Decisions, Decisions

The Big Dipper, huge and bright on the horizon, points north to Polaris. The Southern Cross above Hanalei’s stern shows true south. Both constellations are familiar and inviting, but we must choose a direction.

With our vaccine appointments comes the hope heard ’round the world. For the first time in a year we’re thinking ahead. We’ve come to the Perlas to discuss the future while circumnavigating Isla del Rey. We’ll sort out options in a quiet anchorage; share our dreams walking on a wild, deserted beach; resolve our plans while dinghying up a jungle river.

No cell service. No drama.

The west side of Isla del Rey is full of beaches that are hard to land a dinghy on. The southern swell and big tides mean a surfer landing and a wet, dangerous return. We’re bound for the one charted anchorage here, a bay on the southern peninsula.

It’s nearing sunset when we reach Concholon Bay. From a mile out the entrance looks straightforward, with a cayuco–one of the brightly-painted local boats– anchored inside. Closer in, it’s clear the boat is on the move.

One of four fishermen aboard is waving, warning us away.

Between us and the anchorage, a line of white floats bobs behind their boat, a fishing net that stretches most of the way across the entrance.

Are they laying it out or picking up? Stephan picks up the binoculars to suss the situation.

The kid is still waving, so they must have just laid it. We don’t want to tear up their net or foul our rudder.

Hanalei reverses.

The boat turns toward us, signaling to go around them to port. It looks narrow and rocky where they’re gesturing. Our cruising guide says to favor the other side. I keep reversing as they zoom out to us.

These guys are young but they’ve grown up fishing. They understand the water and the seabed. I welcome local knowledge, but they might not realize how much depth we need. Their boat would be fine in half a meter; ours draws two.

I explain the problem. They seem dubious now, so I ask if there’s someplace close and safe to anchor. They’re all giving directions at once in Spanish, so it’s hard to understand. I ask them to show us.

The boat’s name is Milagro de Dios, God’s Miracle. The boat or a different miracle? They assure me the boat is a miracle. I concur. They lead us to another bay with a trickier entrance. We thank them, give them orange juice. They offer us fish. This tiny bit of interaction from a safe distance is the reality of cruising during Covid.

Is it time to up anchor and change continents?

What’s Next?

How do we frame a talk about the future?

Stephan and I approach planning differently. He’s a convergent thinker. He narrows possibilities to find one true answer, like solving a math problem. He trusts his mind.

I’m divergent. My imagination keeps me outside the box, expanding possibilities with what-ifs. I trust my gut.
We’re each a bit suspicious of the other’s process, but it somehow works.

We both want resolution of uncertainty, want to base this decision on our values, not reactively. What’s important to us, what can only be done by boat, what’s realistically possible.

Uncertainty=Anxiety

Most cruising destinations are still closed. There’s a pandemic to consider, plus hurricane seasons and long-term goals. Our plans to sail to Chile are on hold indefinitely.

We’ve lived with uncertainty for so long. With uncertainty comes anxiety. The same imagination that nurtures a dream of cruising can produce irrational fears of the unknown. The mind craves resolution. Cruisers, who’ve worked so hard to get where they are, want the illusion of control.

My emotional plate already includes an all-that-can-eat-you helping of anxiety. The job of executive function is to evaluate, count, analyze, sort, reason, and decide. It’s what the mind does. When you’re a hammer, everything looks like a nail. This thinking can lead me astray from my own true north. It makes me rationalize, ignore my gut, and minimize emotions.

Unwanted

We slip around Punta Cocos to a sweet anchorage that’s well-protected from the southern swell.

It's also well-protected by a Panamanian Coast Guard station and a WWII airstrip. The base is on a bluff above San Telmo Bay. A walkway spans the bluff to a spot ten meters above the beach, where a ramp leads down to a pontoon, where a patrol boat and barge are docked.

As soon as we drop anchor, a siren goes off. Someone is yelling at us, waving us off, bleeping the siren like a police car ordering pulling us over. I can’t raise him on the radio, but we get the message.

We move to the next beach up, nose into southwest wind.
As the tide drops, a disturbance in the water becomes visible, but it’s hard to see it at night.

What Do You Dream Of?

Tonight’s discussion is around our values.

What’s important?

• Family time

• Travel, experience diverse cultures

• Meet new people

• Dive and snorkel

• Hang out with old friends

• Good sailing conditions

What are your cruising dreams?

Mine? Easy-peasy. Everywhere.

The places we agree on are: Micronesia, Melanesia, New Zealand, Patagonia (Chile/Argentina), Brazil, Alaska, Asia, Indian Ocean islands, Europe, Africa, Mexico, US coasts.

We both get that there’s not enough time to do everything, not at the rate we move.

Uncharted

Next morning calls for different triage. The wind has shifted to the north, spun us around. The disturbance next to us rears an ugly head long before low tide. An uncharted reef has grown perilously close.

As the tide drops and our anchor rode flattens, it’s getting worse. We ought to sit tight, wait for low, rising tide before weighing anchor. But the mind craves resolution, action. When you’re a hammer, everything looks like a nail, a problem to solve boosted by adrenaline.

The mind does not remember how many times you’ve said, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
We decide to leave. When we have ten meters of chain left, there’s a clunk and rattle. The windless stops pulling up the anchor. Hanalei bucks.

The Chief Engineer realizes the chain is wrapped around a rocky outcrop, perhaps a part of the same uncharted reef. We’re on a short leash with not much room to maneuver. If we lose control, we’ll blow straight into the reef.

The answer is to spin around, much as we’ve done for the past year. I turn the boat to port and reverse in a slow circle, hoping our future won’t involve months of insurance claims.

It works. The windlass is running again. Stephan throws me hand signals to show the anchor is free and I throttle up.
As SV Hanalei backs out of the anchorage, I keep a stinkeye on the reef longer than necessary.

Really, boats are a lot of trouble.

It’s a little overwhelming, having all these options.

Triage

It’s time for triage, the painful relinquishment of dreams.

What can only be done on our own bottom?

• Island nations

• High-latitude exploration

What can be skipped, put off or done another way?

• US coasts can be put off for a few more years.

• Europe can wait. We’ll charter a sailboat or canal boat when we’re ready.

• Same with Mexico.

• Africa, Asia, and Brazil by air and land.

Once we’ve finished, the places on our bucket list are: Micronesia, Melanesia, New Zealand, Alaska, Patagonia, Indian Ocean islands.

Looks like we’re going west.

But how? And when?

Fair winds,
Christine

Do Tell!

How do you choose which dreams to follow?