Caribbean

Windward Islands

Tropical rainforests, barrier reefs, secluded anchorages: In the Windward Islands, you’ll get a taste of all that the Caribbean has to offer, and plenty of fine trade-wind sailing to boot. For sailors, there are multiple choices for your Windward Islands adventures, and from any of them, you can choose to make your sailing vacation as laid-back or as challenging as you’d like.

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Leeward Islands

The Leeward Islands are full of cruising hot spots, with much to offer to sailors, making passing through the Caribbean. lush scenery, vibrant reefs and a laid-back vibe make for the ultimate sailing destination.

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Lesser Antilles

The Lesser Antilles, in the Eastern Caribbean, are among the best charter destinations on the planet. Why? Diversity and conditions. The winds, seas and harbors in the Lesser Antilles are nearly ideal 99 percent of the time, and landfalls are perfectly spaced. In many of the most popular chartering waters, destinations are 30 to 40 miles apart — or less. This means you can get up at a reasonable hour, have a thrilling sail, and still manage to clear customs by happy hour.

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Cuba

Cuba is one of those mysterious destinations for US-based cruisers: close, intriguing, but seemingly out of reach. In 2017, when regulations were a bit more relaxed for cruisers, Cruising World hosted a rally to the island nation. The verdict? Cuba is everything we expected, and so much more.

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USA, Canada and Atlantic

Bahamas

The islands of the Bahamas are a cruiser’s playground — clear water, colorful communities and great sailing. The Bahamas offer endless islands to sail between and explore; from the Abacos to the Exumas, each island is unique.

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Intracoastal Waterway

Those with a mast height under 64 feet can also take advantage of the beauty and convenience of the Intracoastal Waterway on their trip north or south through the East Coast. While navigating the ICW requires lots of motoring, when conditions are good, the sailing is spectacular.

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Southern New England

Cruising through Long Island Sound, anchoring in the Great Salt Pond of Block Island, exploring the coast of Cape Cod – there are endless opportunities to enjoy a romp through Southern New England.

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The Great Lakes

Some of the best freshwater cruising in the world, the Great Lakes offer endless opportunities for exploration. Each lake offers unique cruising grounds, ports and conditions, from uncharted rocky inlets on the Canadian shores, to bustling cities.

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Bermuda

For as long as ocean-going sailors have been sailing the North Atlantic, Bermuda has been the crossroads and a popular race destination. But Bermuda is so much more than just a waypoint—it’s also a wonderful cruising destination.

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Nova Scotia

Packed with geologic and cultural history, the beautifully quiet coast of Nova Scotia is a nature lovers dream. Spruce trees, granite, grasses, sea, seals and terns, there is no shortage of excitement here.

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Europe

Greece Isles

The sailing can be challenging, but the landfalls — full of history, diverse towns and tasty cuisine — are worth it. Greece boasts thousands of islands, spread across an enormous geographical area stretching from the Aegean to the Ionian sea. Four of Greece’s five island groups are prime cruising areas: the Cyclades, the Saronic Islands, the Ionian Islands and the Dodecanese. Each group has its own unique character and charm, making each one worth exploring.

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South Pacific

Fiji

Cruising yachts from all over the world come to Fiji to anchor in the crystal-clear waters of the South Pacific. This Pacific crossroads is a refreshing break, with world-class snorkeling, beach combing and hiking.

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Marquesas

Smack dab in the middle of the South Pacific, the remote and untamed Marquesas are an unforgettable sailing stop – if you can get there. The topography of these young islands ­reflects the dawn of time; the exquisite drama of the islands’ violent, volcanic origins has not yet been smoothed and worn, with towering peaks rising above anchorages.

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Tasmania

Tasmania offers world class cruising, friendly, welcoming people, and a rich sailing history. The beautiful anchorages are uncrowded and private, and the sailing is world class. Just ask anyone who has ever sailed a Sydney Hobart Race.

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Whitsunday Islands

Pristine white sand beaches begging for footprints; the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park just waiting to be snorkeled; and our charter catamaran tugging on her mooring lines, ready to set sail. Who could resist such a tempting welcome from the Whitsunday Islands? Not us.

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Southeast Asia

Phang Nga Bay

Towering rock sculptures rise out of the water in Thailand’s Phang Nga Bay, providing a surreal backdrop for cruising. Anchor among the hongs and hope into a dinghy for an unforgettable experience exploring hidden caves and uncovering secrets from the 10,000 year history of the bay.

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Africa

Cape Town

From the blustery southeaster that can blow 45-60 knots for days on end, the “table cloth” on Table Mountain, to the waterfront with all its great seafaring tales and bars and the beaches of the suburb of Clifton, Cape Town has it all. The weather is like Southern California; you can stay active in the great outdoors year round.

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Madagascar

Madagascar is a true cruising gem. Its culture is a delightful convergence of Europe, Africa and the Middle East, as evidenced by the gourmet French meals, baked goods, mélange of rum drinks, vibrant materials for both traditional and modern dress, and the combination of French and local Malagasy language.

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South America

Chile

The Cape Horn archipelago conjures images of heroic voyages through inhospitable landscapes and harsh, raw conditions, the true beauty Chile is that it’s remote enough to be pristine, but not isolated enough that you feel completely cut off from the rest of the world.

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Antarctica

Antarctica

Cold, unforgiving and a challenge for even the most seasoned sailor, there isn’t quite any place on earth like Antarctica. Just ask anyone who has been, though, and you’ll find that the journey to the bottom of the world was unforgettable.

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The post Top 20 Cruising Destinations for Your Bucket List appeared first on Cruising World.

We hadn’t really planned on spending New Year’s anchored off an uninhabited island with a glorious white sand beach in the Bahamas. But we got lucky. The original plan was to celebrate a land-based New Year with a large group of friends in Nassau, but once I found out that some cruising friends had anchored their 50-foot cat only a short ride away off Harbour Island, Eleuthera, and that they’d love to spend New Year’s with us, my wife Caroline, our friend Roberta and I jumped at the chance to leave the hustle and bustle of Nassau in our wake. 

Having endured several (rare) chilly days and (not rare) late nights in Nassau, the peace and quiet of a night at anchor off Harbour Island was blissful. The next morning, we hired a local captain to help us navigate the coral-ridden Devil’s Backbone channel between Harbour Island and Spanish Wells. Even with a chart plotter, local knowledge is essential to ensure safe passage through this tricky stretch of water. Our local guy was a particularly colorful character.

A-1 (yes, his name was A-1) hopped aboard with a wide smile and a mental stockpile of more one-liners than David Letterman. 

“Did you grow on Harbour Island?” I asked.

“Does Jimmy Carter like toothpaste?” he quipped. 

[Pointing at a spot on the chart] “Is the fishing any good here?” I probed.

“Is a bullfrog waterproof?” he joshed.

The stand-up routine (along with a healthy dose of island history and other random musings) went on for the entire passage through the coral maze. A-1 seemed to concentrate more on holding court than paying attention to the channel, but he got us through. We had arrived safely at Spanish Wells when A-1 shared his last bit of local knowledge, with a smile and a wink: “Nine times out of two, if you stay in the channel, you’ll be just fine.” And off he went.

We wound our way past the fishing town of Spanish Wells, set our sails in a following breeze, and plotted a course toward a group of tiny islands to the west. Our cruising guide offered little info on the area—and that’s what made it special. We discovered a perfect anchorage off an uninhabited white-sand beach. I’ve been on countless charters and cruises all over the world, but there was something unique about this little piece of Bahamian heaven. We were the only people in sight. It was the last day of the year. The water was crystalline. The sun shone in beams through dissipating cloud cover as the cold front moved out. The beach beaconed.

We swam the short distance to the shoreline where we discovered plenty of dry firewood. It was becoming clear how this impromptu “Bahamas-style” New Year’s Eve would play out. It was certainly a far cry from those swarming streets we’d left back in Nassau. We built a fire on the beach, just as the sun set during the last hours of the year, and we basked in its warmth under a blanket of stars. If the rest of this year is anything like the hours of the last one, it’ll be a very good year indeed.

(Edited original story from 2010)

The post Ringing in the New Year, Bahamas-Style appeared first on Cruising World.

Cruisers often bypass the small and lesser-­known southeastern Bahamian islands on their windward passage through the Exumas on their way south to the Caribbean. But they shouldn’t. Take the advice of Bruce Van Sant, legendary sailor and author of The Gentleman’s Guide to Passages South: “Don’t rush through the islands; they are too perfect.” So, Google up a map, friends, and follow along. 

Because the Bahamas are shallow, the water they occupy in the North Atlantic Ocean is that much lighter, and, frankly, more beautiful than the Caribbean Sea. You can sail for miles in 10 to 15 feet of the lightest hues of blues and turquoise, suddenly plunge into thousands of feet of dark blue ocean, and return to shallow turquoise toward the edge of the next island. The shelf acts and feels like a large V.

