I remember quite clearly that first waltz with trade winds. Five of us left Canouan on a Beneteau chartered from The Moorings to explore St. Vincent and the Grenadines. A day out, we snaked our way up the channel just north of Mayreau and anchored behind the reef at Tobago Cays, where all afternoon we snorkeled, overwhelmed by the endless coral formations and the dizzying clouds of swirling fish. Well
into the evening we lounged on the foredeck, entranced by the tropical sky as we searched for a first glimpse of the Southern Cross. What I remember most, though, was the roar of the surf a few hundred yards off our bow as waves crashed from the open ocean onto the horseshoe-shaped reef, the nearly calm waters where we sat anchored, and the wind. It howled all night. Though I was more than ready for sleep, I found myself climbing topside again and again to check our anchor. Finally, I remained there, in the cockpit, listening to the wind and dozing until dawn.