Still anchored.

All in all, it’s been a really good week weather-wise. Mostly light wind, the kind that lets the boat sit comfortably without much fuss. We did have a stretch earlier in the week—around New Year’s Eve—when it kicked up a bit. A little windier, a little choppy, enough to remind you that winter still has a say, even down here.

By the back half of the week, though, things settled nicely. Daytime highs in the mid-70s, cooling off to around 65 or 66 at night. No meaningful swell to speak of, and very little roll. There was a brief period of north wind mid-week that put some motion into the harbor, but nothing serious—just enough to notice, not enough to complain about.

Overall, conditions have been kind and steady here in Elizabeth Harbour. The sort of week that makes staying put feel like the right call.

📝Harbor Notes

I’m starting to feel properly settled. Not just anchored, but oriented. Learning the routines, the rhythms, the small patterns that make a place start to feel familiar rather than temporary. It’s been really, genuinely good.

The community here is strong. The cruisers’ net in particular has been invaluable—equal parts local knowledge, weather updates, and quiet reassurance. You get a sense pretty quickly that people look out for one another here, and that makes a difference when you’re new to an anchorage.

I’ve started to find a few regular haunts. One is Sand Bar, which is exactly what it sounds like: a small beach shack at the north end of things over on Stocking Island. Low-key, friendly, unpretentious. Last Sunday, I somehow won their weekly pool tournament—eight participants, and by the end of the afternoon, I was $140 richer.

Then there’s Chat ’N’ Chill, which needs almost no introduction. It’s the iconic beach bar here, with volleyball courts right out back. The cruisers run a standing 2 p.m. volleyball game most days—except Sundays, I think. I haven’t confirmed that yet, but I’m learning the cadence.

Across the harbour in town, Exuma Yacht Club has become a regular stop. Solid food, easy atmosphere, and a good place to run into familiar faces as the days stack up.

And then there’s the Fish Fry. More about it later in this issue, but it’s worth noting here as part of the harbor’s social fabric. Like the one I’ve been to in Nassau, it’s really a collection of restaurants and bars gathered together—loud, lively, and full of local flavor. It’s where visitors and locals mix, where music drifts between establishments, and where chance conversations happen. That’s where I ended up meeting a visiting DJ the other night, which turned into one of those small, unexpected connections that make traveling by boat feel so rich.

All told, Elizabeth Harbour is starting to feel less like a waypoint and more like a place to be for a while. That’s a good feeling to have.

A couple of weeks ago, someone wished me Happy Junkanoo after I said Merry Christmas. I had absolutely no idea what they meant.

So I did what most of us do now—I Googled it. What I found was a celebration of Bahamian music and culture that’s often compared to Mardi Gras, but only as a loose reference point. Similar energy, maybe. Similar scale. But very much its own thing.

This year, Junkanoo fell on January 3rd. I figured there was no excuse not to go see it for myself. I bought a ticket, which came with a spot in the bleachers—an easy, comfortable way to take it all in.

But it didn’t take long to realize the better place was down on the street.

Right up close. As close as they’d let you get.

Junkanoo is hard to describe in words, which is probably why I’m glad I took some video. It’s loud, kinetic, relentless in the best way. A dense mix of drums, horns, movement, color, and costume. There’s no sitting still through it. Even if you think you’re just watching, your body eventually gives in—you’re tapping, swaying, moving along whether you planned to or not.

It really is an intersection of music, dance, and full-on pageantry. And while the Mardi Gras comparison helps frame it for outsiders, the feel is unmistakably Bahamian—its own rhythm, its own pulse.

I got a front-row lesson in local music and culture—and a new reason to smile the next time someone wishes me Happy Junkanoo.

New Year’s Day always sneaks up on me a little sideways. It’s supposed to feel clean and hopeful, but for me it usually carries a quiet weight. This year especially. I said goodbye to a lot—some things I’ll write about in time, some I probably won’t. Not everything needs an audience.

New Year’s Day morning, with the boat still and the year brand new, Spotify served up Goodbye by Steve Earle. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it before, but today it landed differently. Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was the accumulation of endings. Closing out a year does that—it sharpens certain edges.

I listened once. Then again. And somewhere around the third time through, I knew I wanted to learn it.

So I spent the morning working it up, letting the song settle into me. By late afternoon, it felt comfortable enough to stop thinking about the mechanics and just play it. I’d had so much fun recording in the cockpit with Scott last week that I decided to do it again—but this time I went digging and found a condenser mic and an audio interface I had onboard.

I bought them years ago in Austin, back when I was trying to learn the fiddle. They were mostly used as a mirror—recording myself, listening back, figuring out what needed work. There are some truly awful recordings floating around somewhere of me scratching away at fiddle strings. I used to call it “fiddle sawing,” which felt generous.

This time, the gear got a second life. The condenser mic definitely sounds better than the wireless bluetooth mics we used last week, but it also picks up everything else. You’ll hear the boat. The water. And at one point, a speedboat absolutely rips through the anchorage behind me and bulldozes the moment.

But that’s part of it.

This wasn’t meant to be polished or isolated. It was recorded in the cockpit of a sailboat, sitting at anchor, on a day that asked for a certain kind of honesty. The noise belongs there. So does the song.

It just felt right for the day.

Enjoy my cover of Steve Earle’s Goodbye complete with an accompanying speed boat.