Team Malolo, sailed and pedaled by Canadian skipper Duncan Gladman and crewmembers Paul Gibson, Becky Kelly and Matthew Macatee, has won the eighth running of the Race to Alaska (R2AK). 

The Race to Alaska is a demanding engineless event that requires physical endurance, saltwater know-how, and the “bulldog tenacity that it takes to win a ‘no motors, no support’ adventure race” covering 750 cold-water miles from Port Townsend, Washington, to Ketchikan, Alaska. The first-place prize is $10K. Second place literally wins a set of actual steak knives.

Teams embarked on Stage 1, affectionately known as “The Proving Ground,” from Port Townsend on June 8 at 5:00 AM. From that point, they have 36 hours to cross the Strait of Juan de Fuca and make it to Victoria, BC. 

High noon on June 12 marked the start of Stage 2, “To the Bitter End,” the 710-mile odyssey from Victoria to Alaska. The winners, Team Malolo, is the first all-Canadian crew to bring home the grand prize. The effort marked the team vessel’s third attempt to win R2AK on their custom-built Cochrane trimaran, Dragon.

“It [was] unfinished business for me and for Paul, so I would say that is the most compelling reason for the two of us [to return for a third attempt],” said Captain Duncan Gladman. “For Becky and Matt, they love adventures and are super competitive. They have listened to both Paul and I and the numerous R2AK stories, so it’s natural that they both said we have to go even though I said never again after 2022.”

Gladman took the second-place steak knives on the same boat as Team Pear Shaped Racing in 2019. Gladman and Gibson dropped out of the 2022 race as a DNF (Did Not Finish) due to serious damage from a log-strike at high speed.

“We’ve said a lot about Team Malolo and their vessel Dragon hitting logs in years past,” said race boss Jesse Wiegel. “And logs were the story of their previous two attempts, but Duncan and crew have broken the curse.”

Gladman, Gibson, Kelly and Macatee will celebrate the win at the Alaska Fish House in Ketchikan, where they will receive the $10K prize in the form of cash—as tradition dictates—nailed to a piece of firewood. At the time of Team Malolo’s finish, the nearest competitors were just over 90 miles from Ketchikan.Twenty-nine of the 32 teams that set out from Victoria are still on the course along the Inside Passage. You can follow the remaining teams’ progress on a 24-hour tracker at R2AK.com.

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The Sailing Museum and National Sailing Hall of Fame has revealed the names of 12

individuals who will be inducted into its Hall of Fame fellowship this year. This diverse list features Jan C. O’Malley, a three-time US Sailing Yachtswoman of the Year, two-time Adams Cup winner, and the first ever winner of the IYRU Women’s World Sailing Championship; Peter Melvin, a multiple-class world and national champion, as well as an innovative yacht designer; and Charles Ulmer, a national champion and race winner throughout the 1970s and 80s and proponent of the sport of sailing through the many organizations through which he has been affiliated.

The National Sailing Hall of Fame induction committee met numerous times since the nomination process to whittle down the original list to the slate of finalists. According to the committee, while the future inductees’ biographies differ, they are all accomplished and dedicated to the sport and its community. Ten fall into its modern category, while another two represent historic classification. 

Honored for technical accomplishment and contribution are brothers Eric Hall and Ben Hall, the late Gary Mull, one of the most prolific and successful U.S. sailboat designers working in the latter half of the 20th century, and the late Carl Alberg, whose 56 designs resulted in more than 10,000 boats. 

Others to be inducted in the modern classification in the sailing category are Kevin Burnham, an Olympic and Goodwill Games medalist in sailing; Conn Findlay, a consummate crew member for America’s Cup competitor Courageous and Maxi Ocean Racer Windward Passage, and one of the few competitors to medal in two distinct sports (Rowing and Sailing); and Richard Tillman, the 1965 Sailor of the Year who held National, North American and World titles in the Snipe, Finn, Laser, Sunfish and Windsurfing classes.

Franklin Wood, who founded the Annapolis Sailing School and established the Annapolis Sailboat Show, rounds out the modern classification in the contributor category. Allegra Mertz, one of the two women to be inducted with O’Malley, was elected through the historic classification, along with Alberg.

“The Class of 2024 has left an indelible mark on sailing,” co-chair Gary Jobson said. Their achievements inspire us to explore, innovate and honor the sport. From Olympic champions to boat designers, they remind us that sailing is more than a pastime; it’s a legacy of courage and possibility. Trailblazers like Allegra Mertz, whose skill, determination and love of racing continues to inspire fellow sailors and set a high standard for excellence. Innovators such as Ben and Eric Hall, whose cutting-edge materials and championship-winning rigs have pushed innovation. These inductees are a formidable group. We look forward to celebrating their accomplishments on October 5 at the 2024 Hall of Fame Induction ceremony, hosted by the Chicago Yacht Club.”

“What an honor to welcome these remarkable individuals into The Sailing Museum and National Sailing Hall of Fame,” said Executive Director Ashley Householder. “We take seriously the responsibility of preserving the legacy of our inductees for the countless ways in which each has contributed to the sport of sailing. Please join us as we embark on telling their exceptional stories.”

Each year, the induction committee of the National Sailing Hall of Fame reviews nominations and compiles a slate of those to be inducted into its hallowed fellowship of extraordinary achievement and service. Inductions have been taking place since 2011, when the Hall was in Annapolis. The Sailing Museum and National Sailing Hall of Fame has since moved to Newport, the sailing capital of the country. The number of legends in the Hall will be 135 total with this year’s class.

This year, the Induction will be held at the Chicago Yacht Club Oct. 4-5. For ticket information, follow the Hall of Fame website.

