Month: July 2025

Quality Control is a vital part of our CTD data collection program. The standard method for assessing the accuracy of the CTD measuring system’s practical salinity determination is salinometry—a process of collecting water samples during CTD casts and analyzing their salinity onboard using a bench-top salinometer, calibrated against IAPSO standard seawater.

This approach has been a cornerstone of oceanographic practice since CTD measuring systems first came into use. Today, the industry standard for salinometry is the Autosal salinometer, manufactured by Guildline Instruments in Canada. For a deeper dive into salinity determination methods, you can visit my website: www.salinometry.com.

The Autosal is a unique, high-precision instrument. However, it’s not suitable for use aboard small vessels—it requires stable 110V power and a temperature-controlled environment.

Twenty years ago, while working at RBR, we, together with F. Johnson, developed the Micro-Salinometer MS-310, specifically designed for use on small boats or in field conditions, utilizing a 12V power supply. It uses a relative measurement method and does not require a thermostated lab.

Aboard SV Oceanolog, we carry the MS-310 Micro-Salinometer, which we calibrate using IAPSO standard seawater kindly provided by Guildline through their sponsorship of our project.

As we wrapped up our Sail for Science expedition in Bocas del Toro, we collected salinity samples near Escudo de Veraguas Island, accompanied by CTD measurements. Upon arrival at the marina, we measured the salinity of three samples using the calibrated MS-310.

The comparison of practical salinity values from the RBRconcertoCTD #214070 with our salinometer readings is shown in the table below. The results indicate a CTD salinity accuracy within ±0.002, well within the accepted uncertainty of laboratory salinometry.

This demonstrates an exceptionally high level of accuracy of the RBRconcertoCTD salinity measurements after 11 months since its last calibration and 7 months of marine fieldwork.

From the lush trails of Mia’s Wonderland, we followed her recommendation and sailed off to meet Ryan and Andrea, fellow cruisers who had dropped anchor—and roots—on a neighboring island. What we found completely took us by surprise.

Just two years ago, this adventurous couple left their lives in Washington State and sailed south, eventually settling in Dolphin Bay. There, they bought a small island—mostly mangroves—and embarked on a bold mission: to turn it into a mini-eco-resort with a bar and restaurant.

Now, for those unfamiliar with mangroves, let me set the scene: these are not your typical beachfront lots. A mangrove island is often just a soggy patch of land, dense with roots and mosquitoes, and occasionally underwater. I’ve tried to imagine “settling” on such terrain myself—and always concluded it was pure madness. But Ryan and Andrea? They saw opportunity where others would see mosquito bites.

We were warmly welcomed by Ryan, who was happy to show us around. Normally, he told us, their two kids (ages 9 and 11) give guests the grand tour, but Andrea and the children had just left for Costa Rica to renew their Panamanian visas. (No citizenship yet—red tape takes time.)

Despite the swampy beginnings, the transformation of the island was astonishing. Raised garden beds full of vegetables. A charming bar-restaurant with a sturdy pier. Pebble-covered walkways snaking through what was once impassable muck. One cabin for future guests already stands, waiting for finishing touches, and two more are in the plans. Meanwhile, Ryan and Andrea live aboard their 50-foot catamaran Low Expectations, moored just off their island paradise.

The bay itself has become a small archipelago of like-minded escapees from all corners of the world. A handful of other families live around the shores, forming a tight-knit off-grid community. They host weekly barbecues, drop by unannounced, or lend a hand when someone forgets, say, a crucial bag of chicken legs on the dock.

Which actually happened the day we arrived.

Ryan had made a supply run to town and returned sans poultry. He quickly fired off a desperate message to their local WhatsApp group: “Anyone in town—please save my chicken legs!” Miraculously, a couple arrived shortly after, legs in hand. Then two more couples appeared “just for a minute.” By nightfall, the chicken was gone, the wine was flowing, and the laughter echoed across the bay.

We came bearing gifts: a bottle of Ukrainian cognac and a Ukrainian flag, which Ryan proudly added to the growing collection of visiting yacht flags now hanging from the ceiling beams of the bar—just as sailors’ bars should be.

When we asked about snorkeling spots, Ryan waved vaguely toward the mangroves off his island’s cape. “There’s a shallow reef there,” he said. “Only half a meter deep. Nothing fancy.”

We were skeptical. Mangroves aren’t usually known for vibrant reefs. But curiosity won out—and we were glad it did.

What we found was breathtaking: a burst of underwater color, sponges in brilliant reds and yellows clinging to mangrove roots, darting fish weaving between them, and coral formations glowing beneath the waves. The visibility wasn’t perfect, but the experience felt like discovering a secret world—an underwater Wonderland.

It was the perfect ending to our Bocas del Toro adventure: unexpected, offbeat, and filled with inspiring people turning improbable dreams into reality.