There is nothing quite so peaceful as being on a sailboat, in the middle of the ocean on a fair day with steady winds. We left Green Turtle Cay on Wednesday morning with RC's Dream, planning to stay overnight at Great Sale Cay. After listening to the days updated weather reports, our best chance of getting the farthest North was to just keep going. So we did. We left the Little Bahama bank somewhere around 9:00pm and headed North West
toward the Gulf Stream. 
The winds were predicted to shift south by morning. They didn't. By mid afternoon, we are still beating into the wind, heeled over to starboard with none of the crew feeling all too lively. Finally, when one more trip below decks feels like it will be too much, the winds subside. The light and variable winds are not quite the steady south we were planning on, but the boat is more or less level s
o we'll gladly accept it and start the engine for a while. The batteries could use the charge anyway after running the autopilot all night.
As I think about all the power the autopilot consumes, I glance back at the windvane. It is starting to look like a hunk of stainless attached to the back of the boat rather than something useful. Theoretically, it is very useful, steering the boat off the power of the wind, not sucking a single drop of power from our batteries. Since we bought the boat, there has not been a really good opportunity to set it up and try it out. This does indeed look like a really good opportunity, as I scan the horizon seeing water everywhere. But who has the energy. After twenty-four hours at sea, half of that time heeled over at a forty-five degree angle and beating into the wind, life has become very simple. Set sails, set course, keep watch for ships, eat, drink more water and take turns sleeping. There is a peace and energy indescribable that comes from this simplicity of life hundreds of miles from land. Until we have a chance to level out for a while, I can't imagine eating anything but crackers for the next two days.
Thursday night passes uneventfully. Sit in the dark, watch the horizon for lights and listen to the whoosh of water as we slice through it. Friday morning, I awake remarkably refreshed. I may be getting the hang of this dispersed napping schedule. What a nice day it turns out to be. The winds start off a bit light, but Chris Parker assures us they will pick up. And they do. By noon, we have a solid 15 kts from the south, the seas are only two feet. As the wind builds throughout the day, we have to stop and put a reef in the main sail. With both the main and jib reefed, along with a boost from the Gulf Stream we are heading North at 10kts. I didn't even know the boat could go that fast!
Now as evening approaches, the winds stay steady, the seas are building and I watch the line of fluffy white clouds, the front that is slowly rolling in. Still 70 miles to shore. The seas have gotten rougher by now, we've seen some 8 foot waves roll through. We become increasingly fond of our boat as she accepts what the sea throws at her and rolls right over it.
Suddenly we notice the dolphins have come up to our boat. We think we counted eight of them, but it was hard to tell they kept moving so quickly. They swam, jumped and played in our bow wake for a couple of hours. Staying with us till the sun went down. Strapped into the jacklines I staggered up to the bow to get a closer look and try to snap a few pictures. Holding onto the rail, with the
boat traveling about 9kts, and bucking as the 6-8 foot seas roll by, I lean over the edge to try and
snap some pictures. No time for framing here, it's point and click, or sometimes just click and hope it pointed right. It's amazing to watch such quick powerful creatures swim and play with our boat. Apparently, we were the most interesting thing around this even. Although, with a quick scan of the horizon, best I can tell we are the only thing around this evening. Unless you count the flying fish, which are often jumping from the water and flying like a flock of birds away from our boat.
Friday night turns a little less than pleasant. The winds continue to pick up, gusting 25-30kts. The seas are still 6 feet. It takes constant perseverance to keep the boat on course. We watch the lightning in the distance and hope we will miss the storm. We do mostly miss it, but get wet from some showers. As dawn emerges, we have arrived at our inlet. And very happy to see the large, well marked ship inlet. As we are heading in though the channel markers, bundled up in our foul weather gear, observing the brown water all around us, we have to ask, "Why did we leave the Bahamas?"
