The Maiden Voyage pt.5 | Foxy Tales, Last Days
- Nick McReynolds
- Jun 13
- 4 min read
Updated: Jun 15
We pointed the bow toward Great Harbor on Jost Van Dyke, one of the most visited ports in the British Virgin Islands. Cruise ships anchor here. Yachties and wanderers all pass through. It’s a hub—a place you simply don’t skip.
We arrived early and grabbed breakfast at Foxy’s, the island’s famous beach bar. As we were wrapping up, our waitress leaned in and asked, “Have you talked to Foxy yet?”
We hadn’t.
She gave us a look like that wasn’t really an option. “Well, you better before you leave.”

Meeting Foxy
Foxy himself was lounging in a hammock, mid-conversation, with his granddaughter standing nearby. She greeted us first and kindly stepped aside to let us chat with the man himself.
What followed were stories. Incredible, sprawling, possibly unbelievable stories—except that’s kind of the magic.
He told us about a man he met who owned a lot of airplanes. That man flew Foxy first class to meet the Queen of England.
Waiting to greet him when he arrived? A princess.
He spent the day with royalty, and by the end of it, they awarded him a medal for his worldly contributions.
We smiled, half-skeptical but loving the show. It felt like the kind of tale where truth was optional, and charm was the point.
But then… he pulled out photos.
One with him and "his friend who owns a lot of planes"—none other than Richard Branson
Another, a grainy old newspaper clipping, showed the Queen herself pinning a medal on his chest.
I’d written it all off as a tall tale. But there it was. Proof.
A Beach Bash and Ego Boosts
From Foxy’s, we wandered down to the beach—bustling, loud, and alive. This was the most popular place we’d seen on the entire trip. Restaurants and beach shops lined the shore. Boats rocked in shallow water just feet from the sand. People played in the surf, wading through small but relentless waves.

We hadn’t come prepared. No towels. No trunks. No sunscreen.
So we hit the nearest shop, geared up with new trunks and towels,and grabbed a couple cold beers before diving into the action.
We floated in the water, chatting with folks from all over. Each conversation led to the same line of surprise:“Wait, you sailed here… yourselves?”
No captain. No chef. No crew.
People didn’t believe it at first, but once they did, their respect (and disbelief) gave our already soaring confidence a hefty boost. We were starting to feel like sailors, albeit drunk and sunburnt sailors.
We spent the entire afternoon there before hitching a ride in the bed of a pickup truck, bouncing our way back to the next beach over where we’d left our dinghy, and headed back to the boat for the night.

Our Final Stop: The Willy T
For our last full day, we sailed to Norman Island, home of the legendary floating bar—The Willy T.
Imagine a steel barge turned party central. You pull your dinghy up to the dock that floats alongside it, tie up, and before long, boats are double and triple stacked along the edges. If you’re in, you’re in. The only thing left to do is order a drink and wait out the crowd.
From the top deck, a sign hangs overhead that reads:“No jumping.”Naturally, people jump.
Often naked.
It’s chaos, joy, and full-throttle Caribbean party vibes. The perfect final chapter to a trip filled with sunburns, near-misses, and unforgettable stories.
We stayed long enough to raise a final toast, soaking in every detail because the next day, our grand adventure would come to a close.
Closing the trip
The next morning, reality crept back in. We spent our final hours doing the less glamorous tasks: topping off the water and fuel, draining the tanks, cleaning, and going through our return inspection. Then it was back onto a ferry, returning to the U.S. side of the Virgin Islands.
Customs again. A small part of us still hoped the agent wouldn’t catch the passport stamp error from a week earlier. Fortunately, it passed without incident.
We hustled through the final leg, managing to reach the airport just in time, with a few spare minutes to sit down for one last Painkiller cocktail, raising a toast to a week that felt like something out of a novel.

In 8 days, we sailed 81.4 nautical miles. We snorkeled with sharks, drank with strangers, partied with legends, and found ourselves not visiting the islands, but part of the islands. We belonged to them, embodied them, if only for a little while.
Technically, we still haven’t crossed one country to another by sail, so that childhood dream stays on the list. But this trip gave us something even more valuable: the confidence, experience, and camaraderie we’ll need for when that moment finally arrives.
And when it does, we’ll be ready.