Escape From Bahia Honda

Well, we’re back. Currently Alyson and I are staying in Cartagena, Colombia boat sitting once again aboard a 44’ Lagoon Catamaran. Its been nearly a month since we left Curacao heading west towards the South American continent, and its strange to think that we haven’t set foot on the mainland in nearly seven months. The passage along the Colombian coast was an interesting one. Sailing around the horn of Venezuela & Colombia is considered the 4th most dangerous passage in the world, or so I heard a couple of drunk sailors claim (Limited internet access restricts further verification of this statement at the moment). At any rate, we completed the trip safely, but not without our share of surprises and perilous encounters.

We departed from Curacao on a Thursday, October 22 just as the sun was setting. We had joined up as crew for a single handed skipper named Paul on his 36’ ketch, SunRunner.

Our destination for the first leg of the journey was Aruba, but we were all keen to explore some of the less traveled anchorages along the Colombian coast line. The winds were fair, and we were able to keep a steady 5 knots under headsail and mizzen throughout the duration of the trip. Our intentions were to arrive in Aruba shortly after morning light, anchor, and catch some sleep before making the big jump from Aruba to Colombia. We hadn’t even considered going ashore.

We dropped hook in the small anchorage at the southern tip of Aruba, and put on a pot of coffee. This was our first overnight passage in four months, and it left us all completely dog tired. We were looking forward to some well deserved rest. Unfortunately, before the water in the coffee pot even got hot, we were boarded by the Aruba Coast Guard. The welcome we received was not particularly hospitable. Due to increased security measures monitoring drug traffic between Colombia and Aruba, we were told that we must either sail 10 miles up the Aruba coast to clear in with customs or else leave immediately. Now ten miles is a relatively short distance, but when your sailboat averages about 4 to 5 miles an hour it becomes a pain in the ass to sail further for over two hours. Especially when all you want is some sleep. At any rate, we had no better option, so on we went.

Aruba

Aruba Land

We ended up staying a couple of days anchored in Aruba. We went ashore to do some exploring but only as far as the major tourist areas where all the cruise ships docked. I got the impression that Aruba was the Disneyland of the ABC islands. The main street was lined with high rise hotels, jewelry shops, casinos, Pizza Huts, Dunkin’ Donuts, etc. Other cruisers we spoke with had more pleasant experiences in Aruba, but it left Alyson and I nostalgic for Curacao already. But I suppose 2 days is hardly enough time get to know a place.

Anxious to get underway again, we soon left Aruba behind and set sail for Bahia Honda, a sizeable bay in Colombia just beyond the Venezuelan border. We left early morning with clear skies, small seas, and fair wind.

Dinner

The sail throughout the day was quite enjoyable. We listened to music, did some fishing, and talked excitedly about what the Colombian coast would be like. By the start of the evening, the sun was setting before us leaving the sky burning a warm red. It reminded me of the old saying, “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight.” This, however, isn’t always the case because as the night wore on the weather began to quickly deteriorate. The winds began to pick up dramatically, as well as the wave size. Soon large rouge waves were hitting our stern quarter knocking the autopilot off course frequently. We ended up dousing the mizzen sail and reefing in the jib, but nothing we tried could slow our speed of 7 to 8 knots. At times the wind gusts were pushing us up to 10 knots under nearly bare poles. Frequently we were hit on the beam by large waves completely out of sync with the rhythm of the rest of the sea. One particularly strong wave broadsided us with such tremendous force that it sent one of the large solar panels flying from atop the hard dodger and into the sea. The mainsheet broke free causing the boom to swing violently across the deck (an extremely dangerous situation). Paul and I were forced to scramble on deck and tie the boom back into place. If that was the safest season to make the passage across, I can´t imagine what the bad weather season is like.

The real danger, however, was yet to come. On our charts in order to reach the safety of Bahia Honda, we would need to sail around the tip of the horn of Colombia. Alyson and I were taught aboard Quercus to always mark our position on the paper chart every hour. Due to some peculiarities with one light from shore we began to become uneasy. Upon inspection of our course, it was apparent that we were heading directly for land in the middle of night. Our skipper was convinced that the paper charts were wrong and was determined to sail by his GPS instead. The auto pilot was set to steer to a GPS waypoint on the other side of the horn. This meant that we would have to go over miles of land to get there on our current course. He nearly had a mutiny on his hands when Alyson plotted our course a half hour later and showed our position on the land. Even in the dark of night the water below us seemed brown and shallow. It wasn´t until we heard the crashing of waves on the shoreline that he agreed to turn on the depth sounder revealing 15 feet of water below us. Upon seeing this, he quickly swung the wheel around heading us directly north and away from certain catastrophe. It was a serious moment.

The next few hours were tense. We made our way north under sail and motor until we were clear of the Colombian coastline enough to continue west. By this point we were navigating only by waypoints Alyson had plotted from the chart. The weather was not as rough as earlier in the evening, but still miserable. Eventually we approached the entrance to Bahia Honda just as light was coming over the horizon. The night had shaken us, and Alyson and I had lost all confidence in our skipper.

As we came to Bahia Honda we did have a pause of relief when we were joined by a pod of dolphins swimming along with the boat. There must have been dozens, and they were enjoying some early morning exercise. Check out the video below. It was one of the most incredible sights we´ve seen so far.

The next three days were spent in the most miserable place on earth. We anchored in Bahia Honda the morning after our perilous night at sea. The bay was extremely large, but as an anchorage it was torturous. The winds howled day and night on our bow, while the current sent the waves beating against our beam. This caused the boat to rock horribly. It was nearly impossible to sleep at night with the crashing of pots and pans, and canned foods. The motion was unending. It was like being at sea and not getting anywhere. The land surrounding Bahia Honda was desolate. It was dry, rocky desert. No plants. No people. We had no communication with anyone. We had no access to weather forecasts. This left us no choice but to stay put and wait for some change in the winds. It was like being stuck on the moon. We would spend hours of the day watching the horizon to see if there was sign of any other boats. We tried to re-anchor several times, but we could never find relief from the cross current or the howling wind. It was too rough to even go ashore. One day I stood up on deck and had my sunglasses blown off my face and into the thick, brown water. They immediately sank. With nothing better to do, I attempted to dive down and retrieve them. The water was only 8 feet deep, but after 3 feet of depth any sunlight was filtered out leaving only pitch darkness. Cooking was an unbelievable challenge. Two people would have to man the stove to keep pots from sliding off. Alyson and I even had to brace ourselves in our bunk to keep from rolling out. Each day we woke up hoping to leave. The wind would still be howling. The white caps still breaking. ¨Maybe tomorrow¨. I´ve never felt so far away and isolated from everything.

By the afternoon of the 3rd day we spotted two sailboats out on the sea. They were sailboats we knew from Aruba. God, I can’t tell you how happy we were to see somebody else. It was like discovering life on a distant planet. We immediately got them on the radio and pumped them for information. The news was good. The next morning the seas were certain to be calmer and the winds lighter. Just one more night. Escape from Bahia Honda would be shortly before dawn.