thunder – this was the hurricane season.
Five days out from Miami we reached Manzana in Panama at two in the morning. Work began immediately and by morning we had finished loading. The pilot came aboard and we chugged off into a channel marked by buoys, passed through a breakwater made from big chunks of rock that encircled almost all the bay, and sat riding at anchor five kilometres off the coast waiting our turn to go through the Panama Canal. The pilot left clutching his obligatory bottle of whisky, while from the flag drawer we selected and ran up the red and white flag of the canal. Wojciech told me that when entering Libya’s waters that country’s flag must be higher, as well as bigger, than any other flag on the ship. Fortunately this is easy. If you don’t have a suitable exhibit, all you have to do is paint an old bed sheet green. That is the Libyan flag, plain green.
Swinging around out there in the middle of the bay the sea looked fairly calm, but every now and then there was a terrific whoomp as we hit against the swell of the tide and pulled up sharp on our anchor. Chief mate Martin threw his fishing lines in from the bow but with no luck. He said it would be better later when it got dark and he could put the light on to attract the fish.
Meanwhile I watched four ships come out of the canal and sail away across the bay heading north and I counted five other container ships parked and waiting, as we were, to go through the next morning.
After dinner I went aft to check on the fishing. Yuri, the huge Russian bear of an electrician, had joined the hopeful and was jagging for squid. As the sky slowly darkened the lights came on aboard the ships around the bay and made a pretty sight. Night slowly fell and it grew darker until finally I could see into the water with the lantern that had been hung over the side. Schools of small fish flitted and flashed through the beam of light and every now and then a big fish dashed from the shadows to eat one. But no fish was stupid enough to get caught for us to eat. ‘Most unusual,’ the crew said. Not for me. No one ever catches anything when I am around. Jonah they call me. I gave up and went to bed.
The ship tugged on her chain all night like a dog shaking a rat. I was told that the swell was very strong here – if you fell in you’d be whisked away out to sea and gone forever. The thump of the engines coming on woke me at four but I went back to sleep while we crossed the bay. When the ship was ready to enter the canal at five-thirty, Wojciech called me on the phone. I had a quick shower and was on the bridge just as it was getting light. Ahead of us the lights of the Canal illuminated the sky, on one side the lights of the settlement twinkled, while behind the dawn was breaking rosy pink. It was extraordinarily beautiful, with a surreal quality.
Approaching the first lock we could see the ship ahead of us, a Japanese vessel. Then the gates closed and we watched it rise slowly, slowly, until it looked very high.
The Canal pilot came aboard. He stays on the ship for the entire eight to twelve hours that it takes to go through. The pilot, an elderly American with a great letter-box mouth that made him look like the old-time film star George Formby, said he had been in Panama for thirty-nine years, and that there were now only twenty-five Americans left since Panama had been given back to the locals in 1999. His main interest in me was to find out if I played bridge. I was afraid I had to disappoint him but I offered him a game of poker.
We entered the first lock. The water had been allowed to flow into it until it was level with us, then the gate was opened, we moved in and the gate was shut. The two tugs that had guided us in, one on either side in case our engines stopped and we went in sideways, sheared away and went directly to the next ship behind us. If we had gone in wrong way around there would not have been enough room and we would have been in big
Five days out from Miami we reached Manzana in Panama at two in the morning. Work began immediately and by morning we had finished loading. The pilot came aboard and we chugged off into a channel marked by buoys, passed through a breakwater made from big chunks of rock that encircled almost all the bay, and sat riding at anchor five kilometres off the coast waiting our turn to go through the Panama Canal. The pilot left clutching his obligatory bottle of whisky, while from the flag drawer we selected and ran up the red and white flag of the canal. Wojciech told me that when entering Libya’s waters that country’s flag must be higher, as well as bigger, than any other flag on the ship. Fortunately this is easy. If you don’t have a suitable exhibit, all you have to do is paint an old bed sheet green. That is the Libyan flag, plain green.
Swinging around out there in the middle of the bay the sea looked fairly calm, but every now and then there was a terrific whoomp as we hit against the swell of the tide and pulled up sharp on our anchor. Chief mate Martin threw his fishing lines in from the bow but with no luck. He said it would be better later when it got dark and he could put the light on to attract the fish.
Meanwhile I watched four ships come out of the canal and sail away across the bay heading north and I counted five other container ships parked and waiting, as we were, to go through the next morning.
After dinner I went aft to check on the fishing. Yuri, the huge Russian bear of an electrician, had joined the hopeful and was jagging for squid. As the sky slowly darkened the lights came on aboard the ships around the bay and made a pretty sight. Night slowly fell and it grew darker until finally I could see into the water with the lantern that had been hung over the side. Schools of small fish flitted and flashed through the beam of light and every now and then a big fish dashed from the shadows to eat one. But no fish was stupid enough to get caught for us to eat. ‘Most unusual,’ the crew said. Not for me. No one ever catches anything when I am around. Jonah they call me. I gave up and went to bed.
The ship tugged on her chain all night like a dog shaking a rat. I was told that the swell was very strong here – if you fell in you’d be whisked away out to sea and gone forever. The thump of the engines coming on woke me at four but I went back to sleep while we crossed the bay. When the ship was ready to enter the canal at five-thirty, Wojciech called me on the phone. I had a quick shower and was on the bridge just as it was getting light. Ahead of us the lights of the Canal illuminated the sky, on one side the lights of the settlement twinkled, while behind the dawn was breaking rosy pink. It was extraordinarily beautiful, with a surreal quality.
Approaching the first lock we could see the ship ahead of us, a Japanese vessel. Then the gates closed and we watched it rise slowly, slowly, until it looked very high.
The Canal pilot came aboard. He stays on the ship for the entire eight to twelve hours that it takes to go through. The pilot, an elderly American with a great letter-box mouth that made him look like the old-time film star George Formby, said he had been in Panama for thirty-nine years, and that there were now only twenty-five Americans left since Panama had been given back to the locals in 1999. His main interest in me was to find out if I played bridge. I was afraid I had to disappoint him but I offered him a game of poker.
We entered the first lock. The water had been allowed to flow into it until it was level with us, then the gate was opened, we moved in and the gate was shut. The two tugs that had guided us in, one on either side in case our engines stopped and we went in sideways, sheared away and went directly to the next ship behind us. If we had gone in wrong way around there would not have been enough room and we would have been in big
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