Here, nestled in the mangrove islets off the coast of Cayo Nancy in the Bocas del Toro archipelago of Panama, we have a beautiful morning of sunshine and cool southern breeze.  Spectacular.  We had anchored last evening in the near center of this small cove, with a slight northeast breeze in 8m of water and let out a 3.5:1 scope of chain to allow for a swing through the perimeter, knowing that the only wind shift that could be problematic and put us in the mangrove trees would be a shift to the south.  Still, all was well and we enjoyed a short swim behind the boat followed by a lovely chicken mushroom and garlic dish accompanied by a fresh salad that Sandra prepared.  We all had a nice restful sleep, except for a large thud on the boat around 2 am that awoke me as it sounded like something had hit the side of the boat.  I ventured out to investigate with torch in hand, but found nothing except a deep dark night crested in millions of bristling stars and no moon visible. The depth of the darkness with absolute zero light pollution from any human activity was stunning.  I sat for a few moments to absorb the wonder of it, then back to bed.  As the morning dawned, the air had cooled considerably and I awoke as the sun was cresting the horizon and looked out of my cabin window as is normal to do.  There, just a few meters away from our stern was indeed the edge of the mangrove patch, which could only mean that indeed the wind had shifted to the south.  Still, the breeze was only a few knots and the boat was gliding smoothly across the surface of the water so we had not settled on the hard just yet.  I went out on the transom and say the sea grass just a couple of feet from the rudder and the dingy close to touching the edge of mangroves, but the shore then sloped fairly quickly so the keel remained free.  Just then, a pair of small spotted rays glided just underneath the stern in the sea grass and I watched them move so gracefully through the shallows, then out of view under the boat.  Funny, how seeing these magnificent creatures never tires.  Then my thoughts returned to our position and I felt a sense of ease in the knowledge that there was no danger to the boat, and in the fact that the more cruising experience I gain, the threshold for anxiety becomes augmented and seasoned. I decided to wait until Ken and Sandra were up, then we would shorten our scope a bit to set us a little tighter in the anchorage, but certainly no urgency. 

As Ken and Sandra arose, our mood was high, as the morning was so pleasant, the surroundings outstanding, and only a slight southerly breeze disturbed the placid waters with cat paws lazily flowing across the surface.  The mountains of Panama were clearly visible in the distance all the way up to the border of Costa Rica, capped with a scattered array of cumulus drifting with the upper level winds.  Ken pulled out his drone and captured some images of Galini in the mangroves that poignantly heighten the majesty of our surroundings. Places like these are only available to those with the patience to find them.  I remind myself how grateful I am to have good friends, a wonderful boat, and a heart that allows me the freedom to enjoy this serenity.