Leaving Bimini gave us our first reminder that even small departures can turn chaotic fast. From our anchorage via the channel near Alice Town, a combo of speed, current, and maybe some residual rain meant our dinghy started taking on water. So Barrett moved from the big boat to the little one mid-transit to pump out Squeasel (don’t tell the grandparents). We found some space outside the channel, waited for a moment of calm, did the thing, and carried on.
A little while later, we stopped and dropped our first open water anchor so Barrett and the kids could snorkel the SS Sapona shipwreck just south of Bimini while I wrapped up a work day. At the time, it was a little nerve-wracking, but mostly exhilarating. And looking back, it was an incredible opportunity I’ll never forget and feel so grateful to have.
From there, we overnighted off Cat Cay – apparently a private island, but we didn’t know or care. It was calm, quiet and easy to anchor. We made dinner and stayed on the boat, appreciating the scenery and feeling of anticipation for the unknown ahead.
Storms passed around us just far enough away to make the sky dramatic without being dangerous. It was one of those nights where the unexpected felt exciting instead of stressful. One of many nights in succession where we were alone in a Bahamian anchorage. Truly special.
Morning handed us a new lesson. We hardly considered the tides and didn’t plan to leave early enough for the passage we were going to make. Rookie cruiser learnings: not mistakes, because nothing went wrong, but clear reminders of how much we don’t know until we know it.
The water was shallow nearly the entire way out of Cat Cay, and while it was gorgeous, it made the day long. Add in the energy of passage-making with kids – feeding everyone, keeping the boat comfortable, staying present – and it was just an intense day.
The bank from Cat Cay to Chub Cay was stunning, though. We skipped any storms in the distance with just the occasional drizzle, avoided grounding, and navigated a day full of “what if we diverted?” conversations.
Sticking with our planned route taught us about our weather thresholds and about each other. We dropped the hook at Chub Cay just after dark (our first nighttime anchoring), and the charts were spot on. It was rolly, perched right off the Tongue of the Ocean, but our anchor held just fine. It was an isolated anchorage that left us feeling small in the best possible way.
We’re grateful to be always growing and learning.
From there, we headed to the Berry Islands, which deserve their own chapter of this journey, but the crossing from the Berry Islands to the Abacos belongs here, because it was one of the toughest passages we’ve had.
And that’s Part 2.
Sailing Agora 
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