one thousand miles to go
Belize to Panama (Day 1) - Hideaway Caye, Belize - Heading South-East
At 0600, my alarm rudely wakes me. Still lying in bed, I reach up above and behind my head, swatting various pieces of clutter in search of my phone. I locate it. Finally, I can silence the alarm and drift off back to sleep.
My head is sore from one too many rum punches the night before. Yesterday afternoon, we hooked on to a mooring ball at Hideaway Caye, hopped into the dinghy, and zipped across to the bar - just for one. It never is.
I am half conscious when, some hours later, Charles pops his head into my cabin and suggests “we should start seizing the day”. He offers tea as consolation for getting out of bed. I gratefully accept. Today, we are setting off on a ~1,000 nautical mile passage from Belize to Panama. And there is a fair bit we need to do before we set sail.
As I clamber out bed, I am relieved to find that I’m not the only one craving a slow morning. After a quick briefing around the breakfast table, we shake away the sleepiness, and set about stowing, stowing, and more stowing. Since we will be beating into the wind for the first few days, the boat will be heeled over at an angle that will make daily life somewhat uncomfortable, so we are pre-emptively trying to ground any wannabe projectiles.
Our stowing mission is temporarily interrupted by the sudden and strong smell of fuel, which makes it unbearable to stay down below. So, Lieneke and I head to the foredeck for an impromptu yoga session, whilst Sam and Ben take out all the jerry cans they just finished stowing in search of the culprit. They find a vent open on one of them. Charles climbs into the lazarette to mop up the puddle of fuel. This helps remove the worst of the smell, but fuel still lingers in the air.
We detach ourselves from the mooring buoy and begin weaving around the reefs until we reach the open ocean, once again using aerial satellite shots from Google Maps as a key navigational aid. The charts aren’t particularly reliable here.
And so, we are off! Our plan is to head East from Belize, making sure we stay at least 100 nautical miles offshore as we round pirate’s corner to the North-East of Nicaragua, then start bearing South towards our intended destination: Bocas del Toro in Panama.
Early afternoon, after wolfing down a hotdog which only served to make me miss Perelle sizzlers back home in Guernsey, I head down for a snooze.
Come 1600, it’s time for my watch. On the horizon ahead, I can see Glover’s Reef - an atoll which we hear has fantastic diving. Looking out at the turquoise blue waters of the reef, Lieneke wishes we could stop there. We initially aimed to, but since it’s only a fair-weather anchorage, it’s not an option for us today. So, we carry on beating.
Once again, we don’t have any wind data. So we are sailing simply by looking up at the wind vane, watching the telltales on the sails, and by feel. Usually overwhelmed by numbers dancing in front of my eyes, I realise I rather like it this way.
By early evening, we are now very heeled over, and it is challenging to cook. Charles emerges from the galley looking traumatised, sweat streaming down his face. He murmurs something about a war-zone and projectiles as he slumps down in the cockpit, head back, eyes closed. Choosing to cook a green thai curry is a rather ambitious endeavour at this degree of heel, let alone because this is Charles so of course it’s not simply a matter of adding some thai curry paste!
The sea state keeps building. I lend a hand in the galley. I cautiously slide open a cupboard to grab the cooking oil, only for a full house of mugs and glasses to come flying out at me. Getting everything back in the cupboard without it flying out again requires several attempts and a team effort. When it’s finally done, Charles and I look at eachother and laugh. Sailing really makes you appreciate the simple things in life - like a level kitchen!
There is a beautiful sunset, with pink and orange hues dancing upon the waves. Then darkness is upon us, and it’s time to switch the chart plotters to night mode and pop the red lights on in the cockpit.
Lieneke is feeling a little sea sick. As she begins to move towards the side of the boat, I realise she is not tethered on, and launch myself from the winches on port side across to the starboard rail, grabbing hold of her lifejacket just in time for her to lean over. When I reflect back, I can see it all in slow motion. The experience is quite surreal - being airborne as the boat keeps moving forward, rolling side to side in the sea state.
Charles passes up a steaming hot bowl of thai green curry. It fills a gap I didn’t even know I had, and has me instantly craving more. Then I get my head down as Argonaut sails onwards into the night. With 8 knots of boat speed, we are making excellent progress.