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.

On the passage north from Bimini, I finally connected the stereo to Bluetooth and spent a good part of the trip listening to a band I discovered last month while visiting my son in Hawaii.

The band is Twin Fin. They formed in Hawaii, and a couple of the members are former members of the Coast Guard who still serve in the reserves. Their sound is exactly what you would expect from a band that grew out of surf culture and island life.

While I was there, they were actually playing one night on base. For some reason, we never made it over to see them, which I regret a little now. I like that they still go back and play the same places they used to hang out.

One song in particular stayed on repeat during the trip north: California Sober. It is their song, and it fit the passage perfectly. Easy water, light wind, no traffic, and two quiet days offshore headed home.

No deeper meaning. No hidden message. Just a good song at the right time.

Now that I’m back on land, I’ve started collecting the pile of parts and repair pieces that have been waiting for me at my parents’ house.

The biggest one is a new set of gas struts for the engine compartment hatch. Earlier this year, both of the old ones failed. Corrosion built up on the shaft that slides into the cylinder, damaged the seals, and eventually all the oil leaked out. Once that happened, they would no longer hold the hatch open.

Since then, every time I’ve needed to get into the engine room, I’ve had to tie the hatch up with a line. It works, but it is not exactly graceful, and it always feels like the sort of temporary solution that should have been temporary several months ago.

I’m looking forward to finally replacing them next week when I get back to the boat.

This has also been a good test of the current solar setup. Even though I’ll be upgrading the array next month in Norfolk, I wanted to see how the existing system would do while I was away. Before leaving, I shut down one of the refrigerators, so the only real load now is the freezer, which is fairly efficient. I topped the batteries off while motoring into St. Augustine, and since then I’ve been watching everything remotely.

So far, it looks like the longer spring days are doing their job. The solar panels seem able to keep the batteries in a comfortable range while I’m away from the boat. I’m grateful to be able to monitor it remotely rather than spend the whole week wondering what I’ll come back to.

The other part waiting for me is a new fuel line for the dinghy outboard. I lost the old one back in January, and rather than keep improvising around it, I finally ordered a replacement and had it shipped here as well.

Nothing particularly glamorous this week. Just the usual stack of small repairs and deferred projects, waiting patiently for me to get back to the boat.

A few minutes after I tied up to the mooring ball in St. Augustine, I decided to take a nap.

Sometime later, I woke up to a knock on the hull. When I climbed up into the cockpit, there were three agents from Customs and Border Protection and an officer from the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission hanging onto the side of the boat asking if they could come aboard.

Given that I had just arrived back in the country, “asking” was mostly a formality.

What followed was probably the most excitement I’ve had all week.

As they worked through the boat, they found a few things that, apparently, I was not supposed to bring back into the United States. The first was a queen conch shell I had picked up while diving in the Bahamas and later turned into a horn during a workshop on Stocking Island. It was a cool souvenir and something I had enjoyed making, but I had no idea it was not legal to bring back.

Fortunately, for one conch shell, the officer from the FWC decided it was probably not worth all the paperwork.

The agents also found some pork products I had brought back with me. The irony is that they had originally come from the United States, been shipped to the Bahamas, and then I managed to accidentally import them back into the country illegally.

They pointed out, not entirely jokingly, that I could have lost my Global Entry and TSA PreCheck privileges over it. Instead, they let me off with a warning and some education.

It was a good reminder that as easy as it can feel to move back and forth between places, there are still rules that come with crossing borders. Most of the time, I do not think much about that. I just point the bow somewhere else and go.

But now I know a little more than I did before.

For now, though, I am exactly where I need to be: home for a little while, with family nearby, friends to see, and a week ahead with nowhere I have to be.