A bareboat charter is perfect for kids. It’s fun, it’s educational, and it bonds parents and children. Rediscovering the joys of boating through the eyes of a child is a remarkable experience that transports you back to your own first days on the water. 

But, as with everything involving kids, you’ll need to plan ahead for success. 

Set the ground rules long in advance, reinforce them before you cast off, and offer subtle reminders during the charter. The most important rule is that the skipper’s word is law. With two families aboard, parents should sort out the various issues in private. Bottom line: One person is in charge.

Life jackets are essential, but how and when you require them is up to each parent. In my case, all preteens have the run of the cockpit and the cabin without life jackets. Set one foot on deck, and the life jacket rule is in force. Adults should set a good example by wearing their own PFDs so that the kids don’t feel like outcasts.

Before you depart for your charter, find comfortable life jackets for the kids: Wearing bulky PFDs is a quick way to turn a swell trip into a hell trip. Life jackets for youngsters should be lightweight and flexible for their active lifestyle, and ideally have colors that are “cool” designs. With a comfortable PFD, kids won’t think twice about wearing it constantly. If possible, have them wear the life jackets before the trip to make sure there aren’t any chafing issues.

Kids also need nonslip shoes just like adults, and they need sun protection in the form of hats, sunglasses (with cord!), sunblock and protective clothing. And, to fully integrate them into the “crew,” they should have their own sailing gloves as well.

No running and no horsing around until they get ashore. And no kids on deck unless an adult is present. No youngster leaves the boat without permission from an adult. For smaller kids, no one goes forward (even at anchor) without an adult present and on watch.  

When it comes to swimming, the buddy system is always in effect, either with another youngster or with a parent.

The Boat and Trip

For several reasons, I’m partial to catamarans, both power and sail, when it comes to kid charters. Cats have more room inside for playing, they’re more stable, and kids love the trampolines on the foredeck.  

When planning your charter, try to break the distances into small chunks to prevent boredom. A four-hour passage between two harbors can benefit from a short beach stop that creates a pair of two-hour trips, and lets the kids unleash that pent-up energy too. 

 As any parent knows, comfort foods can save the day. Whether it’s a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch or a special cereal for breakfast, make sure you have all the makings on board. It’s a good idea to pack some of their favorite treats in your luggage too because snacks and candy brands aren’t universally available.  

Trust me, kids will be hungry from all the activity, so take plenty of nonperishable snacks. It’s nice to think that they should all be nutritious, but, hey, this is a vacation. Mix up a routine of potato chips with cereal bars, and dried fruit with peanuts.  

A bareboating pleasure for adults is the happy hour, so include the kids. Create virgin piña coladas or Shirley Temple daiquiris to enjoy with the grown-ups.

Time for Fun

Snorkeling is a part of bareboating, but let them try it first in shallow water on a beach. Not only does it feel more secure when they can put their feet down, but it’s a lot easier to adjust masks and fins in shallow water.  

Most charter companies offer masks, snorkels and fins with their charter package, but my experience is that children’s sizes are slim pickings. Buy these at home so you know they fit, and take them with you.  

Kids need sun protection in the water, so take some tightly knit T-shirts to protect their backs. Since they’ll want to explore the beaches and reefs, have reef-runner slip-on shoes too.

Get the kids involved on the boat. Let them take the helm, crank a winch, place a fender. Give them a piece of line, and teach them a few knots before the charter. Then, during the charter, have them tie a few knots for real projects such as fenders or dock lines. Reinforce these efforts with praise. 

For better or worse, this is the digital age, and many kids are addicted. One professional skipper solves this problem by telling young guests that he has to confiscate their gadgets because, as on airplanes, they interfere with the navigational equipment.  

On the other hand, kids love the electronics on board, and a chart plotter (with supervision) can fascinate the youngsters with planning courses and setting waypoints.

Share the responsibilities. One family regularly appoints different youngsters to specific duties, with titles such as dinghy captain (tending the tender), buoy officer (pointing at the buoy for the helmsman when mooring) and forward lookout. Most kids get a kick out of cooking, and the barbecue on board is the perfect chance for them to learn how to flip burgers and steaks. After all, every restaurant has a sous chef to handle the details. Why not a bareboat?

A bareboat charter is a wonderful educational opportunity in so many ways. One family takes books on birds, fish and the local area. Learning about the islands and the wildlife then becomes the key to evening trivia contests.

Encourage and help your youngsters to keep a journal or log of the charter. They can add postcards and drawings, as well as everything from shells to postage stamps from the area. These are not only fun to look at in future years, but they also provide the basis for school reports or show-and-tell sessions. There are a number of logbooks aimed at youngsters in most marine stores, or you can make your own.

Kids need their space, so be sure to designate areas where they can keep their things and have their private time. Have enough blankets and pillows available if they want to curl up for a nap (or make a blanket fort). 

Don’t forget the simple stuff. Being allowed to stay up late and sit on deck with the adults to gaze at the stars (a star chart is helpful) is always a special treat. On one drizzly charter, we taught the kids to play hearts, and they loved beating us. 

One last piece of advice: Don’t overplan everything. Families already have overcrowded worlds with too much scheduling. Use your bareboat charter as a chance to play together, enjoy each other, and just relax.

 Most important, chill out and have fun.

Award-winning writer Chris Caswell is a regular CW contributor and the ­editor and publisher of Charter Savvy, a digital magazine for bareboat charter. 

Pirate Treasure 

Pirates are endlessly enthralling to kids, so you might trace a treasure map that, amazingly, matches your itinerary. It could be “found” in a bottle on a beach, and it might just lead to a trove of chocolate doubloons. You’ll need to take the bottle with you (glass, not old merlot), along with parchment-type paper, a pen that seems old (not a ballpoint), and doubloons. Stash the “treasure” and then “find” the bottle. Don’t forget the “10 paces due west from the colored rock” directions. —CC 

The post Tips For Chartering With Kids On Board appeared first on Cruising World.

It was the second full week of December, and in case any of us needed a reminder as to the time of year, the Christmas winds had Sir Francis Drake Channel in the British Virgin Islands frothing with whitecaps. And, of course, we were bashing straight into them as we left the Mooring’s docks at Wickams Cay on Tortola under power, bound for Deadman’s Bay on Peter Island to scope out a site for a photo shoot later in the week.

The three us aboard the Moorings’ 4500 Baba Jaga that afternoon—Moorings marketing VP Josie Tucci, photographer Jon Whittle, and me—were technically all on the clock. Our job? To have a good weeklong romp through the islands, attend to just enough business to call it a “work trip,” but mostly, confirm that yes, even in a pandemic, the British Virgin Islands are still a sailor’s paradise. So far, they were looking pretty good to me. I’d left frozen Boston a day earlier and arrived on Tortola in time to enjoy a lazy afternoon with a cold beer and late lunch before the sun set, and my mates arrived with their complimentary welcome-to-the-islands rum punches in hand. 

These days, rather than conducting large group briefings, the Moorings asks charterers to watch safety and boat videos before arriving. The upside is that the actual in-­person boat walk-through is short and to the point. So, the next morning, while Tucci met with her team at the base and Whittle worked on videos, in less than an hour, a dockhand showed me how to turn on the 35-gallon-per-hour watermaker, fire up the genset, and where to find breakers and shut-off valves for the water system and heads. 

Next on the agenda was a tour of the Wickams Cay complex with Oliver Kinchin, head of customer operations for the Moorings and sister company Sunsail.

I’d taken a similar tour two years earlier during a visit for the Moorings’ 50th reunion. At that time, the base had just reopened following the devastation caused by hurricanes Irma and Maria, and nearly every structure was a work in progress. This time, it was well on the way to reawakening from what Kinchin called a yearlong “COVID rest,” when the islands were closed to visitors, and boats sat mothballed at the dock.

With travel restrictions easing and charter bookings pouring in, the staff was scrambling to get the fleets back up and running, and also to complete several ongoing post-hurricane improvements to the on-site hotel, a waterside restaurant and other support facilities. 

Our tour included a visit to the new sail loft, which currently is packed with sails and cushions saved from boats lost or damaged by the storms that struck in 2017. The task ahead is to inventory and inspect the contents of hundreds of sail bags to decide what can be saved and what gets tossed. Eventually, a full-service sail and canvas shop will fill the space.

We visited the new-parts warehouse, where row after row of shelves were organized with cubbies and bins holding the countless bits and pieces needed to meet tight turnaround times for several hundred sail and power charter boats. And we took a stroll through what will be a new on-base provisions store once it opens sometime this winter. Factoring in the COVID rest, the progress was impressive.

And then we were off. All it took was a quick call to the ­dockmaster on the VHF, and dockhands appeared, lines were hauled aboard, and we were on our way.

When I visited two years earlier, all the islands bore deep scars from the powerful tropical storms, but Mother Nature had done a remarkable job of repairing things. Approaching Peter Island, the hills were a vibrant green, and the long sandy beach at Deadman’s was as clean as a whistle. It would work just fine as a backdrop for sailing shots of the new Moorings 4200 catamaran, the first of which had just arrived in the islands.

Our stop for the night was Cooper Island. Though several boats were already there, we found an open mooring ball close to shore. Tucci on one bow and Whittle on the other deftly wove their dock lines through the eye of the mooring pendant and cleated them off. That left us with nothing to do but swim, enjoy cold Caribes on the flybridge, and watch gusts dance across the water. In the evening, the Cooper Island Beach Resort’s Rum Bar lured us ashore. Inside we met a couple of charter skippers and their mates from St. Thomas, who were enjoying a last busman’s holiday before a busy winter season catering to guests. But honestly, we had our own work cut out for us choosing what to sample from shelves stacked high with exotic rums from around the world. 

RELATED: Going for Gold in the BVI

The next morning, Wednesday, our little crew cobbled together a rather loose itinerary for the next few days. A sail to Anegada was out. Getting there and back would eat up two days, and besides, at the last minute, Tucci had talked a Florida friend, Trish Gordon, into joining us, and we had to pick her up Thursday night in Trellis Bay. That gave us Wednesday to pay an obligatory visit to the Baths, the iconic rock formations on nearby Virgin Gorda, and then make the run up to North Sound to see what progress was being made rebuilding the Bitter End Yacht Club.

Over breakfast, I took advantage of the onboard Wi-Fi and checked the Windy app on my phone. Wow, we were in for a breezy week. That fact was further confirmed the minute we left the lee of Cooper Island and started bashing headlong into 25- to 30-knot winds and the resulting lumpy seas. 

At the Baths, we grabbed a day mooring, launched the dinghy, and headed for shore. But on the way, we ran into the charter skippers from the night before. They’d just come from the beach, where a long line of tourists from a cruise ship anchored off in the distance waited for their turn to follow the path through the boulders. No way we were up for that COVID party. Instead, we returned to the mothership and resumed our bash north.

To starboard of Baba Jaga, thick clouds loomed over the peaks of Virgin Gorda; behind us, the islands to the south disappeared in a massive squall. Then, by Great Dog, it was our turn to get soaked. My lightweight slicker didn’t stand a chance against the pelting rain that engulfed the boat and sent Tucci and Whittle running for the saloon. Instantly we were surrounded in a whiteout, and I throttled back the diesels so we just crept along through screaming 40-knot gusts. 

It was a fast-moving tempest, though, and I was nearly dry as we ran down the channel into North Sound. Inside, the wind picked up again, and just as we were about to grab a mooring at the Bitter End, the skies opened once more. As we motored in a circle to let it pass, one gust sent the two sun cushions atop the Bimini flying. Whittle caught one, and we had a lively time trying to chase down the other and grab it with a boat hook. Thankfully, a couple of women on a nearby boat jumped into their RIB and retrieved it from the drink for us. And speaking of drinks, I was ready for one by the time we found an open mooring just off the Bitter End’s new dock.

The Bitter End has been a sailor’s playground since it opened in the early 1970s, but the resort, like the one on nearby Saba Rock, was flattened when hurricane-­spawned tornadoes ripped through, leveling anything and everything in their paths. 

It took several months to settle insurance claims, and many more to clean up the carnage, but eventually work began on a new and better Bitter End. When we paid a visit, a “soft opening” was scheduled for the following week.

So far, two overwater bungalows, part of Marina Lofts, have been finished, and plans are to add three more. The small two-story cottages each have their own dock and porch overlooking the harbor, where 72 guest moorings have been installed.