Conception Island is possibly the most beautiful of all the Bahamian islands and is only 45 nautical miles northeast of popular George Town on Great Exuma Island. As Van Sant suggests, to reach Conception Island, anchor the night before just south of George Town at Fowl Cay, an uninhabited island with a small swimming beach. This will save you 4 miles of motoring to exit Great Exuma. Raise your mainsail at first light, and a southwestern wind will give you one long, straight starboard tack to Conception Island. Uninhabited and pristine, the beach has water so clear, you’ll swear you can drink it. The whole island is less than 3 miles at its widest, and it’s low-lying like all the small Bahamian islands, making it almost unnoticeable on electronic or paper charts.

The Bahamas National Trust has designated Conception Island a national park, which protects conch, fish and lobsters. The coral heads and reefs that surround the island make for great snorkeling and diving. At high tide, an entrance to a creek two-thirds of the way down the western side allows you to dinghy into mangrove flats to see turtles, sharks, conch and other marine life.  

To relax, simply walk the deserted white sandy beach and let your mind wander in your escape to this stunningly beautiful anchorage. Or, from the deck of your boat, simply stare at the magnificent crescent-shaped beach, and imagine why no more than five sailboats and catamarans are anchored outside the island on any given day.  

Like this solo sailor, you might chance upon the only other sailors on the beach who happen to know the Bahamas like the backs of their hands. If you are fortunate, like me, they will buddy-sail with you 35 nautical miles northeast to San Salvador. There, anchor in deep white sand just east of the only town on the island, and your new friends will take you to their favorite coral head, where they will spear two huge spiny lobsters and share their spoils in a tasty dinner on their catamaran. For thanks, buy them cocktails the next day at one of the only open bars ­overlooking the beach.

Sparsely populated and somewhat larger than Conception, San Salvador Island hosts a handful of small resorts and, surprisingly, an airport that brings in daily flights from Florida. Still, it maintains the feel of a quiet and secluded Caribbean island. You can walk the traffic-free main road, and a friendly local might drive you to one of the two small grocery stores on the island. Much controversy surrounds the claim that Columbus made his first landfall in the New World at San Salvador Island, though a plaque on a building in the middle of town states that he landed there October 12, 1492.

From San Salvador Island, you can sail 30 miles southwest to Rum Cay in prevailing east winds. (An island with the word rum in it must be good.) Find yourself wind-protected on the absurdly beautiful, quiet and pristine Flamingo Bay on the western edge of the island. Your charts will show a submerged wreck, giving you fair warning to watch the depth and weave the coral heads using eyeball navigation. You can sleep soundly under a clear sky and shining stars in tranquil water. Among life’s finer experiences, one should enjoy a morning cup of coffee on the bow of a gently swaying sailboat in a warm, clear bay that is yours and yours alone. Dinghy to the deserted shore to create the only tracks on the white-powder beach.

On a rising sun, sail out of Flamingo Bay against an east wind to seek civilization around the corner to Port Nelson, the only inhabited town on the island, with reportedly fewer than 100 residents. With a handful of tacks, you will turn a 6-mile sail into 15 glorious sailing miles where you will see small flying fish burst out of the water to escape predators. At 30 miles in total area but still tiny in size, Rum Cay dwarfs Conception Island.

Port Nelson consists of a welcome sign and a government dock that accepts a mail boat three times a month. Near the dock, you might find yourself at The Last Chance, a ramshackle bar with sand floors, a pool table and a book rack. Kaye Wilson, the proprietor, will sell you a Bahamian beer for $3, a dozen eggs for $8 or a bag of frozen green beans for $6. She also will make you the tastiest burger for $12 and serve it in a foil wrap rather than on a plate. 

You might chat up the only other patrons, two Bahamian police officers also enjoying a lunchtime burger. Even though the island is crime-free and all residents know one another, the officers are on daily foot patrol. One might be wearing a polo shirt, while the uniform of the other is a ball cap and T-shirt that say “police.”

Don’t shy away from requesting a police escort to the only other open eatery, the Ocean View Restaurant, an establishment with wood floors that’s been proudly owned for 45 years by Ruby Bain. Her son will serve you a Guinness in a bottle delivered to the island on a mailboat. I watched in awe as she affectionately taught one of the officers a local song. After you share a beverage with the police and they insist that you stay on the otherwise sleepy Rum Cay for a weekend festival, you know that you have met some of the friendliest people on Earth.

To seek protection from an oncoming stiff and persistent eastern blow, depart Rum Cay at 4 a.m. and motorsail 30 degrees off an east wind to reach the western side of Crooked Island in daylight, some 60 miles southeast. You might find several sailboats and catamarans already there seeking shelter. 

At Crooked Island, it is impossible not to make new sailing friends, either on the beach or at Gibson’s Restaurant, where they seat customers, mostly sailors, cafeteria-style on a long table. They serve everyone the same delicious fare of locally caught fish, meat and vegetables.

Take the advice of legendary sailor and author Bruce Van Sant: “Don’t rush through the islands; they are too perfect.” 

At Crooked Island, you also might be lucky, like me, to find a stainless-steel spear pole washed up on the beach that you can use to spear your own lobsters. If you need diesel and water, motor a few miles to the Crooked Island Lodge and Marina, the only marina on the island. You might as well spend one night there instead of rolling on anchor in the big blow. The ­marina’s knowledgeable ­general manager will show you the nearby coral heads to hunt lobsters. (Using the ­newfound pole spear, this ­novice ­fisherman came up empty-handed, but the ­marina’s chef prepared a lobster dinner for me, the restaurant’s only customer for the night.)  

Sailors can do major provisioning at the marina for Bahamian beer, wine, local fish, vegetables, frozen hamburgers and delicious rolls. And what the marina does not have, the general manager will drive you 4 miles to find at the small grocery store. The marina is undergoing big renovations, including new hotel rooms, small cabana-like lodges, a new restaurant and a pool. It is also enlarging its jetty, so boats will enjoy a swell-free dock experience.

So far, you will have had days of pain-free windward sailing. That might end as you sail east toward the lightly populated Mayaguana Island, a staging ground for a ­southeast run to Turks and Caicos. If you have no time to wait for a favorable wind north of east, you might ­experience moderate bow-bashing and ­wave-crashing sailing to the small and uninhabited West Plana Cay, a good stop-off 43 miles toward Mayaguana. After you pass Acklins Island off your starboard and you steer 30 or so degrees south, the waves begin to behave, and you will reach West Plana Cay in calm conditions.  

Again, you will have all to yourself another beautiful ­turquoise-blue bay protected by an east wind, and you will ask why you are not ­spending long days there reading, beachcombing, fishing, ­sleeping, and just enjoying your escape from civilization. 

Last, the 37-mile east sail from West Plana Cay to Abraham’s Bay on Mayaguana will likely be similarly uncomfortable. Protected by a barely visible long stretch of coral reef, Abraham’s Bay will feel like you are ­anchoring in 15 feet of open ocean, but the overnight roll will be ­moderate and easy to handle. 

The next day, sail east in 14 miles of pain-free ­tacking across a small bay to Southeastern Point, where Van Sant suggests that you stage your departure to Turks and Caicos. From this point, you will have a better ­southward angle to sail a reach to Sapodilla Bay on the Caicos banks.

Damian LaPlaca is currently in Puerto Rico aboard his Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 39i Performance, Beckon.

The post Cruising the Southeastern Bahamian Islands appeared first on Cruising World.

There is nothing quite like a sailing vacation. Whether you’re after sunshine and beam reaches, rum drinks and reggae, or quiet anchorages and adventures ashore, a charter with The Moorings can deliver exactly what you have in mind.

“The British Virgin Islands is our flagship operation and the most popular charter destination in the world”, says Josie Tucci, VP of Marketing for The Moorings. “Over the past few years we have made unprecedented investments in the marina facility and fleet in the BVI, which have all recently been completed. Whether it is your first time visiting us, or you are revisiting The Moorings for the first time in a while, we are confident guests will be pleased with the improvements welcoming them upon arrival.”

From a new watersports shop, to newly-built docks, a new on-site supermarket and remodeled hotel, there is no shortage of upgrades to experience. Also new is the option for a skipper-only charter aboard a dedicated catamaran, in addition to traditional bareboat and fully crewed options. A skipper-only charter is a great choice for anyone who wants a skipper on board to handle all the safety, operation and navigation needs—not to mention bringing in-depth local knowledge along for the ride. With a skipper-only charter, guests are in charge of their own meals. If you enjoy dining ashore at the BVI’s restaurants and bars, then a skipper-only charter can be a great choice.

“The beauty of a charter with The Moorings is that you can enjoy your vacation your way,” Tucci says. “If you want to be fully in command as a bareboater, you can do that. If you want a skipper to handle the boat for you, that’s an option too. And if you want a fully crewed package with a chef to take care of meals, we have wonderful, professional Crews on staff ready to pamper you. However you envision the perfect cruising vacation, The Moorings can make it happen.”

