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.

The strains of “The Star-Spangled Banner” rang clearly through the old Dutch fort. Sung so sweetly by the young islander, after “Het Wilhelmus” (the Dutch national anthem) and “The Golden Rock,” St. Eustatius’ anthem, it was surprising. After all, here we were on a tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, 1,200 miles from U.S. soil. Yet the 3,500 occupants of Statia (as St. Eustatius is colloquially called) claim a unique and affectionate connection to the United States.

During the American Revolution, Statia was one of the fledgling republic’s few shipping connections to Europe. Munitions and supplies trafficked through the then-bustling port were pivotal to the fight for independence.

But Statia’s charm lies in more than its rich history. Verdant beauty, treasures on land and sea, and the warmth of the people make the often bypassed island a breath of fresh air in the central Caribbean.

Statia is 33 miles south of St. Maarten—where my friends and I chartered a Beneteau 50.5 from The Moorings—and 8 miles north of St. Kitts. Because of the generally north-south orientation of these islands—including the other nearby islands of St. Barts, Nevis and Anguilla—a voyage to Statia promises a spectacular reach in the easterly trades.

Statia is about 5 miles long and 2 miles wide, and a 2,000-foot dormant volcano known as the Quill (kuil being the Dutch word for pit) dominates the landscape on the southern end. Halfway down the coast on the western, leeward side are the harbor and anchorage, beneath Fort Oranje and the picturesque capital village of Oranjestad. Statia definitely has a laid-back vibe—you won’t find five-star resorts, overpriced cocktails or a haughty attitude here, but you will find plenty of authenticity, warmth and charm.

Although nearly 5,000 miles from The Hague, Statia is a municipality of the Netherlands, stemming from colonization in the 1600s. Despite its diminutive size, its central setting and proximity along trade routes made the island a prominent hub for shipping and trade in the 17th and 18th centuries. So prosperous was this lush mountainous paradise, it was called the Golden Rock. As a Dutch colony, Statia was a free port, where ammunition, food and supplies were traded to American revolutionaries, despite the British Royal Navy’s attempts to blockade shipping. Statia was critical to America’s battle for liberty.

Four months after the Declaration of Independence, when the brig Andrew Doria arrived at Statia’s shores flying the new American flag, the cannons at Fort Oranje greeted the ship with a cannon-fire salute. It was America’s first official recognition by a foreign nation, and duly noted. Statians take pride in their part in America’s freedom, and that day—November 16, 1776—is still celebrated annually with a street fair, fireworks, contests, and displays by schoolchildren.

Visiting Statia is easy — the entry fees are modest, and Oranje Bay, which is the only anchorage, is fairly protected from the prevailing conditions. You can tie up at the 250-foot pier (with prior arrangement) or pick up one of the dozen yellow mooring balls. Mooring fees are $10 per night or $30 a week, whether on a buoy or at the dock. Because the anchorage is a fairly open roadstead, in rougher conditions it may be advisable to use your own tackle to anchor behind the breakwater, where you’ll find good holding in the sand.

There is a sizeable new dinghy dock, which is also the site of lobster feeds and other events promoted to encourage tourism and mingling among islanders and visitors. To the right along the rubble road, at the entrance to the pier, is the harbor office (monitors VHF 16/17) where guests can register and fill out paperwork. To the left is the St. Eustatius National Park Foundation. It oversees both land and marine preservation, has information on Statia’s natural wonders and will collect related (but modest) usage fees. And it has toilets and showers that are serenaded by frogs and geckos.

From here, continue north along Lower Town past ruins softened by time and greenery. Tumbledown warehouses tell of a thriving haven of the 1700s, where 20,000 inhabitants once lived. These days, stop at the Old Gin House for a cocktail and Wi-Fi; settle into one of the plush chairs beneath a lazy ceiling fan, and catch up on the world. Gentrification has a solid foothold here, with eateries like the Blue Bead Restaurant and several shops along the way.

One-third mile north of the pier is a stone lane on the right that leads through rustling trees up a hill. It’s a steep and somber trek along a path well worn by the thousands of slaves marched along this route hundreds of years ago. Arrive at the crest at Fort Oranje and Statia’s only town, Oranjestad, on a bluff between mountainous bookends. Many of the village’s 18th-century brick buildings are still standing, and the quaint historic museum points out these and other notable features. Upper Town also holds a surprising number of restaurants for such a small community, including superb Chinese food at Sonny’s Cantonese Restaurant. Duggins Supermarket and several other small grocery stores are open daily for reprovisioning (however, hours are slim on Sundays). Currency on the island is the U.S. dollar.