Next to the lofts, the staff was scurrying to put the final touches on the Quarterdeck lounge and restaurant. Much of the wood throughout these buildings, and the rest of the nautical village, was recovered and repurposed by a team of some 70 construction workers. A provisions market, pizza kitchen, boutique and kids play area were also being readied for the first visitors. Resort marketing director Kerrie Jaffe told us that for this winter, the emphasis was on getting the waterfront and marina reopened. Eventually, though, private homes will be built on the 64-acre property.

From the Bitter End, we took the dinghy across the channel to the latest incarnation of Saba Rock resort. It had reopened a couple of months earlier. The first-floor dining room was busy when we pulled alongside the dock that surrounds the building. Upstairs, the open-air bar was bustling too, and of course we had to sample their signature drink, Saba on the Rocks, made from spiced rum, passion-fruit puree, triple sec and orange juice.

The new Saba Rock includes seven guest rooms and three suites overlooking North Sound on one side and Eustacia Sound on the other. They’re pricey—$700 a night in high season—but the views are out of this world.

Thursday, after a morning swim and breakfast, it was time to go sailing. Another day of big trade winds was forecast, but at least it would be from behind us. With two reefs in the main, we traced our tracks back out of the sound, then unrolled two-thirds of the jib as we bore away toward Spanish Town. We stopped there for a stroll and lunch, and then set off on a delightful downwind run to Beef Island and Trellis Bay under just the jib. Alone at the helm, I turned on the autopilot, kicked back, and watched the haze-shrouded islands 5 miles ahead slowly come into focus.

The sun was low in the sky by the time we grabbed one of the last moorings near the airport in Trellis Bay. Scanning the beach, I was pleasantly surprised to find that crews had removed nearly all the damaged boats that had littered the shore on my last visit.

With Gordon aboard and Baba Jaga’s fourth cabin finally filled, we set off bright and early Friday to explore the remaining islands in the chain. We stopped for breakfast at Diamond Shoal, a must-visit snorkeling spot alongside Great Camanoe Island. From there, we hopped around to Monkey Point on Guana Island. On previous trips, this had always been the place to see big swarms of baitfish and tarpon on the prowl, but not this time. After a quick dip, we hoisted the still-double-­reefed main for a lively downwind run to Great Harbour on Jost van Dyke.

Tucci took the helm, and I wandered forward to one of the seats on the bow to take it all in: the towering peaks and valleys on Tortola, the sparkling sunlight, the clouds casting shadows on the water, the wind, the swells. Boy, what a sail.With a hiss, Baba Jaga would catch a wave and ride it until its bows buried in a trough. Then another puff would hit, and we’d take off again. It was definitely a ride to tuck away and revisit on a cold New England night back home.

That evening, a rocking reggae band drew a comfortable-size crowd to Foxy’s, another indication that folks are ready to come back to the islands in search of some fun. We found that true the next morning as well, when we squeezed in behind the reef at White Bay to drop an anchor off the beach. A swell was running and the breeze gusted around the point, so I returned to the boat to stay on anchor watch while the rest of the crew went ashore for Painkillers and lawn games. They even got to watch a wedding take place at the Soggy Dollar and chatted up the newlyweds afterward.

Late in the afternoon, we crossed back to Tortola and Cane Garden Bay. Ashore after sunset, we walked along the waterfront, past restaurants with bonfires burning on the beach in anticipation of the full moon that would soon rise over the mountain. At the end of the sand, we came to a lively scene at a bar and restaurant called the Indigo House. We sat down for drinks at one of the last open tables just as the owner, Valerie Rhymer, tinkled a knife against her glass and announced free shots for everyone in celebration of their first-year anniversary.

Later she and her husband, Kareem, joined us for a chat. She was a Florida girl who came to the BVIs in 1979 and sold boats for the Moorings in the early ’80s. Kareem was from Tortola but had spent several years in the States before returning home and opening Myett’s restaurant and hotel down the bay. For several years while raising their children, they’d lived in the house where we sat. Like so many others, it was destroyed in Irma, but after rebuilding, they decided to open it as a restaurant. So far, business has been good, thanks to loyal local patrons, many of whom work on various charter boats. Between sips of rum, Kareem admitted to feeling good energy now that the islands are coming back to life. He predicted a busy winter season ahead.

On Sunday, our last full day aboard Baba Jaga, we got going early and motored around WestEnd on our way to meet Richard and Shannon Hallett at Peter Island. They run a Moorings crewed charter boat, and it was a day off for them, but they too were on a working holiday, skippering the new 4200 for our photo session. It was still plenty windy, but they hoisted a full main and jib and reached back and forth as we chased along under power. When Whittle had all the photos and drone footage he needed, we tucked into the lee of Round Rock, set sail, and then bore away ourselves for two long jibes to the Bight on Norman Island.

The Willy T was the spot for Sunday sundowners. A steady stream of cruisers and charters came to the ship’s portside ­dinghy dock like moths to a flame. To starboard, the locals arrived in Cigarette boats and multi-engine center-consoles that they rafted alongside. Backflips from the floating bar’s upper deck were the dives of choice for this crowd.

And then, too early, it was time to return to Baba Jaga for one last dinner and a little stargazing on the flybridge.

Monday morning, Whittle hopped aboard with the Halletts to shoot our boat on the sail home to Road Town. Finally, overnight, the Christmas winds had settled down, and we were able at long last to shake the reefs out of the main. It was another outstanding trick at the helm, that close reach back to Wickams Cay. 

Inside the harbor, a Moorings captain came out in an inflatable and jumped aboard to put Baba Jaga back in its slip. And with that, our job was done. We’d successfully navigated travel restrictions, visited the islands, and met many a person looking forward to, if not an entirely normal season, a busy one. And we’d gone sailing. That was the best part. Definitely. We’d gone sailing. 

Mark Pillsbury is CW’s editor.

Pandemic Practicalities

None of or our crew had problems clearing into the BVI. Arriving by air at Beef Island, visitors were taken to a building next to the airline terminal. Inside, officials asked to see proof of vaccination, and a negative test result taken within four days of arrival. Those who had test results within 48 hours were free to proceed to customs. I did not, but rapid tests were available on-site for $50. All of this had been clearly spelled out ahead of time on websites maintained by both the charter company and BVI officials, so we encountered no surprises. In mid-December, masks were required throughout the BVI, and on Tortola, compliance appeared to be universal. On other islands, visitors and locals were more lax, but most activities took place outdoors, and we never encountered any concerning crowds. There were reportedly numerous sites in Tortola to get the required COVID test within 24 hours of returning to the States, but the Moorings and Sunsail had a medical person on-site to perform rapid tests for $125 a piece. Tucci had brought her own home kit, and those results were accepted as well at the airport, where we had to show proof of a negative test to get our boarding passes. To be honest, with a little research ahead of time, travel to the BVI, in my opinion, was no more complicated than it was in pre-pandemic times. Hey, it’s the islands!

Provisioning on the Fly

Our little adventure had been organized at the last minute, so close to our departure date, in fact, that paperwork for the boat and provisioning through the Moorings arrived after the two-week-prior-to-departure deadline for returning it. I went online and ­ordered basic provisions—water, paper goods, beverages and the like—from RiteWay, a supermarket across the road from Wickams Cay. These were delivered to the boat. As I unpacked the boxes, I checked the goods against my order list and found that a few items were missing. The delivery person was nearby, and agreed to return the next day with the rest of the order. • Then, with the gang all there, we drew up a longer shopping list for meats, veggies, snacks and libations, and made a run to the OneMart Superstore, which was recommended by a cab driver. A store employee, Edwin Salapare, picked us up at the charter base, helped us shop, and then back at the dock, he loaded our supplies into a handcart and hauled them to the boat. The staff at the base was happy to arrange for him to come, but one could contact him directly at 284-440-3027. He provided fantastic service, and we tipped accordingly.

The post Treasured Islands in the BVI appeared first on Cruising World.

Ticktocking the inboard from forward to reverse, Rob quickly pivoted the 43-foot Jeanneau in the 50-foot-wide fairway to avoid clipping an incoming cabin cruiser. I stood on the bow of Illumine with a fender, heart racing as we barely cleared the stern of a shiny Beneteau in its slip. I could practically high-five the couple loading groceries into its cockpit. As Rob and I anxiously called instructions to each other across the deck, I hoped that the stressful beginning to our charter in the San Juan Islands wouldn’t set the tone for the rest of the week.

Mike Houston, co-owner of San Juan Sailing in Bellingham, Washington, gave a relieved thumbs-up from the dock as Rob cleared the obstacles and turned Illumine into the channel to Bellingham Bay. I was grateful that Mike had politely insisted on giving us a 30-minute maneuvering lesson before we left. And I was even more grateful that Rob had drawn the short straw and agreed to be at the helm in the marina’s tight quarters.

“Well, that’s not the least stressful thing I’ve ever done,” my husband admitted. “Nothing like learning a new boat with a big audience.”

We both relaxed once we put the sails up. The wind was a perfect 15 knots, the late August sun glinting off frothy whitecaps. Illumine settled into a close reach like it was her favorite pair of slippers, slicing smoothly south at 8 knots. She was the most comfortable monohull we’d ever sailed, a beamy and well-cared-for delight above- and belowdecks.

Our son, Talon, one week into 6 years old, stood on the bow with me watching for porpoises, while his 2-year-old sister, Lyra, napped in one of the stern berths. “It looks just like sailing on Flathead Lake,” he noted.

He was right: We’d driven 10 hours from our home in western Montana to arrive in similar scenery. Douglas firs and yellow grasses adorned the mountainous islands, which were layered like turtlebacks atop the gray-blue sound. A seal’s whiskered nose broke the surface to starboard. “We definitely don’t have those in Montana,” I told Talon.

An archipelago in northwestern Washington state, the San Juan Islands lie in the rain shadow of Vancouver Island. This makes their climate drier and sunnier than the temperate rainforest in the Seattle area, making them a favorite Pacific Northwest cruising ground. A few years prior, our family had taken the ferry to the southern San Juans, where we camped on Lopez, Shaw and Orcas. We were excited to check out the more remote and undeveloped northern islands, which are accessible only by private boat. Chartering with San Juan Sailing out of Bellingham made the most sense—economically and geographically—for exploring these islands’ old-growth forests, fossil-filled cliffs and moss-lined hiking trails.

A few hours later, I was at the helm as we scouted anchoring options off Cypress Island. We dropped the hook in a deserted nook around the corner from Eagle Harbor, where two-dozen boats were already moored. Just after we secured a stern line around a tree onshore to keep us from pivoting with the notoriously strong tidal currents, our friends Mark and Katie and their 4-year-old son sailed into sight. Bellingham locals, they’d decided to buddy-boat with us for the weekend in their 25-foot Bayfield, Madrona. They nestled in enviously close to shore with a 3-foot shoal draft.

Rob lowered the 15-horsepower outboard onto Illumine’s ­dinghy so we could visit Cone Islands State Park, a quartet of tiny isles a few hundred yards away. One of our family’s favorite parts of cruising is joyriding around in the dinghy to explore. Katie and Mark, on the other hand, adore traveling without engines and opted for muscle power to row their wooden dinghy across to meet us.

The kids and dads poked at anemones in the tide pools while Katie and I basked in the sun like sea lions, happy to have the finger cove to ourselves.

“Should we skinny-dip?” I asked her, half-joking. But I should have known the answer: Katie and I had sailed together on a half-dozen sailboats in just as many countries, and she was always game for adventure.

“Heck yeah!” Katie said with a grin, shucking off her jeans and T-shirt. We splashed into the cold Pacific, our happy hoots bringing the children running.

The next morning, we set out for a hike on Cypress Island. Armed with copious snacks and a couple of field guides, we meandered through salal bushes and madrona trees, stepping over dozens of slugs as we climbed to the top of Eagle Cliff. The kids built rock cairns and ate peanut-butter sandwiches while the adults took in the sweeping views of Rosario Strait 750 feet below us. The white wakes of ferries and yachts looked like icing on a blue cake.

During a shared dinner of sausage ravioli that night in Illumine’s cockpit, we perused the charts with our friends. We decided to head for Clark Island—a 55-acre marine park with a long sandy beach—right after breakfast the next morning and crossed our fingers that one of the nine mooring buoys would be open if we arrived early.

