“I want the full experience……”

A 22-knot wind had shifted to the southeast, coming from behind us. It was dark; the sun having set three hours ago. I was alone in the cockpit, Marco and Matthew were catching up on their rest below deck before their three-hour shift later in the night. The enormous Code Zero sail remained hoisted, propelling us at nine knots. Although heeling at a comfortable 15-degree angle, the wind’s force I said to myself, was a bit too risky for me. Unexpected things occur at night. The ensuing darkness obscures the full extent of the problem, triggering a cascade of complications that can thwart even the most experienced crew. Safety is the main reason sailors follow the practice of reefing the mainsail and using a smaller foresail after dark. The chart plotter showed we were on track to reach Samana, Dominican Republic, around 4 p.m. the next day. Reducing sail to slow the boat could mean we arrive after dark the following evening, not something I wanted to happen. The memory of that wild boat ride into St. George’s Harbour at midnight not long ago during a pitch-black storm in Bermuda continues to haunt me—the violent rocking of the boat, the enormous waves, the narrow channel.

As I contemplated the options of reducing sail, Matthew arrived on deck for his 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. shift. “I want the full experience. The thrill, fear, and isolation of being on a tiny boat in the vast ocean. I’d prefer to keep sailing as it is.”

I looked at him incredulously. A mild-mannered software engineer from land-locked Calgary looking for adventure on the high seas. “Alright,” I said, shaking my head. “But I’m sleeping in the cockpit in case you need anything.”

Feeling safe with Matthew in charge, the gentle rocking of the boat soon lulled me to sleep. I awoke at 1 .a.m. for my shift at the helm until 4 a.m. when Marco would relieve me. I glanced up from where I lay on the cushions in the cockpit. Matthew was still smiling the same smile he had when I fell asleep three hours earlier. He had covered 24 nautical miles. It had been a night of smooth sailing. He headed to his cabin and fell asleep.

Matthew driving the boat in the darkness towards Samana, Dominican Republic

The wind dropped as forecast, allowing us to use the engine, with some supplementary sail power. Upon arrival at Puerto Bahia Marina in Samaná, we received a warm welcome from the staff, who assisted us with docking. The staff used their inflatable dinghy to push the bow and avoid me hitting the concrete dock.

A difficult mooring in Trellis Bay, British Virgin Islands, resulted in my bow thruster being ripped off the boat’s bottom. I couldn’t get the parts shipped to me quickly enough in the British Virgin Islands. I had the boat pulled from the water before leaving the BVIs and Lincoln, my jack-of-all-trades boat repairman, bolted the bow thruster door to the hull to prevent sinking in rough seas.

“I also notice your propeller has fishing line wrapped around it. I removed the propeller; it melted to the shaft. Salt water flooded your transmission because your seals have failed.”

Many sailors might have been crestfallen thinking about the fortune they are spending on their sailing obsession. It seems to me so many things go wrong with a sailboat that it surprises me when things actually work; I’m so used to having major issues. This is another problem in a long list of things failing. Although I could only understand about the fishing line part, Lincoln explained it would have led to a transmission failure, likely at the most inopportune time….. He said he could fix it.

I must have been having a good day because I remember staring at Lincoln’s thoughtful gaze, lost in thought myself. “Wow! I can’t believe my luck in accidentally knocking off my bow thruster!” I said. “I wouldn’t have known about the fishing line that was silently strangling the engine.”

Marco, an incredible chef, has a remarkable ability to transform simple ingredients into extraordinary meals, filling the galley with the fragrant aromas of his creations. Using whatever spices and readily available foods he finds onboard, he creates culinary masterpieces, the aromas wafting through the air. Observing his focused movements, the precise way he seasons each dish, is as much a part of the culinary experience as the food itself.

The upscale Puerto Bahia Marina is directly connected to The Bannister, a four-star hotel, offering stunning views and luxurious amenities. We have access to two infinity pools, where the water shimmers under the sun, a billiard room with its click of balls, a fully equipped exercise room, tennis courts echoing with the sounds of the game, and a variety of restaurants offering delicious aromas.all for about $30 a day. My new crew—Ashleigh and Nick, along with my two grandkids, Charlie and Eloise—arrived, their excitement palpable as they bounced with anticipation for our adventure. Yesterday, we saw whales; today, we’re sailing across the bay to Los Haitises National Park, the salty air invigorating, the distant shore already visible.

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