The 10 hiking trails on the island range from a half-hour stroll through the Botanical Garden to the strenuous but rewarding trek up and into the heart of the volcano. Embark early in the morning before the tropical heat sets in. After summiting the lip of the crater (and catching your breath) drop down into a Jurassic Park of giant elephant ears, orchids and bromeliads that share the soil with banana, fig and breadfruit trees — evidence of the 70 plantations that once flourished here. Some of the rare and endangered wildlife that lives topside includes the red-bellied racer snake, Lesser Antillean iguana and red-billed tropic bird.

Wildlife abounds underwater as well. A marine park wraps around the entire 12-square-mile island, embracing a variety of habitat: calcareous reefs and corals; volcanic rock with cracks and fissures; a sandy plateau where scores of queen conch thrive; and beaches where sea turtles nest. Two excellent snorkel sites are adjacent to the anchorage. Plunge off your boat and discover a cannon on the ocean floor from one of the dozens of shipwrecks, amid waters brilliant with an underwater kaleidoscope of tropical fishes, corals and sponges.

2012 Golden Rock Regatta

Other snorkel spots are off Boven National Park on the northern tip of the island at Jenkins Bay, and in the Statia National Marine Park’s southern reserve at Blind Shoal and Twelve Guns. If you plan to use the Marine Park’s moorings, you’ll need to visit the National Park Foundation to purchase an inexpensive snorkel/dive pass. Scuba diving, however, is allowed only via local dive operators, available in Lower Town.

Recently the residents of Statia thwarted an apparent takeover of the island by a large oil-terminal company. Last year the company, NuStar, was pressing to expand to a site just one mile from Oranjestad, at an important archaeological site. Giant storage tanks already occupy much of the northern end of the island, and a commercial pier and transfer station are obvious on the northwestern shore. But except when approached from the sea, the terminal is blocked from sight by historic Signal Hill. The residents formed a protest movement, and David beat Goliath. In lieu of the terminal expansion, Statia’s Strategic Development Plan pinpointed tourism as a healthy and viable economic growth alternative.

Statia not only wants more visitors to its shores, it needs tourism and the dollars it will bring. In return, the island provides plenty of reasons to visit: hiking, swimming, snorkeling and sailing. Yet aside from the fun and exploration of the island, I found the residents to be its most charming attribute.

My first visit took place during Statia Day festivities, which are celebrated on November 16. Our multinational cluster of sailors was enveloped by warmth and friendliness as we entered the street fair. My buddy Karen even got up on stage for a dance contest, and was wildly cheered by all. We shimmied on the cobblestones with locals, and tossed Frisbees to the children.

My friends and I had frequented a particular beverage stand run by Mona, who had a smile as wide as the island’s Zeelandia Bay. Her sons joined her in working the booth, and all were polite, delightful and attentive. Later in the evening, with the boys in charge of the business, Mona ambled into the streets to join us as we danced in the rain to “Bati’e Aleman,” one of the more popular songs (judging by the frequency of play and the merriment it caused). It was a night long remembered.

When I returned a year later and Mona spied me, she ran out from behind her booth to embrace me. You don’t find that on St. Barts.

Based in coastal California, Betsy Crowfoot is a frequent traveler who enjoys writing about yacht racing, water sports and the ocean environment.

The post Caribbean Unplugged appeared first on Cruising World.

Sadly, he was laboring under a serious wardrobe malfunction, which I tried to point out as gingerly, if directly, as ­possible. “Mate,” I said, “your fly is down.” With a quick, silent nod and a stealthy, quicker zip, he was gone. But the karma gods, thankfully, had noticed.

For when 30 minutes of going nowhere fast morphed into more than an hour, and it started to become terrifyingly clear that the odds on making my gate were getting long, suddenly my sartorially challenged acquaintance appeared behind a ticket counter and gave me a subtle high sign.

I weaseled my way around a pack of catatonic dudes mesmerized by smartphones, with the collective aroma of a half-empty bottle of stale Bud Light, all wearing Hawaiian shirts, cargo shorts and flip-flops (it was 12 degrees outside). Before I knew it, magically, I was boarding my flight to St. Maarten with, oh, eight minutes to spare. It appeared I would catch up with my girlfriend, Annie Lannigan, and her family for a bareboat cruise in the Leeward Islands after all.

So my TTT actually had a QHE (quite happy ending). And there’s a lesson there, fellow sailors and travelers. When flying, if you see a man flying low, go ahead and state the obvious. You just may be rewarded.

Several hours later, my jet banked hard for the famous runway into St. Maarten’s Princess Juliana ­International Airport — revelers on Sunset Beach can practically reach up and touch the plane’s landing gear — and the view of the yachts finishing the last race of the island’s annual Heineken Regatta was exquisite. After the slush and snow of Beantown, and the dank, dark winter, the sight of countless white sails casting shadows over wavy turquoise water was a visual treat.