The post Sailing Hall of Fame 2024 Inductees Announced appeared first on Cruising World.

According to Kurt Jerman, head of West Coast Multihulls, the questions come hard and fast at a boat show anytime a ­lifelong monohuller is ­considering a move to the multihull side. 

• Is multihull cruising really all that different from the monohull experience? 
• In what ways? 
• What are the key differences between catamarans and trimarans? 
• Could a multihull flip over? Then what? 

With the great debate between monohulls and multihulls having drawn on for decades, we sat down with Jerman to get some honest ­answers to questions he ­typically fields from the “cat curious” crowd.    

CW: You often hear about the comfort factor of the multihull platform. What’s the root of that appeal?  

KJ: The most noticeable thing about sailing a catamaran or trimaran versus a traditional monohull is the lack of heeling. Even when powered up, a cat or tri will rarely heel more than 5 to 10 degrees before it’s time to reef. Gone are the days of bracing yourself in the cockpit and living your life underway at 20 or more degrees of angle. In my opinion, it’s a much more relaxing and convenient way to sail. No question about that. There are a few exceptions when it comes to the newer breed of large performance cruising cats (which can heel 10-plus degrees), but these are still fairly fresh to the cruising market.  

What can multihull owners expect in terms of speed and sailing performance?

Cruising catamarans will typically be 25 percent to 30 percent faster than a cruising monohull of the same length. You basically reach near-­racing monohull speeds, but with all the creature comforts that come with a cat. Trimarans are an entirely different deal because they trend more toward the performance end of the spectrum, and can regularly double the sailing speed of monohulls on nearly any point of sail.

Keep in mind that catamarans and trimarans are, however, much more sensitive to loading. Performance will suffer more on a cat that is loaded for cruising than on a comparable monohull. Keeping the boat light can be difficult, but it is critical if fast passages are your goal. Reefing also becomes more important. 

Sailing catamarans and, to a lesser extent, trimarans too, require vigilance when it comes to reefing. Because they don’t heel much, almost all additional wind force is converted to load on the rig. That’s where the speed comes from. But since the pressure on the sails quadruples as the windspeed doubles, crews must keep an eye on the weather and make sure to reef in good time to keep the boat safe and sailing flat. In fact, a properly reefed cat or tri will sail faster too, in freshening breezes. All manufacturers supply written guidelines denoting apparent-wind speeds that require additional reefing.  

What about safety? And are multihulls really unsinkable, or is that a myth? 

There are many aspects to safety where catamarans and trimarans shine. Often overlooked is the safety margin introduced with level sailing. It is much easier to keep crew aboard in rough weather when the boat stays level and is pitching less. Also, large cockpit spaces keep crew better protected and situated well away from the lifelines. 

The speed of a multihull is another safety factor. With decent weather information, it’s relatively easy to sail around severe weather systems before they can bear down on you. Should something go horribly awry and the boat gets flipped—which is highly rare and requires extreme circumstances—the lack of ballast and additional positive flotation means that nearly every catamaran and trimaran produced in the past few decades will remain on the surface of the water, right side up or not, until a rescue can be made. Nearly all cruising cats and tris have a substantial amount of reserve buoyancy, in the form of closed-cell foam, stashed in the nooks and crannies of the boat. Because of this, most of these boats could literally be cut into pieces, and all of those pieces would still float. 

How do multihulls handle under power and in close quarters?  

Cruising catamarans and trimarans, with their easily driven hull forms and light weight, enjoy excellent fuel efficiency when compared with monohulls, and track very straight. Cats almost always have twin engines, set many feet apart, which allows for tremendous control in tight situations. In fact, the boat can be spun in place or crabbed sideways without any way on. Try that on a monohull. 

Prop walk is minimal or nonexistent as well, and the redundancy of a second engine is appreciated should a mechanical issue arise ­underway. Nearly all trimarans have just one engine, so the differences there are slight.  

How much gain can boaters expect in usable living space?  

Typically, a catamaran will have the volume below equivalent to a monohull 10-plus feet larger. When combined with added cockpit space, possibly a flybridge, and more than doubling the deck space, it becomes a whole different ballgame. It’s important to note that you not only gain a tremendous amount of space, but nearly all of that space is very livable and comfortable as well, whether at anchor or underway. 

However, trimarans don’t show an increase in interior volume, and in fact tend to be smaller below than monohulls of the same size. This is mitigated some by the additional stowage in the amas and added net space, but the narrower, performance-oriented main hull tends to be less than palatial. 

How can multihulls get away with such shallow drafts? 

Because a multihull’s stability comes from the beam and extra hulls—form stability—there is no need for ballast or a substantial keel. This reduces overall weight and, importantly, draft as well. It is common for a 40-plus-foot cruising cat to have a draft less than 4 feet, allowing sailors to explore shallow areas where monohullers fear to tread. Belize, the Bahamas, the Great Barrier Reef? No problem. Gunkholing around Mexico and the Chesapeake is easier too. 

If you have some quick underwater maintenance to do, such as replacing prop-shaft seals, zincs or a through-hull, most cats can be dried out at low tide on a flat area of sand or solid ground, resting happily on their stubby little keels. You can also nose right up to that perfect beach if the weather allows. 

Trimarans typically have no keels at all, and instead rely on a centerboard to prevent leeway, making them perfect for beaching. Boom-tent camping, anyone?

What if it flips?  

While a scenario like this is theoretically possible and has happened in very rare, heavy-weather situations when any vessel would be in distress, it takes very high winds, too much sail (see reefing, above), and large breaking waves to flip a modern cruising cat or trimaran.