We were in luck. After a two-hour sail in light winds (and only one terrifying moment when a freighter steaming at 14 knots turned toward us in the strait), Illumine and Madrona both picked up balls as two other boats were leaving. Talon and Lyra were so excited to see the new island that they climbed into the dinghy immediately, shoes in hand.

“Beaches make the best playgrounds,” Talon told us. “So hurry up, OK?”

The west side of Clark Island did not disappoint—its half-mile crescent of white sand felt like we were in California rather than a stone’s throw from Canada. The kids wrestled and rolled on the beach, built complicated castles, and chased garter snakes under driftwood piles. The adults cataloged the birds, took turns splashing into the water, and watched an otter eat several fish in the shallows. That evening, we headed back to the beach for a bonfire. The sunset painted the sea pink as we polished off our fire-roasted hot dogs and corn on the cob.

Madrona returned to Bellingham the next morning while we continued northwest. The wind was on our nose again (which Katie and Mark had informed us was the norm around Bellingham, no matter which direction you chose to sail). After two hours, Sucia Island’s Echo Bay came into view, a popular anchorage because of its splendid views of Mount Baker, the towering snow-covered volcano that dominates the skyline. I counted close to 70 boats packed into the U-shaped bay.

Put off by the crowds, we tucked around Matia Island instead. Back at the docks, Mike Houston had told us that it would be “highly unlikely” we’d be able to snag one of the two mooring buoys or few dock spaces in Matia’s Rolfe Cove, but to “definitely try because the island is spectacular.” Part of the San Juan Islands National Wildlife Refuge, Matia is home to one of the last intact old-growth forests in the San Juans.

We were thrilled to find both balls available—until we realized they were vacant because the swell coming into the cove was nauseating. The forecast showed the wind clocking south in the evening and calming considerably. So we hurriedly packed for a hike, fingers crossed that the boat would feel less like a roller coaster upon our return.

The 1-mile trail around the island felt like a fairy land. We wandered in awe through waist-high ferns, watching eagles and great blue herons dive into the green water beyond the forest. Sunlight filtered through the lacy needles of ancient cedars and dappled the kids’ blond hair.

“You have to do the limbo to look up at these trees,” our son said, arched over backward. He and his sister ran to a burn-scarred cedar, its trunk wider than a pickup, then stood together in the hollow V at its base. “Mom, we could practically live in here!”

Back on the boat, the swell had receded. I started dinner while Rob gave in to the kids’ pleas and took them back to shore to play with an inflatable beach ball. Their giggles echoed across the cove as they chased each other across the pebbled beach.

I let the chicken-and-rice dish simmer on the gimbaled stove, then took my beer to the cockpit to enjoy the sunset and rare solitude. Illumine was framed by sandstone cliffs on both sides, their hollows reflected on the smooth water. These rocks harbor fossils, and I searched for the feathery imprints of palm trees from a bygone era.

I was grateful that we were flexible on our charter, letting wind and whim dictate our destinations. If we’d planned out each stop, we might have missed the magic of Matia or the sand playground on Clark. While I reviewed charts and my charter packet before we arrived in the San Juans, I hadn’t read a single cruising guide. For me, the beauty of cruising is the constant discovery: catching a wind line just around the point; seeing the wake of a whale and chasing its spout; watching a seal slide through a bay at night, trailing phosphorescent fireworks. I prefer the giddy excitement of not knowing exactly what we might find, rather than following well-trodden routes to “must-see” destinations.

The next morning, we motored over to Sucia Island, our sails no match for the swirling tidal rip currents in light wind. We side-stepped the busy scene in Echo Bay and instead found a mooring in Snoring Bay, a skinny inlet on the south shore. We settled Illumine between a small sloop from Portland and a tiny wooden tug with a dog barking on the bow.

We hiked Sucia’s network of trails most of the day, finding sea stars and rock climbing along the way. Before dinner, we took the dinghy across the wide expanse of Echo Bay. We surprised a pair of enormous Steller sea lions as we zipped around the ­northwestern point. They bellowed angrily at the intrusion, ­hefting their intimidating bulk off the rocks. Motoring away quickly to calm them down, we noticed a rock spit a half-mile away with dozens more of the blond mammals. Talon was thrilled, demanding that we watch (from a safe distance) as two massive males fought over a harem of lady lions.

We didn’t leave Sucia until late afternoon the following day, eking out the last bit of sun and cedar from our vacation. San Juan Sailing had requested that we anchor close to Bellingham Bay on the last night so we could be back at the dock by 10 a.m. without risking navigating the soupy fog that often blankets Rosario Strait. We motorsailed toward Inati Bay on Lummi Island, which Mike Houston had recommended, “as long as you don’t mind the rigmarole of setting a stern tie.”

The sun had just slipped over the horizon as we pulled into Inati, a narrow hook into Lummi’s steep, verdant hillside. Four boats had already set anchor, three of them with stern ties. Only one slot was still open for anchoring—a little close to the rocks for my normal comfort level but plenty safe if we tied to shore. Rob and I set the anchor seamlessly, proud of our teamwork…but then promptly flubbed our success when Rob ejected his brand-new iPhone into the ocean as he stepped into the dinghy.

He stared incredulously down into the murky sea. The depth meter read 21 feet. The water temperature read 58 degrees. “I cannot believe I just did that,” he said.

I could tell he was itching to dive in after his phone, but with both kids bickering in the cockpit and Illumine swinging toward the rocks, I convinced him to set the stern line first. Once the boat was secured, Rob suited up in his spearfishing wetsuit in record time, happy he’d remembered to pack a dive light.

While I whipped up some dinner, Talon narrated his dad’s progress: “He just went down again. I think that’s his 10th dive!”

But he didn’t need to tell me when Rob found the phone. My husband’s “woo-hoo!” echoed loudly off the walls, eliciting applause from folks on neighboring boats who were on deck enjoying the twilight. And the phone (in a waterproof case) still worked.

Rob grinned under his neoprene mask. “It wouldn’t be as memorable if the whole week went smoothly, right?”

After ramen noodles all around and bedtime stories for the kids, Rob and I sat back in the cockpit with a beer. We reflected on our week in the San Juans and both agreed: The minor mishaps made the highlights that much brighter.

Brianna Randall is a writer based in Missoula, Montana. She and her family explore mountain lakes on a Catalina 22 during the summer, and escape the winter to live aboard a shared Jaguar 36 in the Bahamas.

Chartering Information

When to Go: The weather in the San Juan Islands is generally mild year-round. The sailing season is from May to October, when the winds are mostly moderate, from 6 to 18 knots. Summer temperatures are ­typically in the low to mid 70s.

Cruising Guides: Before you go, consider taking a look at: San Juan Islands: A Boater’s Guidebook; 2nd edition, by Shawn Breeding and Heather Bansmer, and Waggoner Cruising Guide 2021 by Fine Edge Publishing.

Charter Companies: A number of charter options exist in the region for bareboat and crewed, power and sail.

The post San Juan Islands Sojourn appeared first on Cruising World.

Monohull or catamaran? Three cabins or five? Two heads or four? Flybridge or raised helm? Comfort or price? Just as there’s no one perfect ­charter destination, it’s impossible to say what the best boat is for a sailing vacation. For those who hate making decisions, that’s the bad news. But for those who like options, the good news is you have a lot of choices as you plan how to make your escape.

To get an idea of what ­constitutes a good charter boat, I reached out to 10 of the largest ­production ­boatbuilders and asked which ­current model is most often sold to charter fleets around the world. Not surprisingly, all but one of those popular charter boats are in the mid-40-foot range, and available with three to four—and in a couple of instances, five or even six—cabins.

Why 40-something feet? Boats in that size range are big enough to accommodate multiple couples or large families but are manageable for an average sailor who may or may not have experienced crew to help with boat handling. Expense is a factor too. The bigger the boat, the more it’s going to cost to rent, but the number of cabins (and ability to split costs among guests) might not increase accordingly. And, ­bigger boats are more challenging to handle, which means unless you own a 50-something footer, or have chartered a boat previously in that size range, you might face the added ­expense of having to hire a captain, at the outset of the trip at least.

Franck Bauguil is vice president of yacht ownership and product ­development for the Moorings and Sunsail. Both brands are owned by Travelopia, which buys essentially all of its catamarans from Robertson & Caine in South Africa. Travelopia is, in turn, R&C’s only customer, so all of the cats it builds are optimized for charter by Bauguil and designers at Simonis Voogd Design (privately owned R&C cats are sold under Travelopia’s Leopard brand).

When it comes to monohulls, though, both the Moorings and Sunsail buy select models from Beneteau and Jeanneau. For bases in the Mediterranean, monohulls tend to dominate the fleets, partly because of sailing preferences and partly because in crowded harbors, there isn’t room to tie big cats stern to at the quay. For those fleets, Bauguil says he prefers boats that have as many cabins as possible because Europeans tend to squeeze as many aboard as possible to reduce costs. That means four cabins and two heads are ideal in the mid-40-foot range.

Across the Caribbean, where North American customers tend to flock, he leans toward a mix of boats, including layouts with three cabins and two heads. Americans, he says, are more concerned about comfort and amenities.

Sailing conditions also factor in. At bases where the trade winds tend to blow harder and ­passages between islands are longer and more exposed, such as in St. Lucia and the Windward Islands, larger ­monohulls (and cats) dominate.

Other charter companies have more-diverse fleets. The Catamaran Company, for instance, offers a number of different brands of cats at its base in Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands. Owner Hugh Murray says different customers come looking for boats with a variety of features. One of his workhorses is the Lagoon 450. Customers like the flybridge for entertaining and relaxing, and with four guest cabins, plus two more bunks in the forepeaks, the 450 can accommodate up to 10 guests.

Others prefer the Fountaine Pajot catamarans that he manages in his fleet. Charterers like the raised helm, so a skipper can communicate with people sitting in the lounge atop the Bimini, or in the cockpit below.

“Then you have Bali, which takes the saloon and puts it in the cockpit; it’s like a cabana,” Murray says of that brand’s open, airy layout.

Cindy Kalow, owner of ­Superior Charters in Bayfield, Wisconsin, ­also manages a diverse fleet of ­older and newer boats, including a ­couple of Lagoon catamarans. Alongside her 30-boat charter fleet, she ­also runs a sailing school, and is the ­area’s Jeanneau and Lagoon dealer.

When customers ask her what’s the best boat to buy to put into charter, she tells them, “It’s the boat that makes you happy when you walk down the dock.”

People plan out a sailing vacation for any number of reasons. For some, it’s the destination; for others, it’s a chance to sail in a regatta in a tropical location; or a new-boat shopper might want to try out a particular model for a week or two before they buy. Chances are, if you have a particular kind, brand or model of boat you’re interested in, if you shop around, you’re bound to find it for charter.

What follows is a brief look at those 10 bestsellers ­mentioned in the beginning.

Bali Catspace Sail

Several years ago, longtime French performance-catamaran builder Chantier Catana jumped into the charter game with its Bali line of fixed-keel, roomy cruising cats. The most recent addition to that lineup, and reportedly the boat most often chosen when charter companies go shopping, is the 40-foot Bali Catspace Sail (a motor version is also available).

Like its larger siblings, the Catspace has a range of features designed for a crew of friends headed for tropical climes looking for sun, fun and rum, all mixed with a healthy dose of trade-wind sailing.

Designed by Olivier Poncin, the Catspace sports the Bali trademark garage-style saloon door that slides up and out of the way, opening up the cockpit and interior into one large, shaded living and entertaining space. A helm station is located one floor up, along with a padded lounge area that shares a portion of the cabin top aft of the mast and the cockpit Bimini.

Forward of the cabin, instead of trampolines, a solid fiberglass bridge deck spans the hulls to make room for yet another cushioned area in which to hang out. An added bonus of the solid foredeck is the lack of spray when underway.

Under sail, a self-tacking jib keeps the work simple for the day’s designated skipper, meaning the rest of the crew can kick back and enjoy the ride.

Depending on the ­charter program, the boat may be available in either a three- or four-cabin layout, and equipped with a range of kit that includes electric winches, a sprit and off-wind sail, watermaker, microwave, and an impressively sized fridge and freezer.

