“Many years later, as he faced the incoming Bahamian weather front, Peter was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover sailing. “ 

Sailing with my dad - Chesapeake Bay, 1965

Our own One Hundred Days of Sailitude.   I started a book with a similar title, but I put it down at some point finding the storyline somewhat confusing. Maybe you will be able to relate.  For now, our story continues. One hundred days and several thousand miles sailing from Milwaukee, Wisconsin to the Bahamas.

We negotiated the inland river systems with their frequent ripping ebbs and flows and the ominous barges shoved ahead by roaring towboats. Numerous locks dropped us down from the height of the Washington Monument from home to sea level. The Gulf of Mexico. Salt water. Pelicans and Dolphins. Sunsets over water. Finally warmer.

Then Florida and some challenging sailing conditions crossing the Gulf rolled in with relaxing in luxury with friends at their Naples home. Clean, crisp sheets, hot showers, and amazing food and wine. We Love our friends. Onward to the remote Everglades and the overdeveloped Keys, the whole way liberally peppered with floating crab pot buoys hiding in wait to foul our rudder and propeller. 

Then waiting. Waiting for the winds to die down a bit and take the rough seas with them. Days of waiting between glorious days sailing, making miles toward our destination to stage for our crossing. Waiting again for the weather window to finally open. Winds, weather, and waves all good. Alright, Alright, Alright. Green Light.

We escaped Florida in the pre-dawn hours just outside of Miami, headed east,  crossing the notorious north-flowing Gulf Stream. This fast-flowing river in the Atlantic Ocean kept up to its reputation and served us a rough crossing to Bimini.  Then we crawled out of the stream and enjoyed a pleasant overnight sail to our immigration check-in at Great Harbour Cay. We were met at the dock by a glowing dockhand who exclaimed, “Welcome to the Bahamas!” He really meant it. 

Our first crossing.  Something we could add to tales being told during future cockpit sundowners with other cruisers. “How was your crossing?” Couples glance at each other and unspoken stories are told. Change the topic. We all made it.

All that and we are finally here!  “We are in the Bahamas!  We sailed our boat here!”  We smile at each other and fist bump again.

This trip has been a long time in the making. We both grew up around the water; Amy on an inland Wisconsin lake and I spent my time in various places, some fresh, some salty. If there was water around, we had boats. Those experiences were helpful but didn’t really prepare us for the full-time nomad life onboard.  This is a different type of sailing and living. The weather is an ongoing enigma.  Forecasts give us clues to start our planning, but what we see out here rarely matches up with what someone far off in an office cubical writes back there.  We talk a lot about the weather and spend loads of time moving our solar panels to catch the sunny parts. We dream of amps.

There are moments of solitude, like when on an overnight stint at the helm while one of us sleeps.  The stars are unfathomable and the surprise splash of dolphins surfing our quarterwake can choke you up in awe.

It's amazing out here!

We have spliced together our sailing skills with the various activities of day-to-day living and married life. It can be a week or more without getting off our boat with living space smaller than a Naples condo laundry room.  It’s learning new life skills we anticipate will be helpful in the years to come as we navigate the fall and winter phases of Being.

Less stuff and more listening.    Being present.    Staying out of the big winds.

Many mentors, friends, and family have been instrumental in getting us to this point. Offering encouragement and advice or just doing great stuff and leading by example. Not just sailing adventures. Doing things that stirred up their status quo. Following through with long-held dreams.  Getting back in the game, or picking up a new game, and challenging themselves to be their personal best. To be in the here and now while you can.

We are experiencing a newfound sense of freedom and accomplishment in arriving at this challenging goal after careful planning and work. We now realize our fears and concerns were mostly over-exaggerated and the amazing color of the Bahamian waters still waits for a definitive description. 

Come on out here and give it a try.

Peter and Amy

Onboard s/v Dagny, Norman Cay, Exumas, Bahama, February 4, 2024