Part II - Pacific Coast of Panama and Colombia
The voyage heated up. Ladd crossed the Panama Canal and headed south along the jungly Pacific Coast, generally avoided due to cutthroat piracy. Adverse currents, heavy surf, capsizes, illnesses, and a robbery at knifepoint made this a desperate, six-month process. He roughed it on desert islands, explored rain forests, and sojourned in remote villages inhabited by Indians and Hispanic blacks.
From "Three Years in a 12-Foot Boat":
I no longer feared sleeping while adrift, having successfully done so three times. I sailed southwest on the breeze, now fully swung to north, until 9:15, then dropped the main. I was glad to see the breeze continue into the night because it would counterbalance the current, and prevent me from losing ground. On previous occasions I had dropped both sails. This time I left the mizzen up and sheeted it tight, causing Squeak to face into the wind. To encourage wind drift, I did not set a sea anchor. I put the two five-gallon water bags in the cockpit footwell and packed the rest of my gear tightly around me. It began to rain. I closed the hatch, laid back, and fell fast asleep.
I don't remember what I was dreaming, only that it was very pleasant. My actual situation, however, was deteriorating. While I slept, an intense downpour filled the cockpit with rainwater. The rainwater's center of mass was higher than Squeak's center of buoyancy. The wind increased, the waves built up. Inevitably, Squeak started tipping.
I woke to the sensation of Squeak rolling over. Still on my back, I opened the hatch and sat up, intending to stabilize her. But the roll continued, and my quick reflex only cleared the way for the sea to pour into the cabin. I ejected myself into the dark water, turned around, and watched incredulously as Squeak slowly rolled through 360 degrees and returned upright, now full of water and unstable. I was treading water, aware of the gravity of my situation, astonished at the severity of the storm, and at how calm I felt. Tepid rain stung my face, like a shower massage turned up high. The waves were four feet tall, sharp and agitated. Suddenly there existed before me a pillar of light, bright as the sun, seemingly fifty feet in diameter, reaching up into the sky like Jack's beanstalk, blinding and deafening me. A fraction of a second later it no longer existed, but other lightning bolts struck here and there, and the sky was blinding, then black, then blinding, then black. Thunder shook the air. I looked at my watch. Eleven p.m.
The mizzensail, still intact, flapped furiously. I let loose its sheet and began securing floating objects. I put my mapcase and water containers inside the cabin and clamped the hatch. I inserted the clips into my oarlock pins so my beloved oars wouldn't come out of their sockets, but the clips promptly deformed from the force of the waves on the oar blades, pulling the pins up through the sockets. I secured the oars with the ends of my leeboard control lines and prayed not to lose them or be struck by lightning in the long night ahead.