April typically marks the sunset of my “season” here in the Caribbean, when I must (albeit reluctantly) start thinking about heading back north, to cooler waters. For my float plan, that almost always means a stop in Bermuda. We are seldom alone.

The 2024 Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC) Europe edition, with perhaps 40 boats, sets sail from  Sint Maartin on May 11, arriving in Bermuda around May 17. They’ll rendezvous with yachts that departed from the US East Coast, who will join the Caribbean fleet for the voyage across the Atlantic to the Azores and European ports.

In June, the semi-annual Newport to Bermuda Race will arrive with approximately 50 boats. A bunch of private yachts will also make the voyage to Bermuda on their own, sailing from the Caribbean, the Chesapeake, New York or Newport. This 4- to 5-day voyage is a great shakedown for boats and crew preparing for more extended voyaging, and June is the month to go, before hurricane season takes hold.

Why Bermuda? The allures are endless. It’s a quaint, well-cared-for piece of Britain plunked down 650 miles off the US East Coast, for one. The entire island is much like a park. There’s no heavy traffic, no trash on the highways. Everyone’s lawn is mowed. The place is immaculate. It also has everything a yacht and crew might require.

After any offshore run, there’s always something to be fixed, and Bermuda is rife with mechanics, sailmakers, and electronics and refrigeration technicians to lend a hand. There’s also a hardware store, fuel, water, provisions, numerous restaurants and the ubiquitous Dark and Stormy found at local hot spots like the legendary White Horse Tavern. US currency and credit cards are accepted. English is spoken, as Bermuda is a British Overseas Territory. Bermuda is well worth a few days of sightseeing, as evidenced by tourists flocking there for generations. Most important for cruisers, perhaps, is that Bermuda is a great spot to wait for favorable weather for crossing the Gulf Stream, heading east across the Atlantic, or steering your way south to the Caribbean.

Getting There

Sailing to Bermuda from the islands is a straight shot north, up “Route 65,” the 65th meridian. From Antigua to Bermuda is about 900 miles (typically 6 to 7 days). From there, Newport is 640 miles (another 5 days or so). To the Chesapeake is 600 miles (4 days). To the Azores, it’s 2000 miles (12 to 14 days)—and from there, another week to the Med or the UK.

Sailing will be brisk in the trades as you depart the islands. The trades will die out after a day or two, and you’ll have to motor for a few days through the Bermuda High, until the northeasterly or southwesterly breeze fills in. Once, on a delivery north to Annapolis, we motored for six days. Bring enough fuel for 100 hours of motoring. You’ll need to refuel when you get to Bermuda. More on that to come. 

Before You Depart

Before you cast off for Bermuda, go online and download the Bermuda pre-arrival paperwork. There are three forms. Everybody is required to fill out a landing card. Every country has one. They’re available at gotobermuda.com/bermuda-arrival-card. You can fill out the card and submit it online. Skippers of private yachts planning to stop in Bermuda must complete the Bermuda Mariner’s Travel Authorization process online. This can be found at rccbermuda.bm/sailbda.aspx, which includes information and the two forms you’ll need to complete and submit, including the SailClear form for Customs and Immigration. The Pre-arrival Safety Form must be completed by the skipper before you enter Bermuda. You can do it online, or you can fill out the form verbally in the comfort of your nav station, talking to Bermuda Radio on VHF, while 20 miles out at sea.

The Approach

With your paperwork complete, you are now ready to approach Bermuda. The island is relatively flat, you’ll see a sweep of lights from the airport and lighthouses before you see land. The island is ringed with shallow reefs, so approach with caution. There’s only one way into the island, and that’s through Town Cut on the northeast corner of the island. You’ll be arriving in Saint George’s Harbor, where all yachts clear in.

When you are still 50 miles away from Bermuda, you may hear Bermuda Radio talking to other yachts on VHF 16. Bermuda Radio is the island’s maritime control center. Hail them when you are 20 miles out, or they will call you. They have you on AIS and radar, and they’ll want to know who you are and your intentions. (If you’ve completed your Yacht Safety Information online, they’ll have it. If you haven’t they will ask you to do so.) From there, they’ll direct you to enter Town Cut or wait for shipping to enter or exit. Once inside, they’ll either direct you to tie up at Ordnance Island to clear in, or to anchor in Power Hole, across from the village, and wait.

The entrance channel into St. George’s is well marked, but the day markers on the port side are unlit. At night, have someone with a flashlight on the port side to light up the reflectors. Town Cut itself is narrow, then opens up into a large, well-protected harbor. The village of St. George’s is ahead to starboard.

Clearing In

All yachts are required to tie up at Ordnance Island. There’s room for two boats at a time. The skipper takes passports and the ship’s papers to the office on the dock for processing. In my experience, the folks there are a friendly lot, and if your paperwork is in order and has been submitted online, the whole process takes less than 30 minutes. If you are a yacht just passing through, a 5-day transit permit is required at $5 per meter. Cruising permits, for longer stays, are $6.50 per meter. There are no other fees. (ARC Rally boats are exempt from these transit fees.)

While you’re there, request a transit fuel waiver form. This will authorize you to take on duty-free fuel.

Dockage and Anchoring

You can anchor most anywhere in the harbor with no charge. Holding is good, even in a blow. There’s a dinghy dock on the quay in the village opposite the Customs dock. Trash and spent engine oil receptacles are there as well.

For dockage, you’ll find a number of places to tie-up alongside in the village or at the St. George’s Dinghy & Sports Club. Space in town is assigned by St. George’s Marina through its website. April, May and June are on a first-come, first-served basis, but it is still a good idea for vessels to submit a request via the website.

Tying up in town puts you and your crew right in the middle of things. Stores, modern and clean bathrooms, banks, pubs and the bus service. The St. George’s Dinghy & Sports Club is located at the east end of the harbor, to the right, just as you enter St. George’s Harbor. There’s stern-to space for two dozen yachts at their concrete pier. Water may be available, but not fuel. The clubhouse has a bar with a happy hour, pool tables and a dart board, laundry, showers and bathrooms. It’s a fifteen-minute walk into the village. The club hosts the annual ARC Homebound Rally.

Bermuda Yacht Services (BYS) is your friend in Bermuda. BYS will arrange anything you need from repairs and sails to mechanical and rigging services. BYS is located in the St. George’s Yachtsmen’s Center on Ordnance Island. Free WiFi, bathrooms and showers, an inside lounge, and benches on the porch are available for use.

Refueling

There is fuel in town at RUBiS Dowling’s Marine Service Station, but it’s not duty-free, so it can be pretty expensive. There are two options for taking on duty-free fuel. If there are enough boats needing fuel, Mark Sores at BYS will plan for a fuel truck to come down to the dockside. This gets done all at once, as one yacht after another comes alongside to top off. The price will be a couple of bucks cheaper than the non-duty free. (You’ll need that waiver you obtained at Customs.) If you are cruising alone and need fuel, you can get it duty-free at the big fuel depot at the Dockyard, at the other end of the island. From St. George’s, this will require a half-day’s motoring down, then all the way back. It’s a pleasant trip, and we’ve done it numerous times. 

Out and About

Bermuda’s name was given to the island by a Spanish captain, Juan de Bermúdez, who stumbled on the archipelago in 1505. The village of St. George’s was first settled in 1609, when an English ship, the Sea Venture, carrying colonists to Virginia, was swept onto Bermuda’s reefs during a storm. Shakespeare turned the event into his famous play, The Tempest. The crew and passengers managed to save much of their cargo, even enough lumber from the wrecked ship to build two, smaller ships, aboard which some colonists continued onward to Virginia. Two souls remained on the island.