The Moorings flagship base at Road Town, Tortola, had to be completely rebuilt after Hurricane Irma. They took the opportunity to reimagine the base with everything you need to equip your yacht for your itinerary around the BVI. From thenew Moorings Market for provisioning food and beverages (with an online-shopping option), to the water toy rental and watersports shop run by Sail Caribbean Divers, you’ll have everything you need without having to endure an off-base excursion. Just enjoy your first night with dinner and drinks at Charlies Restaurant, featuring  a revamped menu.. There’s also a rejuvenated fleet of sailing catamarans such as the Moorings 4200, the larger Moorings 4500 and the flagship Moorings 5000, each of which won Boat of the Year honors upon launch. The power catamaran fleet now includes the three-cabin Moorings 403PC, the four-cabin 464PC and and the larger 534PC. Prefer a monohull? No problem. As many as 12 brand-new monohull yachts arrive this fall.

And, in great news for anyone traveling from the United States to the British Virgin Islands, American Airlines is now offering seasonal nonstop flights from Miami to Beef Island, Tortola. These flights will operate during the summer and winter months.

Once aboard the boat, the rest of the BVI is yours to discover—explore the magical Baths on Virgin Gorda; sip a Painkiller at the Soggy Dollar on Jost Van Dyke; and check out the Indians, one of the best snorkeling spots in the area. 

In the U.S. Virgin Islands, from The Moorings base at the Marina at Yacht Haven Grande, you can explore all that St. Thomas offers, including abundant shopping and nightlife. Then head out to explore beautiful and laid-back St. John, where you can experience the pristine beaches of Cinnamon Bay, excellent snorkeling at Leinster Bay, and even some hiking trails at Virgin Islands National Park.

Abacos, Bahamas

The Moorings base at the Abaco Beach Resort is located in Marsh Harbour, Bahamas, a central location that makes it the perfect place to start your exploration of the Abacos—a longtime favorite destination for cruising sailors. Enjoy sailing in the protected waters of the Sea of Abaco to destinations that include quaint villages such as Hope Town and Green Turtle Cay, and abundant secluded anchorages.

Exumas, Bahamas

If you’re looking for an out-islands experience, an Exumas charter might be for you. Departing from The Moorings base at Palm Cay Marina in Nassau, Bahamas, visitors can then cruise down to the Exuma Cays, a string of 365 islands and cays that stretch for 120 miles. Many sailors who have traveled the world agree that the Exumas are their favorite cruising grounds. Once you go, you will understand. From exploring the mangrove creeks of Shroud Cay and the incredible Thunderball Grotto to the friendly settlement of Black Point and colorful Staniel Cay, the Exumas offer a wide variety of experiences—and unforgettable sunsets on the Great Bahama Bank.

The Magical Med

If your dream sailing vacation includes exploring ancient ruins, villages steeped in history, and a variety of sailing conditions, a sailing vacation in the Mediterranean might be just what you’re looking for. From The Moorings bases in Italy, Greece and Croatia, you can choose the Med experience that suits you best. Looking for sun-soaked beaches, quaint tavernas and excellent scuba diving? Try a charter from Corfu in Greece. Does visiting an abundance of islands offering everything from wild, barren landscapes to historic towns and lively nightlife sound ideal? A Croatia and Dalmatian Islands charter is for you. How about a view of mountain peaks, incredible cuisine, and soaking in hot springs? Check out a sailing vacation from Sicily.

Whichever location you choose, a charter in the Med is an incredible experience. If you are looking to do a bareboat charter in one of these destinations, you will need to have an approved sailing license, such as an International Proficiency Certificate, or have passed ASA 104 (Bareboat Cruising) or US Sailing Bareboat Cruising courses. No certifications? No worries. Crewed charters are available with a captain and a chef.

And don’t worry if you can’t make up your mind about which destination you want to visit next. With so many fantastic options, it sometimes takes several charters to enjoy them all.

“Some of our guests return to The Moorings year after year, exploring new destinations, trying out new boats, and further improving their own sailing skills,” Tucci says. “The fun can be endless if you’re cruising with family and friends. These are the kinds of memories that will last a lifetime.”

For more information and to start booking your charter vacation, visit The Moorings or speak to a vacation planner directly by calling 800-416-0247.

The post Better Than Ever appeared first on Cruising World.

There is nothing quite like a sailing vacation. Whether you’re after sunshine and beam reaches, rum drinks and reggae, or quiet anchorages and adventures ashore, a charter with The Moorings can have it all. Now that the world is opening back up, it’s time to ditch the staycation and choose a destination. Let’s take a look at where the hottest destinations are for 2022 and 2023, what’s changed in the world of charter sailing, and what you need to know before your next vacation.

Back to the Bahamas, BVI and USVI

Long the most popular destinations for North American sailors, bases in the Virgin Islands and the Bahamas have had major setbacks from hurricanes and the pandemic. Fortunately, those days are mostly in our wake, and charter sailors can once again easily cruise the storied waters of the Sir Francis Drake Channel, the Sea of Abaco and the Bahama Banks. 

The Moorings base is fully open in Road Town, British Virgin Islands, at Wickhams Cay II, where you will find resort-like amenities to enjoy before casting off. Travelers no longer need to preregister at the travel portal for entry clearance and all Covid entry testing requirements have been lifted as of July 15, 2022. Once aboard your boat, the rest of the BVI is yours to discover—explore the magical Baths on Virgin Gorda, sip a Painkiller at the Soggy Dollar on Jost Van Dyke, and check out the Indians, one of the best snorkeling spots in the area.During the pandemic, the US Virgin Islands surged in popularity as a charter destination due to ease of travel for US residents. Once a well-kept secret, the allure of these islands is now getting the attention it deserves. From The Moorings base at the Marina at Yacht Haven Grande, you can explore all that St. Thomas offers, including abundant shopping and nightlife, then head out to explore beautiful and laid-back St. John, where you can experience the pristine beaches of Cinnamon Bay, excellent snorkeling at Leinster Bay, and even some hiking trails at Virgin Islands National Park.

The Moorings base at the Abaco Beach Resort in Marsh Harbour, Bahamas, reopened at the end of 2021 after recovering from the devastation wrought by Hurricane Dorian in 2019. “While the impact of the storm can still be seen on the main island,” says Ian Pedersen, senior marketing manager for The Moorings, “the cruising ground and outer cays have returned to form and are a spectacular sailing destination once again.” The central location of Marsh Harbour makes it the perfect place to start your exploration of the Abacos—a longtime favorite destination for cruising sailors. Enjoy sailing in the protected waters of the Sea of Abaco to destinations that include quaint villages, such as Hope Town and Green Turtle Cay, and abundant secluded anchorages.

If you’re looking for an Out Islands experience, an Exumas charter might be for you. Departing from The Moorings base at Palm Cay Marina in Nassau, Bahamas, visitors can then cruise down to the Exuma Cays, a string of 365 islands and cays that stretch for 120 miles. Many sailors who have traveled the world agree that the Exumas are their favorite cruising ground. Once you go, you will understand. From exploring the mangrove creeks of Shroud Cay and the incredible Thunderball Grotto, to the friendly settlement of Black Point and colorful Staniel Cay, the Exumas offer a wide variety of experiences—and unforgettable sunsets on the Great Bahama Bank.

Both Bahamas destinations are fully open to vaccinated travelers, while unvaccinated visitors will need to show a negative COVID-19 test at check-in.

The Magical Med

If your dream sailing vacation includes exploring ancient ruins, villages steeped in history, and a variety of sailing conditions, a sailing vacation in the Mediterranean might be just what you’re looking for. “After so many people were unable to sail in Europe during [the pandemic], the Med sailing season is back and as popular as ever,” Pedersen says.

From The Moorings bases in Italy, Greece and Croatia, visitors can choose the Med experience that suits them best. Looking for sun-soaked beaches, quaint tavernas and excellent scuba diving? Try a charter from Corfu in Greece. Does visiting an abundance of islands offering everything from wild, barren landscapes to historic towns and lively nightlife sound ideal? A Croatia and Dalmatian Islands charter is for you. How about a view of mountain peaks, incredible cuisine and soaking in hot springs? Check out a sailing vacation from Sicily.

Whichever you choose, a charter in the Med is an incredible experience. If you are looking to do a bareboat charter in one of these destinations, you will need to have an approved sailing license, such as an International Proficiency Certificate, or have passed ASA 104 (Bareboat Cruising) or US Sailing Bareboat Cruising courses. No certifications? No worries. Crewed charters are available with a captain and a chef.

Ready to Go?

After two-plus years of various lockdowns and travel restrictions around the world, it’s no surprise that stir-crazy sailors are ready to get out there. If you’re considering a charter vacation in the near future, The Moorings strongly suggests booking as soon as possible to ensure you can get the yacht you want. “We are already seeing strong bookings for next summer and even fall of 2023,” Pedersen says.

So, gather up your crew, choose your destination and go sailing.

