Wednesday morning, April 15th, at about 7:30, I pulled the anchor at the North Bimini anchorage and eased back down the channel toward the Atlantic. Coming in a week earlier had been a little more exciting than I wanted. I touched bottom a couple of times entering Bimini and spent the rest of the week replaying it in my head. This time, though, I was pretty sure I understood what I had done wrong. I followed a slightly different line, cleared the shallows without any trouble, and soon had the ocean back under the keel.

After sitting for a week, it felt good to be moving again.

The wind had finally settled down to about 12 to 15 knots, and the sea had laid down with it. For the first day and night offshore, the boat moved easily north, and by Thursday the conditions had become even more unusual. The wind softened to maybe 10 to 12 knots, just enough to keep me moving along at about five knots, exactly the pace I needed to arrive at the inlet at first light.

What stood out most was the sea itself. By Thursday afternoon, there was almost no swell and hardly any wave action at all. Looking out across the Atlantic, it felt less like an ocean and more like a giant lake. Every now and then there was a little lift under the boat, just enough to remind me where I was, but otherwise the surface was nearly flat.

It is a strange thing to be that far offshore and not see any real waves.

As I worked my way north, I could see a few other small boats headed west toward the islands. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the same weather window, just moving in opposite directions. Later, near Cape Canaveral, there were a few fishing boats, but after that I saw almost no one. For most of the trip, it felt like I had the whole stretch of ocean to myself.

By Thursday evening, I had only about 50 miles left before reaching St. Augustine. At five knots, I would arrive just after 7:00 Friday morning, right as the light came up and in perfect time to enter the inlet.

I loved my time in the Bahamas, but somewhere during that quiet last day offshore, with the islands behind me and home just ahead, I realized I was ready to be back.

📝Harbor Notes

Eighteen weeks after sending the first issue of Celtic Crossings from St. Augustine, I’m back again.

There is something fitting about that. After months in the Bahamas, a week in Bimini waiting on weather, and two nights at sea, pulling back into St. Augustine felt less like arriving somewhere new and more like coming home. Which, in a way, is exactly what I’m doing.

The approach was as easy as I could have hoped for. Coming through the inlet, there was almost no wave action at all and the current was with me. Off to the west, the big cross that stands above the edge of the bay where the inlet meets the Matanzas River came into view, the same landmark that always seems to announce that you’ve made it.

I did have to wait about half an hour for the Bridge of Lions to open, but after that it was an easy run through town and onto the mooring field.

Somewhere in the fog of not sleeping particularly well for two days, I managed to pick up the wrong mooring ball. I tied up to number 19 instead of 32. When the marina launch came by to take me ashore, they politely pointed out my mistake, then told me not to worry about it and stay where I was.

That felt about right for St. Augustine.

It’s a good place to stop for a while. There is plenty to do, plenty of history, and enough going on that it is easy to settle in for a week or two without feeling restless. I’ll spend some time here seeing friends and family and getting ready for the next leg north, but for now, it feels good to be back here.