghied back to the boat, grabbed the camera, dinghied back to shore, hiked back up the dinghy dock ramp, walked across the parking lot - and there they were, of course.  "Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close up.  But I'm not coming down, so use the zoom, 'kay?"  

Lesson learned: I don't think this will work with OTHER types of wildlife - but with sloths, if you forget your camera, don't worry - they'll still be there when you get back.  Note to self: Carry camera constantly.

This Night Sloth Sighting, of course, reactivated my sloth obsession.  Remember the sloth in Shelter Bay Marina?

Bradypus variegates, or, a three-toed sloth

I've been poring over and completely engrossed by the website of the Sloth Sanctuary of Costa Rica... when you get home, let's start planning our little "overland" trip to Boquete and Costa Rica, shall we?  

Anyway, remember the mysterious markings on the Shelter Bay Sloth's back?  I read about it on the website: it is, indeed a Mystery.  They call it the "Male Patch Mystery."  While I was engaged with Sloth Sleuthing, I also discovered that the video of the baby sloth and the flower - remember that one? - was actually taken at the Sloth Sanctuary of Costa Rica.  Can I just point out, that the woman who took the video must have been on the "Insider" tour, because I don't think you get to go in to the nursery and the "Slothpital" if you just take the plain old boring (cheap) "Buttercup" tour?  I'm just sayin'.

The next day, about an hour before sunset, I decided to go on a Sloth Hunt.  Excellent timing, as it turned out - superhigh!  So I piled all the trash into the dinghy and took advantage of the auspicious ramp sitch.  Sloth Hunt AND Trash Run - see how I'm multi-tasking?  I even brought in the two gallons of waste oil that had been sitting around in the cockpit for a month.  

In the big tree just behind and to the right of the dumpster (can you picture it?), I found this guy.  (And you know when I say "guy" I don't mean that it was actually a male sloth; I'm using "guy" in that generic, ungendered way.  Two-toed sloths don't have "male patches," so no clues there.)

Choloepus hoffmani, or, two-toed sloth

Dude's got an itch.  So he stretches his leg out, and - ahhhh, those claws are good for scratching those itches.  On the Sloth Sanctuary website, they actually call them "fingers," not toes.  Both types of sloths have three "toes" on their back legs, but the two types differ in how many "fingers" they have on their front legs (arms?).  Yep, that's me: a fount of knowledge.  Seriously, check out the website.  More than you would EVER want to know about sloths, written by people who LOVE LOVE LOVE sloths.

Still itchy, can't quite reach... yeah, that's the ticket.  Life is good.

After a bit more scratching and stretching, he's apparently ready to get on with his evening.  Off he goes; back to the trunk, where he will catch onto another, higher branch and make his way further up into the tree.  The picture's a bit blurry, because he was moving so fast.  Just kidding.  The lighting was challenging for our little point-and-shoot.

I walked across the parking lot, half-way hoping to find those same sloths still hanging from the overhead cables... but at some point in the intervening 18 hours, they had made off to greener pastures (that would be TREES, presumably).

I found this "guy" just 8 feet off the ground, nestled into a comfortable hammock of intersecting tree branches.

Close to sunset, now, and and I was pointing the camera into the depths of the tree, so the flash went off.  He showed his dismay by blinking, slowly, in my direction.  "Dude. [blink] Not. [blink] Cool."  So I apologized and left him to it.

There it is: all the news that's fit to be digitized.  Reporting live from Slothsville.

XXOO, Jane

P.S. I know you think I'm a little crazy, about the whole Sloth Love thing.  But you don't know nothin'.  Watch this video, which is a clip of Kristen Bell (she's an actess - you don't know her - never mind) talking with Ellen DeGeneres about her Sloth Meltdown.  Kristen Bell's Sloth Meltdown.  She is crazier than I am.  Be relieved.  (Rebecca from s/v Summertime Rolls sent me this video.  Isn't facebook fabulous??!!!)