For more information and to start booking your charter vacation, visit www.moorings.com or speak to a vacation planner directly by calling 800-416-0247.

The post Back to Chartering (and Better than Ever) with The Moorings appeared first on Cruising World.

Of all the ways I have traveled, I love my sailboat the best. A wanderer since childhood, I have climbed glaciers with a heavy pack, forded African rivers by motorcycle, and ­landed on remote fjords by floatplane. None of it compares with cruising. I am certain there is no better way to encounter the world than by boat.

I’ve discovered that my humble craft has an alchemical quality, a certain trick of distilling the places, weather, events, people, and, yes, the scares and repairs too, into an extraordinarily pure essence, a rare and wonderful possession for life. This treasure can only be earned, never purchased, and cannot be lost or stolen. A few words are enough to conjure it all. 

“Did you go up the Rio Dulce?” another sailor might ask, and we are instantly in Guatemala. We feel the alertness and unease of anchoring off Livingston, an unpredictable frontier town, waiting for the tide to rise high enough to bump and scrape our keel over the river bar. We know the sense of wonder around every bend in that lush and mighty river canyon. We’ve seen a man from another century approach in his dugout canoe and ask if we might help charge his cellphone. 

When I began roaming on my own boat, the 36-foot Beneteau Liberte, a salty friend put it best: “Right now, all you see is charts,” he said, “but sailing will turn every one of those places into a story.”

Today, I still have the crude map I drew for myself before I began cruising. It was mere wishful thinking. I didn’t even have a boat. Still office-bound, I sat through many meetings where the clients probably thought I was taking diligent notes. Instead, I was tracing and retracing my dream route, making lists of gear and ports of call, my head already out to sea. 

My anticipatory dotted line led from Bellingham, Washington, to Cuba and on to the Bahamas, a course I did indeed follow with my wife, Rebecca, during 10 incredible seasons. Today, every one of those dots puts a massive grin on my face. 

First there was Vancouver Island, which Liberte circumnavigated counterclockwise in 2009 as a shakedown cruise. I went in March, April and May, with three buddies as crew. It was definitely early season. The lads and I wore our fuzzy caps most of the way and kept a close ear on Environment Canada’s weather forecasts. The payoff for this gamble was clear skies, consistent wind, no fog and no bugs. I remember running tidal narrows, feeling our way into stunning anchorages we had all to ourselves, and flying the spinnaker up Queen Charlotte Strait on a rare and glorious easterly. I remember rounding notorious Cape Scott under sail alone, tacking furiously against a foul current, and then shooting down the coast once we rounded. As we came into Quatsino Sound that evening, a family of bears was feeding along the water’s edge at low tide, scarcely giving us a glance as we crept past, wing on wing, riding every remaining zephyr. The boys and I didn’t want to start the engine and break that spell, so we simply coasted to the dock at Winter Harbour.

There was one big blow, with hurricane-force winds ripping down Brooks Peninsula, but my crew and I were safely tucked into shelter, playing pool at the Royal Canadian Legion, Branch 180, in Port Alice, where they deemed us local celebrities (“You’re the guys with the big blue sail!”) and would never let us buy our own drinks.

At Nootka Sound, we met Mark and Joanne Tiglmann, some of the last remaining lightkeepers in North America. They told us that we were the first boat to round the island that year. In Tofino, we waited until all the day-trippers had gone, and then we hiked through the rainforest to the best hot springs I’ve ever found. We saw wolf tracks on the beach. I watched three ravens steal baitfish from a charter fishing boat. They were nimble grifters, with one bird on high lookout, one perched on the rail, and one helping itself to the bait. Then they would rotate so that the next bird got its share. They spoke in murmurs so as not to tip off the seagulls.

I saw all that, and so much more, with my own eyes, felt it with every bit of my senses. All of it made possible only by running away on our own boat, by being intimidated, overwhelmed, sleepless, but always there. 

Cape Mendocino will always be that place where I underestimated the weather and paid the price all night long, running hard in big seas in the dark, waiting for something to break. At dawn, a pod of spinning dolphins told us that we would be OK.

I remember humpback whales breathing. I remember crossing under the Golden Gate Bridge, the pea soup clearing just enough to see the legendary span above, high-fives all round. I remember the sound of sea lions all night long on Pier 39. My crew and I rang the bell for admittance to the Dolphin Club, where we took the ceremonial plunge into chilly San Francisco Bay, and then felt the blood return in the sauna amid the banter of bums, poets and billionaires.

On Catalina Island, we hungry sailors tried our best to get into a private buffet line and got busted by the host. Later, he brought us three plates of food, with all the filet mignon, lobster and mashed potatoes we had coveted earlier. “At least you guys weren’t jerks about it,” he said. “There’s plenty. Eat up.” He was a top-selling yacht broker. As we devoured his food, he let us in on a trade secret: Moor the prospective buyer’s boat next to an even bigger boat. “They can’t stand the other guy being higher than they are,” he said.

To the uninitiated eye, the Baja peninsula looks like a whole lot of nothing. But that stretch of rock and sand is filled with hidden delights. My fellow cruisers and I can point out where the whales come right up to your dinghy at Bahia Magdalena. We can show you Los Frailes, where we took our first luxurious swim off the back of Liberte. We can guide you to Los Islotes and its frisky sea lions.

Not far from Isla San Francisco, one memorable day, I went overboard to rescue Samantha, our Jack Russell terrier, and suddenly needed rescuing myself. All these years later, I can still feel the intensity of that moment when Rebecca hauled the dog and me safely back onto Liberte, the huge adrenaline buzz and those first sweet deep breaths of air.

In the little fishing village of Agua Verde, people came out of their homes to wish us good morning. The dirt streets were swept and tidied, and the whole place was as neat as a pin. The headlines were filled with swine flu and travel warnings. Rebecca asked, “Why aren’t the news crews here instead?” The village Romeo, a black dog named Osso, took a shine to Samantha and trotted along, and when we kayaked back to Liberte, Osso swam after us for a long way, every bit the lovestruck village lad pining for a passing sailor girl. 

All along the Baja, I can show you where to find waterfalls in the desert, orange groves, and tiny mountain towns with their churches and horseback festivals. I know which vendor in Santa Rosalia has the best hot dogs.

As I dream backward now, the entire thing looks like those place mats of the West that I loved as a kid at breakfast diners. They were filled with routes that could take you anywhere, with miniature drawings of each marvel: redwoods, rivers, volcanoes and Sasquatch.

I was also obsessed with space as a boy, and even though I don’t expect to blast off with Elon Musk in this lifetime, I realize that my cruising boat has become a longed-for spacecraft. I have flown through stars. I have touched down on strange new worlds and climbed through primeval plants and mysterious stones, my faithful rocket ship waiting for me down there in the bay. 

In Acapulco, with warnings about violence ashore, we easily could have chosen to sail on by. Instead, we entered the bay, and I will always remember our anniversary night, snuggled up with Rebecca on Liberte’s rail, watching all the city lights come on around us, a sparkling bowl of diamonds. 

Zihuatanejo was the dinghy concierge, the huge outdoor market, and my day of surfing with two locals who carried their boards old-school on top of their Volkswagen Beetle, with towels for a roof rack and ropes lashed through the windows. It was where we helped rescue a boat that dragged anchor, which then proceeded to try to anchor in exactly the same place again (directly upwind of us!). Alan on motor trawler Beverly J, with an entire workshop on his aft deck, expertly crafted another metal pin for the one that had broken on Liberte’s autohelm. Thank you, Alan; thank you, buddy boats; and thank you, locals who helped us all along our way, most of whom we will never meet again.

We had read about the Gulf of Tehuantepec, and anticipated and dreaded it in equal measure, but nothing could prepare us for actually being in that place. There’s no way we could anticipate that, instead of spindrift fury, it could be mirror-calm. And that, on Rebecca’s birthday, she could dive into that infinite blue with dolphins so curious about us, we were certain that they had never seen another human.

As I consider our route, I still know the harbors and hazards by heart. I can still point, more or less, to the spot where I hit an unlit panga. It was dense-black in the early morning. Liberte had a nice head of steam, sailing upwind with full sails in that fragrant offshore night wind, so perfectly balanced that she was steering herself without the autopilot. At first impact, I thought we’d hit a log, which is not uncommon near these river estuaries. But when I aimed my spotlight behind the boat, two men looked back at me with wide eyes. My guess is they’d been fast asleep. Out of nowhere, I’d hit them hard, hooked their anchor line, and was now towing them. I had a sharp knife in hand but resisted the urge to cut their only line. I luffed sails, untangled our boats, and made sure that the guys were OK, apologizing profusely in my best broken Spanish.

