🌊 Sailing the Mona Passage: From Samaná to Puerto Rico (Thorny Path Experience)

🌊 Sailing the Mona Passage: Our Real Thorny Path Experience

After everything it took to move along the Dominican Republic’s north coast, we finally found ourselves in Samaná. This place felt calm and protected, a welcome respite.

Crossing the Mona Passage is considered one of the most challenging legs of the Thorny Path for sailors heading from the Dominican Republic to Puerto Rico. For a long time, it was the part we feared the most. But Samaná, surrounded by lush green hills and still waters, gave us something we hadn’t had in a while—space to pause. And for us, that pause looked a little different than usual.

A Welcome Break at Puerto Bahía Marina

We spent time at Puerto Bahía Marina, something we don’t often do. We rarely stay in marinas for long, but this one felt like a true land-based break in the middle of our journey. It gave us a chance to reset, slow down, and enjoy a different rhythm for a while—and we fully embraced it.

Time at Puerto Bahia Marina

But we didn’t rush through this part of the journey. We spent five days exploring Los Haitises National Park, taking in its caves, mangroves, and quiet beauty. We fully enjoyed our time there before what we knew was coming next.

Los Haitises National Park

Those weeks weren’t just about waiting on weather. We also got to enjoy time with friends in Samaná—sharing meals, stories, and simple moments that remind you why this life is so special. For Sophia, it meant something even more. She had an incredible time reconnecting with her girlfriends, picking up right where they left off as if no time had passed.

By the time we reached this point, we had spent a total of seven weeks in the Dominican Republic. It wasn’t always easy, and it definitely required patience, but looking back, it was all worth it. Every delay, every decision, every mile—it all led us here. If the north coast taught us anything, it was patience—and this time, we truly lived it.

The Wait and the Stories

We waited four weeks in Samaná, watching forecasts, comparing weather models, and letting “almost good” windows pass us by.

During that time, we heard all the stories about the Mona Passage. Stories from other sailors, warnings in books, and firsthand accounts made you respect this stretch long before you ever reached it. The kind of stories that stay with you. The kind that builds quietly in your mind. When the window finally opened, it was exactly what we had been waiting for.

We left with a small group but quickly settled into our own pace, slightly ahead, quietly leading the way east. Some boats chose to stop along the southwest coast of Puerto Rico, in Boquerón, but we decided to keep going. Out in the Mona Passage, something shifted. The land faded behind us, the horizon opened wide, and we were fully committed. Instead of fear, there was calm.

At the same time, we never lost respect for what this stretch can be. The Mona is known for its shifting currents, with areas of acceleration that can quickly change conditions—especially when wind and current oppose each other. We also timed our crossing to include an overnight passage. There’s always a different feeling at night offshore—less visual reference, more reliance on instruments, and a quieter kind of focus.

Reflecting on Our Journey

Somewhere between the swells and the silence of the Mona Passage, I realized just how far we’ve come as a family. It’s incredible to think how far we are now—not just in miles, but in who we’ve become along the way… and everything it took to get here. For us, the Mona didn’t show its harder side—but we never forgot it could.

Mona Passage

Our original plan was to continue all the way to St. Thomas. For a while, it looked like we might make it. But after 34 hours and 190 nautical miles, we felt it—that quiet, honest moment when you realize it’s time to rest.

Instead of pushing through, we chose something different. We turned toward the south coast of Puerto Rico and made our way to Isla Caja de Muertos. In hindsight, it felt like exactly the right decision.

Arrival at Isla Caja de Muertos

They call it Isla Caja de Muertos… and the stories here run deep. One of them tells of the pirate José Almeida, who fell in love, took his bride to sea… and lost her during a raid. Heartbroken, he sealed her in a copper coffin and hid her in a cave on this island—returning again and again, leaving pieces of treasure behind. Others say there’s still cursed treasure buried here… and some believe the name came simply from the island’s shape—like a coffin resting on the horizon.

The mystery. The weight of the stories. And yet, what we found there wasn’t heavy—it was peaceful. We were intrigued by it all, but more than anything, we appreciated the quiet, the beauty, and the feeling of being exactly where we were meant to be. It was one of those stops we truly enjoyed. After a long journey, even our dog was happy to run free on the beach. In that moment, it all made sense to stop there.

Looking back, this crossing feels like more than just another leg of the journey—it’s a milestone that took time to earn. We’ve been sailing for years, but living aboard full-time has shaped us in a completely different way. We spent three full seasons in the Bahamas before we felt ready to continue into the Caribbean. Three years of living aboard. Of waking up at anchor. Of making decisions that matter.

From the Bahamas, through the Dominican Republic, and along the entire Thorny Path, we chose patience every time. The dreaded Mona Passage became just another step. Not because it changed, but because we did.

Continuing the Journey

After our stop at Isla Caja de Muertos, we followed the coastline of Puerto Rico, letting the island guide our way. One by one, the islands revealed themselves—first Vieques, then Culebra appearing on the horizon… and finally, in the distance, St. Thomas.

First site of land

It was a good, steady sail for most of the way… until the last two hours. Out of nowhere, we were greeted with gusty winds and heavy rain. It didn’t last long—maybe an hour—but it was a reminder of how quickly things can change out here.

And then, just as quickly as it came, it passed… and not long after, we were watching St. Thomas rise ahead of us. After hours at sea, the outline of St. Thomas slowly appeared faint at first, almost unreal, and then clearer with every mile.

There’s something about landfall after a passage like this that’s hard to explain. It’s not just relief—it’s pride, gratitude, and a quiet kind of disbelief all at once. We had done it!

What made this moment even more special was knowing that friends were waiting for us here. After all the miles, the waiting, and the effort it took to get here, it wasn’t just about arriving—it was about arriving somewhere that already held a piece of our life.

It was never just about getting here but who we become as a family

Standing there, watching St. Thomas grow closer, I couldn’t help but think—this is a moment we’ll carry with us forever. Because it was never just about getting here. It was about becoming the kind of family that could… and sharing it with the people who make this life even more meaningful. 💙⛵

As we keep moving forward, we know this is just one chapter of a much bigger journey still unfolding—and we’re so glad you’re following along with us.