Bavaria C45

Charterers bound for vacations aboard a monohull in Europe and certain parts of the Caribbean are likely to encounter the latest generation of Bavaria Yachts, which are built in Germany and drawn and styled by the team at ­Cossutti Yacht design in Italy.

I got to visit one of the ­latest models, the C45, at its introduction during the 2018 boat show in Dusseldorf, and my immediate ­impression was that it would make a good home away from home with a few family members and friends. I’ve not yet had a chance to sail the ­45-footer, but I have thoroughly enjoyed a couple of afternoons out on the water aboard two other Cossutti-designed ­Bavarias. Both boats could click off the miles, and both were quite easy to sail shorthanded, thanks to a self-tacking jib and a double-ended mainsheet led to each of the twin wheels.

The cockpit area forward of the helms on the C45 includes benches to either side, each with its own table. This arrangement creates a clear path to the companionway and ­saloon down below.

At anchor, a large fold-down swim platform provides access to both the water and a ­dinghy garage. The transom is also home to a sink and grill for outdoor cooking.

Thanks to hull chines that create considerable interior volume, depending on your crew’s needs, the C45 is available with three, four and five cabins, so you can bring along the whole gang.

Beneteau 46.1

Beneteau first introduced the Oceanis 46.1 to North American sailors during the 2018 fall boat season, and it’s no surprise that it’s now the French builder’s most popular ­model sold to charter companies, especially in Europe, where monohulls remain in demand thanks to crowded harbors and the preference for tying stern to along a packed quay in many locations.

I got aboard the boat a couple of times that year, once in a new-model preview in Newport, Rhode Island, and again with CW’s Boat of the Year judges in Annapolis, Maryland. Both times I came away impressed by the boat’s performance and creature comforts.

The Pascal Conq-designed hull is slippery through the water and delivers lots of space below (more on that in a minute). In 10 knots of breeze, we cruised upwind at close to 8 knots flying the easy-to-handle 107 percent genoa; cracked off on a reef with the code zero unfurled, the speedo jumped well into the 9s.

Meanwhile, the deck ­layout and interior by Nauta were both conducive to chartering. The work of sailing takes place aft of the twin helms, where sheets and other control lines are close at hand for the skipper and crew who want to join the fun. Those who want to relax can enjoy cockpit seats that convert to sunbeds, with more lounge pads to either side of the companionway.

The 46.1 comes in layouts ranging from three cabins and two heads to five cabins, meaning you can escape for a romantic week as a couple, or bring along a crowd for a party.

Dufour 530 Grand Large

It’s easy to understand why the recently introduced ­Dufour 530 is already the company’s top seller for chartering. It’s a big, comfortable boat, ­loaded with options, and boy, does it sail.

For more than 15 years, ­Dufours have been designed by Umberto Felci, of Felci Yacht Design. The result is a range of boats which, as it scales up in size, maintains the same look and feel among all the models. With many charter fleets comprised of various-size ­Dufours, return skippers can feel ­encouraged to push their skill set by moving up from, say, the mid-40-footer they rented last time, and opting instead to step over the 50-foot threshold. And when they do, they will find that the 530′s self-tacking jib or slightly overlapping genoa is relatively easy to handle, while the rest of the boat has a familiar feel, right down to the layout of the saloon with its galley forward by the mast, and the grill and fold-down swim platform on the stern.

With a little more than 16 feet of beam, there’s lots of room for guests and belongings down below. Depending on the layout offered by the charter company, there can be anywhere from three to six cabins.

When sailing, that beamy hard-chined hull tends to keep the boat standing upright, ensuring nonsailing guests a comfortable ride. But the ­sailors aboard won’t be disappointed either. On a test sail this past fall, loping along at 8 knots in 10 knots of breeze, even though the Boat of the Year team was working, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Fountaine Pajot Isla 40

Fountaine Pajot has packed a lot of versatility into the ­Berret-Racoupeau-designed Isla 40, the smallest boat in the builder’s seven-model range of cruising catamarans.

At 40 feet LOA, the Isla is available in both a three- and four-cabin layout, ­depending on the charter program, and can include crew quarters in the bows, making it also ­suitable for a crewed charter.

The size of the cat, its ­sailing ability and its ­creature comforts are no doubt the ­reasons for its appeal to ­charterers. Laid out with four cabins with en suite heads, the Isla can carry a crowd, but its size also makes it easily ­handled by a skipper and shorthanded crew, or even a couple off on a holiday.

The Isla’s helm station is ­located on the starboard ­bulkhead, and it’s ­accessible from both the cockpit ­below and the side deck. This keeps the driver in contact with those lounging under the ­Bimini, but it also provides ­excellent access forward, if needed. All sail control lines are led to winches close at hand on the cabin top.

A well-equipped galley is just inside the saloon door, so meals can easily be passed to guests seated at the large outdoor table. Inside, a U-shaped couch forward surrounds a second, smaller table. Large windows surround the cabin, ­providing excellent 360-degree views. Meanwhile, ports in either hull allow light to pour into the sleeping cabins below. All in all, the Isla offers big-cat luxury at a smaller-boat price.

Hanse 458

If your sailing vacation plans include a Caribbean or European destination, a Hanse 458 could very well be one of the monohull sailboats available in the bareboat fleet. Designed by Judel/Vrolijk and built in Germany, the 458 is available with either three or four cabins, the latter likely being the preferred layout for the charter crowd.

As with its larger and smaller siblings, the 458 features a self-tacking jib, which simplifies maneuvering under sail. Tacking requires just a turn of the wheel, while a double-ended German-style mainsheet, led to a winch at each wheel, means that you have control of the main at all times, especially when jibing. Simple sailing doesn’t mean a lack of performance though. Hanse hulls are slippery, and the boat comes standard with a full-batten main that keeps the 458 moving well in light air. The main is easily put away in a boom pouch at the end of the day.

All the sailing is done aft of the twin wheels. ­Forward of them, guests can enjoy the generously sized L-shaped cockpit seats that sit to ­either side of a large ­table, ­complete with a built-in ­cooler. At ­anchor, a large swim ­platform provides easy ­access to the ­water, dinghy or, if ­Med-moored, the quay. And a clean uncluttered deck means there’s plenty of space to ­sunbathe forward of the mast.

Down below, the 458 is open and airy, with a minimalist ­interior that includes a well-stocked galley and a spacious dining area in the saloon.

Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 440

Sometimes a charter trip means you get to discover a new location; other times, it’s a chance to experience a whole new concept in boat design. Depending on your ­destination, the Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 440 is capable of ­delivering on both counts.

With the 440, Jeanneau, along with designers Phillippe Briand and Jean-Marc Piaton, introduced the proprietary Walk Around Decks concept, an idea that garnered multiple awards, including CW’s Most Innovative prize in the 2018 Boat of the Year contest.

With hard chines and beam carried well aft, the builder was able to reallocate ­interior space to include two full-size aft cabins and, topsides, side decks that slope down to meet the cockpit floor. From ­either of the twin wheels, captain and crew need only step outboard and saunter forward rather than having to climb over cockpit coamings to reach the side decks.

At anchor, the aforementioned cockpit coamings are hinged and can be folded out to create two huge sunbathing beds for the crew. Down below, meanwhile, layouts ­include a three-cabin version, with a large berth forward, or two forward cabins, both with double berths.

Under sail, the 440 performs well. The hull is slippery, and the anchor roller doubles as a tack-down point if off-wind sails are available; twin rudders provide plenty of control as conditions get sporty. In port, the roomy interior is bright and well-equipped for relaxing and entertaining around a large dining table surrounded by a U-shaped couch and ­centerline bench.

Lagoon 42

Various models of Lagoon Catamarans are found in charter fleets around the world, but the company says that the Lagoon 42, launched in 2016 and named Best Full-Size Catamaran Under 50 Feet in CW’s 2017 Boat of the Year contest, is the top-selling model, probably for a number of reasons.

First, the boat’s price and size make it an affordable option for vacationers because they can take along as ­many guests as they might on a ­larger, more expensive model. As with most cats in this size range, the 42 is available in either a three- or four-cabin layout. In either case, ports in the hull let lots of light into the cabins, and opening hatches provide good ventilation.

And then there is the sail plan. Lagoon and the designers at VPLP have in recent years favored masts set farther aft, with high-aspect mainsails and larger headsails, which on the 42 includes a self-tacking jib and, if supplied by the ­charter company, a code zero or other off-wind sail.

On a sailing vacation, often the crew includes kids or friends with varying degrees of sailing experience. At 42 feet, this model is still relatively easy for a skipper to handle, even if everyone else decides to kick back and enjoy the ride. The helm is semiraised, so a driver sits looking out over the cabin top ahead and the Bimini behind. This provides good sightlines and ­also keeps the skipper in touch with the crew. All sail control lines, meanwhile, are led to clutches and a pair of winches within arm’s reach of the wheel, which is right where they should be.

Moorings 4500/Sunsail 454

Owned by the same parent company, the Moorings and Sunsail spec out and buy more charter catamarans than anyone in the world, and with the feedback that they get from customers, they have a pretty good idea of what people are looking for in a sailing vacation. So, there’s little wonder that the 45-footer built by Robinson and Caine and sold into charter as the Moorings 4500 and Sunsail 454 won the title of Best Charter Catamaran when CW’s Boat of the Year judges were handing out awards in 2017.

The popular midsize cat is also sold to private owners as the Leopard 45, and is available in either a three- or four-cabin layout. Both charter brands opt for the latter, which provides for accommodations for up to 11 guests, thanks to a bunk forward of the double cabins in the port hull and a convertible berth for two in the saloon.

As with other models designed by Alex Simonis, the 45-footer features ­noteworthy views from multiple ports and cabin windows, as well as a ­watertight door that opens ­onto a forward, shaded cockpit. Anchored in the trade winds with both saloon doors open, the breeze keeps things cool, and sunrises and sunsets can be enjoyed while sitting at either end of the boat.

Underway, a square-top main and overlapping genoa ­provide plenty of horsepower, and there are multiple places on board for couple to find a private place to sit, or for the crew to gather to enjoy the ride.

Nautitech 46 Fly

Who doesn’t appreciate a rooftop balcony with a view, especially if that ­panorama consists of white sand ­beaches, palm trees waving in the trade winds, and gin-clear deep blue waters? Well, that’s exactly what you’ll get if you’re spending a week or two aboard a charter cat whose design ­includes a flybridge, say, for ­instance, the Nautitech 46 Fly.

Designed by Marc Lombard, the 46 comes in an open version, with the helm mounted on the cabin bulkhead, and the Fly, with essentially a third floor added atop the saloon and cockpit Bimini. From there, the skipper has a commanding 360-degree view while seated at the helm, and the crew can lounge around a table surrounded by padded seats and a sun lounge.

In other words, the ­flybridge adds the option of sailing and living ­completely alfresco if guests prefer to, or they can relax in the shade down below under the ­Bimini. And should a squall come through and rain on paradise, there’s the adjacent saloon with its aft-facing galley and additional couches to enjoy.

For charter, the 46 Fly comes in a four-cabin ­layout with en suite heads. A self-tacking jib and full-­batten main are standard. ­Depending on the charter company, the sail inventory ­also might ­include a code ­zero or ­other ­off-wind sail. Atop the flybridge, all sail control lines lead to the winches at the ­centerline helm, making shorthanded sailing quite possible if others aboard want to ­simply sit and enjoy the ride.

Mark Pillsbury is CW’s editor.

The post 10 Popular Charter Sailboats appeared first on Cruising World.

This summer, with the pandemic and social distancing still in mind, taking the family on a Down East cruise to Maine might be just the thing. After all, it’s not only one of the world’s great sailing destinations, but also there are isolated coves, vacant beaches and uninhabited islands where self-isolation is just fine. If you take your own boat, there are ample shore services, yards, marinas and harbor towns in which to haul or moor your vessel between visits. Or you can charter a bareboat or reserve a crewed yacht. Let me provide an overview of what’s entailed in cruising Maine in the second summer of COVID-19.

The coronavirus restrictions remain fluid, and of course you’ll need to investigate the current situation before shoving off. Now, on to the fun stuff.

Sailing to Maine is the easy part.

