October 18 - November 4, 2008

Passage to Cartagena, Colombia

The Colombian coast from the island of Aruba to Cartagena is regarded by many as the fifth worst ocean passage in the world. During the summer and fall of 2008 while anchored in Spanish Waters, Curacao, we pondered how we would cross this challenging 400-mile stretch of blue water. Nearly every evening the sky to the southwest over the South American mainland would erupt with violent thunderstorms. "That's where we're going," we'd whisper nervously and shake our heads.

Colombia's reputation for drug smuggling and kidnappings is well known. In the past, mariners have given the Colombian coast a wide berth to avoid encounters with pirates. However, doing so put their boats at risk in the treacherous seas of the southwest Caribbean. In recent years, the Colombian coast guard has improved their patrols, and sailors headed for Cartagena have found it possible to safely make the trip near shore with several stops along the way. Lourae and Randy Kenoffel of S/V Pizzazz put together a free cruising guide for the Colombian coast that has become the bible for cruisers heading west to Colombia (available on the Caribbean Compass Web site). The key to a safe passage is to travel the Colombian coast when the weather and seas moderate during the transitions between wet and dry seasons: late September through November or April through early June.

Following is the log of our successful passage to Cartagena.

Caribbean Soul anchored in Cartagena just off the 400 year old Fort San Sebastian del Pastelillo

October 18: Santa Cruz Bay, Curacao

After two months in Spanish Waters, Curacao, we're chomping at the bit to get underway. I've provisioned the boat for the San Blas islands (our destination after Cartagena) with Curacao's wide selection of canned goods. If we stay any longer, we'll have to raise the waterline. Hurricane Omar gave us a close call and delayed our departure by a week, but today we sail out of the harbor to begin our long-awaited trip to Cartagena. Our first stop is Santa Cruz Bay on the northern tip of Curacao.

The downwind sail along the west coast of Curacao is pleasant and gives Nick a chance to try out the new boom brake we purchased from another cruiser. The trip to Cartagena is downwind (wind behind us), which presents certain challenges for a sailboat. Most importantly, you do not want to accidentally jibe the mainsail. This can easily happen offshore with following waves tossing the stern of the boat from side to side. During an accidental jibe, the mainsail suddenly slams from one side of the boat to the other, possibly damaging the rigging or injuring a crew member. Keeping the headsail full and not flogging is another challenge. Unfortunately, we're not equipped with a pole to keep the sail extended. We either have to sail higher on the wind or not use the sail. The final challenge is to keep the autopilot steering the boat in a following sea. As the waves push the stern from side to side, the headsail will flog, the mainsail tries to jibe, and the autopilot throws in the towel beeping and flashing "FAIL!" This is no way to travel over 450 miles. To keep the boat motion comfortable for the crew, keep the sails full, and allow the autopilot to steer, we must abandon the downwind rhumb line (straight course) and zig-zag on a broad reach to the destination. Hey, if you want to go straight to your destination, buy a power boat.

We arrive in Santa Cruz Bay around sunset and find the best anchor holding already taken. Fortunately the weather is calm and no storms test our anchor set.

25 nautical miles

This American warship was anchored off Willemstad, Curacao, the day we left. American military ships are frequent visitors in Curacao.

October 19 - October 24: Aruba

Most west-bound cruisers pass up Aruba for one reason: you must take your boat into a cruise ship dock to check in and again to check out. The jagged concrete dock lined with black tires is not designed for small boats and will certainly mark, if not damage, your topsides. Even though we're still anal about our new paint job, we decide to stop in Aruba to break up the trip and wait for more settled weather. Despite the logistical difficulties, the Aruban officials are friendly and the process is free. We spend six nights anchored north of the airport. The island itself is clean and colorful in typical Dutch fashion. They cater to the cruise ship crowds and prices are high. However, we find some good stores, so I manage to squeeze a few more canned goods into our lockers.

Nick and some other boats have started an SSB net just for cruisers going to Colombia. Every morning and night, he talks to other boats that are already underway. One night we watch a terrible thunderstorm to our west and talk to several boats who are in the storm. We're thankful we chose to wait a little longer in Aruba.

56 nautical miles

North airport anchorage in Aruba

October 25-26: Aruba to Cabo de la Vela

Chris Parker is forecasting trade winds under 20 knots and seas 4-6 feet, so we weigh anchor and head back to the nasty dock to check out. In the company of Island Dreamin', Sandcastle, and MiLady, we turn our tire-smudged bow west (later we notice a missing chunk of paint--sigh).

