March Sailing Adventures: Gulf Breezes, Starry Nights, and Racing the Tide...

Foggy Morning Over Ingrams Bayou

The beginning of March felt like the true start of a new chapter. With school behind me, I pointed Quark’s bow east and set sail for the Gulf Islands National Seashore in Navarre, FL. Belle and I had the entire place to ourselves—just the wind, the waves, and the vast stretches of sugar-white sand. It was the kind of solitude that makes you feel like the only soul on Earth. We spent our days fishing, exploring, and flying our new drone over the shimmering coastline. A small tear in the foot of my mainsail needed tending, so I sat on deck stitching while Belle investigated tiny crabs scuttling along the shore. At night, the stars stretched endlessly above us, and the gentle rocking of Quark made for some of the best sleep I’ve had in ages.

Repairing the Mainsail

After a few peaceful nights, we sailed back to the marina to restock provisions and prepare for the next adventure: Dauphin Island. This time, I chose to sail offshore in the Gulf, from Pensacola Pass to Perdido Pass, then on to Elberta, AL, where I’d rendezvous with friends. That passage was pure magic—perfect south winds, seas less than a foot, and not a single cloud in the sky. I let out the trolling lines and let Quark glide effortlessly over the blue, the sound of the waves against the hull the only thing breaking the silence. The freedom of the open water, the warm sun on my face—it was one of those sails that remind me why I live this life.

Thursday morning, the temperature dipped to a brisk 35 degrees, and as the sun rose over the fog-draped water, I sent the drone skyward to capture the moment. The images don’t quite do justice to how surreal it felt. The contrast of the cool air against the warm glow of the rising sun made for an unforgettable morning. After two nights in Elberta, we set off for Mobile Bay via the Gulf, an all-day sail that tested our patience as the southwest winds forced us close-hauled, nearly pinching us off course. Sugar, my friends’ boat, had some mechanical issues, which delayed our departure. By the time we entered Mobile Bay, the tide was against us, dragging Quark down to a measly 1 knot at times. It was pitch dark, and three massive ships loomed in the channel, passing eerily close. Stressful? Absolutely. But we made it safely to anchor inside Pelican Cove, Dauphin Island, where we could finally breathe easy.

The next few days were spent in true island fashion—slow mornings, long walks on the beach with Belle, shared meals, and the kind of laughter that lingers in the air like salt spray. Time seemed to stretch and slow down, letting us soak in every moment. We explored the island, watched dolphins play in the distance, and enjoyed the quiet companionship of sailors who have nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there.

Sailboats on anchor - Pelican Cove

Monday afternoon, after a line of storms passed through, we raised anchor and caught the incoming tide into Mobile Bay. This time, we opted to motor through the night, pushing on for eight hours back to our meeting spot in Elberta. As we entered the ICW in Gulf Shores, the setting sun painted the bay in hues of orange and gold—a sight worth every mile sailed. The beauty of the moment made the exhaustion of the long passage melt away.

The following morning, we shared a final breakfast, I sent the drone up for one last aerial shot, and we said our goodbyes. We both pulled anchor at the same time, but while my friends only had five miles to go, I had over twenty. With the wind perfect for sailing, I raced across Perdido Bay. There’s something special about waking to see your friends anchored beside you, sailing in formation, and even racing each other for the sheer joy of it. As they peeled off toward their home port, I waved goodbye and continued my passage through Grand Lagoon and Pensacola Bay, eventually gliding back into my marina. A friend stood waiting on the dock, ready to catch my lines.

It was an incredible journey, one that passed too quickly. But back at the marina, my mind was already set on the next horizon. With plans to sail east and then south, I know there are more adventures ahead—more sunrises over open water, more perfect sailing days, and more nights under the stars. March was only the beginning. The sea still calls, and I’m ready to follow.