Annie had arrived on a different flight a half-hour earlier, and together we grabbed a cab for the quick ride from the Dutch side of the isle to the Dream Yacht Charter base on the French side in Marigot. This was once a long, boring drive through bumper-to-bumper traffic in Philipsburg, but now takes minutes flat thanks to a new bridge that spans the Simpson Bay Lagoon. After checking in and stashing our gear, we found a nice seaside cafe, ordered drinks and waited for the rest of our crew to arrive: Annie’s brother Bobby and his wife, Christine; daughter Meagan and her fiancé, Jay; and niece Julia and her boyfriend, Chris. Once everyone was assembled, we walked downtown from Marina Port La Royale and had dinner at a delightful open-air seafood place. Marigot was blissfully, strangely quiet, as almost everyone in St. Maarten had ventured to Philipsburg for the regatta’s final, massive prize-giving blowout and concert.

We were in the islands. It was warm and mellow. Winter was someone else’s problem. Yay.

We also had places to go and things to see. The next morning we fanned out and got to it. Bobby gathered most of the gang and headed for the convenient supermarket within walking distance of Dream’s base, and seeing we were now more or less in France Lite, they returned with a veritable bounty of fresh baguettes and lots of cheap, delicious French wine and cheeses, among other delicacies. We had several good cooks aboard, and clearly they’d have plenty to work with.

Meanwhile, Annie and I got familiar with our ride for the week, a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 509 called Fermi, which we could only surmise was named after Enrico Fermi, the late Italian physicist. Fermi’s famous “paradox” is the seeming contradiction between “the high probability that extraterrestrial civilizations exist and the lack of contact with such civilizations.” Coincidentally, I too have a personal, contradictory paradox: I sail over waters where many fish definitely exist, but lack the ability to catch them. Yes, the universe abounds with mystery. Yet I digress.

Besides, in the moment, we had other, more pressing earthly concerns: The easterly trade winds were honking, blowing the proverbial dogs off their chains. And bigger breeze was forecast. As we sat down for our chart briefing, the base manager, an affable Frenchman named Christian, glanced out his office window at the flapping awnings and slapping halyards, and said, “It is windy, no?” And it was supposed to get windier, he added, with sustained gusts well over 30 knots forecast for the middle of the week.

But Christian was a smart sailor, and when he heard our proposed itinerary, which included the islands of ­Anguilla, St. Barts and tiny, uninhabited Île Fourche, he proposed a ­clockwise ­circuit of all three that would give us a favorable slant on the trades with power reaches to each destination, including the final leg back to St. Maarten. Then, basically, he told us to get lost. “The last bridge opening into Marigot Bay is at 2:30,” he said, glancing at his watch. “You don’t want to miss it.”

Precisely on time, in the company of a small armada ­exiting the lagoon, Fermi coasted through the swing bridge to Marigot Bay and into clear, open water. The abrupt change of scenery, from the busy concrete quay to the bright, breezy ­Caribbean, felt like the moment in The Wizard of Oz when the movie screen switches from black-and-white to Technicolor. Christian had suggested we make a dash for customs, clear out of St. Maarten and rocket right over to low-lying Anguilla, but instead we dropped the hook, had a refreshing swim, mixed some cocktails and decided to stay precisely where we were for the evening. Ah. Sip. Exhale. Smile. Repeat.

As predicted, we awoke the next morning to a small gale, with a solid 25 to 30 knots of blast-furnace breeze. Luckily, it was coming from the east and we were headed west, so once the officialdom was addressed, we got underway.

It was the sort of day no mainsail was required, so we unfurled the jib and had a cracking great sail across the Anguilla Channel, which was flecked with whitecaps and, as we ripped onward, a roiling seaway with 4- to 6-foot swells. Yeehaw! Fermi handled it with aplomb, clipping along at a good 7.5 knots with occasional bursts into the 9s.

We scooted past ominous Blowing Rock and skirted the southwestern tip of Anguilla, then sheeted the jib home and slid along the isle’s northern shores, finally dropping the hook in Road Bay off the appropriately named Sandy Ground Village.

While everyone else hopped aboard the dinghy and headed in, Annie and I tidied up the boat and then split in opposite directions: She napped, I swam.

I washed up ashore in front of a beachfront watering hole helpfully called Le Bar, where the Fermi crew was assembled. Before I’d drip-dried, Julia handed me an icy bottle of Carib lager with a fresh lime popping out of its neck.

Life was exceedingly good.

A fabulous “home-cooked” dinner aboard followed, after which everyone dropped like flies. It felt like 3 a.m., but in fact was 9:30. It had definitely been a big one.

