Early May began with one of the more sobering reminders of life at sea.
After leaving the BVI’s, we approached Grand Turk just as another vessel struck the reef. What began as a pan-pan call escalated to a mayday as their 45-foot boat was pounded on the rocks. Our friends from No Worries were nearby and offered assistance, prepared to collect the crew if needed. As dusk fell, the stranded vessel managed to float free and anchor safely inside the reef.
The following morning, incredibly, there was no visible damage. It was a stark reminder of how quickly the ocean can shift from generous to unforgiving. We gave every reef a very wide berth after that.
Turks and Caicos brought our first marina in quite some time – a small shock to the system after months of anchoring. The children were mostly delighted by two things: a swimming pool and complimentary ice cream at the resort bar. Cruising priorities are beautifully simple.
From there we made for The Bahamas.
On 14 May we arrived at Abraham’s Bay, Mayaguana, anchoring behind the reef in luminous, glass-clear water. It felt like stepping into a different palette of blues.
May unfolded in movement:
- A 24-hour passage to Long Island
- A fierce weather cell that jumped from under five knots to over thirty in minutes
- Anchoring safely and reuniting with friends
In Warderick Wells, the real magic began. A cluster of family boats — including Mrs Chippy and No Worries — formed a temporary floating village. The children moved freely between cockpits. Radios crackled with supper invitations. Paddleboards drifted from boat to boat.
At low tide we walked impossibly far across exposed sandbanks. At high tide we swam back, nurse sharks gliding calmly beneath us – close enough to quicken the pulse, never close enough to cause alarm.
There were small, gloriously ordinary moments too. One afternoon, Kai and Zoe conducted a serious anatomical discussion:
“If my left nipple dies then I will cut it off.”
“But under your left nipple is your heart.”
“Oh yeah, then it would be better if my right nipple dies.”
“Yes, then you would be able to cut it off.”
Cruising life is not all sunsets and dolphins. Sometimes it is medical hypotheticals in the cockpit.
Later in the month we left Nassau for Chub Cay, crossed towards Freeport, experienced brief beach fatigue (yes, that exists), and even encountered a gentle manatee – a sea cow sighting that felt quietly magical.
From the Bahamas northward, we sailed loosely in company – sometimes within sight of one another, always linked by shared plans and familiar voices on the VHF.
