There’s something about Bimini.
It’s the place where the Bahamas leans in close to whisper goodbye, all turquoise shallows and sun-bleached sand, before shoving you back across the Gulf Stream toward home. For us, it was the last chapter of a ten-month odyssey—equal parts rolly anchorages, beautiful scenery, loud beach bars, and one final toast to the sea that carried us here.
Arrival
Late afternoon, as the sky glowed golden, we raised anchor at Great Harbour Cay and pointed the bow west. With barely a whisper of breeze, we hoisted the main to its so-called “first reef”—what we now joke is “fully raised”. We can not get to Florida soon enough to deal with this terrible rig. Overnight, we motor-sailed through calm dark waters, sliding past the southern end of the North Bimini Atoll until, just after sunrise, having sailed 80 miles, we dropped the hook in five meters of beautiful clear blue waters into the soft sand below just off of Alicetown’s Radio Beach.
And just like that—we were 10 months and a thousand miles and adventures into this journey, with home only 50 miles away.
We cracked a pair of ice-cold Caribs and sat on the back deck, staring out at the kind of crystalline turquoise you dream about especially knowing the brown gunky waters of the Intercoastal Waterway (ICW) awaits in a few days. After the dark green waters of Great Harbour, cheers to Bimini for giving us one last encore performance of the Bahamian experience we now know and love.
A Bit About Bimini
Bimini is a tiny dot of islands perched on the western edge of the Bahamas, so close to Florida, at 50 miles, you could almost smell Miami (a good thing?) on a strong breeze. Being so accessible by boat and one of the few places to check into the country, it’s known as the “Gateway to the Bahamas”, but, in our case, it will be our return door.
Though uncrowded most days, Bimini has always been larger than life in legend. Ernest Hemingway fished its waters. Martin Luther King Jr. found inspiration on its shores. And for centuries, fishermen have called it the “Sport Fishing Capital of the World.” With marlin, tuna, and sailfish running thick, it’s easy to understand why.
Of course, Bimini has its quirky history, too. During Prohibition, it became a rum-runner’s paradise, the Florida coast close enough for a quick (and lucrative) trip which brought economic growth and increased population to the tiny island. And if you believe the stories, Ponce de León’s hunt for the Fountain of Youth brought him right here to South Bimini. Spoiler: if he found it, he kept it to himself. We searched, but alas, still aging …gracefully(?)
Radio Beach
Radio Beach is as popular as it sounds—one of the go-to anchorages for sailors staging to cross the Gulf Stream. We weren’t alone; a handful of boats bobbed nearby, all waiting for that magic weather window when the winds turn south.
(Pro tip: never, ever cross the stream with a northerly component unless you enjoy sailing in an off-balance washing machine.)
During the day, Radio Beach is pure Bahamian eye candy: turquoise shallows, blinding white sand, kids splashing in the shallows. By night? Whole different vibe. The beach transforms into a soundtrack of dueling speakers from ramshackle beach bars, laughter rolling across the water, and karaoke echoing out into the anchorage until the wee hours.
One note: this anchorage will roll your boat whether the winds are piping up or dead calm no matter the direction. On calmer days, catamarans, like ours, will mostly just shrug it off with a slight annoying bob, but still—expect to move. On high wind westerlies, I imagine this anchorage would get quite exciting.
Customs and Immigration, if you are in need, are tucked a mile-long dinghy ride away at Big Game Marina, but as U.S. citizens clearing out of the Bahamas, we didn’t need the paperwork. Still, we zipped Nugget (our trusty dinghy) around the harbor just to get a feel for it.
One Last Hurrah
We couldn’t resist heading ashore for one last Bahamian afternoon. Nugget bounced us onto the sand where we wandered toward Sherry’s Paradise Beach Bar. Picture a clapboard shack painted in happy pink and blue chaos, frying oil perfuming the air, and competing playlists blaring from rival bars. Locals lounged, tourists danced, and everyone seemed to know everyone else.
We grabbed a couple of Kaliks, settled into a rickety wooden table, and let the scene soak in. This was the real Bahamas—messy, loud, colorful, and alive. Between sips, we traded memories the last 10 month jouney to this point and wondered what kind of homecoming awaited us stateside.
Back aboard, we tried (and mostly failed) to let the beach’s karaoke “lullabies” rock us to sleep. At 4:00 a.m. sharp, with Miami lights still hidden beyond the horizon, we raised anchor and slipped into the dark pointed at Miami, 70 miles south of our destination, for an arrival (hopefully) at Port Everglades inlet. We will see how our geometry skills pan out. We planned to arrive with plenty of daylight to spare at what we imagine will be boating craziness.
Farewell
Leaving Bimini felt like closing a book we weren’t quite finished reading. Ten months of foreign anchorages, star-drenched nights, and So. Many. Stories. had brought us here—to the edge of the Bahamas and the edge of our journey. It’s lived up to the adage that cruising life is 90% tranquil and 10% terror. Though my percentages might edge a little more into the terror category with this rig and my lack of catamaran experience at the start.
The Gulf Stream ahead promised home, but also the end of a chapter we’ll never forget. As the lights of Bimini faded into the dawn, we carried its colors with us—sunset pinks, ocean blues, and the laughter of an island that knows how to say both hello and goodbye.
Next up: Champagne Sailing across the Gulf Stream from Bimini to Fort Lauderdale.
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