As an Army communications specialist back in the late 1970's, I was lucky enough to have received a two year tour of duty in the Panama Canal Zone. However, equipped with only a $10 camera, barely enough money for a roll of film occasionally, and no idea how to take a picture beyond point and shoot, I ended my tour with a lifetime of memories and the worst set of photos ever compiled.
In December of 2004, 26 years later, I got my hands on a fairly good used scanner. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to work on my photo editing skills; so, with this page in mind, I started digging through my dusty old photos. Unfortunately, most of my old photos were inadvertently tossed out during a move the year before, so what I had left was an extremely disappointing representation of a two year adventure. Fortunately, the few photo albums I hadn't throw out contained some of the better shots, so I still had something to work with.
NOTE: normally in North & South America, we think of the sun as rising over the Atlantic ocean and setting into the Pacific; however, in Panama you can see just the opposite due to the fallen "S" shape of the country (see map above). One can enjoy an early morning sunrise with a good cup of coffee on the Pacific coast, and with only an hour drive the same day, watch the sunset with a few Rum & Cokes on the Atlantic.
I'm starting this series on Panama with a shot of one of the old barracks at Fort Clayton. Wanting as much exposure to the country as possible though, and having a serious dislike for the Army's daily inspections, I chose to live off-post in Panama City instead. I stylishly furnished my first apartment, a studio - one block from the Bay of Panama, with a single bed and the seat from an old truck.
Watching ships pass through the Panama Canal's Miraflores Locks, just outside the front gates of Fort Clayton (2nd & 3rd shots), was one of the best pass-time activities there was. As often as I saw this, it never ceased to amaze me: ships as big as the Queen Mary 2 were guided by tugboat into the locks, raised up to cross the canal or dropped back down to sea level, and finally released out the other side, back on their way to who knows where.
I don't remember the name of this beach (last shot of the set), about an hours up the Pacific coast from the Canal Zone, but it was always deserted, and was one of our favorite beach party locations.
I grew up watching every Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau special aired, and dreamed of becoming a diver some day. So naturally, the first thing I did in Panama was get my scuba certification. Diving along the Atlantic coast of Panama is just about as good as it gets, and with all the beautiful reefs and marine life, each dive provides its own unique adventure. On my 1st night dive, I was completely in awe over all the nocturnal sea creatures I had never seen before during the day. Near the end of the dive, rolling over onto my back on the bottom 40 feet down, I turned off my dive light and just laid there gazing up at my bubbles, rising through crystal clear waters toward the moon.
For the most part, we had all the diving we could want between the Portobelo area and Isla Grande: 1 1/2 to 2 hours drive from the Pacific side of the Canal Zone. This set of shots focuses on a typical trip to the Three Sisters Islands, east along the coast from Portobelo. Looking at a map however, I see the islands listed as "Islas de las Dos Hermanas", meaning Islands of the "Two" Sisters. The two northern islands are separated only by a thin strip of rocky beach which is submerged at high tide, so depending on the time of day, you may see two or three islands. Plus, to complicate it further, the islands are also called "Dos Marias", meaning "Two Marys", but I've got no explanation for that.
Typically, we would drive to Portobelo and wonder around like lost gringos until we found someone who would take us out to the islands. The boats always looked a little scary and usually leaked, but what bothered us most was how low they would ride in the water after we loaded up. I usually kept my fins, snorkel, & mask right in front of me, in case we had to ditch.
The two underwater shots in this series were taken with my cheap $10 camera and a used underwater camera case I aquired from a friend. Having no idea how much water preasure it could take though, I only used it snorkeling in shallow areas.
Taboga Island was one of my favorite day trip destinations. We'd catch the boat out from Balboa, in the Canal Zone, and return on the last boat back, late in the afternoon: a two hour round trip. The diving at Taboga Island isn't world class, with low visibility and no reef that I know of, but I always took along my snorkel gear hoping for another new and exciting encounter with some form of marine life. The island isn't that big either, but it had a quiet - easy going atmosphere that I enjoyed. It never took much to get me up for the early morning departure.
As the boat left the pier, heading out through the canal to the Pacific, the Bridge of the Americas came into view. This was the only road passage from the east side of the canal to the western Pacific coast, and on up into North America.
The 6th shot in this set was an unexpected find while exploring a little further along the shoreline one day. Wedged between the trees, unbelievably tight, was a fairly large boat under construction. During another trip to Taboga Island, we watched a fishing boat, about the same size as this one, come right up to the beach at high tide. As the tide subsided, leaving the boat high & dry in the sand, the crew worked fast and hard to get as much of the bottom painted as they could before the next high tide.
