After a short-lived career in wellsite oil drilling in West Texas, Fritz found himself in San Diego working odd jobs in consulting with his Petroleum Engineering degree from Texas A&M. It was here that he purchased The Tumbleweed, a 1935 wood-hulled John Alden ketch, measuring in at forty feet of seafaring glory. He began to prepare her for the long journey ahead.

An eager and anxious Fritz set sail for the BVI with only 300 dollars in his pocket — less than $3,000 in today’s money. But neither he nor his new vessel were ready for the voyage. Fritz ended up in Panama, where he spent about a year putting his degree to work in the Canal Zone to fund repairs and refinements on The Tumbleweed.

In 1966, Fritz finally arrived in his paradise: the British Virgin Islands, every bit as beautiful as he’d dreamed they would be. As he settled into his new life, he began to use The Tumbleweed for charter sailing, taking small groups on 1-2 week excursions throughout the Caribbean during the tourist seasons.

It was during these years that Fritz began to establish himself as a true “sea gypsy.” He lived aboard his beloved boat full-time, anchoring for the most part in Marina Cay, BVI, but rarely staying still for long. He raced, crewed, toured, and adventured tirelessly, slowly familiarizing himself with every corner of the oceanscape he called his home.

Somewhere out in the Bermuda Triangle, a cataclysmic collision with a freighter left Fritz’s famous sailboat in critical condition with two broken masts. Out on the ocean alone, Cap’n Fritz kept his trusty vessel afloat for hours as she took on water on her passage back toward the islands. When his distress calls were finally answered, The Tumbleweed found her savior in the form of a Coast Guard cutter, sailing under the unlikely moniker The Sagebrush.

Eventually, full repairs were made and Fritz resumed his life on the water. Before long, however, he had begun to work on something new and exciting. In January of 1978, Fritz published Tales of the Caribbean, a sprawling pirate story collection inspired by his own adventures. It quickly began to appear in retail locations throughout the Virgin Islands.

Fritz found that he quite enjoyed writing, and his reputation as a spinner of tales began to spread. His name began to appear in the bylines of articles in publications like Cruising World and Southern Boating, and he was soon able to support himself through book sales in the resorts and boutiques of the region. Fritz would eventually publish six books in total, each a love letter, in its own way, to the region he’d come to call home.

Fritz was surprised to be contacted by his two long-lost sons, now in their thirties and living back in the States. After discovering a connection from little more than sheer happenstance and a name in a phonebook, Fritz’s boys came to see him for a surreal, long-overdue reunion. Thrilled to have his boys back in his life, Fritz took them aboard The Tumbleweed for a personal tour around the Caribbean. They came to visit him twice in the BVI and once brought him stateside to see the Grand Canyon.

For years, Fritz continued his seasonal excursions, stopping regularly to restock his books wherever they were sold across the islands. All of that was halted, however, in 1995, when two hurricanes struck the region back to back. Hurricanes Luis and Marylyn left the faithful Tumbleweed damaged beyond repair. Fritz began his reluctant search for a new vessel.

Fritz eventually purchased a Valiant 40 sailboat and moved on board, eager to be back on the water even as he continued clearing out what was left of the old Tumbleweed. It was a busy time for the old pirate; at 69 years old, he was still vibrant and full of energy, giving talks at the local community college and undergoing treatment for a hereditary heart condition.

Fritz was slated to help sail a superyacht called The Sirocco from the BVI to Massachusetts as part of its seasonal crew. He died in his sleep on board the ship the very night before departure. Knowing that Fritz would have sailed for another hundred years if given the chance, the late captain’s sons arranged to have him buried at sea in the Sir Francis Drake Channel.