The Virginia colony failed, but by 1612 a permanent settlement on Bermuda had been established. It’s the oldest English colony in the New World, eight years before Plymouth in Massachusetts. For a century or two, St. George’s served as Bermuda’s capital and its main port. During the American Revolutionary War, and the US Civil War, Bermuda’s “Forty Thieves,” the founding families, built their wealth on privateering, block-aid running and supplying ammunition to both sides. 

Even today, much of the village of St. George’s resembles an old village on the Cornish coast of England. Winding alleys of small, colorful cottages cover the hillside by the harbor, some dating back to the 1600s. There’s a very nice public restroom by the docks and a food store, Somers, a block away. They have most everything you’ll need for your next voyage, as well as a take-away buffet of hot and cold entries. A do-it-yourself laundromat is a short walk from the docks. A hardware store is on the main road, at the end of the commercial docks. The bus stops at the top of the hill. (Get your tickets at the nearby convenience store.) At the center of village, you’ll find banks, a post office, a stationery and drug store, clothing shops, and a handful of restaurants. Take the ten-minute stroll up and over the hill to Tobacco Bay Beach on the north side of the island, where a great pink-sand beach and snack bar await. Then, continue onward around Saint Catherine’s Point and back to the village. It’s about an hour’s walk.

Due in part to tourism but mostly to the island’s recent rise as an international insurance center, today, Bermuda is among the world’s wealthiest islands and, therefore, is expensive. Hamilton, the island’s current capitol, looks a bit like Miami, with an eclectic blend of gleaming high-rise office complexes, 1920s resort hotels and quaint cottages. You can catch a ride into Hamilton on a very nice and efficient bus service from St. George’s. There are no car rentals, so mopeds are the way to go.

Clearing Out

This is the easy part. No need to bring the boat alongside. Simply leave it on the dock or at anchor and proceed to Customs and Immigrations on foot. Then, it’s onward toward the Caribbean, US Mainland or Europe and beyond.

The post The Halfway Point: Sailing to Bermuda appeared first on Cruising World.

Two fleets departed the US East Coast this past fall, bound for the Caribbean as part of annual rallies to the islands. The North American Rally to the Caribbean, a 1,500-mile offshore voyage from Newport, R.I., to Saint-Martin via Bermuda, was “a piece of cake,” as one sailor put it. But the other, the 2022 Salty Dawg Sailing Association Rally, well, that’s a different story.

The 22nd annual NARC departed Rhode Island on October 30 with 19 boats that arrived in Bermuda without incident less than four days later. Another five boats, part of the Salty Dawg Sailing Association Rally that historically leaves from the Chesapeake area, signed on to join the Bermuda-bound NARC fleet—but two of those boats turned back before reaching the Gulf Stream, and two never got out of Newport.

Hank Schmitt, who has been organizing the Newport-based NARC for 22 years, arrived in Bermuda on his Swan 48 Avocation in three days, 22 hours. He said the boat rode the Gulf Stream for 30 hours and pushed along at 2-plus knots, knocking half a day off a four-day trip.

Steve Burlack, owner of the J/46 Arrowhead, also reported no issues. “Fun trip,” he said. “Pretty much the same as the other four times I’ve sailed [to Bermuda]. The Gulf Stream presented no major issue. One rough night with squalls, thunder and lightning, with winds 30-plus knots. A good reaching breeze filled in after that, and we were flying the rest of the way. [We sailed] mostly one reef in the main and flew a No. 4 on inner forestay. Then rolled out the 104 percent the last day. We were in good company with the NARC boats the entire trip. Four of us came in pretty much together.”

Around the same time the NARC departed Newport, four sailboats left the Chesapeake to join the NARC in Bermuda. Three boats arrived in St. George’s without incident, and one turned back. Solana V, Endeavor 2 and Cameo made the crossing in less than four days.

“The first night in the Gulf Stream was rough, with winds from north,” reported Douglas Hauck, aboard Cameo, a 48-foot Leopard. “One of the mainsheets broke in the middle of the night, but we were able to keep the main up. Fixed the following morning. Day three, nice sailing, but the night was very rough. Confused seas. We took the main down during the night when it got squally and motorsailed the rest of the way with full jib. We hit a 40-knot squall a few hours before entering the harbor. No issues entering the harbor in the dark with north-northeast winds.”

After a few days of parties, rest and provisioning, on November 8, half the NARC fleet departed Bermuda for the 875-mile sail to Saint-Martin. The rest of the fleet left five days later.

On November 13, Schmitt on Avocation arrived in Saint-Martin. “Pretty easy passage down from Bermuda,” Schmitt said. “More rain than normal first two days, then motored for a day, then nice sailing in the trades the last day.”

All in all, this year’s NARC Rally went off without any serious incident—but the Salty Dawg Sailing Association’s Rally to the Caribbean was not so lucky. The rally had amassed more than 120 yachts in marinas and anchorages near the mouth of Chesapeake—the largest flotilla in the Salty Dawg’s 11-year history. Most boats expected to depart November 1 for the nonstop, 1,500-mile sail to Antigua. Another 30 boats were planning to depart the same day, but were bound for the Bahamas. 

The start was postponed when a disturbance in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle had forecaster Chris Parker, from Marine Weather Center, worried. He couldn’t see a weather window opening any time soon. Parker suggested that the boats planning to sail to the Bahamas could depart November 1, provided they aimed to arrive before Friday’s increased easterly winds, and tried to stay west of the ridge. That ridge eventually turned into a subtropical storm and Hurricane Nicole.

Around 30 boats elected to head for the Bahamas, leaving the Chesapeake on October 30 and 31. They sailed around Cape Hatteras and headed south, inside the Gulf Stream, turned east to cross the stream near 34 north, and then headed south again for the Bahamas. Another seven boats elected to creep along the coast or down the Intracoastal Waterway. A few dropped out of the rally. The remaining 60 boats stayed in Hampton, Virginia, waiting for better conditions. They waited nearly two weeks.

As it turned out, subtropical storm Nicole turned west, heading for the Abacos, where the 30 Salty Dawgers were hunkering down. Mark Hill, on the Tayana 48 Oasis, was docked at the Abaco Beach Club marina in Marsh Harbour when the storm arrived. “It was a wet and wild night, and wild all the next day,” he said. “It blew 50 knots for hours with gusts to 70.” After blowing over the Abacos, Nicole became a Category 1 hurricane, and one day later slammed into Florida’s East Coast.

Despite all the predictions and warnings, two of the Salty Dawg yachts left the Chesapeake on October 31, and somehow made it all the way, nonstop, to the Caribbean in less than 10 days.

“We had no plans to stop in the Bahamas,” Mark Kerestres reported after his Catana 46 Inio arrived in Puerto Rico, nine days out of the Chesapeake. “We planned to just keep going as far south and as far east as we could. The islands were there if we needed to stop. We kept west of the ridge that developed into the tropical storm, steering south. We threaded our way through the lower Bahamas at 10 knots in a south-southeast wind, 20 to 25, with higher gusts in squalls.”

The catamaran Vanamo, a Lagoon 400, also elected to bypass the Abacos and kept sailing south. They picked a more eastern leg but did stop for fuel at Cockburn Harbour in the Turks and Caicos, and, later, in St. Thomas, arriving in Saint-Martin on November 12—the same day the remaining 60 Salty Dawg boats left the Chesapeake.

Parker had advised the Salty Dawg fleet that there was an option for going south, outside the Bahamas to the Turks and Caicos and then east along Hispaniola and Puerto Rico, motorsailing. The disturbance that turned into Nicole had suppressed the trades and sent the winds north around the developing low. This allowed for a westerly wind to affect the area north of the Greater Antilles, giving the two Salty Dawg catamarans a way to make it all the way down. 

Parker advised the remaining fleet on an area of potentially reinforced trades affecting the fleet as they turned south, but it never developed, and the 50 or so boats that left the Chesapeake on November 12 had a delightful trade-winds romp all the way to Antigua. There were a few problems reported, but nothing serious; one boat lost its rudder, but managed to return to port, while another lost its engine and was towed back to port. 