Toward the end of my tour in Panama, I got on a charter dive trip to Las Perlas Islands, about 56 miles out from Panama City into the Gulf of Panama. The reefs in the Pacific are nowhere near as breath-taking as those found in the Atlantic Caribbean Sea, but this was an opportunity to dive in a new area, and I couldn't pass that up.
During the two days of diving in these islands, I saw more Whitetip Sharks and Moray Eels than I thought was possible; they were everywhere. During one dive, pulling myself down to look under a ledge on a small coral formation, I found myself litterally nose-to-nose with a five foot Whitetip resting under it. On the run once again during another dive, a three foot Moray Eel came out of the reef and started chasing me for some reason; "I didn't do anything!" I understand now that Morays are more curious than dangerous, but at the time of this encounter, I only knew that in the movie " The Deep (1977)", a Moray Eel took a good bite out of the bad guy's head, so I didn't want one anywhere near me.
At the end of our 2nd and last day of diving, and back at the island we were staying at, I dumped out my grab bag to inspect my find for the day. I wasn't sure why, but the Panamanian who lived there seemed interested in it too. Picking up a Pen Shell (possibly an Atrina Tuberculosa), he grabbed my dive knife and started prying it open. A little confused, and concerned that he was going to break the shell, I just stared as he started playing with the slimy animal inside. All of a sudden, he popped out a black pearl the size of a pea, and with a big grin, placed it in my hand. I looked down with my mouth wide open. "Wow!" I had a pearl from Las Perlas Islands!
With less than a month of my tour remaining, a trip to the San Blas Islands seemed like the perfect final adventure. I couldn't afford the $50 ticket for a flight though, so a hop on a boat out of Colon for $6 round trip was my only other option. This was actually a lot of fun, but it cost me a couple days in the islands when the boat broke down, still in port, taking two days to fix.
Finally on the 3rd day, a beautiful sunny 6 hour boat ride brought me to Isla Porvenir, the western-most island in the San Blas chain. Besides myself, there was also a girl from Sweden on board, and a little old retired professor bent over with severe spinal arthritis. The Comarca of Kuna Yala, or San Blas, is self-governed, so in a sense, it is its own country. I wasn't aware of this minor detail though, so when the mayor of Porvenir (that's who I was told he was) greeted us at the pier and asked for passports, all I had was my military ID. With no hesitation, he waved and said in English, "Bye bye." I was dumb-founded! I had to go back?! The professor however, fluent in multiple languages, stepped in on my behalf, and talked with the mayor for a few minutes while I stood there looking like a whipped puppy. The professor finally turned to me and said the mayor was going to allow me to stay at his brother-in-law's hotel on the next island, Isla Nalunega. I immediately and greatfully accepted his offer.
After settling into my hut at the Hotel San Blas on Isla Nalunega ($10 a day - room & board plus guide service), the next five days were the most memorable of my tour, and I found the Kuna Indians to be the friendliest people on earth. I can't remember the Mayor's brother-in-law's name, it's been over 25 years, and I can't read it on his business card, so as stupid as it sounds, I'll continue to refer to him as, the Mayor's brother-in-law. So anyway, one evening after dinner, we were all sitting around the fire, the mayor's brother-in-law, his family, and a couple other guests: some of us in hammocks. During the on-going conversation, the mayor's brother-in-law (the only Kuna there who spoke English), started telling me about their marriage customs. Among other things, he said their marriage ceremony consisted of throwing the Bride and Groom into a hammock together three times. With his daughter (in her mid teens I thought) sitting there smiling at me, and hammocks all around, I wasn't sure if I was being teased, set-up, or just letting my imagination run wild. A couple minutes later, trying to look sleepy, I nervously excused myself and ran off to bed.
For my last evening in the islands, I was taken out with about a dozen Kuna men to a shallow reef miles from the island, and we walked around for about an hour in knee deep water catching spiny lobster. One particular lobster, the grand-daddy of them all (two feet or more from nose to tail), was more than I could handle. After a short fight, it popped out of my hands with a flick of its tail, landed back in the water, and darted away. One of the men tending the boats pushed off hard with his pole in the direction of the fleeing lobster, reached down and grabbed a spear, and with only the light of my flashlight following the lobster, he nailed it. I was impressed! At 6am the next morning, still half asleep, I walked over to the pier where the boat back to the Canal Zone was waiting. There to say good-bye, was the mayor's brother-in-law. He shook my hand and handed me a lunch bag full of cooked lobster tails for the return trip.
Only a few days later, I was on a plane back to the U.S., holding a plastic bag full of large San Blas sea shells, with the animals still inside and smelling pretty bad; I couldn't believe customs let me through with it. Looking out the window as the plane took off, I was hurting: leaving behind all my friends, and a way of life I loved so much.
