The last two days with JoJo fly by just as quickly as the week before. After crossing back to Martinique, we slow things down a little. We linger once more in the scenic bay of Anse d’Arlet, fly the drone, swim, and — to soothe Johannes’ thirst for more sailing — go for a short pleasure cruise back and forth across the wide opening toward Fort-de-France.

It’s during that trip that we hear an emergency call on the VHF radio. A Pan Pan — one level below the infamous Mayday call. An emergency, but without immediate danger to human life. A powerboat is taking on water uncontrollably, and the local marine rescue center is broadcasting the position to all nearby traffic.

It turns out we’re very close.

I punch the coordinates into the chart plotter, and Johannes immediately steers us toward the target while I respond on the radio. The rescue center asks us to stand by and be ready to assist if needed. I’ve never been in this situation before, but it’s reassuring to experience how quickly and calmly the process unfolds — the radio protocol, the coordination, and how several boats in the area immediately respond, all ready to help.

In the end, it’s fairly undramatic. The powerboat manages to limp into a nearby bay and dock safely, where the crew begins pumping out water and searching for the leak. We’re released by the rescue center and return to our carefree pleasure sail.

Our final day together includes one more snorkeling session in beautiful Anse Dufour. Then it’s time to return to the marina, pack bags, and share an early dinner ashore. Soon after, JoJo climb into their taxi and head for the airport, bound for home. What a great time we’ve had!

For me, the next chapter begins: a return to solo sailing.

The following days settle into a familiar rhythm. After laundry, shopping, topping up water and diesel, by midday on Monday, JACE is underway again, heading north with an overnight stop just off of Saint-Pierre. Once described as the Paris of the Caribbean, the town was almost entirely destroyed in 1902 by a massive volcanic eruption. This time I don’t go ashore to visit the ruins. Instead, I opt for a quiet night and a good sleep. At over 50nm, tomorrow will be a long day.

The morning starts early. Rain overnight has left the decks wet, and by 7:30 JACE is motoring north in calm conditions. Near the northern cape the wind finally finds us, sails go up, and the crossing to Dominica begins. The passage is comfortable and fast. Four hours later we duck into the lee of the island at the dramatic Scott’s Head landmark. As expected, the wind drops, the seas flatten, and the engine comes back on.

But uncharacteristically — despite Dominica’s high mountains that usually leave the west coast windless — a steady 15-knot breeze soon fills in and stays with us almost the entire way north. I shut down the engine again and enjoy the silence as we sail along this lush, wild coastline.

After eight hours underway, JACE drops anchor at the northeastern edge of Prince Rupert Bay — my favorite anchorage on my favorite island.

Before I even reach the bay, I’m spotted by Alexis, our guide from the last two seasons. “Welcome back, my friend!” he shouts from his dinghy as he escorts me in. Moments later he’s aboard, welcome drink in hand, catching up on life. He tells me he’s now president of the local cruising services association and shares plans for a Christmas Eve beach barbecue. Perfect!

And then there’s more good news: “Becky” — the dolphin we had the incredible luck of swimming with here last year — is pregnant. The locals are hoping she’ll return with her calf in the coming weeks. That thought alone makes me smile.

So this is where I’ll spend Christmas this year.

For the next two days, I do very little. I clear customs, rig my sun protection, and otherwise swim, read, sleep — and eat. To compensate, I go for a run and a swim, but apart from that, I’m simply resting. And thoroughly enjoying it.

The weather is perfect: a light breeze to cool the boat, plenty of sun, calm water. This place is so beautiful, and once again I’m reminded of why I love this lifestyle as much as I do.

Sitting here, it strikes me how quickly this has started to feel normal. I began the season thinking of it as a bonus. By now, it feels less like an exception and more like a way of being. I notice the thought, don’t draw conclusions — just register it and enjoy the moment.

Not far from where I’m anchored, two old sailboats lie washed up on the beach. They broke free during the huge swells from a recent hurricane. It gets me thinking about boat graveyards — and where a sailboat might want to rest in peace instead of the ocean floor. If I were a boat, I couldn’t think of a better place.

The Christmas Eve beach barbecue turns out to be great fun. Alexis and his team do a wonderful job, and many of the cruisers anchored in the bay come ashore to share dinner, rum punch, and Caribbean music late into the night.

It’s a very different Christmas, for sure. I do miss my family and our time-honored holiday traditions. But the setting and warmth of the evening make it hard for that feeling to linger too long.

Today is a day of extreme chilling. Holiday messages and calls with family and friends. A long swim out to the tall ship behind me , a bit of planning of the sailing itinerary once the three ladies join me on Saturday, and writing this blog post. That’s about all I manage — and it’s exactly what I need right now.

Tomorrow I head to Guadeloupe and the day after Karin, my sister Bini, and her daughter Amelie will join me. I am excited to see Karin after over a month and have the boat full of people and life again.