Sea of Love
Our adventure began on February 10, 2001. As our flight touched down on St. Thomas, I knew my life would be forever altered. While our party was anxious to slow to a pace more conducive to a tropical paradise the imperatives of our journey still lay ahead and could only be accomplished by clutching onto our continental ways. Adjusting takes time and at the moment we had little to spare. Our taxi driver found his way to Compass Point on Benner Bay with only a few minor incidents and we checked in with our charter agency. There we were briefly introduced to our home for the next ten days, a brand new Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 40.It was quickly back into a taxi and off to provision for the journey. Nearby, we found the island’s equivalent of Costco and loaded our carts and the cab with enough provisions to last the Royal Navy for a month.It was then back to the Marina where we stowed our gear and pretended to relax before the onslaught of another hectic day. Up at dawn, back into a cab and on our way to Charlotte Amalie and the local government center. Arriving a bit early we waited until the doors opened and quickly filed in to finalize the documentation. Several signatures later with our wallets a bit lighter we made our final trip to the marina in a cab and began our charter briefing. After being advised to ignore the small craft advisory it was back to Simpatico for the final departure preparations.Unfortunately, the crew was only slightly less confused than the seas in the Pillsbury Sound as we tenuously motored our way toward St. John and Francis Bay. The only moorings left were fairly exposed causing a somewhat sleepless night as the wind howled and the waves tossed us around.The next day allowed a slight reprieve, as we were able to enjoy some time on the Island and slip Simpatico closer to shore.Still carrying the stress of the mainland we launched our dinghy the next morning and made our way to shore. The taxi was waiting to take us into Cruz Bay. After a delightful lunch at Duffy’s Love Shack the party split up, the ladies on their way to the Grapevine Salon and the gentlemen off to do a bit of shopping and sightseeing. We arranged to meet at Cinnamon Bay a few hours before sunset.Armed with a few cold splits of Champagne, Dan and I arrived first and took advantage of the ice cold showers. We caught up with the rest of our party on the beach when the stress, joy and sheer beauty of the moment hit me in waves of confused emotions that put the Pillsbury Sound to shame. My bride to be in a flowing gown of white, with her daughter’s fiery red hair atop her head in an elaborate labyrinth of braids, basking in the tropic sun oblivious as only a child can be to the significance of the moment. Our maid of honor skipping through the waves holding a bouquet of island flowers reminding of us the love that brought her mother and I together.A little more aware and bit less active, with hair as red as his sister’s, my best man saw to arranging things with the Anne Marie, our minister and the photographer. Mature beyond his eleven years he concluded his discussions and the ceremony began.Our boat was a visible backdrop as our toes moved through the sand to an altar of driftwood and a rotted tender. Our vowels exchanged our new family literally walked and then sailed into the sunset of the day and the dawn of our lives.