Multihull sailors might find it reassuring to know that their cat or tri will remain on the surface, as a big life raft and highly visible spotting target.

The post The Case for Multihulls appeared first on Cruising World.

You may have heard the saying: Life is like ice cream. Eat it before it melts. 

My husband, Jeff, and I fully embrace this idea for living life to its fullest. We spend most of every year living aboard and cruising our Westsail 42, Outrider, based in San Carlos, Mexico. 

We’re also fans of actual ice cream, but that part of living the good life was elusive on Outrider until recently. Limited freezer capacity meant that, when cravings struck, we were forced to go ashore for a fix. Storing a half-gallon of ice cream on the boat was just not possible.

Not long ago, I was aboard Outrider doing chores when, weary and warm, I craved ice cream. I wasn’t in the mood to go ashore to get it, so instead, I decided to try making it. I knew it was doable; my mother always made her own without much fanfare. Unfortunately, I’d never learned how. All I could remember about her recipe was one ingredient: condensed milk. 

An online search for that ­ingredient netted several recipes. I chose the least-­complicated one. It looked quick and easy. Eventually, I did go ashore—to the supermarket for ingredients—and, back aboard Outrider, I ­dutifully followed the recipe.

“Pour whipping cream into a bowl and beat until it forms a peak,” it instructed. I have only a hand whisk on board. Thirty minutes of increasingly frenetic agitating later, the cream hadn’t whipped into anything resembling a peak. It was as flat as a prairie. Frustrated but determined, I followed the remaining instructions, fearing that this whole exercise was turning into an epic fail. 

With nothing to lose, I poured the mixture into a quart-size freezer container and made space in the freezer. Six hours later, it was ready. The recipe said to eat it within two weeks. Were they kidding? We polished off half of it that night. It was good.

Despite my love of ice cream, I knew I wouldn’t repeat that time-consuming drill every time we craved it, which was often. Fresh whipping cream as an ingredient was also a minus; it’s not a priority when it comes to fridge stowage, and its shelf life is short. 

Perusing local grocery store shelves, I spied an old favorite: Nestle Media Crema—canned table cream. I knew that it was a thick cream, so I decided to give it a try. I grabbed two cans, plus a bottle of vanilla extract and a can of sweetened condensed milk. 

Back on board, I ditched the whipping process and instead whisked the cream for two to three minutes, then added the condensed milk and vanilla extract, and whisked briefly again. I poured the mixture into my container, stuck it in the freezer, and crossed my fingers. 

Wondrously, this ice cream was far superior to the first batch. It was delicious and creamy, sweet and smooth. It was perfect. 

A few weeks later, we set sail before sunrise for a crossing of the Sea of Cortez, bound for Playa Santispac in Bahia Concepcion on the Baja peninsula. About 15 miles out, just as we encountered a line of shrimp boats dragging nets, alarms began sounding. The autopilot flashed a communications error, and the depth sounder stopped working. There was an odd ticking sound coming from somewhere. We swung back toward the marina to sort things out. 

To ease our disappointment, I whipped up a batch of ice cream while we sailed. Safely back in our slip, we relaxed and savored bowls of vanilla perfection, our troubles fading with every delicious spoonful. 

Homemade ice cream on board anytime, anywhere. If that isn’t living the good life, what is? Just remember to eat it before it melts.

Super-Easy Ice Cream (Yields: About 1 quart or 10 scoops)

• 2 7.6-oz. cans Nestle Table Cream*
• 1 14-oz. can sweetened condensed milk
• 1½ Tbsp. vanilla extract or other flavoring
• 1 cup strawberries, halved, or other berries (optional)
• Chocolate or other syrup for topping (optional)

* Also sold as Nestle Media Crema. Consistency of other brands may vary.

Pour canned cream into a large bowl. Whisk by hand for 2 to 3 minutes. Add sweetened condensed milk and vanilla extract. Whisk another 2 minutes, or until smooth. 

Pour mixture into 1-quart freezer container, or divide among smaller containers, and cover with lids. Place in the freezer for at least 6 hours, or overnight. 

Top with syrup and fresh berries, if ­available and desired.

Cook’s Notes: For fruity ice cream, blend and strain 1 cup berries, then add to ice cream mix before freezing. Or cook berries on stovetop with 1 teaspoon water and ¼ cup sugar for roughly 15 minutes. Strain, cool, and ­drizzle on top of the mix to form swirls. 

Prep time: 20 minutes, plus freezing time
Difficulty: Easy
Can be made: At anchor or underway

The post Sailor & Galley: Ice Cream, Anytime appeared first on Cruising World.

Atlantic Cruising Yachts has been named the official Fountaine Pajot sailing and power catamarans dealer for California, with three sales locations in San Diego, Dana Point, and Newport Beach. The territory expansion follows the recent announcement of two new offices in the Great Lakes region. 

Atlantic Cruising Yachts has also recently rebranded under the name ACY Yachts. Its exclusive distribution of the popular catamaran brand Fountaine Pajot now stretches across North America with 8 offices and 18 regional yacht consultants.

In production since 1976, Fountaine Pajot catamarans have become highly regarded for their innovative design, spacious interiors, onboard comfort and noteworthy performance. With models that cater to various needs and preferences including eight models of sailing catamarans and five models of power catamarans ranging from 40 to 80 feet, Fountaine Pajot is a longtime pillar of the production catamaran scene. 

“We’re thrilled about the ACY Yachts expansion in California through our partnership with Luke Brown Yachts West,” said Christian Bent, president of ACY Yachts. “Not only do we have the opportunity to introduce Fountaine Pajot catamarans to new customers on the West Coast, but we can also present yacht buyers with more options on their ownership journey, including the Business Yacht Ownership approach,” Bent added.