P.P.S. It hasn't escaped me, of course, that this is our 200th blog post.  I thought you'd be jumping all over it, the chance to do #200, since you were so gung-ho about writing #100.  But, sorry!  You were TOOOOOOO SSSLLLOOOOOOOWWWWW.  Sort of like a sloth, come to think about it.

Ean Has Fun While Jane Has None

Dear Ean,  Thanks very much for your live(ly) report and the reminder that you are off having fun (and showers and cable TV) while I am having none.  Here is MY report.

Picked up the new Raymarine control head from Air Facility yesterday - only $27 for shipping/handling and customs - how cool is that?  Had a couple of drinks with Rick at the Balboa Yacht Club, talking about how unlikely it is that we will actually get the control head installed sans hitches.  Oh, yes, there will be hitches, Rick warns.  You know how he is - ever the optimist.  But if you're lucky, the hitches will be unhitched before you get back.  

Steal THIS, panga-gang!

Then I had a couple of drinks with Ron and Heather, and I think I must have seemed a little pathetic, so Heather encouraged me to ramble on at great length about my Navy days - ha.  I mentioned about the drinks, right?

Shared a taxi from Balboa back to La Playita with an Aussie couple - they were headed for pizza night at La Eskinita.  They're staying on a mooring at Balboa, they told me, because they think it's a tad bit unsafe down here- four dinghies stolen from Las Brisas! Don't ask me about the fourth dinghy - I think it's just the cruisers' coconut telegraph, telescoping the bad news from the wrong side of the tracks causeway.


So, home sweet home!  I had a healthy dinner: some chocolate chip cookie dough and una copa de vino blanco con es-SKWIR ( that's a glass of wine with Squirt - in case you've forgotten all your español, now that you're in los estados unidos).  And then I went to bed.  But I didn't actually go to bed.  I was feeling a bit creeped out, I have to admit, being ALL ALONE out here.  And no way to raise the dinghy by myself.   I not only locked up the dinghy - I actually locked the door.  I even closed some random sea cocks, to ensure that the boat would remain afloat, and tried to check our anchor waypoint, to make sure we hadn't dragged.  Yes, it's true that we haven't budged from this spot for months - but still.  Then I realized that we put the waypoint not on the chartplotter, but on your iPad, which you are probably using to read this blog post, over yonder in los estados unidos.  So will you check it for me?  Have we dragged?  

New dinghy lift motor: fun, fun, fun all the time!

Finally fell asleep at about about three in the morning, after a fearsome lightning storm and lots of rain.  I slept with the fan running, even though it wasn't hot, after all the rain.  I wanted the white noise to cover up the sound of the panga quietly approaching the boat... of the swimmer slipping into the water and boarding JOY to cut the dinghy free so it could drift off.. of the panga picking up the swimmer and putting the dinghy under tow, once safely away.... None of that actually happened of course. But I'm going to thank Heather, when I see her, for all this helpful imagery about how dinghies get stolen here in Panama.

Tonight, though: no worries about the dinghy.  Juan and his amigo (did you catch that guy's name?) have finished installation of our shiny brand new dinghy lift motor.  The dinghy, as I live and breathe, is High and Dry.  Steal THIS, panga-gang. 

So... All is well on JOY... except... the cats miss you.  Not enough humans here to serve their needs.

Stupid stupid stupid everything

Ean and I have been sniping at each other lately.  I know, right?!  Us? The happy couple?  The smiling, laughing pair who put the JOY in More Joy Everywhere!?

Things have been going wrong.  Family tragedies, broken boat, ticking clock, draining bank account.  Disaster.  Delay.  Depression.  Disappointment.  Debby Downer?  Yep, that's me.

So this morning, after a couple of - shall we call them "verbal exchanges"? - I say, "Let's make a deal.  We won't say anything negative about the boat or each other for 24 hours."  Ean says: "DEAL!"