More than a hundred boats in this year’s Salty Dawg Rally made it safely to their destination, one way or another.

The post A Tale of Two Rallies: Sailing Fleets Head South for the Season appeared first on Cruising World.

The Bermuda Race Organizing Committee (BROC) has cancelled the 2020 Newport Bermuda Race due to the COVID-19 pandemic. The biennial race, founded in 1906, had 200 entries and was due to start for the 52nd time on June 19.

“As representatives of the race’s co-sponsoring clubs—the Cruising Club of America and the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club—the BROC believes in promoting the practice of safety as a way of life offshore,” Jay Gowell, BROC Chairman, wrote in a letter to competitors today.

“Our Committee has always held the position that we can only conduct the Bermuda Race if conditions for competitors and local populations made it safe to do so. After continuing to seek guidance from numerous government and medical advisors, it has become evident there is no longer a timeline allowing our sailors and supporters to prepare for and participate in this offshore race safely.”

The driving factor in the decision was reducing the risk of exposure to competitors and the community. Preparing boats for an offshore race takes time, commitment, and logistics that may expose communities and families unnecessarily. Sailing offshore may result in contact with asymptomatic infected shipmates during the race and could adversely affect the Bermudian population at the conclusion of the race.

“This decision is extremely disappointing to our sailors as well as organizers,” Gowell said. “As an international race organizing authority, it is our responsibility to be a part of the solution to reduce the risk of exposure.”

Read the full text of the Competitor Bulletin.

The next edition of the Newport Bermuda Race is scheduled to begin on June 17th, 2022.

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Like many people, I puzzled over Bermuda as a site for the 2017 America’s Cup. Aside from the novelty of a United States team defending the Cup on foreign soil, Bermuda is way the heck in the middle of nowhere. What were they thinking?

This slender, 22-mile-long fishhook-shaped cluster of reef, rock and volcanic remains lies roughly 600 nautical miles east of North Carolina, its closest neighbor. That’s about all I knew of this mysterious island, other than my parents honeymooned there in 1956. Because that’s where people went in the 1950s and ’60s. But soon after, other more-exotic jet-­setting destinations came into vogue—the Caribbean, South Pacific, Southeast Asia, Mexico—and Bermuda became that place you stopped along the way to somewhere else, or perhaps raced to from an East Coast port.

Even the first inhabitants of Bermuda treated the island merely as an extended layover (albeit unplanned) when their ship, Sea Venture, wrecked on Bermuda’s reefs in 1609. Within the year they built a new ship, Deliverance, and got the heck out of Dodge, and on their way to Jamestown Colony.

However, the die was cast. The maze of snaring reefs gave Bermuda the reputation: Devil’s Isle. But finally, thanks in part to the 35th America’s Cup, Bermuda is getting its due as a destination is its own right.

My friends Annie Gardner and her husband, Eric Witte, had flown in for the Cup, and stayed on a friend’s boat but were absorbed in the racing. “We loved Bermuda but didn’t have as much time as we wanted to explore the island, its history, and the beautiful islanders who live here,” Annie admitted. Reminiscing about clear tepid water vibrant with fish, balmy weather, charming towns and graceful seabirds, she added, “We knew we wanted to return.”

Eric and Annie had purchased the Catana 472 El Gato in France three years earlier. After a season in the Mediterranean, they crossed the Atlantic and spent two winters in the Caribbean, where they ran charters aboard El Gato, and sailed north for summers. In spring 2018, they set their sights on Bermuda, “an uneventful 850-mile ride from the Virgin Islands,” Annie said, “in easy weather.”

Shortly after they arrived on El Gato, Eric flew out to compete in the biennial Newport Bermuda Race. And we—three longtime girlfriends of Annie—flew in.

Flying over an endless cobalt sea, Bermuda appeared out of nowhere: a fantasyland of sandy beaches, rustic fortresses, gin-colored water—and gin. (It does, after all, remain a bastion of the British Empire.)

Christy, Diane and I taxied to Town Hall in St. George, where Annie was waiting. The history is palpable in this 17th-century parish, but we weary travelers were hungry. After an extraordinary dinner at Wahoo’s Bistro, we thumped our bags down the cobbled streets to the nearby dinghy dock and zoomed across the harbor to the Powder Hole, where El Gato was anchored. Lulled by the sea, and perhaps a touch of wine, we fell asleep to a chorus of tree frogs, locally called “the lullaby of Bermuda.”

Taking the splashy ride to and from the dinghy dock near Ordnance Island would become our routine, as we ventured to town for food, shopping or sightseeing. St. Peter’s Church, established in 1612, is a World Heritage Site; scores of other historic buildings had me overdosing on the descriptive “charming.”

One morning, having sunken into the pace of cruising life, we lazily enjoyed coffee and Banannie bread, Annie’s own banana-loaf concoction. After three years as a chef on her well-appointed catamaran, she was a culinary queen, regaling us with her fare. In response, we waged our own version of “Carbon-Fiber Chef” and contested over delicious dinners—such is the availability of great produce and ingredients on the island.

Finally we mustered, threw our snorkeling gear in the dinghy, and headed west across St. George’s Harbour. Zooming gleefully past the airport, beneath the causeway and into the expansive Castle Harbour, we were greeted by choppy, turquoise seas. Annie professed a cruiser must have a sturdy dinghy with a robust outboard, and El Raton, Eric and Annie’s 11-foot Caribe RIB, served us well.

Hugging the shore, past gleaming estates, we circled around to Nonsuch Island, where we anchored and jumped in beside some noisy children clambering over a semisubmerged shipwreck. It had been relocated there in the 1930s to create a habitat for fish, which paid off. We swam around the thriving site till we were puckered like prunes, then continued eastward, where we picnicked on Clearwater Beach, and hiked to the squat lookout tower on Cooper’s Island.

Another adventure took us shoreside. Catching a bus in St. George, bound for the Crystal Caves, we detoured across the street to the Swizzle Inn for Rum Swizzles before our subterranean trek (see bottom of this article for the recipe). Eight stories deep, the otherworldly cavern is hung with stalactites of calcite and pillars reaching up from luminous pools. Dramatically lit, the caves were breathtaking—and cool. A must for a warm day.

Another must: the sea glass beach outside the channel entrance. Just around Alexandra Battery Park is a tiny cove with a snippet of sand. It’s nothing to look at, until you don your mask and stick your face in the water. The shallow seafloor is a thick confetti of sea glass, in a mélange of shapes and colors. Sated with the east end, we eventually left St. George, and entered the north channel and the northwesterly freshening breeze. How wonderful it felt to be sailing as we followed the gentle slope of the island toward Hamilton. We had plenty of room to play in this arena, which was well-charted to avoid reefs and shoals.

We’d all been aboard El Gato before: Christy in the Med and Caribbean, Diane in the Caribbean and Florida, and me from Gibraltar to Cabo Verde. We quickly got into the rhythm of the boat and enjoyed taking turns on the helm until entering the craw of the Great Sound. We anchored off Beacon Hill in a quiet, dark location that showcased the starry sky and provided a calm setting for early-morning paddling.

Then we were off again, traversing the America’s Cup course and venturing past the Royal Naval Dockyard, which dates back to the 1860s. It was the site of the AC Race Village but now housed galleries and retail shops (which we later ravaged).

Once around Commissioner’s Point, we picked our way west using the simple red and green arrow markers on posts. The bright sun also made it easy to pick out foul areas.

Reams of tourists clustered on the small isles at King’s Point, so we bypassed that anchorage and continued west. Approaching the turtle sanctuary off Daniel’s Island, we took our cues from the glass-bottom boat and poked in. Soon we were chatting with the skipper, who showed us the wreck of the HMS Vixen nearby.