It’s only 144 nautical miles on a rhumb-line course from the Cape Cod Canal to Monhegan Island. At 6 knots, that’s 24 hours. It’s another 24 miles up through Muscle Ridge Channel to Owls Head Lighthouse—the front door to what I feel is the greatest cruising ground anywhere: Penobscot Bay.

The distance from York Harbor, near the southern border with New Hampshire, all the way to the Canadian border is 200 nautical miles in a straight line…but the Maine coastline is anything but straight. If you add in the shoreline around each of the 4,500 islands—then include the coves, bays, harbors and tidal rivers—Maine has more coastline than the rest of the entire East Coast, more than 5,000 miles. Logic suggests there must be a few places along that stretch where you can find a secluded spot to anchor for a spell.

Maine’s largest bay, Penobscot, is split down the middle by a chain of islands: the Fox Islands to the south, Islesboro to the north, with a dozen small islands in between. There are half a dozen harbor towns, some small fishing villages, and lots of isolated coves in which to anchor. You’ll find uninhabited islands and beaches to explore, mountain trails to hike, waterfront restaurants and seafood shacks, and open-air farmers markets. There’ll be blueberries to pick, corn to shuck, lobsters to boil, and quiet evenings aboard in your own boat.

Nice, right? Now let’s get to the particulars.

The two-week cruise I’ve outlined below will keep you and your crew safe, in your own bubble, on your own boat. Each day includes a few hours of sailing to a new anchorage. Afternoons are for exploring uninhabited islands, secluded coves and a few villages. Evenings, you are alone, anchored in a secluded cove, as the sun drops behind the Camden Hills. There are enough wilderness islands there to fill up a few weeks—if not the entire summer, and many summers to come.

I’ve lived on and cruised along the coast of Maine for 50 years, and my ideal two-week getaway would be a circumnavigation of the Fox Islands. A couple of kayaks and a RIB with at least a 10 to 15 hp outboard are essential for this kind of serious gunkholing. The anchorages I’ve described are no more than a few hours apart, affording the crew some time to test their sailing skills, and the navigator to plot courses to keep everything off the rocks. You may also find your own anchorages. There are untold options galore, so go explore. I won’t mind at all.

Day One: Rockland is a good place to start (and also a good spot to leave your boat between visits). This large commercial port is easy to enter, with ample space for anchoring. There are rental moorings, docks, fuel, four marinas (including a mega-yacht facility), a large chandlery (Hamilton Marine), supermarkets, canvas shop, mechanics and boatyards. Main Street is abuzz with shops, a theater, two art museums, lots of art galleries, and half a dozen restaurants; the four-star Primo eatery is also nearby. Cape Air provides regular service to Boston from the local airport; the Concord bus line stops at the ferry terminal twice each day. US1 passes through town, and rental and loaner cars are available. Box stores are a few miles out of town. It’s almost civilized there.

To kick things off, leave Rockland midmorning and steer northeast for Pulpit Harbor on the northwest corner of North Haven Island. It’s only 10 nautical miles, and with a southerly breeze, you’ll be there by lunch. Leave Pulpit Rock, with an osprey nest atop, to starboard and find a spot to anchor inside. The moorings are all locally owned, so find a spot in midharbor in 25 feet of water to anchor, or in the two coves on the south side.

There’s a public dock farther in for your dinghy. The island’s food store is a half-mile walk south, from the bridge. Take your dinghy farther up into the cove, past the traffic bridge. Farmland, fields of lupine, and cottages covered in roses line the banks and roads. In the summer, the sun sets over the Camden Hills across the bay well after 8 p.m.

Day Two: Two options: north around the top of North Haven, or south. The wind that day will dictate. The northerly route offers up a scattering of islands with four possible anchorages. Hank and Jan Taft have described these in their comprehensive A Cruising Guide to the Maine Coast (see “Resources and References,” page 51). The Barred Islands and Butter Island are accessible and a good place for lunch, beachcombing, a hike, or even an overnight stop in settled conditions.

Quick aside on dinghies: Finding a place along these islands to beach a dinghy is one thing; securing said dinghy is another. Pull it up on the beach, and when you get back from your hike, you might find that the tide has floated it off the beach and it’s drifting away, or it’s high and dry, 30 feet from the water’s edge.

There are numerous techniques to solve this problem. The captain can drop off the landing party and return to the yacht for a nap. Go ashore in kayaks; they are easily pulled above the high-tide line and carried back. Or rig a dinghy-retrieval mooring system: Secure a floating buoy to the dinghy anchor line with a shackle. Drop it in deep water. Nose into the beach, off-load, then with a long loop of line rove through a shackle on the anchor float, pull the dinghy back out to where you dropped the anchor. Tie the shore end of the loop to something above high tide. When you get back, just pull your dinghy in to the beach. Make your own, or try West Marine’s Anchor Buddy, a ready-made dinghy mooring system using a long bungee cord that snaps your dinghy back out into deep water.

Days Three and Four: With a fair breeze, steer southeast from Butter Island, down to Oak Hill on the tip of North Haven. Give the hodgepodge of small islands and ledges a wide berth on the way. Mind the current. There are two possible anchorages: Marsh Cove, below the hill on which sits the Watson Estate. No access ashore. Mullen Cove is better. The beach provides access to hiking trails through a town-owned park. Just south is Burnt Island, now a North Haven park, with a walking trail all the way around and a float to which you can tie a dinghy at any state of the tide. Or head for the beach off the northwest tip of Calderwood Island. You can’t go wrong with any of these.

Calderwood is tucked in between Simpson and Babbidge islands on the northeast side of the Fox Island Thoroughfare. Uninhabited and open to the public, it is now owned by Maine Coast Heritage Trust, which keeps the trails open now that the sheep have left. There’s a spruce forest at the southern end where the kids can build fairy houses. Anchor off the beach on the north side where hiking trails begin. Be aware of the rock in the middle of the anchorage. I spent a few hours there once waiting to be floated off. This is a popular anchorage, and if too crowded, there’s another spot to the east, between Calderwood and Babbidge. Two beaches provide access ashore and to the trails. The passage between the two islands is strewn with ledges and rock. When departing, go back around the north side of Babbidge or Calderwood. Calderwood might need two days to fully explore. I’ve spent weeks there photographing.

Nearby are two obvious anchorages for the night: Carver Cove, south of Widow Island, is calm, with views of saltwater farms, fields and forests. To the north, past the Goose Rocks spark plug lighthouse is Kent Cove. There’s no shore access, but if there’s a breeze, there’ll be no mosquitos.

Day Five: You have decisions to make: You could go east to Stonington, the Deer Isle Thoroughfare, and on to the islands farther down the Maine coast. (We say “down” up here in Maine when heading up the coast, as in Down East. The prevailing winds are southwest, meaning you’re mostly sailing “downwind.”)

But for the purposes of this itinerary, that cruise is for another time. So we’ll head west through the Fox Islands Thoroughfare, a narrow body of water separating North Haven from Vinalhaven. It’ll be busy with schooners, fishermen, gleaming classic yachts, and powerboats of all sizes passing through. The shore on the south side has a few summer cottages from the previous century. In the 1800s, Maine was a summer retreat for the wealthy from Boston, Manhattan and Philadelphia. With extended families and servants, they arrived by steamship to “camp out” in rambling cedar-shingled cottages. These “cottages” might look small from offshore, but up close, they are massive mansions with dozens of rooms, rambling porches, and servant’s quarters. They are still there. In recent years, the wealthy have returned to buy up fishermen’s shore frontage to erect even-more-lavish estates, with a jet-powered Hinckley picnic boat tied to the dock.

On the north side of the thoroughfare is the small village of North Haven, established by wealthy New York yachtsmen in the last century. North Haven is a world apart from its neighbor, Vinalhaven. The only grocery store is in the middle of the island, but the village might have places to order lunch, ice cream or dinner. This changes annually. Anchor outside the mooring field and out of the ferry’s approach to its terminal. Dinghy docks line both sides of the ferry terminal. The village has a library, art galleries and a community center with frequent performances, plays, lecturers and concerts. The roads wander inland past Victorian cottages, farms, fields and forests. Eric Hopkins, an island painter with a wide reputation, has a studio and gallery in the village, and there may be others. Seasons change, as do the residents.

Spend the night at anchor, or duck around to Perry Creek, a narrow cove on the south side of the thoroughfare. Ashore is a wilderness park with walking trails. Wander through spruce forests, over ledge outcroppings with views. It’s tight in there, but there are a few moorings that can be used by transients for a donation to the Vinalhaven Land Trust. Or drop the hook at the eastern entrance in 20 feet of water. If that’s too crowded, head farther south into Seal Cove. Watch the chart closely because rocks are about, but you should be able to find a spot with sufficient swing room. Take the dinghy back up to Perry Creek, where there’s access to the trails on the southeast side. Watch for a sign nailed high up on a tree. Set your dinghy moor and climb ashore.

Day Six: Heading west down the thoroughfare, pass Browns Light to port, the Sugar Loaves to starboard. You’re heading to Leadbetter Narrow. Pass north of Dogfish Island. To port is Crockette Cove, where there’s room for a boat or two, but mind the underwater cables. At high tide, you can take the dinghy or kayaks a mile and more up into the cove. There are more anchorages on the other side of Leadbetter Narrow.

Narrow is the operative word. It’s a tight squeeze between Leadbetter Island and the mainland of Vinalhaven. Steer north of the green can that marks a rock in the middle of the gap. The current is swift through there. Pass through, and you are at the head of Hurricane Sound, surrounded by a string of islands to the west and Vinalhaven to the east.

There is a lot to explore there, but first get the boat anchored. There’s a nifty spot to the east of Turnip Island, a small tree-topped isle at the entrance to Long Cove, a milelong fjord carved into the solid granite of Vinalhaven Island. There is an abandoned quarry on the hill that provided building blocks for the post offices in Boston and New York in the 1800s. At that time, more people lived and worked the granite quarries on Vinalheaven than live there now.

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The entrance into Long Cove, to the east of Hall Island, narrows to 200 feet, but once through, the cove opens up into a quiet pond with room for a few boats to anchor. The shoreline is tall, covered in spruce. There are a few floating docks along both sides of the shore. Pathways lead up to large private estates. No access there.

A third of the way in, there’s a ledge barring the way, so take the dinghy and explore. Be back before the tides are low because the bar might be too shallow to navigate.

Day Seven: From your anchorage in or near Long Cove, there are small coves and islands—including Fiddlehead and a spot called the Basin—to explore. Use the kayaks, but someone should be in the RIB as a chase boat. The Basin is a large, almost landlocked body of water that’s worth a whole day fussing around in small boats. The narrow entrance to the Basin provides a reversing-falls effect, so enter at slack tide, or with the RIB. Be warned: The narrows can be a whitewater experience.

Day Eight: There are dozens of small islands to the west, a few with limited anchorages. One is south of the neck between Lawry’s Island and Cedar Island. There’s enough room for one, so leave early enough or give it a pass if someone is there. Farther south in Hurricane Sound are White and Garden islands, with two possible anchorages. Go ashore on the beach and take in beautiful vistas of the Camden Hills, and across to Owls Head.

Day Nine: Sail south to the anchorage and mooring field off the east side of Hurricane Island. In the 1800s, this island was a bustling community working the granite stone quarry, still visible today. In the 1970s and ’80s, it was home to the Outward Bound School. In 2009, the Hurricane Island Center for Science and Leadership took over the site, with science, technology, engineering and mathematics experiential education programs for youths between the ages of 11 and 18. Guest rental moorings might be available, and you are invited to go ashore. Anchoring is possible, but the bottom is rocky, with kelp. There are trails around the island and a center to visit.

You’ve been gone a week now, and you might need a few provisions. There’s a small grocery store nearby in Carvers Harbor. You can get there by going southeast around Herons Neck light or up and around Greens Island, then down the Reach, a narrow, twisty passageway between Vinalhaven and Greens Island leading to Carvers Harbor, the main settlement on the island. Keep an eye on the chart and markers as you go because they can be confusing. You might meet the ferry on its way to or from Rockland.

Just before the ferry terminal, drop the hook off Dodge Point or on the opposite side of the entrance, south of Potato Island. Send in the dinghy to see if there is a rental mooring available. Look for a buoy with a bottle wired atop a stick. It’s for the rental fee. Call the harbor master if necessary (207-756-0209).