Thanks to ACY Yachts’ partnership with its affiliate company Waypoints Yacht Charters and other premiere charter operators, there is a smarter way to own and manage yachts. One that meets the needs of the most discerning customers: a better yachting experience, less hassle, and robust support with maintenance and charter management. To learn more about ACY Yachts’ Business Yacht Ownership, visit: https://atlantic-cruising.com/business-yacht-ownership/.

ACY Yachts will represent Fountaine Pajot catamarans during the San Diego boat show, June 20-23, with the Fountaine Pajot Elba 45 on display, as well as during its ACY Yachts California Launch Event & Open House on July 9 at its new San Diego office.

About ACY Yachts 

ACY Yachts, originally known as Atlantic Cruising Yachts, is one of the largest sailing yacht dealerships in North America with exclusive distribution of new Fountaine Pajot Sailing and Power Catamarans, as well as Dufour Yachts. The dealership counts 8 offices in North America, in Annapolis (MD), St. Petersburg and Fort Lauderdale (FL), Kemah (TX), Toronto (ON), Sandusky (OH), San Diego (CA) and St Thomas (USVI). ACY Yachts also founded Waypoints Yacht Charters, a network of boutique charter operators. Waypoints offers professional management and maintenance to yacht owners who wish to offset their cost of ownership by placing their boat in a charter fleet. Waypoints locations span from the East Coast of the US to Caribbean locations, including Annapolis (MD), St Petersburg (FL) the Bahamas, the US Virgin Islands, and the British Virgin Islands.

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The day Sally Helme fired me was pretty rough. I could’ve used a life coach. Like the dude who was brought in to replace me. 

The year was 2005, and I was five years into my tenure as ­editor-in-chief of this magazine. It was a different era. My mentors, the preceding editors—Murray Davis, George Day, Dale Nouse and Bernadette Bernon—had always emphasized that in publishing, there was a church and a state, equal but separate, with an emphasis on separate. The churchly editorial department, the words and stories, represented the scripture. Publisher Sally ran the business side—the state—responsible for generating the advertising lucre that kept all the wheels spinning. 

I’d been taught that it was not only beneficial, but also essential, to maintain an arm’s length from business decisions and to refrain from granting favors to clients. My job was to represent and satisfy the readers and subscribers. If the publication was the least bit phony, there was nothing to sell. And if the publisher-editor relationship was a bit tense, to the point of even being slightly antagonistic, that was a good thing. Healthy. Necessary. 

Man, I was outstanding at that part of the job.

Honestly, I wasn’t shocked when I was sacked. But the one thing that really ticked me off was that my executive editor, Tim Murphy, whom I’d been grooming to take my place, was passed over for the job. (Which contributed to his decision to quit, which made me respect and love him even more than I already did.) Thinking back, though, even that didn’t surprise me. Tim would’ve definitely wreaked even more havoc than I had. 

A short time before all the drama, I went in to work on a weekend. There at the door to my office was a pile of fresh dog poop. I’d seen Sally’s car, so I knew she was there and, sure enough, so was her pooch. She apologized profusely and cleaned up the mess, but I’m fairly certain that doggie got a treat shortly thereafter. 

Oddly enough, my first connection with Sally was through my mom, who ran an employment agency in my hometown of Newport, Rhode Island. Sally had come to Newport to launch an upscale marine magazine called The Yacht, and my mother had played a role in staffing it. It was how I first came to know Sally.

As has been made clear in this issue’s tribute to Sally (see page 8), she was a force of nature. The marine industry was super-macho in those days, led by hard boys like the Harken brothers, Ted Hood, Everett Pearson and similar characters. And while Sally cast a commanding presence, she wasn’t the type to curry favor by batting her eyelashes. No, to succeed in that hypermasculine world, she always had to be the smartest person in the room. A Princeton grad, she always was. 

All that said, it’s absolutely true that for me, getting canned was not a bad thing. I pivoted to writing more of my own stories, not editing ones that I’d commissioned. I wrote a few books, sailed my butt off, and did things that I’d never have contemplated had I remained in the editor’s chair. Though it stung at the time, I came to be very grateful that it had happened. 

And Sally and I, amazingly enough, eventually became pals. Real ones. She was always supportive, and connected me with more than a few fine opportunities. Sure, we still tangled a bit. She was on the board of the National Sailing Hall of Fame, and in its early days, I was one of that organization’s most outspoken critics, which I knew bugged Sally to no end. It was just like the old days.

The last time I saw Sally was at, of all places, a beauty parlor: We had the very same hairdresser. (It was our mutual scissors friend who texted me the news about her passing, a good day before anyone else knew.) We’d caught up, gossiped, had a few laughs, even shared a quick hug. There we were, after all this time, a pair of old mates still trying to keep up appearances.

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large.  

The post Requiem for a Mate appeared first on Cruising World.

The mid-February day started out like so many other sailing events I’ve enjoyed over the years: meeting up with a new crew, scoping out the particulars of a boat I’d never sailed, reviewing the sailing instructions and forecast for the day’s race, and then dropping the dock lines and heading out. Such is the life of an itinerant sailing writer, and I’ve never taken any of it for granted. 

Little did I know, however, that before this day was done, I’d hear something bordering on the profound. 

It was the opening day of the St. Petersburg, Florida, edition of the Sailing World Regatta Series, sponsored by Cruising World’s sister publication. As he often does, my longtime J/24 mate Dave Reed, the editor of Sailing World, threw me an assignment: Go racing with a team of seasoned homeboys from the St. Petersburg Yacht Club on the day’s distance race, a relatively new element of the regatta for the cruiser/racer set. I was more than happy to oblige. 