Wherever we went, we found Bermudians to be helpful and warm. Later that week, when we couldn’t find a taxi from the beach, a lovely banker stopped and squeezed us into her teeny car for a ride home.

Backtracking from Daniel’s Island, we arrived in Mangrove Bay, where the Bermuda Fitted Dinghies were competing in a regatta. These wooden craft haven’t changed much since the 1880s—roughly 12 feet long and low to the water, with massive rigs and sail area, and round shallow keels to skirt the reefs—and they provided quite the show, as teams of five or six struggled to stay upright and afloat in the gusty breeze. We anchored nearby and enjoyed the energy and antics of the racers as we swam and paddled.

It would be our last open-water ­anchorage; that evening we dropped our hook in Hamilton Harbour across from the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club. With Newport Bermuda racers arriving soon, we wanted a good spot. As the first boats finished, we joined in the revelry, and had a chance to speak with the club’s general manager, David Furtado.

“The America’s Cup showed Bermuda in a spectacular light. A lot of the visitors have been to sailing events around the world but didn’t realize how beautiful and sophisticated the island is. And in terms of our infrastructure, all the services that yachtsmen need are right here. We hope that instead of just passing by, from place to place, sailors will look at Bermuda as a perfect destination in itself.”

Indeed, the island has a robust marine industry, with many upgraded facilities since the Cup. Plus, parts and equipment can be flown in from the States on several daily flights.

“Bermuda is second to none in its beauty, climate and safe atmosphere,” he beamed.

And I couldn’t agree more. We never locked up the boat in the anchorage. The residents speak English and use U.S. currency. The island is beautiful, clean and safe, with the perfect blend of modern amenities and ageless charm.

You just have to get used to the funny shorts and knee socks.

Betsy Senescu (formerly Crowfoot) is a freelance author in Southern California.

Arriving in Bermuda

Bermuda has strict protocol for entry and departure. St. George’s is the only port of entry. All boats must hail ­Bermuda Harbour Radio (VHF 16) on approach, then stand by for instructions on clearing customs at Ordnance Island. Visit gotobermuda.com for details.

Chartering El Gato

El Gato, a Catana 472 catamaran, is available for crewed charters in the Pacific beginning in March 2020. Capt. Eric Witte and mate/chef Annie Gardner specialize in helping new cruisers learn the ins and outs of life aboard, from boat maintenance and navigation to provisioning and setting the spinnaker. Learn more at El Gato Adventures’ website, elgatoadventures.com, or email tradewindadventures@gmail.com.

Rum Swizzle recipe

Ingredients

• 4 oz. Gosling’s Black Seal Rum
• 4 oz. Barbados rum (or any amber rum)
• 2 oz. triple sec
• 5 oz. pineapple juice
• 5 oz. orange juice
• 2 oz. Bermuda falernum (or simple syrup or grenadine)
• 4 dashes of Angostura bitters
• Juice of two lemons
• Ice

Mix all ingredients in a pitcher with crushed ice, and shake vigorously until froth appears. Strain into cocktail glasses over ice, and garnish with a cherry and an orange slice. Enjoy!

The post Bermuda Sailing Adventure appeared first on Cruising World.

The line of wind at the edge of the harbor as we dodged lobster pots on our way out of Camden, Maine, looked like it had been painted on the water with black ink. Immediately, we were in 20 to 30 knots on the nose.

Sea Dragon, my ride for the just-beginning roughly 735-nautical-mile passage to Bermuda, was made for these conditions, and worse. The 72-foot steel expedition yacht had been built for the around-the-world Global Challenge race, and is now run by the adventure charter outfit Pangaea Exploration. “She really boogies upwind in 25 to 30 knots,” skipper Eric Loss told me. I didn’t doubt it. When I first saw Sea Dragon on the dock, I thought, What a beast. This boat can handle some abuse. The extensive safety briefings before we set out only deepened the impression.

We were a crew of seven, which made Sea Dragon, which has berths for 16, feel quite roomy. And we were in good hands. Our captain did a solo circumnavigation after college and had been sailing Sea Dragon for the past four years. First mate and medic Shanley McEntee also had extensive offshore experience, including skippering Sea Dragon for Pangaea’s annual all-female expeditions. Deckhand Tom McMahon was aboard Sea Dragon while on “vacation” from his normal job — teaching people to sail as an International Yacht and Maritime Training instructor in Croatia. The rest of us were active passengers: along for the ride and hoping to pick up some skills between Maine and Bermuda while standing watches and participating in all shipboard activities. Pei Huang, a college mate with the captain at Bowdoin, had once joined him for a charter vacation in the Caribbean. Pei’s wife, Lauren Keenan, grew up around boats and sailed in college. This was the third expedition aboard Sea Dragon for retired English professor Steve Lansky, and he was hoping to gain some sea stories to weave into a climate-change-based science-fiction novel he was writing in which the lead characters sail to Cuba. And then there was me, a lifelong sailor who had recently spent more time tickling a keyboard than tying bowlines. I was excited to get back out to sea.

We raised the main with a double reef, and then the yankee jib. As soon as the sails were trimmed I could see what Eric had meant by “boogie.” At the helm, I could feel the power as we punched through the considerable swell. But for all the fun of going fast — 10 to 12 knots, most of the time — it was not a comfortable ride. The mid-October wind was cold, and Penobscot Bay was bumpy. The forecast was for it to stay that way for a couple of days, followed by some light air, followed by a tropical something that we hoped wouldn’t actually materialize. I had started taking Stugeron the day before, just in case.

Pei was the first victim of the disorganized motion, followed shortly by Lauren. A bit later Eric came up the companionway and announced, “I’m feeling a bit pukey,” in the same chipper voice he might have used to say, “Today is my birthday!” He then turned to the leeward rail, threw up and added, “Well, that’s better,” before hosing down the side deck and ducking back below. He later told me it was the first time he’d been seasick in his four years aboard Sea Dragon. We were all miserable.

Shanley heated tomato soup and handed up mugs for dinner so no one would have to eat below. It was a good move because we were blasting and banging along at a pretty good clip. If we kept it up, we would cover half the distance to Bermuda in just two days. Could we handle two whole days of this? I mentally calculated how long I could stay on deck before I’d need to go below to use the head. If I threw up, was it possible I could go longer without having to pee?

Just as darkness fell, we lunged off a wave and Steve was thrown from his seat on the windward side of the cockpit and landed hard on the leeward settee. “Tacking!” Shanley yelled and immediately hove to.

What happened next were the steps you always hear about in sail-training courses. Shanley handed me the wheel and did an initial check with Steve to assess the severity of his condition. Eric came up and helped get Steve below so they could get him out of his layers to check out his ribs and back, which were causing him pain. Tom came on deck to keep me company. Shanley got on the satphone with the on-call doctor from Medical Support Offshore Limited, a shoreside service that Pangaea Exploration subscribes to. Together with the doctor on the phone and input from Steve, the decision was made to turn back to Camden. We’d only been sailing half the day and would be back at the dock around midnight.

Noone ever wants to turn back to port, but Eric, Shanley and Tom made the prudent choice. When we left Camden, seven had seemed like a good number of crew, but with so many of us seasick, some to the point of ­incapacitation, I was struck by how quickly we felt shorthanded. And given the uncertainty of Steve’s condition — was it possible he had broken a rib? — there was really no discussion needed.

I’ll admit I was relieved to hear the news. Despite my watch ending a few hours before, I had been avoiding going below to sleep because I didn’t think I’d be able to hold down my few bites of dinner. I was worried about Steve, but more so daunted by the conditions.

And then we were flying along with the wind and waves on our port quarter, heading back to Camden. The four hours it took — half the time we’d spent banging uphill — were the kind of sailing I daydream about. It felt like a different ocean, a different planet from what we’d been in all afternoon. The full supermoon occasionally peeked through the clouds and lit up the sky and sparkled off the water. By the time we were back in the bay, the clouds had cleared enough that we didn’t need to use lights to dodge lobster pots.

