It seems ridiculous, but it’s the reason we worry so much about our boat. It’s the reason we agonize over every little decision about maintenance and upgrades. Our boat is too nice.
About KirkCo-Captain. IT Guy. Mr. try-and-fix-it.
It’s tempting to think we’re cursed. After our boat was struck by lighting, we thought Mother Nature might go easy on us for a while. No such luck.
Just as we’re about to tuck Soulianis away for the summer season, our good fortune with Mother Nature runs out. Did we really expect to get through of all of these storms scot free?
We’re back in the US of A! After arriving in New Smyrna Beach, we make our way north on the ICW to St. Augustine, then hop on bicycles to explore the nation’s oldest city.
The weather is changing, and the longer we wait to leave the islands, the smaller the chances become for finding a good weather window. After three weeks of dodging storm front after storm front, we decide to make a dash for it, leaving the Abaco Islands of The Bahamas to cross the Gulf Stream back to Florida.
Come along on a POV journey to single-handedly sail Soulianis off anchor. Since the engine wasn’t started, Kirk forgot to check on the dinghy painter—and it all goes downhill from there.
Crystal clear water surrounds the islands in the Bahamas, but you can’t drink a lick of it. No surprise, it’s salty. The islands themselves have virtually no groundwater either, so where does it come from? There’s three options: It’s either shipped in, desalinated, or collected from the sky.
Storms threaten, and a dragging anchor one evening puts us on edge. The next night we mix up a drink fitting the mood to calm our nerves while we wait.
It’s island time, baby! In this episode we take you exploring with Rahm, discover some amazing seascapes off the beaches of Great Guana Cay, cook the best coconut French toast, and start to assimilate to cruising life in the Bahamas.
Since falling in love with the idea of cruising years ago, Lauren has had one dream: Go sailing aboard our own boat to clear turquoise waters — just the two of us — before having kids.