Bob the Damselfish: Our Unlikely Shipmate

We were sailing toward Grenada to haul Whisper out for hurricane season when I realized I needed to tell this story first. Because before the big haul-out and the end of our Caribbean season, there was Bob.

It all started in the Tobago Cays. We noticed a small, bright little reef fish hovering around the starboard saildrive. He was a tiny damselfish, electric blue with a flash of yellow on his tail bold as brass, picking at the algae and growth on the hull like it was an all you can eat buffet. We thought nothing of it at the time. Just another curious reef dweller.

Then we got to Bequia. While cleaning the bottom, we saw him again. The moment we approached him, he darted straight into the cavity where the starboard saildrive meets the hull. That’s when we understood: this little guy wasn’t just visiting. He had decided to move aboard.

From that moment on, Bob sailed with us.

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He became part of the crew. Through every passage, every anchorage, every squall, Bob held on. He even started a family. One day we spotted a slightly smaller female Mrs. Bob and then a tiny, almost translucent baby. For a while we had three damselfish living in our saildrives. Mrs. Bob and Baby Bob eventually claimed the port side, while Mr. Bob remained loyal to his original starboard home.

Then, as nature does, things changed. Mrs. Bob and Baby Bob disappeared after a few more sails. But Mr. Bob stayed. Four months in total. He became our official (if unofficial) pet.

We told every cruising friend about him. People would dinghy over just to meet “Bob the Sailing Fish.” They’d lean over the side, pointing and laughing as he darted around the hull, fiercely defending his little patch of real estate. Our British friends in the BVI were obsessed. Every morning they’d check on him, take photos, and ask how he was doing. Bob became a legend in our little floating community.

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Then came that night in the BVI.

Ian was sitting on deck, enjoying the quiet, when he heard it: a heavy splash, then frantic thrashing right near the starboard saildrive. It sounded big. Too big. We grabbed flashlights, but the water was black and the lights only lit up clouds of silt. We could do nothing but wait until morning.

The next day, Bob was gone.

We kept checking for two more days, hoping he’d just moved or was hiding deeper. But there was no flash of blue, no brave little fish guarding the saildrive. Only empty water.

We’ll never know exactly what happened. A barracuda, maybe. Or a hungry snapper cruising through the anchorage. Whatever it was, it got our brave little shipmate.

Rest in peace, Bob. You were the best reef fish any sailor could ask for. For four months you turned our sailboat into your home and gave us more joy than you’ll ever know.

We’ll be thinking of you every time we look over the side.