November 30 to December 2, 2004
The Sail to Cartagena
December 2004 W75° 32.595’
The Sail to Cartagena
We nearly didn’t go to Cartagena. Before arriving in the Caribbean, all we
knew about Colombia was that it was the drug capital of the world, that drug
lords ran huge parts of the country corrupting local government and law
enforcement with their seemingly unlimited ill-gotten gains, and that the US
State Department had issued a travel advisory for Columbia because of
guerrilla warfare in the countryside between the drug cartels’ paramilitary
outfits and US backed Colombian government forces. Also, many years ago,
we had seen the movie “Romancing the Stone” with Michael Douglas and
Kathleen Turner, set in Colombia, but actually shot in Mexico. OK, so we
were well informed, by American standards, and Colombia seemed like a good
place to avoid.
Then, as we made our way westwards from Trinidad during 2004, we kept
hearing from cruisers that Cartagena was beautiful, safe and a destination not
to be missed. We wanted to go, but our American insurance company would
not cover us for piracy, theft and just about everything else while we were in
Colombia. But the glowing stories from cruisers about a magnificent city kept
coming, and eventually we decided to forego insurance and the advice of the
State Department. We decided to stop in Cartagena and see what all the fuss
is about. It turned out to be a magnificent, safe and welcoming city where we
met wonderful people and had the time of our lives. By the time we left,
Cartagena and Columbia had claimed a corner of our hearts forever.
We set out for Columbia from Aruba at midday, in 13 knots of wind. We had
a weather forecast of 18 knots for the two days we expected it to take us to
reach Cartagena and my passage planning software showed mean winds of 15
knots, seas of 5 feet and a 1% chance of a gale. We had no idea that the next
two days would fall within that 1% window of opportunity.
At first, things went well. It was an easy sail into a beautiful sunset. It was
exciting to be under way again and on our way to an exotic destination.
Shortly after dawn, we made the turn south, southwest around the northern
Colombian peninsular, giving it a wide berth as it has a reputation for piracy.
We threw up the spinnaker and zipped along in 15 knots of wind. It was a
wonderful ride but, as the morning wore on, the wind climbed steadily into the
twenties. By 3:00 pm it was in the high twenties, although the barometer had
been climbing for 18 hours and the forecast hadn’t changed. The weather,
though, is not bound by the declarations of people calling themselves
forecasters. With the darkness, the wind continued to strengthen and by
midnight it was steady in the 30 knot range with gusts in the mid to high up to
30s (a little over 40mph). The seas were growing angry. We were now in
what is referred to on the Beaufort Scale as a force 7, “Moderate Gale”
where “sea heaps up and white foam from breaking waves begins to be blown
in streaks along the direction of the wind; spindrift begins to be seen”.
The seas around us were no more than 12 to 14 feet and the good news was
that we were running with them. The bad news was that the spinnaker was
way too much sail for these conditions, but I was in no mood to go up on deck
to wrestle with it. Safari flew along, surfing down waves at a little over 20
knots (that’s like doing 160mph in a Chevy Impala). I spent the entire night
at the helm hoping the wind would drop into the twenty knot range and stay
there. It didn’t happen and the seas became fierce and confused. Richard sat
at the helm with me and, at one stage, out of the dark, a huge wave sprang at
us from the side, 90 degrees off of the direction of the prevailing wave
train. It caught us by surprise and I only had enough time to yell at Richard,
“Hold on!” Safari absorbed the blow well, but, after it had passed, a wet and
wide eyed Richard turned to me and said, “Dad, I am now officially freaked
out”
It was that kind of night. Excitement and loads of adrenalin kept us in a
state of high alert. The autopilot seemed unable to deal with these conditions
and, particularly at higher speeds, to keep us on course and prevent us from
broaching, I had to grab the wheel and turn the autopilot off. At dawn, we
were 34 miles northwest of Barranquilla and it was imperative to get the
spinnaker down so that we could make the turn southwards for the final leg to
Cartagena. Either that, or we were headed for Panama a lot sooner than we
had planned.
Normally, I douse the spinnaker by hand, but with high winds, this was
impossible. I attached a block to a forward stanchion and ran the dousing
line through it to a winch on the mast and it took all my strength to winch the
dousing sock down over a collapsed, but wildly flapping spinnaker. The thick
fiberglass collar at the bottom of the sock broke and tore the foot of the
sail, but not before it was well under control. At this stage, Andrew came up
on deck and lowered the spinnaker as I lay on the trampoline and gathered the
descending sail around me. Finally, we stuffed it into the sail bag and
returned, exhausted, to the cockpit. A part of me just loves this stuff. I set
a well reefed and easily handled headsail, left Carol at the helm and collapsed
in my bunk.
Carol woke me just north of the entrance to Cartagena and it was with a sense
of relief that we watched the impressive skyline of the city fill the horizon in
a calm sea and just 15 knots of wind. We entered the channel leading to
Cartagena Bay and motored past fishermen plying their trade in dugout
canoes. As we made our way down the channel, with high-rise hotels and
apartment buildings lining the beaches on our left, we passed an impressive,
tall, square-rigged sailing ship which we later learned was a training ship for
the Columbian naval academy. What struck me the most was a sense of
permanence, of law and order, of industry and of ordinary citizens in the
pursuit of happiness. It was a scene quite at odds with the country's
unfortunate reputation and, as we slipped through the water, closer and
closer, our excitement rose in anticipation of exploring these shores.
A beautiful stone lighthouse marked the turn around the tip of this peninsula
into the natural harbor of Cartagena, which revealed itself to us by degrees.
The head of a much larger bay, Cartagena harbor is accessed up one of two
channels that encircle a large shoal at its mouth. Atop a massive pedestal
cemented into the middle of the shoal, a huge statue of the Pieta looked down
on us in a celebration of the Catholic faith. High-rise condominiums began on
our left, behind the lighthouse, and circled most of the left side of the bay.
At the apex of this circle was a glimpse of the old walled city, a nearby naval
base and waterways extending through the city beyond. As the city faded to
our right, a large container facility marked the far side of the mouth of the
harbor. The bay itself continued many miles to the south, a beautiful sight,
and almost wild.
Inside the harbor, it was also a pleasant surprise to find a large US Coast
Guard frigate riding its anchor. With a sense of pride, we exchanged waves
with the US servicemen on board.
As we dropped our anchor in the mooring field off of the Club Nautico, Carol
told me that the autopilot seemed to have difficulty keeping us on course on
the final leg to Cartagena and that the boat seemed to arc back and forth
across the rhumb line. I made a mental note to recalibrate the autopilot.
Little did we know what a stunning surprise was in store for us.
To access a full set of pictures for this Travel Report, click here