Never did I ever expect to intentionally put my boat into a surf break. That is the stuff of a sailor’s nightmares. But along El Salvador’s coast, Rebecca and I did exactly that to get to the anchorage. We waited our turn, put Samantha below, cleared the deck, locked the hatch boards, and made sure that the engine would hit max revs. The previous day, a boat had come in slow, gone sideways on a wave, and been pooped and flooded. Our guide on his personal watercraft raised his hand and signaled us forward. Rebecca steered while I redlined the Yanmar. We surfed one, two, three quite-sizable breaking waves, and then we were through and into the flat lagoon. Rebecca grinned and said, “Let’s do it again!” 

Vast, unpredictable and a long way from anywhere, the Golfo de Fonseca is where I did my customary engine check and discovered a bilge full of oil beneath my faithful Yanmar, in the most remote place we’d been so far. All cruisers know that feeling. And they know the improvisation it takes to keep going without the right parts. Rebecca created a tray from aluminum foil to catch the oil, and every few hours of motoring, we’d pour all that oil right back into the engine again. We did a lot of miles that way. 

We had heard tall tales of the Papagayo winds, and one day, there they were, howling, as advertised. Liberte flew down the Nicaraguan coastline, a triple reef in her main. It was uncanny, sailing in 40 knot winds in absolutely flat water while being sandblasted from shore. In Bahia Santa Elena, at the north end of Costa Rica, we hunkered down for several days waiting for those gusts to dial down, just a little.

In Costa Rica, while other cruisers complained of their ­clearing-in woes—including surf landing while trying to keep ­documents dry, catching a local bus, and waiting around for hours
—I took the easy way out. I found myself squired around by an extraordinarily beautiful agent. At every stop in ­officialdom, the bureaucrats, obviously eating out of the palm of her hand, waved us through cheerily. It was the best clearing-in experience ever, and it was also the most expensive. That invoice was shocking.

Costa Rica was monkeys stealing our breakfast. Rebecca and I swam in waterfalls and went skinny-dipping off Liberte into the warmest water, the bioluminescence so powerful that it outlined our entire bodies as we moved—an utterly hallucinogenic encounter yet with an entirely clear head. 

Panama was astounding: a land of tall shiny buildings, riverbank tribes, and the bucket-list adventure of navigating the Panama Canal in our very own boat. As they rafted us together with two buddy boats, I looked over at our friend Steve in the middle boat as the first locks opened. “You feeling OK?” I asked. “You bet!” he said. “I’ve got the world’s biggest fenders, one on each side.” 

We cruised the San Blas Islands for six enchanted off-the-grid weeks. We anchored at Bug Island and fed our organic waste to the island pig. We were guests in a Guna Yala village when we smelled smoke and heard screams. Within a few minutes, the village was on fire, the flames jumping easily from wood hut to hut. We picked people out of the water. There were no lives lost, but more than half the village was burned to the ground, most likely from a cooking fire gone out of control.

We went back the next day, the ruins still smoking, and donated all the items we could muster. The villagers saw us coming and broke into a wailing, chanting choir of welcome, the memory of which still sends chills up my spine. We watched them test the fins and masks they needed for fishing, and try on our clothes. Within minutes, they had strung their new blue tarp overhead for shade and were stirring something inside the big crab pot.

All my life, I will remember these things. I will recall anchoring up Panama’s Chagres River, listening to the howler monkeys and other creatures we could not identify, the jungle coming alive at night all around our solitary boat. Sometimes these thrills come at a cost. I somehow scratched my eye. In the jungle and in that climate, infection happened quickly. By the time we reached the fabled island of Escudo de Veraguas, I was in bad shape and there was no time to search for those pygmy three-toed sloths. From Bocas del Toro, I flew to the Johns Hopkins hospital in Panama City so that a medical team could save my eye.

The next season, after the boat summered in Guatemala’s Rio Dulce, we enjoyed Placencia immensely and explored the outer atolls of Belize at a leisurely pace. Half Moon Caye, shared only with our buddy boat, was wild and alive with creatures above and below the sea. Our land-traveling friends had raved about Ambergris Caye, but we found that we preferred the peace of quieter spaces. By cruising in our own boat, we had become immeasurably spoiled.

The thing I love most about my boat, and some days hate, is that it always brings me into direct and undeniable contact with the world. I challenge you to come up with a better way to eat, sleep and move within the natural rhythms. 

In control of our own boat, we cruisers have what writer Tim Kreider describes so well (although he is talking about traveling by train) as “the ideal living situation…constant change within a framework of structure…the cozy in-betweenness of it, being suspended between destinations, temporarily exempt from the relentless press of time.”

My map always led to Cuba, where X marked the spot of my unending intrigue. As Americans on a US-flagged vessel, we were presented with a tough proposition. But in 2016, my dream came true when we signed up for the Conch Republic Cup. Instead of import and export regulations and travel bans, we were now participating in a goodwill event between nations, and Liberte was a piece of athletic equipment. With the all-important US Coast Guard CG-3300 form in hand, giving us permission to cruise to Cuba and return to the United States without penalty, we made the voyage. I’ve long been fascinated with Ernest Hemingway, and so to follow in his wake from Key West, Florida, to Havana across the Gulf Stream, in my own craft, was a special treat. Liberte even won a racing trophy for one epic stage: the Cuba Coast Challenge. If thieves ever decide to break into my house, they can have the few other possessions I own. Just leave that simple, sheet-metal Cuba trophy on my shelf, please.

And who does not dream of cruising to a place like the Bahamas, where we roamed for three fine seasons? Every spring, Rebecca and I would return to Indiantown, Florida, put Liberte on the hard, and fly home to earn what Jimmy Buffett calls “fun tickets.” Every fall, we’d splash and dash across the Gulf Stream. When I look at those Bahamas charts, I still remember watching intently, often impatiently, for favorable conditions to cross. I remember seeking shelter from those cold, blustery northers. I remember the Exumas rolling by, dreamlike, and the entertaining anchorage at Staniel Cay. In the Bahamas, we flew the spinnaker in wind and flat, warm water: a sailor’s nirvana. We watched curious rays and sharks under our paddleboards at Manjack Cay. We paddled the Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park, snorkeled the sunken drug-smuggling airplane at Norman’s Cay, and ran Liberte gingerly through the notorious Whale Cut Passage into our beloved northern Abacos. I remember sipping Goombay Smashes on Green Turtle Cay, perfectly in the moment and thoroughly on island time. 

In the town of New Plymouth, population 400, was a small customs office where I filled out forms in triplicate while an evangelist preached at high volume from the TV set. A Bahamian cut my hair in his living room and told me about his ancestors, the Loyalists who had fled there after the American Revolution. “Where are you going next?” he asked. “Back to the States,” I said. “You be careful there!” he admonished. Cruising is always a chance to flip the script and see things from the other side.

In every place we visited, we found what you might at first be tempted to call pluses and minuses. It’s easy to chase the mirage of the best place, even the perfect place. But as the world unfolds further beneath your keel, you realize that’s a faulty point of view. Any place you take your boat can be heaven or hell. It is entirely up to you.

True exploration means embracing and relishing it all, and always finding that cruising magic in the moment, even if the ­no-see-ums are chewing you to pieces, the norther lasts for days, and you’ve blown your whole budget on just one provisioning run at that shockingly expensive island store.

Every challenge offers a chance to open a little wider, to be curious instead of fearful, to invalidate your favorite biases. Do that and you will always have a good time, no matter where your own dotted line may lead. 

I still have my little hand-drawn map. By now, I know exactly where it leads and why. To other sailors on the fence, I would repeat Joshua Slocum’s advice: “I would say go.”

Cruising has a value that defies ordinary calculations. In deciding where to cruise, or whether to cruise at all, it would be a big mistake to analyze only nautical miles, engine hours and clearing-in fees, to pore over projections as if sailing were some kind of a business venture. How much does it take to cruise? As much as you have. Wherever I go, people tell me that “boat” stands for “break out another thousand.”

Fair enough. But the cruising sailor knows that’s not the whole story. There’s another acronym for boat that Rebecca and I have adopted during our travels in Liberte, one that feels much closer to the truth. For anyone who has cast off the lines, followed those dots, and found themselves wealthy beyond belief in anchorages, stories and friends, boat really stands for “best of all times.”

It stands for shooting stars on watch, sunrise at sea, and new islands off the bow. A world more vast, astonishing and splendid than seems possible. 

So grab that chart, draw an X on some destinations, then sail there. When you do, I promise that those little X’s will come wonderfully alive with stories all your own.

David Kilmer runs a private sailing yacht and wrote A Peril to Myself and Others: My Quest to Become a Captain.

The post Exploring By Sailboat, From Washington State to the Bahamas appeared first on Cruising World.

There’s some good news for cruisers heading to the Bahamas this season—the Bahamian government has removed the requirement for inter-island COVID testing.

While vaccinated travelers are still required to apply for a Bahamian Health Travel Visa before arriving in the islands, they are no longer required to take COVID tests while traveling through the islands. Previously, cruisers were required to take COVID tests every five days as they moved through the islands.