Which is how I made the acquaintance of Tim Landt and his close pal Doug Jones, who attended high school in the same prehistoric era that I did, and who have been racing sailboats together ever since. The pair were in the same class as a couple of other St. Pete luminaries, Ed Baird and Allison Jolley, who each rose to the pinnacle of the sport—the former as a winning America’s Cup skipper, the latter as an Olympic gold medalist. “Doug and I were different,” Landt said, laughing. “We had to go to work.”

Landt grew up racing Optimists and Lasers, moved into crewed boats with a Columbia 24 and a Cal 40, and even owned a couple of big Ted Irwin-designed cruising boats. But he seemed proudest of his current ride, a relatively rare Nightwind 35, a centerboard sloop designed by his friend and hero, the late Bruce Kirby, who also created the ubiquitous Laser. “I’d been looking for one for years,” Landt said. “They never come up for sale.” This past October, one did, and he pounced. 

This was only the third race aboard his new Charisma, but he downplayed it. “I got all my old buddies together,” he said. “We’re just out here to have fun.”

But Landt was—how shall we put this?—an aggressive and vocal racer, and he wasn’t there to fool around. He nailed a port-tack start; was on the foredeck for a sail change as the breeze built; called out spinnaker trim early and often; and was more or less a cyclone the entire race, in which Charisma scored a respectable fourth in the 13-boat Cruising division. A very good sailor, Landt’s enthusiasm and exuberance were infectious; it’s always great to sail with a dude who just bloody loves it, and it was clear he did.  

Back at the dock, Landt shared a cool story about naming Charisma: As a kid, he landed a gig as a gofer for a wealthy captain of industry in the days of the great Southern Ocean Racing Conference series. The guy had a boat by the same name. “He was so humble,” Landt said. “I always said if I got a nice race boat, I’d call it Charisma.”

And then, he added: “You’re a writer, you might appreciate this. An old commodore, who was also my coach, once told me that the key to sailing is recreation. That’s what you have to turn it into. Now take that word apart, it’s re-creation. You always have to re-create yourself through your recreation. And that’s what sailing does for me.”

In the moment, I laughed and thanked him for a fine day. Only later did it occur to me that Landt had put into simple terms something I’ve always felt about sailing. I’m sure that a ­truly manic surfer or alpinist would say the same thing. That time away from the daily grind, laser-focused on the natural world, is priceless. Every time I’m on the water, whether on a daysail or after crossing an ocean, I come away refreshed and renewed. A new man. Hopefully a better one. Re-created. 

It always keeps me coming back for more.

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large.

The post The Re-creation: My Day at the St. Pete Regatta appeared first on Cruising World.

The arrival of spring has us thinking about new adventures and distant horizons—and, along with that, the long to-do list we need to tackle to enable those ambitions. Why not take some time for yourself during this spring commissioning season to refuel your cruising passion with a great book?

Whether your literary taste leans toward adventure, mystery, romance or food, we’ve got you covered. Need a veterinarian’s advice for sailing with your furry friends, or inspiration for a circumnavigation that won’t break the bank? We’ve got that too.

Here are our top-seven picks for stories we guarantee will lift your spirits, fill your sails, and help you set an inspired course to summer cruising.

Addicted To More Adventure: Risk Is Good, Enjoy It
By Bob Shepton

Warning: Don’t pick up a copy of the Reverend Bob Shepton’s latest book, Addicted To More Adventure, if you’re susceptible to temptation and thrill-seeking. By the time you’ve finished the final chapter on his travels through Antarctica, you’ll be typing “expedition-ready sailboat” into your browser. Shepton, born in Scotland and a former officer in the Royal Marines, was one of the first people to organize and lead sailing expeditions for school-aged kids. He sailed round the world in his Westerly 33-foot via Antarctica and Cape Horn with “school leavers,” a journey that he dubbed the “first school group to sail round the world.” Shepton, 89, is well-known for leading several Bill Tilman-type sail-climbing expeditions to Greenland and Arctic Canada, where Shepton and his crew completed numerous first-ascent climbs. In his approximately 150,000 miles of sailing, he’s crossed the Atlantic 15 times and made 13 visits to the Arctic. His expeditions have made close to 60 first ascents of mountains and rock faces in Greenland and Arctic Canada. Aboard the 33-foot sloop Dodo’s Delight, he transited the Northwest Passage east to west (2012) and then west to east (2013). This adventure is recalled in the opening chapter of the book. He’s been awarded the Blue Water Medal, the Tilman Medal (twice), the Goldsmith Medal for Exploration, the Ocean Cruising Club’s Barton Cup (twice), the OCC’s Vasey Vase (three times), and the Vice Commodore’s Medal (three times). He was voted Yachtsman of the Year (UK) in 2013 and received a Lifetime Achievement Award in 2020. He has barely missed a beat since CW published his profile in 2020, although the book’s postscript mentions the passing of his beloved wife and the sale of Dodo’s Delight. Shepton has two previous books, Addicted to Adventure and High Latitude Sailing.

Capsize
By David Kushner

A naked corpse with a cracked skull is discovered by the Swedish police at sunrise in a cemetery next to a stolen schooner, aground along the seawall. The medical examiner determines that the dead man had been exposed to enough plutonium to build a nuclear bomb. Blue-eyed Bengt Linder, a marine insurance fraud expert, and police inspector Anya Wallin, a tall, blond Swede, are assigned to the case. The body count builds, followed by a shootout with a corrupt superyacht owner and a wild chase through Corsica, Cyprus, Lebanon and the south of France. The action in Capsize catches you like a strong breeze on a tight reach and propels you toward a high-stakes finish—a perfect read for a long, rainy weekend while waiting for weather.