A half-hour later I am sorting through a bag of items we purchased during our last trip to the hardware store. We had MEANT to purchase a deep socket wrench and a socket set, which we need, we think, to fix our generator.  It was the primary purpose of our visit to Novey's.  We found the guy with the spiffy blue Novey polo shirt and the key to the display case, and he fished out the bits we wanted.  We already knew, from our other shopping excursions 'round these parts, that if it comes out of a locked case, you can't just stick it in your cart - it gets walked up to the cashier, and you pick it up and pay for it on the way out.  Off he goes, up to the front, while we nod and wave and then finish our shopping.  Only, by the time we got up to the caja with our other odds and ends, we forgot about the wrench and socket set. (It could be noted that if we would have remembered the tools, we wouldn't have known any words to help us get them from behind the counter, but probably wild exaggerated gestures would have done the trick eventually.)

As I'm emptying the Novey bag this morning, I say, "I can't BELIEVE we forgot the wrench and socket set.  How could we be so STUPID?" And without missing a beat, Ean replies sarcastically, "REALLY?  You can't believe it?  You can't believe that we would be that stupid?!" It dawns on us.  It is 11:52 a.m. We are Nattering Nabobs of Negativism.

I say, "Start over!"

Ten minutes later, Ean is engaging in his new favorite hobby: the door to the starboard head, which is still off its hinges - hinge-less, actually, to be more accurate.  You can read about how we got help to fix the port head door here.  Ean is tackling the starboard door on his own, but I am his trusty, if half-hearted, assistant. (I suggested we just throw the door away and put up a shower curtain.)  He broke off a drill bit in one of the holes for the hinge screws, so he asks me to bring him The Big Screwdriver, which is one of our favorite tools, because it is so multifunctional.  I say, "If it doesn't work on the screws or the broken drill bit, maybe you could just beat the door into submission."  His lightening-quick response: "Or I could just STAB myself."

Image borrowed from the cheery, ever-optimistic Livia
(SV Estrellita 5.10b -pfffftt, what kinda goofy boat name is that?)

Oh dear.  It is now 12:08 p.m. and we are resetting the clock again.

Sometimes CRUISING SUCKS.  People will tell you it doesn't.  But.  Really.  It.  Does.  And now it is 12:31 p.m., and NO, dear reader, I am NOT going to reset the clock.  I didn't say it out loud - doesn't count.

Tune in tomorrow (or maybe the next day?) to see if we manage to get through 24 hours of relentless POSITIVITY.

PS.  I just realized that I wrote this post on one of our many technological devices from which we cannot access the internet while on board.  And this particular device (an iPad) doesn't have a USB port, so I can't transfer the file anywhere unless I go ashore and find a wifi connection.  So. HOW COOL IS THAT?  An excuse to get lunch at Mi Ranchito, which is super close to the dock, and they're really friendly, they have free wifi, and good food - the most awesome papaya-melón smoothie - mmm hmmm....  Life is good.  (phew.  I turned that right around, didn't I?)  

PPS. And now it's 3:15 p.m., and we had a VERY nice lunch, and the Batido de Papaya y Melón  was AWESOME.  We have now been positive for 3 hours and 7 minutes - and counting!!!

Oh, JOY!

Polar Behrs (pt. 3)

We're waving off our new friend from Ustupu, Andres. With him, heading back to his village, is our bag of garbage which he has offered to take (we have given him some money, of course), probably to prevent us from throwing it all in the sea.

He has also brought us a Guna Yala courtesy flag to fly on our starboard spreader along with the Panamanian one. It is comprised of three horizontal bands, one yellow in between two red. In the yellow band is a swastika, but, as he demonstrates, it is oriented vertically opposite from the Nazi symbol. (We know from our guidebooks that it predates it historically as well.)

Polar Behrs (pt. 2)

It is dawn and with two anchors we are holding against a six knot current that the previous evening drove us onto a coral head at the mouth of a bay.

It is a recommended anchorage in the latest edition of Eric Bauhaus's guide to Panama. It is, moreover, a bay that he himself discovered by air and subsequently named. La Bahia Golondrina. To our regret, we discover that Bauhaus's description of his find omitted some of the pertinent details, such as the width and placement of the deeper water at the entrance to the bay and the strength of the current washing across it and up onto the left bank. Since there are no tide tables for the immediate area; we have to rely on Bauhaus's soundings, purportedly calculated for low low water.

