I have showered open-air on the stern at daybreak. I have seen gleaming white yachts in sizes ranging from humble to mega; some with sails, some without, and some on which sails could be put, but the owner couldn't be bothered to do so. I have seen clouds alight in a Pantone guide's worth, only to be mirrored by a metallic, shimmering sea. f My quartet of shipmates from Tennessee and I have taken a weeklong hiatus from our day jobs to live out the lyrics of any country song involving boats and sand here in the British Virgin Islands. On this sunny, 83-degree day-as every day promises to be here-our Caribs are going down cold and the radio is cranked on the flybridge of Jewel Box, a brawny, three-stateroom Aquila 44 powercat from MarineMax Vacations. She's pointed toward Virgin Gorda while on our circuitous route through green hills that rise forth from turquoise waters.
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