Carvers Harbor is one of Maine’s busiest lobster-fishing harbors, landing some 5 million pounds of lobster annually. The harbor is narrow, full of lobster boats, and the shore is lined with floating docks piled high with the traps, wood crates and scales. It’s there where fishermen offload and weigh their haul, and cash out. There’s no room in the harbor to anchor, and the bottom is too hard anyway, so anchor outside.

There’s lots to do ashore, so take the crew to the dinghy dock at the head of the harbor, where you can tie up. Across the street is the Nightingale Restaurant, formerly the Harbor Gawker. There are shops, a grocery store, art galleries, pubs, offices and buildings that date back to when this town was a granite shipping port. The streets lead to lanes, past Victorian homes and farms, summer estates, forests, and abandoned, water-filled quarries. Stay overnight because tomorrow will be a long day.

Day 10: It’s just 4 miles from Carvers Harbor to Brimstone Island, a tall, rugged, uninhabited island on the outer edge of Penobscot Bay. It might as well be on the edge of the world. Anchor off the pebble beach at the northwest corner. This is a day-only anchorage. The bottom is rocky with kelp. Holding ground is better on the south side between Brimstone and Little Brimstone but only in settled weather. Dinghy ashore, but keep an eye on the tide or set a dinghy mooring.

The island beach is famous for its small, round, black basaltic pebbles, polished smooth by 100,000 years of wave and tidal action. The stones arrived there eons ago from far, far to the north, carried by the ice sheet as it moved slowly south. I’ve carried three of these small black stones in my left pocket for years. Wherever I am in the world, I can grab a handful of Maine. Stay clear of the east side of the island because it is a bird nesting area.

By early afternoon it will be time to gather up the crew and return to the boat for lunch and a discussion of what to do with the remaining days of the trip.

Day 11: Six miles north of Brimstone, halfway up the eastern shore of Vinalhaven, is Seal Bay, a nifty piece of water with anchorages, coves and islands. The entrance is between aptly named Bluff Head and Hen Island. The channel is narrow and the current swift, but inside there are five or six individual and secluded anchorages. You’ll be surrounded by a granite and spruce wilderness. The only trail access is through Huber Preserve, south of Burnt Island. With a kayak or the dinghy, you can explore the coves and islands, and watch wildlife, birds, dolphins, foxes, and perhaps see a deer. Next to Seal Bay is Winter Harbor, another narrow cove cut deep into the island. There are three or four spots to anchor, but mind the current and swing room.

Days 12 and 13: It’s time to get back into civilization, and cellphone service. Let’s head to Camden. This is a morning trip from Seal Bay. Head up through the Fox Island Thoroughfare, put the Sugar Loaves to port this time, and turn right at the Fiddler, a granite stone monument at the southern end of a ledge off Stand-In-Point. From there, it’s an 8-mile dash across West Bay to Camden. Watch out for the Graves, a ledge above high tide, marked by a light, a mile and a half southeast from Camden.

Put Curtis Island Lighthouse to port as you enter Camden’s outer harbor. There’s room to anchor inside to the right, east of the mooring field, west of the ledges. The Yacht Club, Wayfarer Marine and the town have rental moorings. Call ahead. The inner-harbor floats are filled with local craft, but Wayfarer and the town docks might have space to come alongside. Wayfarer has a fuel dock and pump-out station. The town has a pump-out boat that will come to you in the outer harbor. Call ahead.

Ashore, Camden is as charming a town as you could imagine. It was the film set for the 1950s movie Peyton Place. There are shops, a library, provisioning, laundry, and on Wednesdays and Saturdays, there’s an open-air farmers market. There are hardware stores, T-shirt shops, and art and home-furnishing galleries. Camden has also become Maine’s foodie town, with more a dozen restaurants, featuring Italian, Asian and French cuisine, and good-old New England seafood. There’s waterfront dining, and Harbor Dogs—a fish-taco truck—is right there on the public landing.

There’s a large, freshwater lake nearby and half a dozen hiking trails that wander through the Camden Hills. A half-hour climb to the top of Mount Battie, which oversees Camden, provides stunning vistas of Penobscot Bay. You can see the islands you just explored, with views all the way to Blue Hill, Cadillac Mountain and Isle au Haut. The trail begins just a 10-minute walk from the dinghy docks.

In non-COVID times, there are concerts and plays, as well as performances on the library lawn and at the Opera House. Wandering the streets or hiking over the hill to Rockport will get you back in shape from two weeks of cruising. It’s so nice there, you could move in. I did.

Day 14: Last day—it’s back to Rockland, 7 miles south of Camden. The crew can pack up, unload and head back to civilization. The boat can get parked on a mooring until the next adventure, or take you south. From there, it’s roughly 36 hours to Newport, Rhode Island. Or you can haul the boat for the winter, with plans to sail farther east next summer.

You can also think about future trips.

Northern Penobscot Bay needs a visit, including Warren Island, a state park next to Islesboro Island with hiking trails. Then into East Bay to visit Castine Harbor, Smith Cove and a dinghy trip up the Bagaduce. There are small coves and anchorages such as Bucks Harbor, along Eggemoggin Reach. Swans Island is next, then up into Blue Hill Bay, over to Mount Desert Island and Somes Sound. That’s another two-week jaunt before returning west, back through the Deer Isle Thoroughfare, with stops in Stonington and the islands of Merchants Row. Then a day’s sail back to Rockland.

The opportunities are endless. This could become a habit.

The Challenges of Cruising Maine

here are a few navigational challenges I should mention, such as fog, 10-foot tides, 4-knot currents, anchoring among rocks and ledges, and lobster buoys and trap lines. I didn’t say cruising the coast of Maine was going to easy, but it can be an exciting challenge for any cruising sailor. I can think if no better place to test your skills while exploring one of the world’s great archipelagos.

Fog: There are three degrees of fog, I’m told. With “normal” fog, you can see a quarter-mile ahead. “Thick” fog is when you can see only a few boat lengths ahead. With “dungeons” of fog, it’s so thick, you can’t see the bow of your own boat. In the old days, Mainers practiced potato navigation: a kid on the bow with a bag of spuds tossing them ahead. A splash? Keep going. A thud? Tacking!

Today, AIS, radar, GPS, chart plotters and VHF have reduced the anxiety, but many lobster boats fail to use AIS, radar doesn’t see trap buoys and lines, and the currents haven’t changed. Someone on deck needs to keep visual watch while you are below glued to the radar screen. The sounder doesn’t help much in fog. Your keel could be in 30 feet of water with the bowsprit tangled up in the spruce trees ashore. The most valuable piece of equipment to have on board in fog is the anchor. Fog will burn off by late morning—if it’s going to. In June and early July, fog is more common, less so later in the summer. September is the best month in Maine.

Tides and current: Tides in Maine run 8 to 10 feet. That’s a lot of water to push up into the bays and drain back out, twice each day, at six- and 12-hour intervals. The tidal current running in and out of bays and coves can reach 4 knots. An hour’s run across the bay can set you off a mile on arrival, unless you compensate. With all those ledges and rocks lurking about, even a few feet off course can put you aground.

Anchoring means deploying sufficient scope to cope with the tidal range. Then there’s the set of the current: When the tidal current switches direction, where will your boat sit? Best to have a few anchors and extra line aboard to deploy in a Bahamian moor, to anchor astern or to run a stern line ashore.

Lobster buoys and trap lines: Lobster buoys are as much a hazard as fog and currents. Maine is prime lobster-fishing territory, with buoys so thick in places, you could walk to shore on them. The colorful buoys are not the problem—it’s the line that floats just below the surface from the buoy to the toggle. The toggle is a small float that keeps the trap line off the bottom, but when the tide is low, the toggle might reach the surface, and the 20 feet of line to the colorful buoy floats just below the surface.

Steer around the top of a buoy, not the bottom end where the line exits the base of the buoy. Do not go between the buoy and the toggle; you’re liable to find that you’ve snagged the line and fouled the prop. This might require a dive overboard into frigid water to cut the line free. And in most places, the sea rarely gets above 60 degrees, even in the middle of the summer. Lobster boats have a wire cage around the prop to keep out their trap lines. You can have a line cutter bolted to your prop shaft to cut the line, but then the fisherman has lost his trap. Radar doesn’t see the buoys, and you can’t see them at night. Keep a constant watch when navigating in Maine, and steer clear of buoys and trap lines. Even sailboats with their prop locked can snag a line on the blades or the rudder. Divers can be hired in many harbors to free a fouled prop. Still, lobster buoys are helpful in seeing which way the current flows and at what speed.

Prevailing winds: A midsummer day in Maine is apt to be under a high-pressure system, resulting in sunny, fog-free days but little wind, especially in the mornings. As the land heats up, a southwest sea breeze is likely to fill in after lunch, and might get up to 20 knots by late afternoon, just before dying off before dark. Gales are infrequent in the summer, and when a low comes up the East Coast, it tends to pass by just offshore to the east, producing northeasterly winds. Most Maine bays and harbors are open to the southwest, providing a lee to those winds. Hurricanes are infrequent.

David H. Lyman is journalist, author, photographer and sailor. He sailed into Maine in the early 1970s and started a summer photography school, the Maine Photographic Workshops, which continues today as Maine Media Workshops (mainemedia.edu). He has been owned by four different sailboats, from an Alden 34-footer to a Bowman 57. He has sailed the entire East Coast, and made more than 24 offshore voyages between Maine and the Caribbean. His first memoir about his hitch as a Navy photojournalist with a Seabee outfit in Vietnam in 1967 was published in 2019. He lives and writes in Camden, Maine.

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It was 0730. The sun was struggling to climb above the clouds that cover the mountains surrounding the roadstead anchorage off the village of Sainte-Anne, on the island of Martinique. Another warm day in the Caribbean. The trade winds were blowing, keeping the 200-plus sailboats anchored there all aiming in the same direction.

I had just come into the cockpit of Dove—a 54-foot Crealock sloop that I was boat-sitting for a friend—with a bowl of fresh fruit and my coffee when I heard the familiar buzz of a 10-horsepower outboard approaching. A young French couple was heading toward me with the rest of my breakfast.

“Bonjour,” I shouted as their 10-foot inflatable came alongside.

“Bonjour,” they both replied. Guerric, a tall, thin man in his late 20s, stood up to grab the cap rail. His companion, Juliette, sat on the dinghy’s pontoon, crammed in among plastic tubs of baguettes and pastries. “What will it be today?” she asked in her accented English.

“A chocolate croissant,” I replied. “And a baguette for my lunch.” Juliette removed the cover to a pastry tub, slipped my breakfast into a brown paper bag and handed it to Guerric, who then handed it up to me along with a long baguette.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, diving below to paw through a pile of coins on the chart table. The baguette they sell me each morning is 1.90 euros, the croissant 1.50. I could get both cheaper in the village, but that would mean getting dressed, lowering the dinghy, firing up the engine, speeding into town, finding a spot at the overcrowded dinghy dock, locking the security chain to a cleat, walking through the village, then standing in line at the boulangerie with a dozen others. Then, it’s all the way back to the boat. Forget the expense. The service Juliette and Guerric provide each morning is worth the markup.

Besides, after two weeks here, alone, among hundreds of French yachts at anchor and a village full of French tourists, they were the only two I could converse with in English. So we would chat.

Guerric and Juliette are both from Lyon, France. He was a chef and she was teaching school until they both took off the previous fall for a yearlong adventure. Since neither had much sailing experience, they couldn’t find a boat to sail on to cross the Atlantic, so they flew to Guadeloupe. From there they joined a catamaran heading south. In Tobago Cays they met a chap on a small boat making the rounds of anchored yachts selling stuff. That got them thinking.

With the Sainte-Anne anchorage chock-full of liveaboards, and transit and charter yachts, there was a ready market for a morning pastry-delivery service. The couple bought a dinghy and engine, rented an apartment with a large stove, and set up shop. Their business card reads: “Mado—Artisans Gourmands.”

“So, you make all these things?”

“No,” Guerric said. “We buy the baguettes from the boulangerie in the village.”

“But we make the croissants ourselves,” Juliette added.

“What does that entail?” I asked. Guerric and Juliette looked at each other, and she giggled.

“I get up at 2 in the morning,” she said, “to prepare the croissants. We use frozen pastry that has to be thawed, filled, rolled, and brushed with butter. Then Guerric gets up, and he does the baking.”