Holding Fast: A Memoir of Sailing, Love and Loss
By Susan Cole

Susan Cole spent 30 years on and around boats, and her poignant memoir, Holding Fast, captures her complicated, decades-long relationship with the sea. The adventure begins when her partner, John, talks her into buying a leaky, 1903 48-foot Fire Island Ferryboat. After 10 years on board, a fire destroys their home and all of their possessions. Several sailboats follow, as does a three-year sail through the Caribbean with their young daughter, Kate. Through a layered narrative, Cole exposes her growth from hesitant sailor to empowered cruiser, culminating in her experience of riding out Hurricane Mitch alone, upriver in the Rio Dulce. Seasoned sailors will appreciate Cole’s origin story; new sailors will enjoy her honesty. In the end, her book is an adventure story wrapped in a love letter to her husband John, who loses his battle to cancer. Cole earned a Bachelor of Arts at Barnard College and a Masters in Psychology from Columbia University.

Where There Is No Pet Doctor: A Manual for Cruisers, RVers and Backcountry Travelers, Fourth Edition
By David W. LaVigne DVM

Dr. David LaVigne has practiced veterinary medicine for more than 40 years and was a longtime liveaboard cruiser and a rear commodore in the Seven Seas Cruising Association. He has presented numerous lectures on pets and written dozens of articles about our furry friends’ lives on board. His website includes links to a list of webinars and classes on cruising with pets. This is the fourth edition of LaVigne’s resourceful guide on traveling with pets. The updated edition includes global pet quarantine and entry requirements, common health issues, medications, skin care, eye care and ear care. A rating system is included to rate procedures according to degree of difficulty and possible risk to the pet. While suturing a pet’s injury might be four stars (****Not Recommended), removing sutures or treating a soft-tissue injury rates one star (*Little Risk). He includes information on general first aid, fractures, medications, systemic problems, and diet. Sadly, the geriatric care section is followed by information on euthanasia and body care.

Hooked On the Horizon: Sailing Blue Eye Around the World
By Tom Dymond

In this entertaining and addictively honest memoir, two school friends cast off from England on a Nicholson 32, with dreams of sailing around the world. Though neither the boat nor the crew are ready, “sooner or later you have to jump,” Dymond writes. Their first jump out of Portsmouth takes them across the English Channel south to Morocco, on to the Canary Islands, and across the Atlantic to the Caribbean. The big jump follows: Panama, the Galapagos Islands, the South Pacific and New Zealand. Through Indonesia, the Suez Canal, and the Mediterranean, battle scars harden the crew and boat, and they push on to a final path through the French canals and back to England, their circumnavigation complete and the “entire journey astern.”

Dymond dispels early in the story any idea that the cruising life is sunshine and rainbows, writing with a dry humor of the challenges that cruisers face while pursuing their dreams—the relentless beat to windward, the bureaucracy in Panama, the unending boat projects, and days spent waiting for weather. He looks back at three years of cruising and examines why, even at anchor among the simplicity and beauty, we are constantly caught up in wondering what lies over the next horizon.

The Hunter and The Gatherer: Cooking and Provisioning for Sailing Adventurers
By Catherine Lawson and David Bristow

Aussies Dave Bristow, the hunter, and Catherine Lawson, the gatherer, have spent the past two decades afloat. The couple, joined by their young daughter, Maya, have made conscious choices to live simple, sustainable lives on their 40-foot catamaran, Wild One. The Hunter and The Gatherer is a culmination of their two decades of travel, filled with 60 pages of provisioning advice (cracking coconuts, foraging ashore, growing sprouts) and 160 recipes.

“This is a book for ocean-loving foodies,” Lawson says. “Our food is for tiny galleys, long passages and perfect sunsets.”

The recipes are divided into three sections: Food for Hunters (Spicy Thai Fish Burgers, Baked Prawn and Noodle Rolls, Mussels Bianco), Food for Gatherers (Easy Persian Pilau, Red Lentil Bolognese, Power-Charged Tabbouleh); and Sweet Treats (Papaya Scones, Coconut Cake, Grilled Pistachio Plums).

“We call [all of] these recipes ‘faraway food,’ and create them for people who love to eat well but love to escape even more.”

Boat Girl: A Misadventure
By Elizabeth Foscue

Author Elizabeth Foscue, a boat kid who spent a slice of her formative years living aboard in the Caribbean, brings us this laugh-out-loud coming-of-age story about 15-year-old Caitlin Davies, a misfit teenager living on a sailboat with her parents in the British Virgin Islands. Short, scrawny and awkward, Caitlin has somehow managed to beguile Tristan, the cutest guy on the island, and to make a few stray friends. But when former owners of her family’s sailboat show up looking for the left-behind contraband that Caitlin has discovered under the yacht’s floorboards, the tropics really heat up. Funny and charming, Boat Girl reminds us of the angst of being a teenager, and the unexpected adventures of living aboard.

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Too Tall,” as I call him, made a modest living banging nails in Lynn, Massachusetts, working in residential construction. We met while shooting pool on Revere Beach. He was intrigued to learn that I was building a 36-foot ketch from scratch. 

“What for?” he asked. 

“To make the big, fat circle,” I explained. “And to be free, really free, not consumer-­choice free.”

A few weeks later, during a backyard barbecue in Swampscott, Too Tall noticed a trailerable sailboat in the host’s two-car garage. It was an O’Day 19. His buddy told him that he didn’t have the time to sail it, and, worse, his wife was getting a new AMC Gremlin. They needed the space in the garage.