Ashore, Eric and Shanley took Steve to the hospital to get checked out. Knowing that my family would be watching the boat’s tracker online, I went up to the marina’s customer lounge to send them an update. I already had an email waiting for me. “Looks like you’re making good time, back to Maine,” my dad wrote. My mom had called my husband, Nate, to alert him we’d stopped and then turned back. Nate looked at the track and conjectured that it must not be a major emergency since we hadn’t pulled into Matinicus Island, the closest land to our turnaround spot. I shot off a quick note that we were safe, and then passed out in my bunk.

I awoke to find everyone back at the boat. Steve was bruised and sore, but luckily nothing was broken. We talked over our options and decided to do a coastal cruise to Rhode Island. Our weather window to Bermuda had closed, with a dubious-looking depression forming in our path. We spent the day regrouping, hiking and exploring Camden. When we met back up for dinner everyone was feeling human again and excited for our tour of New England — even Steve, who was clearly hurting but putting on one hell of a brave face. The general plan was to sail south, stopping for the night in Portland, Maine; Gloucester and Woods Hole, Massachusetts; and then either Newport or Block Island, Rhode Island.

We were happy to find the wind on our beam at about 16 knots when we made our way back out of Camden on Tuesday morning. Weaving, once again, through lobster pots, we passed a slew of small, pine-covered islands that we all agreed “looked very Maine.” Midday, the fog rolled in thick and we agreed that the weather was also “very Maine.” We caught a pot under sail, and Eric had to dive in to free us; after that, we kept three people on pot watch at all times. It was peaceful being up at the bow, peering into the soupy air.

I went below to make dinner as we neared Cliff Island, near Portland, our anchorage for the night. I was grateful for the warmth of the galley after getting soaked by the fog. It was cozy eating around Sea Dragon‘s saloon table and talking sailing.

We had brilliant sailing in 15 to 20 knots on Wednesday under yankee jib, staysail and main with a single reef. The seas were moderate: better than they had been on our first day out, but I still didn’t want to hang out below too long. For the first time all week, we had bright sun, and the boost in morale was noticeable.

It was hot as we struck the sails at the mouth of the harbor in Gloucester. Everyone stripped down out of their layers to T-shirts and tank tops. Shanley had arranged for us to tie alongside a barge at the marine railway, and we had beautiful light as we squared everything away.

A previous mate from Sea Dragon, Andy Rogan, now works for a whale-research group called Ocean Alliance (whale.org), and we walked over to see its offices in the old Gloucester paint factory. They’re doing some really cool things with SnotBots, drones with petri dishes that fly over spouting whales. It was incredible to hear how they could collect DNA from the whales without ever touching them.

We found a restaurant that was having a half-price offseason special, and were amazed at how strong beer seemed after the dehydrating effects of a long day in the sun. On our way back to the boat, we got a bit of a jolt when we realized just how far the tide had gone out. The route down to the barge entailed a rickety, rusted ladder of questionable integrity. I can only imagine what was going through Steve’s mind, sore as he was. Luckily, we all made it down without mishaps.

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Eleanor Merrill is Cruising World’s Managing Editor. Click here for Part 2 of this story.

The post Coastal Boogie, Part 1 appeared first on Cruising World.

Click here for Part 1 of this story.

Thursday our southerly route had us on a beam reach in small but sloppy seas and 18 knots of wind. When we made it to the Cape Cod Canal, Pei, whose stomach had still not fully settled, was particularly excited to reach flat water.

Entering Buzzard’s Bay from the canal, the breeze piped up to the mid-20s with gusts in the low 30s, but we were out of the ocean swells. I’ve heard people talk about champagne sailing, and for the short dash from the canal to Woods Hole, just under an hour, I got to experience it. Close-reaching in 23 knots, we were gliding across the water doing 11. It was absolutely beautiful! Pei was at the wheel, with Eric coaching him on what to do with the channel markers and how to find the right amount of heel. I found a new favorite spot to wedge myself, to leeward of the instrument panel just behind the traveler and forward of the aft cockpit.

Then, just like that, we were dropping sails to anchor in Hadley Harbor, across the channel from Woods Hole. It was still blowing in the 20s, so we decided not to try to launch the dinghy or go for a swim. Now in our fifth night aboard Sea Dragon, we finally felt like we were in the groove of living and working as a crew. At dinner, the mood was congenial, the banter, lively. Today, I thought. Today is why I love sailing.

Friday we were expecting to wake up to rain but the squalls had gone through overnight and it was sunny, clear and the wind had died to almost nothing. Shanley, Eric, Pei, Lauren and I jumped in. The water was brisk for the pre-breakfast dip, but not nearly as cold as we had all psyched ourselves up for. We got out, lathered with a bit of Dr. Bronner’s soap and then jumped back in. It felt colder the second time! We rinsed with the freshwater hose and drip-dried in the cockpit while finishing coffees and teas. Steve made an incredible round of tangerine-and-mango smoothies.

Conditions for our passage to Block Island on Friday were calm, so we rigged up the ship’s manta trawl on a bridle to tow behind the boat. Eric told us about the science Pangaea Exploration conducts. The bulk of the research the ship has done involves collecting water samples and trawling for micro- and nano-plastics in the North Pacific, North Atlantic, South Atlantic and South Pacific gyres. He told us that plastic debris is swept by the currents into the major low-pressure areas of the oceans, and these areas therefore have a greater density of plastic than elsewhere. Over time, the plastic floating in the water column (most commonly within about a foot of the surface) is degraded by UV rays from the sun and breaks down into smaller and smaller pieces.

Shanley, who studied environmental science and policy in college, said that the trash found in the North Atlantic is primarily fishing gear — buoys, nets and fenders — while in the North Pacific it’s mostly domestic waste: refrigerators, food wrappers and shoes. The manta trawl that Sea Dragon tows is a funnel-shaped net that has a really fine mesh at the end to collect plastic fragments. She showed us glass tubes filled with plastic debris they had collected on some of their voyages.

Since we wouldn’t be sending samples from this particular trawl to a lab for analysis, we towed the gear from Sea Dragon‘s stern, but for precise readings the trawl is usually rigged on the end of a spinnaker pole to escape the turbulence of the boat’s wake. Even though we weren’t transiting one of the great oceanic gyres, our half-hour trawl gathered a handful of visible white, green and blue plastic bits, along with several jellyfish and a few pieces of seaweed.

Approaching Block Island, Shanley called the harbor master, who advised we head for New Harbor, also known as Great Salt Pond, because it would be better protected than Old Harbor from the gale we were anticipating. At 1700, the weather was getting more serious, with heavy rain, poor visibility and increasing gusts. We struck the main and added extra sail ties, and bagged up the staysail and stowed it below before we tied up to the dock in New Harbor at 1730. We found ourselves next to a crew filming a teen thriller on a fishing boat. Ours were the only two boats in the harbor.

The crew rigged extra dock lines, fenders and chafe gear because the barometer had dropped 11 millibars over the previous night and then another 12 during the day. Wind was on its way!

Weather kept us pinned on Block Island for a day. At dawn the harbor was deserted except for the teen-thriller crew, who were drinking whiskey and jumping off the dock. They had wrapped up filming sometime in the early hours and had been celebrating since. They reappeared a few hours later, looking like the dead and begging for seasickness medications for their ferry ride home.

The wind built throughout the day as we explored town, the island’s petting zoo and the library. We played a rousing game of darts at the Yellow Kittens bar and then braved the blustery 20-minute walk back to the boat. Pei had bought a game called In a Pickle for 25 cents at the library, and we played it over dinner.