There's a good bit of ship traffic between Aruba and the Monjes islands, but our Automated Information System (AIS) system identifies the names and headings of vessels that might be a problem. I call one ship that will be passing close by, and feel a thrill of power when he offers to alter course. Without AIS, I wouldn't know the ship's name and would never get a radio response from their bridge. Later, the cruise ship Coral Princess is steaming up on our rear. He asks us to alter course, so we oblige. The ship is underway to Cartagena, and the officer gives us an updated weather report. As we watch the white behemoth disappear in the sunset, we say, "now that's the way to go to Cartagena!"

Conditions are good throughout the night, although as expected we must make several jibes across the rhumb line. In previous years, boats entering Colombian waters have reported being approached by an unlit vessel manned by black-suited, armed men wearing ski masks and goggles. The men turned out to be the Colombian coast guard. Their unusual attire is designed to hide their identities from the drug smugglers they intercept. I watch the radar for signs of such a vessel sneaking up on us, but none appears. I must admit to being disappointed. As it turns out, we never see the coast guard during our entire trip.

Around Punta Gallinas, we have another collision course situation. While trying to sleep during Nick's watch, I hear him jibe the mainsail to change course. A few minutes later, he asks me to "get up and talk to these ships!" I try to clear my sleepy brain and interpret the AIS screen. Nick has altered course to avoid a ship coming up on our stern at 20 knots, but now there is another ship heading straight for us. We're too far away yet for the ships to see our lights, but within 30 minutes of a collision. I call the two ships and we ultimately squeeze between them, a sailboat sandwiched between two ships on our AIS screen.

The wind dies around sunrise as we pass the busy ship anchorage at Bahia Portete. We're tired and ready to get around the corner to Cabo de la Vela, so we crank up the engine and motorsail the last few hours. As we enter the anchorage, we're on the lookout for local fishing nets that might foul our propeller. When Nick goes to the stern to pull in our fishing lines, he discovers a very tired tuna on the rod and reel. In the process of getting the fish onboard, the hand line reel falls overboard. So we have to circle and do a man overboard drill to retrieve the reel. After all this circling, we finally drop the hook and feel it dig in. Sigh. Now we can rest.

In an unexpected burst of energy, I decide to cook breakfast burritos. That's when I open the fridge and discover a milk container and a jar of salsa have both spilled all over everything. That's going to smell nice very soon. So I have to completely clean the refrigerator before we can have our breakfast burritos. Oh the joys of rolling in following seas!

After breakfast, it's nap time. For dinner: fresh tuna!

131 nautical miles

Sunset at Cabo de la Vela. The coastline here is arid and brown.

Fishing is great around Cabo de la Vela. This tuna made a great dinner to celebrate our arrival in Colombia.

October 27: Cabo de la Vela to Five Bays

Expecting a fast downwind run with current, we depart around noon with our original group of boats plus Dagmar and Kalida. Every boat has fishing lines deployed. Soon we're joined by a pod of the biggest dolphin we've ever seen. We enjoy their company, but we're glad to see them go so the fish will start biting. And it's a feeding frenzy! Everyone catches all the tuna they want.

After a few hours, we've drifted a few miles north of the rhumb line and decide to jibe south for awhile. We're about ready to jibe back to the north, when the reel starts singing. Nick runs to the stern yelling, "slow the boat down!" Well, that's not easy to do downwind. We quickly furl the headsail and I try with some difficulty to sail slowly while Nick fights a big dorado (mahi-mahi). A second dorado bites on the hand line, but thankfully it gets off because we have our hands full with one. When the fish nears the boat, I steer up into the wind to slow down even more. Nick finally lands the fish, which flops on deck heaving with exhaustion, as is Nick. The fish measures an impressive 55 inches.

We put the boat back on a downwind course while Nick tries to filet the fish on our narrow side decks. While he's struggling not to completely butcher this beautiful fish, I'm struggling to control the boat in the building wind and seas. Finally, I give up and tell him we'll have to put the second reef in the main (reduce the size of the sail). Nick ties the fish down and tethers himself to a jackline before going on deck to reef the main. The seas are bigger now and as we turn upwind, we take several waves over the boat. Nick has to stop and hold on several times, while down below I hear a crash as several cartons of fruit juice spill onto the floor. To complicate matters, one of the batcars on the mainsail sticks. Finally the mainsail is reduced and we unfurl some headsail to balance the boat. By sunset, the fish is fileted, the autopilot is steering the boat, and the carpet smells like sour pineapple juice. The rest of the night is relatively uneventful, except for our obligatory, nightly collision course drama.