The Ministry of Tourism confirmed Tuesday fully vaccinated cruisers with proof of vaccination are still required to produce a negative COVID test, administered no more than five days before travel. The guidelines listed on the Bahama government website clearly state all travelers must upload their negative COVID test to their Bahamas Health Travel Visa application, regardless of vaccination status.

Several sailors Cruising World contacted, however, reported encountering differing requirements upon their arrival. In general, proof of vaccination and a valid Bahamas Health Travel Visa were sufficient during their visits, and they were not required to provide a negative test, or take a COVID test upon arrival. But to be safe, always check updates on the official sites before departing for the islands.

Cruisers should have proof of vaccination prior to arrival. Cruisers without proof of vaccination need to apply for a Bahamian Health Travel Visa before arriving in the islands, and upload a negative COVID test (Rapid Antigen Test or PCR are accepted), to the Health Travel Visa application.

While the negative test must be dated within five days prior to arrival in the islands, the Bahamian government has clarified a few exceptions to address these concerns: Crews traveling to the Bahamas can arrive in the country outside of the required 5-day window provided they can demonstrate that they made the voyage directly to the port of entry in the Bahamas without an intervening port.

Basil Smith, the executive director of the Association of Bahamas Marinas, said the guidelines and protocols for entering the Bahamas on a private vessel are continually updated on the association’s website, and he noted that travel restrictions and requirements can change rapidly. He suggests anyone who plans to travel to the Bahamas check all updates at bahamasmarinas.com/procedures-and-protocols.

Another well maintained source for information is Noonsite. It is frequently updated with information from fellow cruisers as well as in-country officials and other sources.

“When we went in May to West End, Grand Bahama, we arrived by private vessel,” said sailor Monica Jennings. “We uploaded our proof of vaccination to the portal (the Bahama Health Travel Visa portal). Jennings highly recommends printing out a paper copy of your travel visa prior to arrival, in order to avoid complications upon arrival. She witnessed several visitors encounter serious complications when they were unable to provide a paper copy.

Cruisers can apply for a Bahamas Health Travel Visa at travel.gov.bs (click on the International Tab unless you are a Bahamian citizen). For questions, email healthvisa@bahamas.com.

The post Bahamas Inter-Island Restrictions Eased appeared first on Cruising World.

It’s called Devil’s Backbone for a reason: It’s a dangerous stretch of rock, coral and shifting sand shoals along Eleuthera’s north shore. Winding through this spine lies the passage from Spanish Wells to Harbour Island. By most counts, a local pilot is required.

I began hearing about the Backbone while in the Abacos on my Tartan 34, Jade. A handful of boats was piled in Little Harbour, staging for crossing the Northeast Providence Channel to Eleuthera. Folks at Pete’s Pub in Little Harbour hunched over beers and cocktails and talked about the Backbone’s danger and beauty, and even the more-seasoned sailors told me to hire a pilot boat and make the run.

A few days later I was in Spanish Wells, known as the hub of commercial fishing in the Bahamas. The harbor is basically a canal or mangrove river that you enter from the south through a gap in a coral wall. Rows of fishing boats lie tied to the docks that line the north side of the harbor, and the main street runs along those docks.

A friend had flown into the Eleuthera airport to sail for 10 days, and we splurged on a mooring and paddled my little Soar inflatable canoe across the harbor to explore the town. The main drag follows a traditional working waterfront. There aren’t palm trees and beaches; it reminded me of Maine—commercial fishing boats, a large shipyard, old men sitting in the shade talking, kids with fishing poles, and barges, ferries and commerce all focused on the water.

A man in a golf cart quickly stopped and asked where we were going, and soon we were in his cart for an impromptu tour of the island. He’d been a fisherman and pilot there his entire life, but now, in his 80s, he was retired. He honked and yelled at friends, showed us the town and his house, and pointed out recent changes to the landscape. The ride took over an hour, and by the end of it, I asked him about the Devil’s Backbone.

“Do we really need a pilot?”

He became animated, nearly offended. “You need a pilot,” he said. “Definitely. I’ll find you one.” He took out his cellphone and made a call. No answer. “Call me in the morning,” he said and gave us his number. “My name is A-1. I’ll get you a deal on a pilot. Call me. A-1.”

I was a bit hesitant. I’d already asked the guy we’d rented the mooring from about the trip. His name was Bandit, and he was a pilot too. But the price was high enough that I’d been considering taking my chances with the Backbone without a guide, but if A-1 could get us a deal, that seemed worthwhile.

Back at the boat, I deliberated. I examined the chart and searched the internet for information but found nothing beyond warnings. One cruiser’s blog said they’d used their AIS to track transiting boats, and then painstakingly plotted the coordinates to use as waypoints for a track. Even with those, they said, they were on high alert.

We returned to shore for dinner. Another local in a golf cart picked us up. He said he’d been a bargeman for decades and had done the run across the Backbone thousands of times. “Get a pilot, mon,” he said. “You never done it before; get a pilot.”

In the morning, we rendezvoused with the crew on a boat named Tyee who I’d met back in North Carolina. They were a young Russian couple from Boston with a 2-year-old. We decided to be sensible. We’d split the cost of a pilot. I called A-1 to see what he had.

When he answered, he wasn’t the kind octogenarian he’d been. He was hard business, angry. “You already talked to Bandit. You go with Bandit.” And he hung up.

Read More: from Jon Keller

So we went with Bandit. I was a bit confused about the switch in A-1′s personality, but quickly concluded that the pilots are an organized group that sets a price and sticks to it.

Bandit was similarly unhappy with us, but he told us to follow him. There were three boats going through, and he’d be aboard the lead boat. Our share for his services came to $75.

The day was flat-calm and sunny, and we exited the harbor single file and rounded the rocky tip of Eleuthera. The run was beautiful, though on a day with any winds out of the north, it would be impassable. Reef to the north, beach and surf to the south, and our three boats snaked through it all. Other boats were out there, all with pilots—the guides’ small skiffs with outboards trailing behind the yachts they were aboard.

Coral heads passed by, dark shapes looming in the water as we zigzagged toward the beach, then cut back out. A few miles later, we were through it all, with Current Point off the starboard bow. From there, it was a clear shot to Ramora Bay and Harbour Island.

We anchored beside Tyee and snorkeled the outside reef. Bandit continued with the third boat to Harbour Island. We talked with Tyee’s crew about the Backbone, and agreed that the entire thing was blown way out of proportion—on a decent day, a competent cruiser who’d navigated reefs could make the run. We’d barely veered from the rhumb line on our chart plotters. But there’s also an interesting cultural aspect to the pilots—a cruiser has a local aboard their boat, and they get to hear their stories and pick their brains for local knowledge.

We anchored that night in a surprisingly popular anchorage off Man Island, then headed to Harbour Island the following day. Then a band of bad weather hit and kept us stormbound in Ramora Bay, the Devil’s Backbone unnavigable to any boat.

A week later, we left without a pilot. The water was still upset, sloshing with leftover storm slop, and we could see some residual swell breaking over the outer reef. We made the passage easily enough without ol’ Bandit, but we did see two cruising boats bound for Harbour Island that were aground on an uncharted sand shoal. They were on the radio, calling for a pilot boat, and Bandit was on his way.

After a voyage south, Jon Keller is back writing from his home in Maine.

The post Sailing the Bahamas’ Devil’s Backbone appeared first on Cruising World.

Water splashed over the bow as I held the Sea Pearl 21 tight to the wind. Glancing to port, I gauged the distance between our little boat and the nearby coral-laced cut between two deserted Bahamian cays. The tide was ebbing fast into the open ocean beyond, which meant we were fighting the current as well as the wind.

I guessed we were making 2 knots. Maybe. But I was grinning, exhilarated to finally be sailing across the bright blue waters I’d dreamed about for so long.

“We’re gonna round the point on this tack, Bri, I can feel it!” my husband, Rob, called. He was manning the clunky wooden oars from a makeshift seat on our cooler in the center of the boat. Rowing gave us a helpful boost since we had no motor aboard.

At Rob’s feet, our 3-year-old son, Talon, was napping in a yellow life jacket, using a dry bag as a pillow. I reached over to adjust our toddler’s hat to block the late-afternoon sun, then pulled in the mizzen another inch. And that’s when the 30-knot gust hit.

We were halfway through a weeklong bareboat cruise in the Exumas, a playground for anyone who loves white-sand beaches, clear-water snorkeling and cruising between deserted islands.

And when I say “bareboat,” I mean bare bones, as well as captainless. We chose to charter the Sea Pearl from Out Island Explorers for two reasons: first, affordability. At $1,000 for eight days, the price was one-fifth the cost of chartering a larger sailboat.

Second, accessibility. Hundreds of miles of shallow waters and shifting sands make the Exumas one of the most beautiful places on Earth—and one of the more challenging places to navigate without grounding. Sea Pearls draw only 8 inches with the daggerboards up, and their flat bottom allows them to be beached. Most monohulls can’t sail on the Bahama Banks side of the southern portion of the Exumas island chain, which means battling the rougher conditions on Exuma Sound and missing some of the most stunning anchorages in the area. Even ­shoal-draft ­catamarans risk grounding in many of the Exumas’ pocket bays, which drain completely at low tide.