Sunday morning, we got up with the intention of leaving around lunchtime to take advantage of the high tide. A few of us walked out to the breakwater to check the conditions and were greeted by gnarly chop and wind still in the 20s. The lowest sounder reading we’d seen on our way into the harbor had been a little over 3 feet under the 11-foot-deep keel; these swells were definitely more than 3 feet. Sea Dragon wouldn’t be going anywhere on the noon tide.

Upon returning to the boat, Eric relayed the conditions and the decision to stay put for another day. The delay cost us three crewmembers, whom we hugged goodbye as they left for the ferry.

Eric, Shanley, Tom and I spent one more day hiking around Block Island, and watched the sunset with hot toddies on the porch of the Spring House hotel.

A walk to the breakwater Monday morning revealed good enough conditions for us to make the jump over to Newport. The wind had dropped to the high teens, and the swell had calmed considerably. Bearing off toward Narragansett Bay as we rounded the northern end of the island, we were making over 8 knots under jib alone. Did I mention this boat was fast? We were on a mooring in Newport by noon.

So, we didn’t make it to Bermuda. But we had a fantastic coastal cruise. All in all, it had been one hell of a boogie.

Pangaea Exploration runs expeditions focused on marine exploration, education and conservation aboard Sea Dragon, a Challenge 72, all over the world. Sailors can book individual legs, or groups can sign up for specialized voyages focused on scientific research, filmmaking or sail training. Sea Dragon is a versatile platform for scientists and has often been used for studying marine debris, collecting water samples and conducting wide-ranging dive missions. Upcoming trips include an exploration of northwestern Africa, a transatlantic from the Canaries to the Caribbean, and some extended voyaging into the heart of the Pacific. Find out more at panexplore.com.

– – –

Eleanor Merrill is CW‘s managing editor.

The post Coastal Boogie, Part 2 appeared first on Cruising World.

If you get a big enough chart, sailing from Maine to Bermuda looks easy. You’ll drop the mooring in Portland, motor east until you finish your coffee, get the sails up and point her south. Along the way, you’ll pass through at least three marine protected areas plus the Gulf Stream, and you imagine that these will inspire you with glorious sea mammals, birds and wonders of the deep.

That was my daydream, anyway, and the marine protected areas delivered, but wow, the sailing was hard on body, boat and spirit, with headwinds, steep seas and gusty nights. In short, we got our butts kicked going down there, but the splendors of wild nature compensated for the broken rigging. While there’s much to say about the mistakes I made as a sailor and the lessons I learned en route, there’s even more to say about encountering whales, dolphins and coral in ocean spaces favored with environmental protection.

I assembled an eager crew for this classic passage, though not one you’d confuse with professional racers or delivery skippers. We were neither polished nor salty. My work and my home are in Utah, but I go back to sea level and launch my old Beneteau First 42, Nellie, whenever I can. This Bermuda venture was her longest passage yet. Derek Holtved is a climbing friend from Banff, Canada, who once crewed on 12-Meters. He is the most competent sailor I know, with a dogged attention to detail and an aptitude for mechanical invention. Rieko is married to Derek. They met in Japan, and she’s much bigger than her 4-foot-10-inch frame. She has plenty of saltwater knowledge from the time she and Derek lived aboard their own boat. Last but rarely least is my father, Ted McCarthy — 75 years old for this voyage, with a lifetime of sailboat racing behind him and an abundant supply of anecdotes involving running aground, hitting other boats and dragging anchor, each of which makes Derek grumble, mutter and blush.

43.55° N and 70.10° W. Wind SW 11. Seas 2 to 3 feet.

We left Portland Harbor on the tide and set the big genoa to beat into a southwest breeze, and soon Derek and I were talking through our philosophies of sailing. He argued that sails are set to reach a waypoint; I held that sails are set to put us in the best relation to nature’s forces. Derek said, “So I use nature to go great places, and you go to the great places nature sends you.”

“Yes,” I said while adjusting the genoa car. “And we both feel better for it.”

If sailing invigorates us through close contact with the wilderness, then marine protected areas (MPAs) are the places sailors will feel most alive. At heart, MPAs are as straightforward as their name — they are marine environments legally dedicated to the preservation of natural and cultural resources. Basically, these areas promote biodiversity and systems resilience in the face of harsh forces like pollution, overfishing or ocean acidification.

But they’re not fenced zones excluding you; most MPAs allow some extraction, and nearly all invite visitors, balancing the interests of conservationists, fishermen and other economic stakeholders. Cruisers can see firsthand the ways MPAs refigure stressed marine environments into healthy parcels where depleted species can repopulate and ecosystems can rebound. There are tiny MPAs, such as Buck Island Reef National Monument’s 176 acres in the U.S. Virgin Islands, and huge ones, such as Papahanaumokuakea’s 500,000 square miles in the northwestern Hawaiian Islands.

42.15° N and 70.10° W. Wind SW 21. Seas 4 to 5 feet, with building chop.

You don’t have to go to the exotic edges of the planet to experience MPAs. We sailed right through the amazing Stellwagen Bank Marine Sanctuary, jibed past the new Northeast Canyons and Seamounts Marine National Monument, and spent days within Bermuda’s protected coral reefs.

In Stellwagen Bank, I saw a right whale on our first day of sailing, and we were still close enough to shore that I had a Red Sox game on the radio. Rieko was at the helm, and from the top of a swell, said, “See that?” She pointed to port, and two waves later, a splash was clear against the sunset. I assumed it was a humpback, but when it came up two more times to blow, I could see the head coloring and black fins did not match my expectations. Right whales are endangered and long-hunted creatures now making a slight rebound in protected areas. Derek and Rieko wondered at this ocean display so close to New England’s biggest city. A look at the chart showed Stellwagen Bank like a catcher’s mitt between Cape Cod and Cape Ann, all set to receive whatever Boston pitched seaward. First, we saw these bobbing, spouting right whales, and later, a group of rowdy humpbacks, slapping their fins and breaching in a cloud of seabirds. The sanctuary’s rules are clearly marked on all charts — mandatory ship reporting in critical right whale habitat — and they seem to be working.

39.49° N and 69.50° W. Wind SW 19. Seas confused.

Three days out, with hundreds of miles to go, my dad and I chatted through the 0400-to-0800 watch. Despite the big wind, I found this watch easier than the midnight-to-0400 shift because the sun was coming up, and with the day came visibility, warmth and then breakfast. The sleek head and back of a dolphin bobbed and submerged, bobbed and submerged, and I hoped he would bring a friend to play on our bow wave. It was our proximity to the Gulf Stream that brought the wildlife this time — too rough for commercial fishing, too deep for drilling — protected by its own heat and momentum.

These encounters with living sea creatures mattered. Biologist E.O. Wilson coined the term biophilia for that unnamable connection humans feel toward animals — “the urge to affiliate with other forms of life,” as he put it. Out at sea, days from anything more solid than sargasso weed, I felt the warmest affection for this passing mammal, and I waved as you would acknowledge a stranger on a country road.

I love that sailing brings me closer to nature. There’s the rapt attention to sea state, clouds and breeze, and there are the hours in the cockpit where my eyes and ears conform to the rolling swell and open to the variation of a whale’s breath or a shearwater at work. In a sailboat, I become part of the sea’s broad rhythms and open myself to the nuances of a natural world that my terrestrial life tends to obscure behind Netflix and big-box stores. My dad quoted Wordsworth, who celebrated a heightened nature sensitivity: “So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, / have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; / have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; / or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.” Exactly right. These old sea gods recede when I am getting and spending, but they come back in a hurry as I reef a sail at night or pray for a fair current. Ahead, the Gulf Stream’s train of tall clouds puffed always west to east, west to east. Around us seabirds bobbed in the warm waves. Tacking along with two reefs and the small jib, we were focused on the natural systems that carried us along and rewarded us for our attention.

35.56° N and 68.17° W. Wind SE 14 and building. Seas 4 feet and confused.