“So the croissants are freshly baked?”

“I make 85 croissants every morning.”

“Is it working?” I asked.

“Yes, it is working,” said Juliette. “We are very happy.”

“So, you make a living at this?”

“Yes, we can pay all our expenses, the cost of our travels, and save some for the future.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since December.”

“Every morning?”

“Every morning. Except if it’s blowing too much or raining.” Juliette said.

Guerric, I learned, studied journalism before landing a job as a chef. Juliette is a few years younger. Their English is very good. They are a couple but not married—yet.

“We are using this year in the Caribbean as an adventure, to see if we are ‘compatible.’”

“It’s like you’re taking your honeymoon before the wedding,” I said.

They both nodded and laughed.

“What’s in the future?” I asked.

They looked at each other, and laughed again.

“Who knows?” Guerric replied.

“We love the restaurant business,” Juliette added. “We hope to find a boat that will take us north to Saint-Martin in the spring. Or maybe Cuba.”

“Will you come back here?” I asked. Sainte-Anne needs someone to carry on this morning ritual. The two looked at each other and shrugged.

If you spend any time in these parts, you’ll find that these two are not the only floating entrepreneurs in the island chain. My friend Larry, who owns Dove, sailed up and down the Leewards and filled me in on a few others.

“There are lots of harbor entrepreneurs,” Larry wrote. “Bequia has excellent croissants brought to your boat by a very nice young man, and they are delicious. Better than I get in France. Carriacou has always had a guy making the rounds, selling wine and oysters, while on Saint-Martin, they not only bring croissants out to you, they can fill up your water tanks. An old West Indian in Rodney Bay sells vegetables and fruit from his overstuffed rowboat. In the BVI,” Larry added, “a couple comes around selling fruit and vegetables from their own garden, as well as fresh eggs from HM Prison! It’s stamped right there on the box. In Tobago Cays, someone sells bread, baguettes.”

“We have to go,” Juliette said. “We have lots more boats to visit.” Off they went in their dinghy, waving.

“See you tomorrow,” I shouted, with a wave.

Juliette waved and shouted back, “Bonne journée, à demain!” (Have a good day, see you tomorrow!)

I sat down at the cockpit table, with my croissant, pineapple and coffee. Life is all possibilities for those two, I thought to myself. I too was there once. Heck, I’m there now.

David Lyman spent three months during the pre-pandemic winter of 2019-20 in the Caribbean moving from island to island while boat-sitting for a friend and writing. He is currently back home in Maine.

The post The Floating Bakers of Saint-Anne, Martinique appeared first on Cruising World.

I woke up with the sun and climbed into the cockpit with a blanket and a hot mug of coffee, breath steaming in the crisp morning air. The shoreline was luminous in the soft light, the empty beach alluring. The boat rocked gently in the breeze as an eagle called out from high above. I had to pinch myself; I was not in the San Juan Islands near Seattle or in the Gulf Islands of Canada. I was on Lake Superior in Wisconsin, a lake that both looked and acted very much like an ocean.

I am an ocean sailor. I learned to sail in the Pacific Northwest and left to go cruising from there, my sights pointed south and west. I had never been sailing on fresh water. When travel restrictions in response to the COVID-19 outbreak kept us from returning to our boat waiting for us in a boatyard in French Polynesia, my husband, John, and I looked around to get our sailing fix locally. We found it in the unlikeliest of places: right in the middle of the country.

The Apostle Islands is a grouping of 22 protected islands nestled in the corner of one of the biggest lakes in the world. “Lake” is a bit of a misnomer; “inland sea” is a more accurate description. This particular inland sea is the size of Austria and at places is over 1,200 feet deep. It has the largest surface area of any freshwater lake on Earth, over 31,000 square miles, and holds 10 percent of the entire planet’s fresh water. That’s crazy! It’s also hard to conceptualize because the entire sea is situated 600 feet above sea level. To reach the ocean, boats must sail 2,400 miles across three lakes and navigate 16 locks to descend those 600 feet.

I simply couldn’t imagine it: a lake like an ocean, a contained body of water capable of throwing challenging weather conditions to test even the most seasoned sailors. Unpredictable wind, sudden pea-soup fog, navigational hazards and steep wind waves are all common conditions. The rewards are just as sweet too. Secluded anchorages, stunning sunsets, vibrant contrasting colors of red sandstone, verdant green trees and clear blue water. I just had to see it for myself.

Superior Charters & Yacht Sales in Bayfield arranged for us to sail a Jeanneau 349, aptly named Bliss, for a four-day cruise through the Apostle Islands. These islands, along with the nearby mainland coast, make up a 70,000-acre National Lakeshore area. Only one of the islands is inhabited; the rest are home only to healthy populations of black bears, deer, eagles, otters and more. It was the beginning of September and the start of their shoulder season, which meant quiet anchorages, fewer bugs, cool crisp nights and unpredictable weather.

Bliss was well-appointed with a full galley, plenty of water and diesel, good sails, an anchor windlass and an autopilot. One of the benefits of chartering from Superior Charters & Yacht Sales is that they encourage guests to board the boat the night before the official start of the vacation. We picked up an envelope at 7 p.m. with a map of the marina, codes for the bathrooms and a checklist of items we should verify on the boat. That evening we introduced ourselves to Bliss, unpacked and settled in. It was a wonderful, stress-free way to start the vacation.

The next morning, checkout was a breeze. Mike, a captain with Superior Charters, arrived promptly at 0800 to review the checklist and answer questions. He ensured that we knew where everything was, what safety equipment we had and how to use the systems on board. He then revealed his love for this unique place as he bragged about the beauty of the islands and shared with us some of his favorite secluded spots.

By midmorning, we waved goodbye to Mike, slipped our dock lines and hoisted the sails in a sporty 15 to 20 knots from the southwest. The weather forecast kept us conservative in distance and anchorage choice that first night. The wind was predicted to make a 135-degree shift in the evening and blow a gale from the north all night. There are no all-weather anchorages in the Apostles, so one thing Capt. Mike coached us on was to always have a backup plan in case the winds decide to buck the forecaster’s predictions. We chose the southeast hook of Stockton Island, a popular choice judging by the six other boats in the bay, all nestled into the northern corner.

The forecast was not joking. Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, the wind made an about-face and started blowing from the north without lessening in intensity. A new boat in a new place in 35 to 40 knots of wind overnight is never a recipe for a good night’s sleep, but Bliss handled the weather like a champ. We got up to confirm our position and check the anchor rode for chafing a few times, all without incident. She held well in the sticky sand, the wind whistling harmlessly through the rigging.

A gale was an exciting way to start the trip, and a good reminder that shoulder-season sailing means being prepared for a variety of conditions. It was just like cruising in the San Juan Islands in September, when summer and winter collide overhead. A fresh breeze turns cheeks red; puffy jackets and beanies appear from the depths of lockers. It was so similar to sailing in the San Juans, in fact, that I kept watching for whale spouts in the distance!

We fell into a familiar routine. Our days started with an unhurried cup of coffee in the cockpit while listening to the weather forecast on the VHF. We would then haul the anchor and hoist the sails for a few hours of exploration. By late afternoon, we would set the hook in a new anchorage, with plenty of time to explore the shore by kayak or foot before happy hour. A glass of wine, a beautiful sunset, a big hearty dinner and a quiet evening with a good book. It felt so good to be back on the water.

The Apostle Islands are bunched together, which makes them easy and accessible for fun daysailing. While our conditions were not always (well, ever) a perfect 15 knots on the aft quarter, we never felt exposed or in danger. In fact, most of our time under sail was fully voluntary. We were never far from our next anchorage and would often take the meandering way, easily turning a 10-mile passage into a 30-mile sail that laced us through rocky outcroppings and along sandy shorelines.

Each island in the Apostles has its own personality. Stockton has an intriguing mix of lakes, forests and wetlands. Wonderful hiking trails crisscross the island, often on raised boardwalks above the delicate grasses and swampland.

Oak Island is the tallest at 1,000 feet above sea level (and 400 feet above this sea’s level). It was the first Apostle island, emerging about 10,000 years ago as the level began to drop in a giant lake that had formed between the retreating glacier edge to the north and high ground to the south. Today Oak Island has steep cliffs that rise abruptly out of the sea and a very active black bear population.

Outer Island is the guardian, a sentinel standing tall in the northeast corner, with the other islands huddled behind it. It is this island that gets pummeled by the most vicious northeasterly gales. As evidence of its protective responsibility, the rugged coastline is dramatically pocked with sea caves where waves have battered the sandstone for thousands of years.

Madeline is the only populated island, with 302 full-time residents. The main street through town is dotted with a handful of tourist shops and restaurants, served by a quaint car ferry from Bayfield. It was particularly quiet when we arrived midweek and out of season, following an unstable and worrying summer. Only one restaurant was open, offering burgers and sandwiches for takeout only. The impact of the pandemic is most apparent in places like this, where the whole town relies on summer tourism. With a high season only 90 days long, even in a good year it is hard to stay sustained through the slow winter. This year, some shops and restaurants never opened at all.

Too soon it was time to sail back to the marina. Or rather, motorsail; by then we had a wispy 6 knots from the northeast. The cruise had been just the antidote to my landlocked blues: a wonderful wilderness escape with no cell service or Wi-Fi, and few other people. It was four days of communing with the wind and waves, punctuated with visits to picturesque havens of sandstone and verdant conifers.

We only just got a taste. The crystal-clear water beckoned me for a swim, but the cold north wind dampened my enthusiasm to jump in. The leaves started to change while we were there, taunting me to come back and see the islands when they explode in color. And in winter, when conditions are just right, it’s possible to walk to some of the sea caves instead of sail. Icicles protrude from the caves, the whole scene still and quiet as if frozen in time. That is something I simply cannot imagine, and so I know I’ll be back.

Cruising the Apostle Islands

Bayfield, Wisconsin, is the home of Superior Charters and the Gateway to the Apostle Islands. The small town is located on the coast of Lake Superior and is about a 90-minute drive east from Duluth, Minnesota, which has an international airport.

Charter season: Late May through September, with the summer months being in greatest demand.

Guide Books: Superior Way by Bonnie Dahl and Sailing Adventures in the Apostle Islands by Lawrence W. Newman.

Provisioning: Grocery stores are available in Bayfield and nearby Washburn.

Fleet: Superior Charters’ current ­bareboat fleet comprises 26 monohulls and two catamarans.

Becca Guillote is a freelance writer and full-time sailor aboard Halcyon, a Valiant 40.

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Dream Yacht Charters is rolling out an internship training program in Florida that can lead to employment opportunities at bases worldwide.

Are you looking for a post-pandemic career change, or maybe a foot in the marine industry door? Dream Yacht Charters has launched a new program called Dream Yacht Academy in Key West, Florida, with classes beginning this winter and spring.

The academy is an internship program for marine mechanics, dock workers, skippers and hostesses. Successful graduates will be offered a job at one of the company’s worldwide charter bases, including four in the US.

Internships last four weeks and take place at Stock Island Yacht Club & Marina. There is no cost for the training, and interns will be provided free accommodations and have an expense allowance while learning.

Mechanics will learn how to service the company’s diverse fleet of monohull and catamaran sailboats and related craft. Dock teams learn about the charter check-in process, chart training and other aspects of customer service. These two programs begin in February and March, respectively. Hostess and skipper training sessions will follow.

For information and to apply for an internship, visit dreamyachtcharter.com/dream-yacht-academy-2/.

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Not so very long ago, in a South Pacific anchorage, I watched a neighboring boat of three young cruisers going about their daily routine. Their 28-foot classic-plastic yacht looked as though it had been in a head-on collision with the watersports department at REI. Dive gear hung off every available inch of lifeline, a menagerie of floaty toys bobbed happily alongside. One crewmate was unsuccessfully attempting to launch a kiteboard off the stern while another filmed his efforts with a drone. As I watched, I couldn’t help but feel a mixed sense of amusement and pride. These guys epitomized my generation; they were millennial cruisers.

My husband, Robin (age 35), and I (30) have been cruising together for five years. In that time, we’ve met and interviewed scores of millennials for Waterborne, our website for 20- to 40-year-old sailors. In collecting their stories, we’ve found several common themes that typify how millennials are going about cruising today.