During the night, squalls have built on the mainland and just before dawn they finally catch up to us offshore. The wind picks up and there's rain, but no significant lightning. The seas are a bit confused so Nick is handsteering when the autopilot, powered on in standby mode, suddenly blinks off. Oh great! The idea of handsteering the remaining 100+ miles is not appealing. Under dreary skies, we arrive at the Five Bays area on the central Colombian coast and anchor in the middle bay, Guayraca.

125 nautical miles

Nick caught this 55-inch dorado leaving Cabo de la Vela. Getting him onboard and fileted was quite a job.

October 28-30: Five Bays

Guayraca is a lovely bay surrounded by lush green hills and mountains. The downside of this terrain is that it produces williwaws, which are strong, sudden gusts of wind from any direction. They're most pronounced at night when the wind may suddenly go from 10 knots to 30 or 40 knots for several seconds. Each boat swings differently in these winds, and so it's necessary to anchor with plenty of space. Between the williwaws, squalls, and northeast swell, neither of us sleeps well for the next three nights.

The friendly residents of the bay live a modest lifestyle, with no electricity or running water. Reynaldo Garcia lives in a humble shack on the beach and eagerly welcomes cruising yachts. He enjoys talking to cruisers in nice, slow Spanish that we can understand. During our visit he arranges for Julio to take a group of us into Santa Marta for the day. We enjoy an inexpensive local lunch and a stroll around the city, followed by shopping at an upscale Exito supermarket. Since Guayraca is a national park, we must pay a park fee (about $10 each) to reenter the area.

During our stay here, Nick cleans the electrical connections on the autopilot, and it comes back to life. Friends on Taravana give Nick some bearings to replace those missing in our sticking batcar, so our mainsail is now fully functional again. Now we're just waiting for the winds and seas to moderate before we continue on our journey.

Dugout canoe on the beach at Guayraca, the middle of the Five Bays.

Reynaldo Garcia loves to talk to cruisers and offer assistance.

Muchachos at Guayraca

Don't get this caught in your propeller! Avoiding fishing nets is one of
the challenges when coming into Colombian anchorages.

Approaching the Five Bays area north of Santa Marta. At certain times of the year you can see snow on the distant mountains.

Santa Marta

Statue of Tayrona Indians. We saw several men in town who wore the traditional hat, but we were advised not to take pictures without offering them money.

A dozen gringos in a van--a FARC goldmine?! We were told that FARC guerillas
(GUH-rillas, not GO-rillas, for you Captain Ron fans) are far away in the mountains.

October 31 - November 1: Rodadero

After three days in the same spot, one doesn't expect any anchor surprises. To our consternation, we awake this morning to find the boats pointed in various directions (not unusual), but we are now sitting uncomfortably close to MiLady. Our GPS indicates we haven't dragged, nor have they. Perhaps we're sitting differently on our chains. Although we weren't planning to leave until tomorrow, we figure if we're going to re-anchor we might as well make the 14-mile trip to Rodadero. So off we go. And the anchor was stuck solid, by the way.

We make our way out of the bay in 20 knots of wind with a long 6-8 foot swell on the beam. As we approach the narrow cut between the mainland and Aguja island, we search in the binoculars for the dangerous rocks in the middle of the channel. All we see are fishing boats in our path. As we enter the cut, we finally see green water breaking over the rocks and steer to the right of them, avoiding the fishing boats too. Once through, the wind and the seas lay down and we have to motorsail into Rodadero. In fact, this is the last we see of an east wind for the rest of the trip.

No other boats are anchored off the festive beach of Rodadero, a popular tourist destination. Our arrival is met with curiosity, and a number of paddle boaters come by to gawk and ask questions. "Bienvenidos!" they call out. Later, three other boats from Five Bays arrive, having assumed, I suppose, that conditions were OK since we hadn't returned. We have an overdue good night's sleep, without williwaws or storms to disturb us.

By the next morning, the wind has made a decided shift to the west. A low pressure system is forming northeast of Panama and disrupting the easterly trade winds. This system ultimately turns into Category 4 Hurricane Paloma. The forecast had called for a period of moderate east winds before the westerlies took over, but this has not happened. It looks like we'll be motoring for the rest of our trip.

Island Dreamin', Sandcastle, MiLady, and Taravana arrive early, and we all hire a local boat to ferry us into town. Garbage collectors are busy on the beach and around town, making Rodadero one of the cleanest places we've visited in the Caribbean. The tourist chief, who works out of a pagoda on the beach, welcomes us enthusiastically. He warns us to keep our dinghies raised and locked to avoid potential theft. He wants everyone to enjoy his town.