Despite Jane's efforts to drive us off with our port and only engine, the current pushes us further onto the coral and nearer to the shore. We stand in shock, helplessly  listening to the starboard rudder scrape and crunch across the top of the coral as it holds JOY both aloft and fast.

Polar Behrs

It is around six in the evening. Jane and I are sitting in the cockpit eating grilled chicken breast and peas and rice, Jane has a rum and coke; I have a Bombay Sapphire martini with blue cheese stuffed olives. The sun is full and slants down between us and the Panamanian mountains, dark and majestic under their clouded skies. The air is hot and humid, but a breeze blows deliciously every few moments.

...rewind eight hours...

Follow the Fat Lady's Feet

A typical street scene in Cartagena's Walled City

Cartagena's Walled City is about seven blocks by eight, but using "blocks" as a descriptor lacks precision. The fantastically enormous wall undulates around the shoreline, compressing and stretching each "block." There are several plazas and parks, which might be square-shaped but are just as likely to have triangular or trapezoidal twists. Four-hundred-year-old churches anchor the plazas, monasteries have been made over into $400-a-night hotels, and the oldest and most substantial edificios are linked by crowded and narrow streets. The street names change at every "corner" - another imprecise term - and each name, each crooked block, comes with a story.

We have spent hours and hours wandering around, soaking up the atmosphere, people-watching, and snapping photos of colorful colonial-era buildings with giant doors and balconies draped with bougainvillea. You might think that after such extensive walking in such a small area, we would have some sense of how to get around. Alas, our refrain is, "we've been here before," but with no understanding of how it came to be so or what might come next. We have no schema.

Taking Pictures of "The Natives"

This is NOT the story of how we accidentally took a 17 mile hike up one side of a big mountain and down the other side. (You can see a map of the hike - with elevation changes! - here.)  It's not about my over-taxed cardiovascular system, and its valiant and ultimately successful efforts to keep my brain oxygenated during the first 300 meters of the hike (we're talking vertical meters: up, of course). Or my legs, which trembled with exhaustion as we stepped our way down a giant boulder staircase, while I wondered every time I committed myself to the next rock: Will this leg, at this moment, support my weght? Or my feet, inside my decade-old tennis shoes, performing like champs up until about mile 15, at which point they both failed catastrophically, sprouting huge and painful blisters.

It's not a story about Ean, who slipped off a rock while crossing a stream in the first few miles of the hike, landing with his full weight on his right thigh muscle. He ended up in the stream, which was shallow and sandy-bottomed - but still, a fear of drowning is hard to reason with. The psychological effects of the accident were magnified on the aforementioned giant boulder staircase, where the same slip and fall might have been deadly. Ean didn't own up to the terror, during the hike, nor to his blisters, rubbed raw in his Keens. And oh by the way, his thigh muscle would have really appreciated a day of taking it easy....

No, I'm not going to whine, here (or hardly at all) about how old and out-of-shape we are. Instead, I really want to talk about "the natives" - los indigenos - the indigenous folk - that we met along the way.

This woman was selling jewelry made of beads and seeds, and we bought a couple of bracelets.  There were amulets painted with the words, "love," and "peace." 

Yes, we DID have their permission to take this picture! Does that make it okay?

Cows: One Year Later

Last August, we were in Milwaukee, and one of the must-do items on our "bye-bye list" was to pet a cow. I don't know: did we think we'd never see a cow again? I can't explain it. We were just a couple of weeks away from boat ownership at that point, so maybe we were delirious. Anyway, here's the post, from exactly a year ago today, that tells the story of our cow-petting. They were calves, actually. more JOY everywhere!: Nobody Likes a Crybaby. (The calves weren't the crybabies.  You have to watch the mercifully brief, poor quality video, to see what I'm talking about.)

Not quite a year later, we found ourselves in Haiti, on Ile a Vache, the Island of Cows.