The downside of chartering the Sea Pearl? It’s basically a big canoe. Without a cabin, we had to camp ashore every night.

Five days before, we’d done our food provisioning at the only grocery store in George Town, the main settlement on Great Exuma. The next morning, Dallas Knowles, owner of Out Island Explorers, picked us up, and we drove north to Barraterre Cay. The charter price included enough fresh water for our week at sea, packed in dromedary bags. We also rented a stove and fuel from Knowles at a nominal price, along with a couple of beach chairs and a small folding table—camping gear that was too bulky (or illegal) for airplane luggage.

At a small dock with no other boats in sight, Knowles showed us how to rig and sail the Sea Pearl. The sails slide on sleeves down two identical masts, one forward and the other aft, and are reefed by simply twisting the mast in its step. Sails are unfurled by pulling on the outhaul line along the boom. Two lead-weighted leeboards swing off the gunwales on either side, easily raised in shallow water by pulling a line and securing it in cam cleats on the rails. Without a keel, these boats don’t point particularly well and perform best downwind.

Knowles gave us charts and detailed descriptions of various anchorages and potential routes for our eight-day cruise. He also handed us a small repair kit and an old-school push-button ­cellphone to call him if we needed help or wanted a weather report. Then he threw us the dock lines, calling out: “Have fun! Be safe!” Talon waved goodbye as we sailed east toward Boysie Cay.

The first three nights we’d found private, pristine beaches where we could nose the Sea Pearl right up to shore. Winds had been light, but I hadn’t minded the lack of a motor. Calm conditions were great for snorkeling and fly-fishing from the boat, and the oars worked well for maneuvering the 700-pound Sea Pearl when becalmed.

Day four had started out perfect for sailing. After a breakfast of eggs and bacon, we packed up camp on Normans Pond Cay, then sailed to the island’s northern shore in a lovely 15-knot breeze. Anchoring in a calm bay, we ate lunch on a deserted beach. Rob and I took turns exploring the reef while the other played tag in the sand with our son.

When it was my turn to snorkel, I dived down to spy on two big lobsters hiding under purple fan coral. The water in the Exumas was as clear as a looking glass, and rife with cool sea life. So far, we’d snorkeled alongside schools of snappers and jacks, stingrays, turtles, moray eels, and a reef shark.

Around 3 p.m., we reboarded the boat for the short 3-mile sail to Williams Cay, where we planned to camp that night in a well-protected bay. A norther was predicted to blow in around sunset. Since we could see whitecaps forming, we reefed both sails and donned foul-weather gear.

It had been fun sailing for the first half-hour, but then the wind began to howl from the direction we were trying to sail, and a current was steadily pushing us sideways. I was starting to wish for some iron horsepower, especially as a 30-knot gust hit us, just 300 yards from the point we were trying to round.

Rip! The mizzen tore above me, the wind rendering the sail to tatters. I lost steerage and couldn’t keep the boat pointed to windward with just the reefed main. Rob began rowing harder to give us more speed.

Crack! The starboard oar snapped in half. We exchanged a look of disbelief. The tide carried the Sea Pearl quickly toward the cut and the open water beyond.

We had to think fast so we didn’t end up on a reef. I turned the boat downwind toward a speck of white sand—the last holdout between us and the open ocean. Fifty yards from shore, Rob let out the mainsheet to slow us down, then hopped overboard to hold the boat off the rocks bracketing the beach.

I chucked the stern anchor over, then hopped in too, stubbing my bare toes on a piece of coral. The water was chest-deep. Waves buffeted the boat, turning it into a bucking battering ram as we struggled to secure it.

At the bow, Rob was trying to dive down to bury the main anchor in the sand, frustrated because he kept floating to the surface.

“You still have your life jacket on!” I yelled. He pulled it off, then set the anchor to keep the bow pointed into the wind and waves.

As Rob climbed back aboard to roll up the flogging sails and unrig the boat, I reached into the center hold, pulling up our son by his arms and hoisting him over my shoulder. Wading to shore, a part of me floating above the scene marveled at my ­adrenaline-fueled strength.

I put Talon gently on the sand in the shade of a large boulder. Miraculously, he stayed asleep. Rob started wading to shore, ­holding our day bag overhead—a backpack full of snacks, water, extra clothes, navigation charts and the emergency cellphone.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, relieved that we were all safe. I took stock of our surroundings as I shed my sodden life jacket, foul-weather gear and clothes. An abandoned house stood above the small beach, its paint long peeled off. The sun, framed by billowing gray clouds, was only a couple of hands above the horizon. I could smell rain in the air. Waves rumbled like thunder on the outside reef.

With the boat secure and all of us safe, I called Knowles to explain the situation. He came to the rescue two hours later in a twin-engine fishing boat, a new mizzen sail rolled up along the gunwale. Working fast in the fading evening light, we rigged a tow line on the Sea Pearl so Knowles could tow it to Twin Beach, the anchorage we’d originally been aiming for.

Talon—who’d taken our near-emergency in stride upon waking in the sand instead of in the cockpit—was thrilled about riding in a shiny, fast powerboat. He laughed as we sped across the choppy silver water.

“You handled yourselves well,” Knowles said. “That definitely could have been bad news.”

He never asked if we wanted to call it quits after the traumatic afternoon. Maybe he knew we’d say no.

As he helped us untie and anchor the Sea Pearl, Knowles told us the wind was supposed to get stronger that night, then clock around to the southeast. Rob asked whether we should take advantage of the wind shift to sail over to the rarely visited Brigantine cays for the last half of our trip.

“If you check out the Brigantines, you could tack up the Odi Creek to Barraterre and make a full loop,” Knowles suggested. “Just call me that morning and let me know if you want me to pick you up at the dock or at Odi Creek.”

After he zoomed off, we set up camp in record time. The rain began after we climbed into the tent, where we ate a cozy picnic dinner and read each other stories, grateful to be together and sheltered.

The next morning, we woke to clear skies, though the wind was still whipping up chop beyond our little bay. We took a rest day to regroup. While Rob stayed at camp, Talon and I went for a hike.

We climbed up a rocky ridge, spotting dozens of giant stingrays swimming in the shallows below us, their black bodies rippling like the skirts on a flamenco dancer. Then we headed to the other side of the island to treasure hunt, finding a washed-up soccer ball, a doll and a wooden sword. Back at camp, Talon created castles from pearly-pink conch shells—the ubiquitous (and tasty) Bahamian mollusk. That evening we collected firewood and made a bonfire, watching the moon rise and the Milky Way appear.

Rejuvenated, we set out early the following day for the Brigantines, taking our time to explore along the way. Talon and Rob fished from the boat for snapper at Tug and Barge rocks, while I snorkeled alongside two curious barracudas.

Though only 5 miles from the windward cays in the Exumas, the Brigantines felt very different—and even more remote. The water was a beautiful milky green due to limestone deposits, and the beaches were larger. Acres of silty-soft sand were exposed at low tide, where a maze of protruding mangrove roots arched over mounds made by clams. The Sea Pearl was perfect for gunkholing in these shallow waters. We saw only two other boats in two days, both manned by local fishermen.

We stopped to camp at a mile-long crescent of beach on Brigantine Cay. Talon helped collect coconuts to drink with our dinner of chicken and rice, proud of his tropical foraging skills. At sunset we set up hermit crab races, betting on whose temporary pet would make the finish line before getting distracted.

On our final day in the Exumas, the weather turned again. We stuck close to the mangroves to skirt the wind and waves as we headed back to Barraterre Cay. The last mile was almost ­comical—we had to tack at least four dozen times to sail up narrow Odi Creek. Luckily, we made it just before the rain started pouring down.

After hoisting ourselves into Knowles’ truck, I reached over to give him a high-five.

“No one I’ve chartered to has ever sailed all the way up Odi Creek,” Knowles admitted. “Most people choose the easier way back.”

“Yeah, we rarely choose the easy way,” I said with a laugh, ­winking at Rob. “But it usually leaves us with better stories to tell.”

Brianna Randall is a freelance writer and the founder of Adventure Families. She sails mountain lakes in Montana and cruises in the Bahamas any chance she gets.

The post Sailing a Sea Pearl in the Exumas appeared first on Cruising World.

In early September, hurricane Dorian slammed into the Bahamas and became the most devastating natural disaster on record for the islands. Savage winds flipped boats, leveled homes, and traumatized an otherwise peaceful corner of this beautiful country. On the cusp of cruising season, the dramatic headlines put plans in flux for many. Here’s what to know about cruising the Bahamas in 2020.