Too Tall left with the boat on his trailer hitch, to both their surprise. “Got it for a song,” he crowed to his wife while showing it to her in their driveway.

“Oh, dear,” she moaned. “That’s exactly what a pregnant wife needs: a hole in the water her husband pours money into.” 

Truthfully, it was a stressful time. His wife was worn to a frazzle, getting ready for the baby and taking Lamaze classes while working a full-time job. Worse, Too Tall knew that he was drinking too much while trying to cope with all the changes. He decided to cut down on the booze and concentrate on supporting their rocky transition from couple to family. 

The following week, his wife volunteered to re-sew the mainsail using a new, sun-resistant Gore-Tex thread she’d read about in a women’s magazine. Meanwhile, Too Tall assessed the centerboard. The previous owner had snapped it and lost the rudder in a storm. Too Tall came down to use my band saw, to rough-cut the shapes in marine plywood. 

“How long do you expect to be gone?” he asked, staring up at the half-finished hull of my 36-foot Carlotta.

“Forever, I hope,” I told him. 

“Aren’t you scared of drowning?”

“Aren’t you scared of driving drunk?”

“Touché,” he said.  

I didn’t hear much from him in the next few weeks. Later, I learned that he had a buddy who spray-painted trucks. The O’Day ended up with black topsides, a red boot top, and blue antifouling. 

For his birthday, his wife presented him with fitted sheets she’d sewn. She’d figured out where he kept the companionway key and measured for them. 

“We’re gonna need an Igloo cooler,” she mused afterward. 

The word we made Too Tall smile. 

Construction work took most of his time, and it was 18 months between buying his boat and sailing it. Naming the boat became a family matter as well. Too Tall rejected his wife’s Titanic Too idea and went with a suggestion from Martin, his just-beginning-to-talk son. 

The first time he sailed Mighty Mouse, Too Tall’s main halyard broke, but he managed to get back to the boat ramp under jib alone. The second time out, he took a cockpitful of water in a gust. From then on, he never fully cleated off his mainsheet. 

During the third sail, he ran aground, but, luckily, sand is soft. After that, he always taped a photocopy of his chart to his aft cabin face, right under the through-bulkhead compass he’d purchased on sale at Bliss Marine. 

He started racing at a local yacht club, and he was utterly amazed at how slow he could make a sailboat go. After one race, while he was ashore at the awards ceremony, the boat dragged and damaged its new rudder. So, Too Tall returned to my boat shed with questions about anchor type and ­whatever scope was. 

One evening, when his wife’s parents were visiting and they had a babysitter, Too Tall picked up his wife at Constitution Marina and sailed her to the Boston fish pier for dinner at the No Name Restaurant. She felt good tucked into his shoulder as they sailed. 

The O’Day eventually was replaced by a 22-foot Westerly Nomad—not a racer with its twin keels, but perfect for the mud mooring he’d wrangled in Winthrop. Then came the big breakthrough. With Martin now 5 years old, the family chartered a 32-foot sloop out of Long Bay, St. Thomas, and had the best 10 family days of their lives. His wife loved the Virgin Islands, Too Tall loved the trade winds, and Martin took to the water like a gleeful fish.

The first time out, his halyard broke. The second time, he took a cockpitful of water in a gust. From then on, he never fully cleated off his mainsheet.

Many of the local ­liveaboards in the Virgin Islands anchorages had kids, and Martin acted as the ­couple’s passport into many ­joyous cockpits aboard cruising yachts from all over the world. Sailing back to Charlotte Amalie on St. Thomas as the sun set and Martin napped below, Too Tall’s wife whispered into his ear: “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could make this moment last forever?” 

A Contessa 32, designed by David Sadler, had been damaged against a seawall in Scituate, Massachusetts, and the insurance company wanted to offload it. Too Tall didn’t know anything about fiberglass, but a few months later, he was an itchy expert. Their first family cruise was to Maine, where they blew out their genoa while sailing overcanvassed in a squall off Portland. Too Tall immediately revamped his reefing system, which worked flawlessly during the next summer’s cruise to Mystic Seaport in Connecticut. 

By the time Martin went off to the California Institute of Technology on scholarship, the couple had already crawled “The Ditch” to Florida a couple of times on their Carl Alberg 35. From there, it was an easy jump to the Bahamas and, eventually, to wandering the Lesser Antilles. There, they bumped into many of our dear friends on St. John, in the US Virgin Islands. 

During this entire time, Too Tall made just about every mistake in the book, from running over his dinghy painter to leaving a dock without unplugging his shore cord. Once, while dragging in the Turks and Caicos as a tropical wave passed ­overhead, he’d been unable to cast off his anchor because of the splice at its bitter end. The following day, he’d cut off the splice and never belayed his anchor rode again without ­being able to cast it off instantly under load. 

But, dear reader, this ­column isn’t about Too Tall and his wife or how much fun they had, eventually, hanging in Panama’s San Blas archipelago and cruising along the east coast of Central America. 

It’s actually a column about Duncan and Barbara. 

Duncan, a just-retired attorney specializing in international law, was living in Johor Bahru, Malaysia. He’d nurtured a dream for decades of cruising offshore. He knew exactly the kind of boat to get. He found one listed for sale in Langkawi. It was almost brand-new, having spent most of its life on the hard at Rebak Island. 

Barbara knew nothing of boats, but what was there to know other than how to make a piña colada?

