The Day Our Dinghy Ran Away

When I woke up and saw empty water behind the boat, my brain refused to process it.

The dinghy was gone.

“Chris. Our dinghy is gone,” I cried out in a calm, cold, confused tone.

"What?" He ran out to inspect then bolted up to the pilot house, grabbed the binoculars, and scanned the horizon while I lifted the painter line. In that moment of adrenaline, it looked cut. Clean. My stomach dropped. I tossed the line down, raced up the cockpit stairs to the pilot house, and grabbed the radio.

“Uh… any boats in the anchorage… this is Plot Twist… has anyone seen a dinghy drifting?”

Nothing. No response.

The silence screamed.

Our brand-new dinghy — the price of a used car. Our transportation. Our freedom. Gone.

I started calculating wind drift, current, money. How far could it have gone be by now. I'd been resting int he salon only feet from where it had been tied up, and I'd heard nothing. I debated inflating the paddleboard and going boat to boat asking in person if anyone had seen anything.

The radio crackled. “Plot Twist, this is Little Mermaid.”

The same sweet sailboat that had sailed into Port Lucaya ahead of us only a week or so ago called out. They’d caught enough of the situation to check in and offer help, despite being on the other side of the island.

(I have to pause here to reinterate that boaters are the best. We rely on each other in a way people in suburia don't have ot anymore. It bonds us, makes us into insta-friends who turely care. it's why I love this community so much.)

While I was still talking to Little Mermaid, a man came slowly motoring through the anchorage… towing a dinghy.

Grey hull.

Familiar shape.

For one suspended second, I didn’t let myself hope.

Then I saw the console, the length, and I knew.

It was ours.

Our dinghy must've wanted to make friends with him because when it came lose it drifted back and knocked on his haul.

Relief surged through me.

We waved like ridiculous people.  Chris exhaled for the first time in ten minutes.

Our dingy savior brought her back alongside, safe and unharmed.

In the calm that followed, Chris and I disagreed slightly about what had happened. In the rush of panic, we thought the line had been cut. But looking again, slower and steadier, I don’t believe it was. I think the painter slipped off the cleat. we may never know, but it doesn't matter. As a boater it is a lesson learned. We'd always tied two lines, but when we thought we were boarding for only a few minutes we got lazy and only tied one. That will never happen again.

Lesson learned — mercifully, without paying for it. 

We offered our new found friend boat currency (beer) for his time and assitance. He accepted and we sat around chatting for awhile about where we've been and what our upcoming plans were while my pulse lulled to a steady beat again.

With our dinghy secure (very secure), we checked the forecast and discoverd a blow was coming, so we decided to run toward the Exumas, thinking it would be less intense farther south. It felt proactive. Strategic.

We sacraficed our opportunity to enjoy our paddle through Shark Creek to see the baby turtles (sniff, sniff), and set out for Rose Island near Nassau. Our stopping point on the way to the Exumas.

This stop was a great choice, as we were able to swim and enjoy the turquoise waters for the first time in a calm sea state and really have a lovely evening, but then the forecast shifted.

Again.

Because out here, you don’t just need Plan A, you need to be more flexible than a contortionist.

Stay tuned for our next shift in destination and how we handled the largest blow we'd faced while at anchor. 🌊⚓️