The Bahamas are open! …mostly

First it’s important to know that overwhelmingly, the islands of the Bahamas are unaffected. Dorian’s impact was focused on the very north: Grand Bahama, and Abaco. Grand Bahama is officially open for tourism again; only Abaco is not. We spent three memorable months cruising through the Bahamas, and none of the miles we sailed were in the path of Dorian.

However, for many seasonal visitors, the Abacos are the Bahamas. While they’re not open for general tourism, the Abacos are an opportunity for the right boat/crew to contribute to recovery. Hopeful cruisers often say they want to give back through voluntourism or otherwise contributing to improving life in the communities they visit: this is your chance! If your seasonal path winds back to the USA, consider routing via Abaco.

Who should go to impacted areas?

If you are self-sufficient, AND willing and able to help, by all means – sail to the Abacos! Volunteer workers are encouraged. However, relief organizations and the government tourism board are aligned that this area is not open to tourism. Services are minimal and as residents return, meeting local needs come first.

The first word we heard from post-Doran Abaco came from our friend Justin Smith, who charters his 72’ custom sloop, Kai, based from the USVI. He has deep ties to Abaco and when delivering Kai from the USA down to Bahamas the month after Dorian hit, turned his trip into a relief mission. Justin survived Irma and Maria on St John, USVI; his experience rebuilding informed the cargo he knew would be most needed in the near-term aftermath. Kai was loaded heavily with tarps, nails, roofing tar, paint, and tools.

What Justin experienced in October had sobering notes, but on balance was more encouraging: both for the resilience of island communities, and the opportunity for independent cruisers to safely come and lend a hand. Conditions varied by Cay and port, and recovery related to dock condition (the lifeblood of Bahamas commerce are the mail boats and barges bringing everything from diesel to toilet paper, and you can’t land one if the town dock is gone), yet conditions exceeded his expectations.

Be part of the recovery!

You don’t have to go to Abaco to help. Just being in the Bahamas and putting your funds into communities makes you part of the bigger solution for helping Bahamians. The economy benefits; pictures and messages sent home helps demonstrate that overwhelmingly, the islands are open for business to the wider world…encouraging instead of discouraging visitors. The bottom of this post includes a link to recommended relief organizations.

If you can contribute to recovery by sailing to Abaco and offering services, it’s warmly welcomed. The need for this help is ongoing. Specialized skills such as plumbing, electrical, carpentry, roofing, mechanics or operation of heavy equipment are especially welcomed, but grunt labor is helpful too.

Contributing to recovery can be tremendously rewarding. The family on SV Anjulia Sue started cruising from Nova Scotia last spring; they arrived in Green Turtle Cay on New Years Eve. Bonnie related a few days ago that “we have been having probably the best time since starting cruising! It is all down to forming the relationships with fellow hard working and very well-meaning cruisers, and a community completely and utterly welcomes you and your help.”

FAQs for cruisers on Dorian-hit areas

Plan ahead: try to connect with a locally-based person or organization in advance of arrival, so that 1) you can have guidance on what’s needed to bring, and 2) you can be clear on their need of your aid. Even volunteers can be overburdening to communities.

Clearance: Most boats headed to Abaco to help are clearing in at Cooperstown. You’re still on a tourist visa, and this port has grown accustomed to managing duty-free importing of relief goods; Grand Bahama (or Bimini) are options too.

Power: electricity is still widely unavailable in Abaco, with generators on shore; this presents obvious complications on everything that electricity is helpful for from powering pumps for fuel or water to keeping things cold that need it to avoid spoilage.

Fresh water: varies, but largely you must be self-sustaining; no problem for boats with watermakers.

Water hazards: Yes, there’s sunken debris in the water in some places, but remember this is the Bahamas. Gin clear water, if there’s a hazard – you can almost certainly see it.

Security: It’s safe. Justin wondered as he arrived in October with Kai if there might be issues, and was extra watchful. Taking safe entrance into a back side anchorage in the weeks after the storm, he admitted twinges of fear, which heightened when a boat came running straight towards him. As he mentally prepared a plan, the boat passed by with a greeting waved from the helmsman, who proceeded to anchor and dive over and to look for conch. OK then!

Phone/internet: coverage is widely available, with some variation based on US carrier roaming plans.

Attitude: you may see some things that are upsetting; be prepared and don’t overreact. Bring positivity and a forward-looking view. If you arrive saying – “hey, I have some stuff and I can donate some time. What can I do to help?” – you’ll never regret it.

Avoid being a burden

Anyone traveling to Dorian-impacted islands should expect to be completely self-sufficient. For most cruisers, that’s a natural inclination, and just means a little extra planning. You might be able to get water, fuel, and other supplies – but just because they are there, doesn’t mean you should avail yourself; locals need these scarce resources too. It’s always incumbent on us to be good guests in the countries we visit; there and now, the importance is heightened.

Not being a burden means sensitivity to feelings of people you meet, too. The trauma of surviving a hurricane like Dorian is unimaginable for most of us. Asking someone about their survival experience – no matter how well intentioned –may only cause them further pain. Don’t assume anyone wishes to engage on this topic! Let them bring it up, or leave it off the table.

Justin survived the two 2017 hurricanes on St John, and speaks from experience when he says “being emotional or apologetic only brings it back; it may even invite animosity.”

A few destination details

Notes below for a couple popular destinations to help baseline, with links to local resources for the latest updates to help planners…accurate as I could glean on January 14, 2020. Updates welcomed in comments! Meanwhile, an excellent site for the latest on what’s open in Abaco is maintained at Little House by the Ferry’s website; her Little House page on Facebook is also a good resource.

Green Turtle Cay

Anjulia Sue’s crew has been here two weeks already and thrown their effort into the mix. “Restaurants and stores are open. The Green Turtle Cay Marina is opening officially March 1.” Meanwhile, moorings are in place; check in with Donny’s/Brendal’s for availability and logistical questions.

Reports are the marina has already begun selling fuel and water, basic provisions aren’t hard to acquire on shore (Sid’s grocery is open!), and trash service is available. The morning VHF net helps organize volunteers, and cruisers potluck weekly.

Man-O-War

One of the families we’ve worked with as coaching clients has roots here; the Lee family arrived in November on their boat, Sargo, and left only recently. “It’s NOT a vacation,” says Jayme Lee. Demolition to clear houses and buildings that aren’t recoverable, roofing to protect those that are; a lot of manual labor. “That doesn’t mean you don’t get to go swimming and enjoy nice weather sometimes and have fun,” she adds. Her kids are helping, too, from clearing debris to cooking meals for the community.

There are grocery and hardware stores open. The generous team at Watermission is steadily pumping out fresh RO for anyone who needs it – including cruisers who are there to help. An excellent contact before coming here is Beth Browne: she’s a powerhouse of organization, coordinate volunteers and groups. She reported there are currently moorings available, but they are limited in number and prioritized to volunteers. Those with mechanical skills, carpentry, electrical, or plumbing are given priority. Beth underscored Jayme’s comment that while tasks are varied, “all require physical labor and some stamina.” Full time volunteers even get fed at the Hibiscus cafe! Across the water, Marsh Harbor was hardest hit, but even there provisions are available.

Research before you go!

These local-based outlets are good sources of information.

• Green Turtle Bulletin
• Hope Town Bulletin
• Man-O-War bulletin
• Dorian Yacht Chat And Bahamas Relief Group
• Association of Bahamas Marinas

Aid groups making a difference

These NGOs need a shoutout for their exemplary response in the Bahamas. If you would like to assist from afar, consider a donation.

• Samaritan’s Purse: info or to donate
• Christian Aid Ministries
• Heart to Heart
• All Hands and Hearts

Fundraisers and other disaster relief organizations changing lives for the better:

• Missionary Flights “…bringing supplies and volunteers from almost day one.”
• Watermission.org‘s tireless RO production of potable water
• World Central Kitchen: the power of a hot meal for people who have lost everything
• Hope Town Rising
• Hope 4 Hope Town: Information and GoFundMe
• Man-O-War Relief fund

Team Otter

Our friend captain Judy Hildebrand, has been bringing supplies to Grand Bahama for distribution. She’s bringing a boatload on each run and getting ready for her 6th (7th? I’m losing count!) trip. Personal ties to her beloved Abacos mean she’s been able to source specific things to fill needs. She’s got some stories! “The best, for me anyway, was a freezer for a woman who has a generator to run it while living in her tent with the kitten she refused to abandon during the storm while in water to her neck! The freezer kept cold drinks for the kids in her tent city during hot weeks.“

Later this month, Judy’s heading back to Abaco on Otter with supplies to teach residents how to build their own solar stills to make fresh water, among other things. “What we do is a drop in the bucket but it feels right and with enough drops the bucket will eventually be full.” If you’d like to help her fill the bucket, contact Judy directly.

Thanks to Justin Smith, Matt & Bonnie Thornington, Jayme Lee, and especially Man-O-War resident Beth Browne for helping provide local insights; see also Beth’s article in Cruising World.

The post Sailing Totem: Bahamas Cruising post-Dorian appeared first on Cruising World.

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