As the toast coloured sun sank below the horizon the constant disruptions from mola pushers trailed off. We ate fresh giant crab on crackers and slurped gin and tonics in the cockpit as the breeze caught our voices and strung them out towards the bristle of coconut trees to leeward. First thing I heard when I woke was Nick saying “ola” to a passing Cyuca, boy they start early. Venacio, the master mola maker and his brother Edelfonzo dropped in for a coffee and explained to us many things about Kuna culture, Up until about 6 years ago coconuts were the going currency and most Kuna’s today choose to live in bamboo walled thatched huts without electricity. The men fish for food and grow yucca (a yam like root), bananas and pineapple in shifting agricultural plots on the mainland while the women look after their numerous children and lie in hammocks making mola’s. More mola purchases including a particularly fine example of Venacio’s as a birthday gift from Dad to me. Dad insisted that Venacio sign his, he was not going to pay top dollar for an unsigned original.

We spent a couple of days at the Hollandaise Islands and occasionally it rained heavily particularly on Nicks BBQ chicken. The cruisers in the San Blas were particularly paranoid about “Chocosanas” (30+ knot line squalls) and woke us up on the VHF in the middle of the night to let us know the breeze was blowing where they were. It afforded some amusement and a nice sit in the cockpit in the cool watching the sky. The yanks would flash lights, blow horns, make VHF calls and shout across decks all through the grapevine so that no one could be caught unawares of these vicious storms.


The fish must have heard the rumour that Dad was coming. Despite us casting a whole battery of arsenal past that shimmery surface morning and at sunset our total catch was unimpressive; a remora, one barracuda, one yellow tail snapper, one bar jack and a little grinner hardly worth mentioning. But the San Blas are not renowned for fishing and we fairly proved that that the mangrove clad shores and reef estuaries do not harbour many hungry tarpon here. Near a delightful little sand cay I fossicked up one good size conch, but this was hardly enough for dinner so we bought some lobster and conch meat from a bunch of thin muscly Kuna men paddling their Cyuca between dive spots.