Out on the other side of the Gulf Stream, our attention to nature wasn’t what it could have been. Derek and Rieko were paying full care to the size of our sails — one reef in the main and a partially furled jib moved us at a steady 5 knots through mischievous seas — but sliding past us was yet another Mylar balloon. This one read “Party!” The ocean was speckled with this garbage. Was there once an innocent, pollution-free time? A time when a vibrantly red sunset meant good weather would follow and not excess particulates clogging our atmosphere? We were 300 miles from Bermuda, floating on 12,000 feet of open water, but we still saw flaps of plastic and foam cups. Byron wrote, “Man marks the earth with ruin — his control stops at the shore.” I hate to burst these Romantic bubbles, but it seemed to me that our vast and limitless oceans are actually the primary casualties of climate change. Most notably, the Atlantic that rolled under me is both warming and acidifying thanks to high levels of carbon in the atmosphere.

MPAs are one way to advance the cause of sustainable seas — by taking the pressure off one fertile zone, the whole system rebounds. Just as any sailor knows it’s time to adjust course when they are sailing by the lee, we need to recognize that signs of an ocean in crisis are all around us: one-third of the Great Barrier Reef bleached in 2016; acidifying waters suppressing mussel populations on the coast of Maine; heat expansion bringing us sea-level rise; warmer water killing coral from Tortola to Kiribati. According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the three hottest years on record were 2016, 2015 and 2014. If the ocean absorbs three-quarters of that global heat, it should be no surprise that there are bigger storms coming to further tax the ecosystems of every shore. Looking to windward, it’s clear that sailors are on the front lines of these changes. We can take an active role in witnessing ocean change and advocating ocean health.

Mother and baby Atlantic spotted dolphins (Stenella frontalis) swim together in the sandy shallow waters of the Bahamas.

32.7° N and 64.4° W. Wind S 9. Seas 2 feet.

When a forestay breaks at sea, there’s a special kind of sound. Just over 20 nautical miles out from Bermuda, I was at the nav station admiring our progress when a thumping pop made the boat shudder, and I felt something bad, something structural. Derek knew what it was immediately — “Forestay!” — and things were happening fast. On deck, the genoa and furling gear were pressing into the shrouds, tumbling in slow motion. Wrestling the spinnaker halyard through that tangle to affix it forward while crying, “Slack, slack! Tension!” was the work of a long minute. Dropping the sail and lashing the rigging aboard took longer, and we had time to appreciate the daylight and the calm sea. We were unlucky to break the forestay, though lucky to do it by day; unhappy to need repairs, but glad to be so close to shore. Motoring through St. George’s Town Cut near midnight, we felt relief mingled with humility and plenty of gratitude toward providence.

When I woke up, I woke up on Bermuda. This unlikely seamount, preserved by the same coral reefs that threaten sailors, has its own story of marine protection. At the Bermuda Institute of Ocean Sciences (BIOS) Chris Flook told me that Bermuda has protected sea turtles from overfishing since 1620. 1620! ­BIOS Ocean Academy director Kaitlin Noyes explained Bermuda has the Atlantic’s northernmost coral reefs, and they are critical ­libraries of marine ecology while southern reefs bleach and suffer.

I swam with Chris and Kaitlin beside North Rock, marked on my chart as a shallow to avoid like grim death in a sailboat, but when seen from underwater, it’s a gloriously thriving ecology of brain corals and star corals circled by parrotfish, grouper and myriad creatures. This ecosystem is one of several dozen MPAs in Bermuda, and it was heartening to feel that same ocean that rocked me from Maine course through the healthy fans and branches of living coral.

38.1° N and 67.4° W. Wind SW 12. Seas 3 to 4 feet.

After nine days of sweaty boat fiddling, I left Bermuda with a new crew and a new forestay. It was a relief to be moving, a necessary change to the tedious round of asking after parts not delivered and speaking politely to tardy mechanics. We motored out with the sunset behind us, and once we could leave North Rock well to port, turned north under full sails. Whitney, my wife, is a good sailor. She loves nothing better than snorkeling among tropical fish, and she had pointed to Bermuda’s oversize footprint on the big chart and said, “Imagine all those miles of reef, all those fish. What a paradise.” Now she was eager to see dolphins, whales and sharks. On that same plotting chart, I penciled quick circles around the marine sanctuaries, preserves and monuments in our path to Newport, Rhode Island. These were the places she was most likely to encounter the sea life that inspired her sailing. One of the newest MPAs is the Northeast Canyons and Seamounts Marine National Monument, 120 miles southeast of Cape Cod. We hadn’t planned to go near it on this leg, but on day three, the Gulf Stream hit us with 25 knots of breeze from the southwest and then a series of westerly squalls that soaked our plans in flying spray. Ten hard hours saw us 60 miles east of our line and barely a daysail from the new monument. Unlike, say, Devil’s Tower or Gettysburg, sea canyons are not something you can spot from a distance or tour in a bus. But a healthy ocean has its language too, and in the morning, Whitney spotted a spout to starboard, and then another. Before long, she had the rhythm and guided us to the long forms of North Atlantic fin whales feeding in the middle distance.

The Northeast Canyons and Seamounts Marine National Monument was designated in 2016 to manage the waters above three canyons 4,000 meters deep and four undersea mountains with 2,000 meters of relief from the ocean floor. The monument aims to shape spawning grounds and habitat into a pocket of resilience amid an ocean of pollution and fishing gear.

41.47° N and 71.32° W. Ida Lewis Yacht Club, Newport.

MPAs are a bright spot in the gloomy conversation about ocean health. We reached Newport in 115 hours from St. George’s, in time for July Fourth festivities on the harbor: hundreds of boats and people, fireworks and music. These happy mariners seemed ready to agree with Arthur C. Clarke’s observation, “How inappropriate to call this planet Earth when it is quite clearly Ocean.” There was a sea story in each of these skiffs, dories, tugs, racers and ferries. Nellie’s Bermuda trip was one tiny sailing tale, but in its brushes with ocean conservation it carried an optimistic message to offset climate-change fatalism.

The voyage to Bermuda and back showed me a lot of ocean, and successful efforts for protecting it. In my log’s notes, a white-sided dolphin leapt clear of the Gulf Stream, coral fans fluttered in the Bermuda current, humpbacks fed in Stellwagen Bank — all these gave me hope for a cruising future that includes turtles, corals and the great whales that brighten even our foggiest days.

– – –

Jeffrey McCarthy is director of the environmental humanities graduate program at the University of Utah.

The post Witnessing Wonder in Marine Sanctuaries appeared first on Cruising World.

When word arrived one day in late May that there was an open cabin on a Moorings 48 crewed charter catamaran in Bermuda the first weekend in June, I jumped on it faster than Oracle Team USA’s Jimmy Spithill rolls his fully foiling AC50 into a jibe.

Wow, what a weekend. Say what you will about the America’s Cup, Larry Ellison, cats versus monohulls, wing sails, grinders, pedal power and the proliferation of Kiwi and Aussie accents; when a pair of high-flying cats comes barreling straight at you at warp speed, well, that’s about as cool as it gets.

Aboard Painkiller on Saturday morning, we were directed by race marshals to our spot on the course-boundary line, and to the delight of all, we were also about as close to the windward mark as you could get without actually having a racing helmet and life jacket on. We were truly front and center — surrounded by every manner of spectator boat you could imagine, from megayacht to classic ketch — and the party was full on, turning the sidelines into a sideshow.

By 2 p.m., the crowd was ready, and the ensuing action did not disappoint. The first bout of the day featured a blockbuster matchup that was anticipated to be (correctly, it would turn out) a preview of the quest for the Cup itself: Oracle Team USA versus Emirates Team New Zealand. Oracle won the start. We saw it all unfold on the far side of the course. Or, perhaps I should say, some of us saw it. A group of fashion editors was also aboard for the day, and I think they were more taken in by the pitchers of rum swizzles being served on the foredeck than they were by the finer points of match-racing. But hey, there was plenty of fun to be had, no matter where you looked for it.