Old Boats, Young Salts

Millennials have less disposable cash, making boat purchases and cruising a financial challenge. According to a 2017 analysis of Federal Reserve data, today’s young people earn 20 percent less than their parents did at the same age and have 50 percent the net worth. Fortunately, our generation has inherited a vast supply of old fiberglass hulls. Of the young cruisers I’ve met, 95 percent own pre-1980s boats. While not the most mechanically inclined generation, millennials learn to make repairs by watching YouTube videos and, over the course of a year or two, get their boats cruise-ready.

One such couple, Ruth and Garrett Jolly, both 24 years old, in the search for their dream cruising boat, bought, refitted, sailed and sold six old boats! “We’d find these old boats on the chopping block for free or a couple thousand bucks,” Garrett told me. “It wouldn’t necessarily be the boat that we wanted, but I couldn’t stand to see it destroyed. We’d just put in labor and reclaimed lumber, not really spend any money, and turn them around for a profit.”

In the search for their “perfect” boat, the Jollys ultimately decided to build one from scratch—a 35-foot George Buehler ketch—in the mountains along the Columbia River.

Their advice for young cruisers: “If you think you’re interested in the ocean, the best way to find out for sure is to get out on the ocean. It doesn’t need to be scary, because you start hanging out with people and you get pumped.” Follow along with their adventures at saltandtar.org.

Charter, Borrow, Hitch

Other young cruisers are doing away with owning a boat altogether. For a generation accustomed to Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms, Airbnb and Uber, owning an asset that can cost thousands of dollars a year is less appealing than renting, borrowing or riding along.

Ian Drogin, a 28-year-old California native, along with his brother and three friends, chartered Hellenic Sky, a Bavaria 44, for a two-and-a-half month sailing and rock-climbing expedition in the Greek Islands.

“I think a lot of people have this idea of sailing being a luxury sport for the rich, but the way we did it seemed very financially manageable. Adventures are not as hard as you think. They’re actually pretty accessible,” he says.

Drogin estimates that the total cost of his trip was $2,500 to $4,000 per person, a fraction of what it would cost to purchase and outfit a boat for a similar adventure. You can find out more at iandrogin.com.

Even more financially friendly is boat-hiking. We’ve met dozens of young cruisers who are seeing the world by jumping from boat to boat. Boat-hiking opportunities seem to range from paying your way to all expenses paid.

Two hitchhiking experts, Mariusz Honka and Maciek Badziak, both 27, began their trip in Poland—with almost no sailing experience. They have since boat-hiked across the Atlantic and Pacific without spending a dime on accommodations or transportation, proving that you don’t need a boat to sail the world; you can just thumb it!

Their advice to those looking to hitch a ride: “Skippers prioritize good people over good sailors. Because of that, the most important thing is to have a positive attitude and an open mind. Do your research, get a little knowledge about ­sailing, but don’t hesitate too long. Adventure is waiting for you!”

Hacking the Cruising Life

Steeped in tech and startup nomenclature, most millennials are familiar with the idea of life hacking: employing tricks, shortcuts or skills that increase productivity or efficiency. Millennial sailors apply this hacker’s mentality to many aspects of cruising. For example, they tend to opt for satellite communications over a single-sideband radio, choose multiple redundant/independent electronic charts over paper ones, and many prefer an iPad for navigation to a marine chart plotter. The majority have sailed for only a year or two before embarking on multiyear cruising trips. While young cruisers have a healthy respect for the ocean and their own limitations, they happily embrace hacks that get them cruising quicker and cheaper.

One good example is Mark Miele, 37, and Eden Yelland, 34, who, with little previous on-water experience, bought a trawler with their savings. As Miele put it, “We ended up with a trawler because we were looking to avoid the learning curve of sailing.” Six months later they left Victoria, Canada, bound for La Paz, Mexico, and became, they believe, the first people to make this journey in a 36-foot Universal Europa Sedan, proving the boat’s long-distance cruising ability.

They told me that they wouldn’t have been able to figure out the ins and outs of boats and cruising without the internet and YouTube. They said that they learned almost everything from one or the other.

Boaty Base Camp

Sailing for sailing’s sake is great, but young cruisers also think of their boats as a base camp, or a vehicle that serves as a platform for adventure sports. From rock climbing the rugged shores of Greenland to freediving in the Tuamotus, millennials aren’t content to sit and read a book on the boat all day.

Two Swiss brothers, Alexandre, 31, and David Giovannini, 29, recently navigated the Northwest Passage in Bonavalette, their 1979 Dufour 35. The trip was sponsored in part by Swiss cheese-maker Le Gruyère AOP—an excellent excuse for fondue on an iceberg!

Both avid kiteboarders, they were determined to ride in one of the world’s most extreme environments. After donning survival suits, one brother flew the kite in the frigid waters of a small cove while the other sat in the dinghy looking out for polar bears.

“One thing we learned along the way is that while it’s great to just sail, your boat can also give you access to remote places where you can hike, climb, kiteboard or dive,” David says. “Some of our best experiences have been in places where we were the only boat in the anchorage.”

After this adventuresome duo successfully transited the Northwest Passage, they went on to kiteboard the warmer (and polar-bear-free) waters of the South Pacific. You can follow their adventures (in French) at Bonavalette Autourdumonde (facebook.com/­bonavalette.autourdumonde).

Says Alexandre: “I think preparation is the most important thing. You don’t need an expensive boat, but it’s important to do lots of research. We were able to complete the Northwest Passage in a small fiberglass boat because we spent a lot of time preparing ourselves and the boat before we left.”

A Thousand Words

We have yet to meet a young cruiser who isn’t vlogging, blogging, photo journaling or writing a book about their cruise. At times, documenting a trip seems to absorb as much if not more time than actual sailing. Of course, it’s only natural that our generation’s fascination with media would extend to sharing stories about sailing and life aboard.

One top-notch example of sailing documentary is Canadian cinematographer Guillaume Beaudoin’s current project, Across the Salty Roads (facebook.com/acrossthesaltyroads/). The 34-year-old Beaudoin has just completed a boat-hiking trip across the Pacific, filming community-driven ocean-conservation projects. He told me that while he likes sailing, his real passion is storytelling. “Sailing to me is not about the number of miles I’ve covered; it’s about meeting new people, discovering new places, and sharing their stories.”

His advice for storytelling? “It’s important to understand the pros and cons of documenting your trip. The upside is, you’re going to get to go deeper into communities, go places you would never otherwise get to go. The downside is you have equipment to worry about and always have to work. So, you’re not as free as if you had gone on an adventure without filming it.”

From drone-flying digital nomads to cruiser/climber adventurers, it’s exciting to see my generation develop a unique take on seeing the world by sail, and adding to cruising’s rich heritage of adventure, community and appreciation of the ocean. Undoubtedly, it will all be different 10 years from now, but I’d like to think that millennials will leave some mark on cruising culture, making it even more attractive and accessible for the next generation of sailors.

Fiona McGlynn is a freelance writer who ­recently cruised from Vancouver to Australia on a Dufour 35. McGlynn also runs ­waterbornemag.com, a website devoted to millennial sailing culture.

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If you’ve gone sailing off on charter vacation before, you’re familiar with the usual drill upon arrival at a dream destination. Guests typically land at the local airport and travel to the charter base via a charter-company-owned shuttle or a taxi for an in-person check-in. Celebratory libations are common, followed by a detailed chart briefing and an extensive boat walk-through with a base captain. Then, skipper and crew often spend their first night aboard at the charter base preparing for a morning departure.

But, like so much else in 2020, these rituals have changed. In the midst of a still-unfurling pandemic, charter companies large and small are (more or less) open for business and have taken many preemptive steps to ensure that visitors are as safe aboard their vacation vessels as they are at home.

For starters, Ian Pedersen, senior marketing manager for the Moorings and Sunsail, and Mike Huston, a partner at San Juan Sailing in Bellingham, Washington, both say that their companies have moved many of the in-person check-in procedures online, allowing guests to complete steps such as safety briefings and vessel walk-throughs prior to their arrival at the base.

“We send our clients a link to a video the week before their charter, and we have a quiz at the end to prove that they watched it,” Huston says.

Pedersen says that the Moorings and Sunsail have taken similar steps to move many of the briefing procedures online. For example, the company has created video walk-throughs of their fleet, which are posted online and sent to charterers prior to their arrival. After watching the video, Pedersen says that customers engage in a live Q&A session with someone at their destination base so that they can ask specific questions about their chartered sailboats.

Likewise, Cindy Kalow, co-owner of Superior Charters in Bayfield, Wisconsin, says her company has moved payments, documents and signatures online. “People can come through the whole process and not see us in the office,” she adds.

Once guests are on the ground, Pedersen says that the Moorings and Sunsail are ­running extra airport shuttles and limiting the capacity of the vans to ensure more distancing. “We won’t cram visitors into vans,” he notes.

Distancing was a recurring theme across all the companies with whom we spoke. At Superior Charters, for example, instead of having charter guests crowd into the front office, they are instead directed to a lobby where they will find an envelope containing the name of their boat, a list of its inventory, codes to shoreside heads, and information on when their captain will meet them for their dockside check-out. Should a captain need to step aboard during this check-out, he or she is always masked.

While Superior Charters doesn’t supply linens or ­organize provisions, ­other companies, such as the Moorings and Sunsail, commonly perform these services. Pedersen says that, while charterers are welcome to go grocery shopping themselves, those who opt for provisioning services will step aboard to find their supplies disinfected and packed into lockers or the refrigerator in sealed and dated containers.

Pedersen adds that chart briefings, which once involved 30 charterers at once, have been reduced to just 10 to 15 socially distanced sailors.

Dan Lockyer, vice president of global tourism for Dream Yacht Charter, says that the company is taking steps to ensure that staff members are healthy. “Our base staff have their temperatures taken before starting work, wear masks when in contact with customers, observe social distancing, and regularly disinfect their hands,” he notes.

“Only one guest [or] the skipper is allowed in the office area, and only the skipper will take part in the technical briefing and be on the dock for check-in,” Lockyer says. “Check-in and check-out procedures will be conducted outside where possible. Guests will be asked to wear masks and sanitize their hands before any face-to-face interaction.”

While airborne transmission is COVID-19′s most common vector, all companies we interviewed are taking steps to ensure that charter boats are virus-free before guests step aboard. “We’ve eliminated back-to-back trips, and we allow a full day between trips,” Kalow notes. This extra time is used for stem-to-stern ­cleanings, which are performed by professional cleaners wearing ­respirators, and involve bombs that release a commercial-grade ­disinfectant spray that’s used in hospitals.

Pedersen echoes the themes of longer turnaround times and disinfectant bombs. “We’ve built in a 24-hour window to clean boats,” he says. “When boats come back to the base, cleaners in hazmat suits fog and disinfect each boat.” Once this virus-killing fog has lifted, cleaning teams disinfect the boat before performing a final fogging treatment. Linen service is still included, but Pedersen says guests can rest assured that all linens have been thoroughly washed, in some cases multiple times.

Lockyer also points to the importance of cleaning. “The fleet is rigorously disinfected with an ecologically friendly formula after each charter, including the interior and exterior,” he says. “Mattresses are sanitized, and the galley inventory set and bed linens are provided in sealed bags.”

At San Juan Sailing, silverware and crockery are similarly scrutinized. “All kitchen utensils, glasses, and silverware are put in a sink of water and germicide,” Huston says, adding that all high-­contact surfaces are wiped down between trips.

While these extra steps ­require time and resources, 2020 was bountiful for the domestic charter trade. “We’re busy, really busy,” Huston says of this past summer’s business. Kalow reiterated this positive message. “We’ve done hundreds of trips—it was a great year,” she reports, adding that Superior Charters has also seen more than a twofold uptick in the number of people—especially younger families—registering for ­sailing and chartering lessons.

Pedersen, meanwhile, says that some governments have reached out to the Moorings and Sunsail to learn more about the steps that the ­company has taken to ensure their guests’ safety so that they can mandate similar procedures across their greater travel sectors.

So, while all travel in the pandemic age comes with some hurdles, sailors will find that charter companies are taking smart steps to ensure that their experience is as safe, virus-free and socially distanced as possible.

David Schmidt is CW’s electronics editor and occasionally reports on other aspects of sailing life.

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