We head for bed early with plans to depart before sunrise, but there's no sleep for the weary tonight. It's Saturday night, and music blares from the beach where the party is just getting started. To make matters worse, a south wind has us laying parallel to the beach and abeam of the west swell. As I lay in our rolling bed with my blood rushing from head to toe, I contemplate the meaning of "untenable anchorage."

14 nautical miles

A palm-fringed beach with a backdrop of high-rise hotels at Rodadero.

Curious paddle-boaters came by to gawk at the American sailboat. "Bienvenidos!"

The narrow cut between the mainland and Aguja island. The whitecaps are
breaking over rocks awash.

The "dinghy dock" at Rodadero is on the front porch of the tourist office. The tourist chief didn't want cruisers to have any problems in his town.

November 2-3: Punta Hermosa

We weigh anchor at 4:00 A.M. under squally skies. On the beach, the music is still blaring and tourists are playing in the surf. You have to admire the partying fortitude of the South Americans. Winds are light and southerly, so we're able to motorsail toward the dreaded Rio Magdalena. As predicted by Chris Parker, we encounter up to 2 knots of countercurrent as we leave Rodadero. Without good wind for sailing, it's necessary to motor against the current. One boat, unable to make even 2 knots of speed, turns back. Our 90-hp Ford Lehman keeps our speed above 4 knots, so we continue.

Seven miles from the Rio Magdalena, the water turns a dense brown and tree debris litters the water. This area is known for confused seas and large debris flowing out of the river from inland floods. The reason we waited in Five Bays was so we could pass this rough area of water in calmer winds and seas. Just a few days ago, boats were seeing 30 knots of wind and 10-12 foot seas at the Magdalena. Being wimpy, I suppose, we didn't care for the possibility of having tree limbs, floating appliances, or dead drug smugglers flung onto our decks in such conditions. We keep a sharp lookout, but we see nothing but tree limbs on the flat seas.

As we approach the anchorage at Punta Hermosa, we give the shoal area a wide berth. A sailboat was lost here a few years ago. (Note: A previous boat reported the shoal had extended and recommended going more south and west than the Pizazz waypoint before heading into the anchorage.) Normally this anchorage offers excellent protection from prevailing east winds, but today wind and waves are from the unprotected southwest. Surprisingly, we find calm water near shore. Also surprisingly, we cannot get our anchor to set in the soft muddy bottom. Everyone else reports a good set when they back down, but we pull our 55-pound Delta out every time. And each time it's a muddy mess to bring on deck. Finally, we drop the Bruce anchor and back down tentatively. It holds, but we wouldn't trust it in a squall.

After a conference on VHF, the four boats in our flotilla agree to spend tonight here and depart in the wee hours the following night. There won't be any east wind for the foreseeable future, so there's no reason to be in a hurry.

57 nautical miles

Sunset at Punta Hermosa.

Punta Hermosa is a popular tourist spot.

Approaching the Rio Magdalena, the water turns brown. The cloudy skies are an
unusual shade of blue as a low pressure system forms to our west (later to become Hurricane Paloma).

Off the Rio Magdalena, debris floats along the edge of two currents that are apparent by the change in water color.

November 4: Cartagena!

Our three buddy boats leave for Cartagena at midnight. Preferring a shorter nighttime passage, we depart around 1:30 A.M. Once again it's a motorsail in light winds and flat seas. As we approach Cartagena, the water becomes muddy brown with some tree debris to dodge. As we round Punta Canoas, the Cartagena skyline comes into view. Modern skyscrapers surround the historic walled city with its domed cathedrals. We enter through the Boca Grande entrance, once again dodging fishing boats and nets. Back in colonial days, this entrance was impassable due to an underwater wall built to keep out invaders. In modern times, a portion of the wall has been removed to allow shallow-draft vessels to enter the harbor. We follow the buoyed channel around the Madonna statue, passing container ships, cruise ships, a Colombian warship, and a submarine. Just off the historic remains of Fort Sebastian del Pastelillo, we find a roomy space to anchor in 10 feet of water.

The Fifth Worst Passage in the World is behind us! Like any passage, the trip along the Colombian coast can be an easy voyage or a nightmare depending on weather conditions. Picking light to moderate weather made our trip comfortable and uneventful. As a bonus, we've arrived in Cartagena in time for two weeks of fiestas celebrating Colombia's independence. Stay tuned for our next log with pictures of this fabulous city.

53 nautical miles
461 nautical miles from Curacao to Cartagena

Cartagena in sight!