When the wind shifts, we must change course. My original plan was to set out on my retirement cruise to the South Pacific with my wife Jenni. I spent years getting the boat ready and we even moved out of our house. But during our three-month shakedowncruise to Maine last summer, Jenni fell and badly hurt her back. As a result, we decided not to go any farther. When Jenni determined that the voyaging life was not for her, she encouraged me to follow my dream and go off sailing. With her blessing, I took off last November and sailed to Florida and the Bahamas. Before Christmas, while sitting by myself on anchor off the Nassau Yacht Club, I decided that I could not spend so much time apart from Jenni; thus, I decided to abandon my plan of sailing around the world on SOULMATES.
From the Bahamas, my next stop was going to be the Panama Canal. If I did go through the Canal, it would be at least two years before the boat, and I would be back in New York. That was not going to work. At that point I decided to plot a new course.
The new plan was to sail the boat back to Florida in time for Christmas to meet Jenni in Miami, then sail the boat to Cape Canaveral to haul out until spring and then sail her home to New York. After doing the next round of boat projects, the new plan is to sail to the Canadian Maritimes for the summer. Jenni will fly to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to join me for harbor hops since she no longer feels comfortable doing overnight passages. This seemed like a good compromise; I get to spend the summer cruising, and I won’t be away from Jenni the whole time.
I spent 10 days anchored in Nassau. It was easy to stay put since a week-long strong northerly was blowing constantly, I had no crew to help navigate the coral heads of the out islands. Also, I had a deadline to meet my next crewmember Tom Barnard coming to help me sail to Miami. The passage from Nassau to Miami went smoothly after we made it under the two bridges to Paradise Island, which Soulmates’ masthead barely cleared. In fact, I planned our departure two hours after high tide, and we still only made it under the 21-meter-high bridge with inches to spare. I was so unsure about getting under the bridge, that I slowed the boatspeed to less than a knot.
We had a fast close reach north from Nassau to the northeast corner of Andros Island, and we the wind died at dusk as we exited the Northwest Passage between the northern edge of Andros Island and the Berry Islands. The depth went from over 8000 feet in the “Tongue of the Ocean” to 14 feet on the Great Bahama bank. At first it was unnerving to see the bottom so clearly, but we kept that depth for 50 miles until we passed Bimini entered the deep water of the Gulf Stream. At 18 seconds into the video, you can see the shallow bottom.
Jenni flew down to Miami for a-way-too short visit between Christmas and New Years. After she left, my nephew Matt, his wife Shakira and my niece’s husband Nate drove down from Orlando to help me sail the boat north from Miami to Cape Canaveral, a 180-mile overnight. We had a smooth sail with the Gulf Stream pushing us north at three knots. The three of them helped to keep me awake for the 25-hour sail. We even saw a midnight SpaceX launch that was a brilliant streak in the sky.
Matt was driving and saw it first as the glow rose up from the horizon. In the early morning Nate was on watch with me as we sailed into a fog bank. It was eerie seeing the blackness approaching. The only way I knew it was fog, was seeing the stars above the blackness. It was a bit scary sailing fast not knowing what was in front of us. It was like being on a train in a tunnel without a headlight.
Sure enough, my worst fear was realized — around 7 am a 40–50-foot power boat came right at us while going 30 knots. I barely had time to put the engine in neutral and disengage the autopilot. Luckily, he saw us and turned at the last minute before he changed course and disappeared into the fog at a high rate of speed. Not all the fog was terrifying, I did get to see my first “fog bow,” (see picture). We arrived in Cape Canaveral on New Year’s Eve Day, and since I hadn’t slept for 24 hours, I wasn’t awake to greet the start of 2025.
Four days later, the boat was hauled. She stayed on the hard until I could return in April to sail her home. After getting back to New York, I will install the radar that I never got around to doing before I left. I want to replace the Starlink system with the Iridium Go that I have but had never installed. I need to fabricate a way to hold and secure the water and fuel jugs in the aft wet locker; on the passage back to New York, one of the diesel jugs tipped over and broke open, making quite a mess. The masthead wind unit still needs to be replaced after an osprey landed on in in Maine last summer. As you can see, there is always boat work to do.
I have a friend who is preparing his 50-footer for a trip to the South Pacific next year, and I hope to join him for parts of his trip. This way, I’ll get to complete my goal of sailing in the South Pacific without being away for years. Being away for a few months at a time changes the dynamic of the trip, but I always said that my plans are cast in Jell-O, and I know new adventures still await.