While they sipped, several of us stood at the helm station, where we could hear live commentary over the VHF radio. Oracle was first over the line and led as the cats tore toward the reaching mark in the middle of the course. Bearing off, they flew downwind and quickly disappeared from view. A lead change was announced on the radio, and we strained to see who was ahead each time the two soaring speedsters met on their way back toward us. Then, right before our eyes, Spithill and the boys sneaked past the Kiwis as they rounded the windward mark, and never looked back. Horns blared up and down the sidelines, and a fan on another Moorings boat next door popped the cork on a bottle of bubbly, spraying everyone in reach.

On Sunday, new guests joined us and we did it all over again: motored out to our assigned spot at about noon, enjoyed a fantastic lunch and then settled in to see the show. Unfortunately, the wind took a holiday, and racing was eventually abandoned. But we didn’t care. We watched the racers slowly tack about; the swimming was refreshing, and the company was outstanding. Late in the day, when we were all in the water cooling off, the four teams paraded by and even veered off among the anchored spectators for an added thrill.

Sunday night we anchored in Hamilton, and as evening fell and those still aboard started to settle down for dinner, a spectacular fireworks show rumbled to life just off the stern. At the time, we didn’t know it heralded the start of a Tall Ships festival, but lo and behold, the next morning we awoke to the lovely vessels all around us as they staged for their parade.

I’ve found adventure awaits ­anytime I get to step aboard a charter boat. Painkiller and the Cup didn’t disappoint.

The post The Best Seat in the House appeared first on Cruising World.

With America’s Cup cats foiling on Great Sound, if you’re in the spectator fleet, you might as well jump right in with both feet and kick back and enjoy the party.

Watching the spectator fleet at the Louis Vuitton America’s Cup Qualifiers in Hamilton, Bermuda, turns out to be nearly as much of a treat as taking in the action on the racecourse. And race organizers have gone out of their way to make sure that those who’ve managed to get their boats there (or chartered a vessel already on site) will not be let down by what they’ve modestly dubbed “The Greatest Race on Water.”

Ashore the race village is packed to capacity on weekend days when the actual racing takes place. Meanwhile, skippers can pay a relatively modest daily fee ($35 for boats under 40 feet; $15 per foot for those over 40 feet) to take a front row seat and take in the circus all about.

On Team Oracle’s last day of racing before The Cup itself, we began our adventure on Painkiller, a Moorings 4800 crewed-charter cat, with a motor trip across Great Sound to Hamilton, where we picked up several guests for the afternoon. Along the quay, the stately J Class yachts that will be racing later in the month sat tied side-by-side, surrounded by super yachts, mega yachts and mega-mega yachts. The collective bling was blinding.

By noon, we joined a steady stream of ferries, sailboats, powerboat, jet skis, trawlers and all manner of small motorboats snaking their way out of the harbor. Outside, the three-masted Maltese Falcon held court at one end of the course as crews in turquoise-colored RIBs set out orange buoys marking the boundaries for spectators. Each day, race organizers send out emails alerting skippers to where they’ll be anchoring. On this particular afternoon, we were in luck and set up a few hundred yards from the port windward mark.

We quickly settled into a lunch of finger food, champagne and rum swizzles as we watched the foiling AC cats warm up. Then shortly after 2 p.m., the VHF radio crackled to life with the day’s live broadcast of racing. Several of our guests, mostly all new to finer points of yacht racing — but quick studies on the social aspects of The Cup — took their drinks and headed to the trampoline to kick back and watch boats whiz by. The rest of us crowded around Painkiller’s raised helm station and watched Jimmy Spithill and the Oracle boys outduel Team Emirates New Zealand in what many believe was a preview of the grand acts to come. It was breathtaking watching the cats soar straight for us, tack toward the windward gate, then jibe and quickly vanish downwind. On the second leg, when Oracle hit the windward mark again and regained the lead it had let slip away, horns sounded up and down the course. Next to us, a fan uncorked a bottle of bubbly and sprayed his mates in joy. Moments later commentators called the finish and you could hear cheers erupt from the fans ashore.

Between bouts — there were four in all — race organizers reset their marks to accommodate a slacking wind, and as they did so, course marshals reset their boundary lines accordingly. It was all very civilized, of course. Each spectator boat was approached and told it would need to re-anchor slightly farther back, or later in the afternoon, were urged to move closer in to the action. Rather than drive us off, their intent was to make sure we were as close we could get to the racing, and they worked diligently to ensure each spectator had a clear view.

All afternoon the revelry flowed along with the rum, making a late afternoon swim while anchored back in Hamilton a very welcomed refresher. Then with the sun setting, it was time to board the RIB for a ferry ashore to the media welcome. Time to party and toast The Cup.

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Racing Day 2 of Louis Vuitton America’s Cup World Series Toulon

The world’s premier yacht charter company, The Moorings, is proud to partner with the oldest and most distinguished international sailing event — the America’s Cup — as an official charter supplier in 2017. The 35th America’s Cup will be hosted in Bermuda between May 26th and June 27th of 2017, at which time the most elite sailing teams in the world will go to battle for yachting’s most sought-after trophy and title.

As an official supplier of the 35th America’s Cup with all-inclusive crewed sailing yachts in attendance, The Moorings is offering spectators a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to view all the world-class racing action and excitement from the deck of their own state-of-the-art sail catamaran. Sailing enthusiasts and America’s Cup fans alike are invited to charter their own private Crewed Moorings 4800 or Moorings 5800 yacht, complete with personal captain and gourmet chef, for the ultimate America’s Cup experience.

From the modern onboard features to the personalized meals and fully-stocked bar, The Moorings makes it easy for guests to enjoy every America’s Cup moment, with the freedom to explore more in Bermuda. In addition, The Moorings crewed yachts have premium access to the designated on water spectator zone for the racing, all of which takes place in front of the America’s Cup Village at the Royal Naval Dockyard, Bermuda.

In a prime viewing location aboard your Five-Star Sailing vacation platform, there’s simply no better way to witness the Defending champions ORACLE TEAM USA take on the rest of the challengers during the 35th America’s Cup.

With 181 islands and 64 miles of coastline, it is not surprising that sailors travel back to Bermuda time and again. Nestled neatly in the Atlantic Ocean, Bermuda offers some of the best snorkeling in the world, crystal clear turquoise waters and dazzling pink-sand beaches. The month of June offers excellent racing conditions, creating the perfect competitive atmosphere for the time-honored America’s Cup.

“The Moorings is proud to partner with such a prestigious and significant sporting event that draws international support from some of the most prominent brands in the world. We are honored to offer this once in a lifetime opportunity for charter guests to experience the event in such a unique and memorable way,” said Josie Tucci, General Manager of The Moorings.

Dan Barnett, Chief Commercial Officer of the America’s Cup Event Authority (ACEA) commented: “Interest in the 35th America’s Cup is growing significantly every day and now, with The Moorings joining us as an Official Charter Yacht Supplier, we have another fantastic way for visitors to experience Bermuda and watch the greatest race on water in May and June. The Moorings will provide their guests with an exceptional vacation and an incredible way of watching America’s Cup racing action from right on the edge of the racecourse itself. Their track record in delivering the very highest quality experience for their guests speaks for itself. In addition, anyone looking to buy tickets to the 35th America’s Cup should go to www.americascup.com/tickets and book your place at the incredible events taking place in Bermuda from 26th May through 27th June.”

Crewed yacht charters for the 35th America’s Cup are available from May 19 – July 6, 2017. For more information about an America’s Cup yacht charter, please call a Moorings Vacation Planner at 888.952.6017 or visit moorings.com/americas-cup.

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