Duncan didn’t like the idea of heavy weather, so he had his sailmaker stitch up an asymmetric spinnaker along with one of those newfangled cruising chutes with the strings and holes. The thing that frustrated Duncan most was how long all the Malaysian shipyard workers took to mount stuff. His weather window was almost gone by the time his davits were installed, his cockpit fridge was chilled, and the new instrument array at the helm was blinking on. 

He asked me for advice. “Take it slow,” I said. “Just sail a few miles down the coast to a safe harbor, then venture forth as urge, experience and expertise dictate. Don’t scare yourself and, especially, don’t scare your spouse. Baby steps will get you to Cape Town, South Africa, faster than anything else.”

He intended to follow my advice, but those damn dawdling workmen. He’d pored over Jimmy Cornell’s books about weather windows. It was now or never. 

So, Duncan and Barbara set off to cruise Indonesia and then hop down to Australia’s remote territory of Cocos Keeling, without ever having overnighted on their boat. Hell, without ever having sailed their boat out of sight of land. Or within sight of it, for that matter. 

Within 12 miles of leaving, a wave boarded them (current against wind) in the Malacca Strait—and their $8,000 inflated life raft was trailing astern. The only thing Duncan could figure was that the factory-made bracket he’d purchased with it had been defective. How else could the raft have escaped? 

It was too rough to bring the dinghy on deck. He cut it loose. Barbara didn’t say anything at the time, but this scared the bejesus out of her. If they’d lost their life raft in the first two hours, how long would it take to lose the entire boat?

From that moment on, Barbara took to her bunk and prayed while silently resolving: marriage, yes; suicide by saltwater, no.

Their brand-new lithium batteries went flat, just like that. Without electricity in the house bank, they couldn’t use their autopilot and had to hand-steer. In a real blow. With the wind gusting into the mid-20s.

They didn’t have time to think, really. Only to survive. Sleep was impossible while hard on the wind. They’d become complete numbskulls but didn’t have the experience to realize it. All the hatches leaked—poured water below, really, much of it directly onto the navigation station, where, one by one, their new electronics failed. They wondered: How could so many different suppliers sell them so much defective equipment? Their smartphones were waterproof, weren’t they? 

Not that their smartphones worked. They were out of cellphone range. Or didn’t have the right SIM card. Whatever.

Damn, it was dark at night. They couldn’t get a weather report. When would this horrible wind stop? Thank gosh for their Garmin GPS. At least they knew where they were. Right by those tiny blue dots on the chart.

Bam!

The sound a 30,000-pound fiberglass vessel makes as it crunches up on a coral reef is horrible, and, of course, expensive. Within 72 hours of setting off on his long-awaited Indian Ocean cruise, Duncan called me and whispered in a still-quivering voice, “It’s a lot of work, isn’t it?”

“Offshore sailing is the most labor-intensive—and for some, the most fulfilling—lifestyle imaginable,” I replied. 

“Barbara doesn’t like it,” he said. 

Ah, yes. Blame it on the wife. How convenient. 

“It’s not relaxing at all.” 

I held my tongue. 

Yes, Duncan had a law degree and a pocketful of gold, but he little common sense and absolutely no seamanship. That can’t be purchased. It has to be earned. 

The bottom line: Duncan didn’t make one-hundredth of the mistakes that Too Tall had made. Duncan merely made them all within the first 48 hours, amid poorly charted foreign shores, while surrounded by rocks. 

“Don’t make any major life decisions right now,” Carolyn advised Duncan. “Relax. The scrapes on your hull can be fixed. Things will seem better in the morning.”

They haven’t called us back with their ultimate decision, but we know what it will be. They scared themselves silly. And that fear will take a long, long time to wash away. 

So much for baby steps. 

Isn’t there a middle way? A path between a lifetime of learning and ­absolutely none? Of course. We know many happy cruisers who, within a year or two of thoughtful coastal sailing, safely head offshore. 

Here’s the distillation of my 63 years of cruising the world: Seamanship matters. Money and BS, not so much.

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There’s good news for the hundreds of thousands of boaters who use the 1,100-mile Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway (AIWW) each year to recreate, either as part of their home waters or cruising America’s “Marine Highway 95,” transiting the AIWW’s ten states from Norfolk, Virginia to Key West, Florida.

The Fiscal Year 2024 Energy and Water Appropriations bill recently passed with bipartisan support and with additional funding from the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, is delivering $48.5 million to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) for a FY 2024 work plan to address critical waterway maintenance and dredging issues in five states. The breakdown of funding is as follows:

• Virginia: $5.3 million
• North Carolina: $26.6 million
• South Carolina: $8.5 million
• Georgia: $4 million
• Florida: $4 million

The waterway’s chief advocate, the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway Association (AIWA), has worked for more than a decade to restore sufficient dredging funding to return the waterway to its authorized depth of 12 feet. The Waterway was authorized in the 1939 Rivers and Harbors Act and the USACE is responsible for its maintenance. Shoaling in certain locations continues to threaten passage of recreational and commercial vessels.

AIWA members include Boat Owners Association of The United States (BoatUS). Said BoatUS manager of government affairs and AIWA board member David Kennedy. “The Intracoastal is used by many kinds of boaters and anglers, and dredging is critical to safety and the economic development that boating brings to waterfront communities. This latest win, along with more sustained support for other shallow draft harbors, gives promise that the boater’s voice is being heard in the halls of government. Our thanks to AIWA for helping to deliver these dredging funds that help ensure safe navigation.”

“It was not that long ago that we had zero federal dollars for dredging, and the waterway’s future was being questioned,” said AIWA executive director Brad Pickel. “We thank Congress, the Biden Administration, and all of our local state partners and members for helping to deliver these critical USACE funds.”

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