The Maiden Voyage pt 3 | Getting the Boat
- Nick McReynolds
- Jun 13
- 4 min read
Updated: Jun 15
Today is the day, We'd start by catching a ferry from St. Thomas to the British Virgin Islands, where our sailboat—and the real adventure—waited. First, though, we had to pass our checkout sail with a local captain. If he approved, the boat would be ours for the next eight days.
Customs, Checklists, and a 36’ Dream
The ferry crossing went smooth with some boozy drinks to start the morning... until customs. They stamped the wrong date on our passports. It ended up being a non-issue, but it definitely spiked the heart rate for a moment as our return home was on a tight schedule.
Once we landed, we wasted no time. We hit the grocery store to load up on provisions, picked up snorkeling gear for my dad, and grabbed the fishing gear we had delivered in advance.
Next came boat inspection. Every item onboard had to be accounted for—lines, anchors, galley supplies, life vests—down to the last teaspoon. It was meticulous, but oddly satisfying.
This 34’ Jeanneau was about to be our floating home.
Eventually, our checkout captain arrived, a sun-bleached, barefoot 22-year-old who looked like he was born on the water. Before he stepped onboard, my dad and I huddled up to strategize: Ask enough questions to learn what we need, but not so many that we give away our limited experience.
We got off the dock cleanly, my dad at the helm, me on bow duty. Once we reached open water, I hoisted the main, unfurled the jib, and we caught the wind. 20 knots. We were finally sailing.
The Moment of Truth
Over the next couple of hours, the captain had us run him through the essentials: anchoring, mooring, how this boat handled, its quirks. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he looked at us and said:
“You’ve got me for 24 hours… but honestly, I think you’ve got enough to survive and not damage the boat. Everything else, you’re smart enough to figure out. What do you think?”
I didn’t hesitate. “That’s exactly what we think too.”
He smiled. “Cool. Drop me off, and she’s all yours.”
Just like that, we were alone. Just the two of us. In charge of a 34-foot sailboat in the Caribbean.
Sharks, Boulders, and Swim-Back Sobriety
It was late in the day, so we didn’t go far. We moored in Road Town on Tortola and set out early the next morning for The Indians—a cluster of rocky islets surrounded by some of the clearest, most vibrant waters I’ve ever seen. We moored, jumped in, and snorkeled through an underwater world of reef, rays, and tropical fish.
While exploring, I noticed a cave below maybe 20 feet down. Something told me it was the kind of spot a nurse shark might be hiding in. I took a deep breath, dove down, peeked inside—and sure enough, there it was. A nurse shark, resting peacefully in the shadows. I kicked to the surface, half out of breath and half out of my mind, yelling to my dad:“Hey! There’s a shark down here!” Forgetting that not even gets excited when they say a shark in the water like I do
My dad swam over and dove down to see the beautiful 10 footer nestled inside the cave.
After the excitement, we sailed 13 nautical miles, the longest stretch of our trip, to Virgin Gorda to explore The Baths, a national park made up of massive granite boulders that form caves, grottos, and crystal-clear pools.
We moored offshore and took the dinghy in as far as we could… but we still had to swim about 200 meters to the beach. Then came a surprise hike, longer and steeper than we expected—but the promise of dinner and drinks kept us moving.
And dinner did not disappoint. Cold drinks, grilled meat, fresh sushi, and that sweet sense of accomplishment. A year worth of training and preparing for this moment is not being realized.
A Risky Overnight and a National Park Oops
Then came the realization: we had to hike and swim back to the dinghy, against the tide... as the sun was setting. The journey back felt twice as long.
Exhausted, we got to the boat just as night fell. That’s when we realized we’d moored inside a national park—something you’re absolutely not supposed to do overnight. But it was dark, we were buzzed, and the thought of sailing at night with no experience was a hard no.
So we cracked another beer, lit cigars, and waited on the stern for the taxman to show up and fine us.
No one ever came.
At first light, we quietly slipped out, leaving only our anchor wake behind.
First 24 hours complete