The next day was the squalliest of the week, which provided the convenient excuse to stay put. Anguilla is renowned for endless, world-class beaches, and a little wind and rain wasn’t going to deter the younger half of our team from inspecting them. So while they hailed a taxi and moved out, the rest of us hiked up the hill overlooking the bay to check out the view and grab some chow.

We ended up at a restaurant called E’s Oven, recommended by some locals, and enjoyed a spectacular lunch: lobster and bacon paninis, curried chicken wraps and lightly grilled fresh fish, all perfectly prepared. On the way back to the boat, we cleared customs so we could get an early start the next morning for our next, highly anticipated port of call: St. Barts.

At our chart session, Christian had recommended we round the northeastern end of Anguilla, through the Scrub Island Channel, before bearing away for St. Barts, which proved to be excellent advice. With a triple-reefed main and full jib, once clear of the island we settled into an absolutely perfect beam reach. Man, you can’t beat sailing, right?

Midway through the 20-odd-mile passage, after four days of howling winds that had built up seriously impressive seas of 8 to 10 feet (thankfully from abeam), it occurred to me, suddenly, that this was easily the wildest sail I’d ever experienced in more than a dozen bareboat charters. Sure, it gets windy in the BVI and other places, but not with the attendant open-ocean conditions. I reckon if you chartered in St. Maarten during a similar heavy-air week, and you didn’t feel up for the Big Sail, you could hang around the island, visit a different anchorage every night and have a swell time. But if you skipped the run south, you’d also miss the grand opportunity to have one helluva ride.

You’d also forgo the French West Indie isle of St. Barthélemy, aka St. Barts, perhaps the Caribbean’s greatest nautical theme park. St. Barts was just like Anguilla, but exactly the opposite. Sure, on the one hand, it was a Caribe isle surrounded by water. But Anguilla is funky, in the best sense of the word. St. Barts is a lot of things, but funky is not one of  them.

Once we’d arrived and dropped the hook off the bustling town of Gustavia, in the very first hour or so ashore, we witnessed:

1) A daredevil on a motorbike popping a wheelie the length of a long, crowded street, scattering the masses.

2) A fight between two idiotic crews in adjacent catamarans parked stern-to on the waterfront, the culmination of which was an inebriated sailor falling hard off the transom of his boat.

3) A group of weathered musicians in a small, open seaside home playing what I can only describe as sensational French zydeco. And …

4) The drinks menu of a sidewalk cafe with linen tablecloths, where cocktails cost 25 euros apiece unless you opted for a “bowl,” a 150-euro special serving six to eight. I stuck with a Carib, thanks, then bolted for Le Select, the bar Jimmy Buffett made famous, just to say I had.

If going from Marigot’s inner harbor to its lovely bay, as we had at the outset of our trip, was like visiting your neighborhood multiplex, traveling from Anguilla to St. Barts was akin to walking into the biggest, clearest Imax screen ever constructed. We rented vehicles — the kids opted for four-wheel-drive ATVs, the rest of us settled for your standard automobile — and rambled all over. The peaks, crannies and long vistas; the impeccable roads and precise stonework; the glorious, empty beaches and pure, inviting waters; the exquisite homes and wonderful restaurants were all utterly magnificent. So, yeah, St. Barts. Somehow, I’d never been there. But now I totally get it.

Of course, a lot of flash goes a long way, and after a couple of days in St. Barts, before we wrapped things up, we all needed a bit of time and space to decompress. We found the perfect place to do just that.

Before our charter, I’d swapped emails with my old friend Danny Greene, one of the original CW editors and a longtime Caribbean cruiser. He recalled that one of his favorite islands in the whole chain was little Île Fourche, a privately owned nature preserve where the only residents are goats, just north of St. Barts. Danny said to be sure not to miss it. Of course we had to have a look.

We sailed into the wide but protected anchorage and picked up one of the empty free moorings. The silky water was crystal clear, perfect for a snorkel among the fissures and caves along the steep shore.

At the head of the cove, we landed the dinghy on the sandy beach and several of us scrambled up the adjacent 400-foot pinnacle, which afforded broad views through the hazy sky of every place we’d visited. Sure, I’d bought a T-shirt or two, but the photos we snapped overlooking Île Fourche are my favorite souvenirs of the entire escapade. Too soon, we were hoisting sails once again, but the 25-mile sail back to Marigot, a lovely broad reach ultimately coursing past St. Maarten’s beautiful southern shoreline, was a terrific way to close out the proceedings.

The next day, back in the airport waiting for my northbound plane, I actually recognized some of the same ­familiar faces from the nightmare scene in the wee hours in Boston the week before. Gone were the baggy eyes, the pasty complexions and the general sense that the world was about to end. Everyone looked tanned, relaxed and very happy. Then again, even though everything had happened way too fast, so was I.

Herb McCormick is CW’s executive editor.

2012 Golden Rock Regatta

spring commissioning

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