Grand Bay is a Treb Lincoln novel. It all started in Grand Bay in Bahia Navidad, Mexico. Treb Lincoln arrives after delivering a catamaran across the Atlantic and finds his friends Chuck & Anne Golden waiting for his return. But things go wrong when the yacht Much Ado shows up and hires Anne to help clean the boat. During her cleaning, she makes a discovery that will take her and her friends through a kidnapping and a whole lot more. This book will keep you on the edge of your seat as you work your way through the crime and drug cartels of Mexico and the US.
Excerpt from Grand Bay
I loaded my sea-bags into the panga and started searching the lagoon for the telltale look of Lost Soul. Being a large ketch with a traditional design, she stood out against all of the sleek new sloops and fishing powerboats that filled the anchorage. The two masts, stays filled with baggy wrinkles, and long bow pulpit made her easy to spot in a crowd. That was one of the things I loved about her. She wasn’t just another boat in a harbor full of fiberglass and chrome—she had character, history, and a presence that turned heads without trying.
It didn’t take long for me to spot her, and I pointed her out to the panga’s driver. He nodded, giving me a knowing glance that said he’d seen plenty of sailors reunited with their floating homes. Soon we were making our way around the sandbar and into the deeper water of the lagoon where sailboats could anchor. The engine hummed steadily beneath us, and the smell of salt, diesel, and warm tropical air mixed into something oddly comforting after weeks at sea.
As we drew closer, more details of Lost Soul came into view—the weathered teak, the lines coiled just so, and the subtle wear that only comes from real miles under sail. She rocked gently at anchor, as if she recognized me and were eager to be underway again. I felt that familiar pull in my chest, the quiet promise of freedom that only a boat like her could offer.
One of the biggest problems with Barra de Navidad’s lagoon is the submerged sandbars that dot the bottom. Lost Soul’s 8-foot draft made it difficult to get in, but once you are in and set, it’s a safe and friendly place to be. You just have to know the way in—or trust someone who does. More than one careless skipper had learned that lesson the hard way, leaving a trail of grounded hulls and bruised egos behind.
The panga slowed as we approached, and I could already see small signs of life aboard—lines adjusted, a hatch cracked open, the kind of details that told me someone had been keeping an eye on her. That eased my mind. Still, something about the stillness of the anchorage felt… off. Maybe it was just the transition from ocean to shore, or maybe it was the beginning of something I couldn’t quite place yet.
Either way, I had a feeling this stop in Grand Bay wasn’t going to be as simple as tying up, sharing a few drinks with friends, and telling sea stories. Not this time.
