I knew it was time to replace my beloved Dubarry Ultima sea boots when, after 12 years, the sole started peeling off. Trouble was, it unfurled during a wet and cold race on Puget Sound in March. But, being a cheap Yankee, I spent the next year rehabilitating them with Shoe Goo (not the manufacturer’s recommended fix), each time with diminishing ­marginal returns. Finally I broke down and went to my local chandlery. Decades of every-­other-day running turned my feet into embarrassing-­looking paddles, and while brand loyalty guided me toward a new pair of Dubarry Ultimas, the salesman instead recommended a ­beamier-looking pair of Musto Gore-Tex race boots. While I was initially skeptical, my Hobbit-like feet felt warm and happy in the showroom.

Forty-eight hours later, I sea-trialed my new nautical armor during an early January blustery sail. Air temps hovered in the mid-30s, but my feet stayed warm and dry, as did the rest of me. Lesson learned? While frugality has its merits, having the right boots, gloves and hats is critical if you’re foolhardy enough to sail on days when smarter people go skiing. Here’s a look at cold-weather kit to help you stretch your sailing season.

Head Heaters

Depending on conditions, hats often need to serve double duty by providing warmth and sun protection. Gill’s OS waterproof hat accomplishes these jobs while offering waterproof protection. The fleece-lined hat features a sun-cutting visor with a wired peak, ear flaps and seam-sealed construction. You can adjust the hat’s volume using a pull adjustment, and the hat’s chin strap is conveniently removable.

Baseball caps work great in the summer, but shoulder-season and winter sailing usually demand more warmth. Musto’s fleece-lined waterproof cap employs a heat-retaining fleece lining and fold-down flaps for trapping body heat from the back of your neck and ears. A peaked visor stands ready to shade your eyes on sunny days while also providing drizzle or snow protection.

Wind might be one of sailing’s most important ingredients, but it’s also alarmingly efficient at robbing warmth on blustery days. Enter Outdoor Research’s Peruvian hat, which is built using Gore-Tex’s Infinium wind-stopper 3L fleece fabric for heat retention and wind protection. The Peruvian hat features a four-panel crown construction, a fixed chin strap and the ability to wick moisture on damp days.

Sailors have long embraced beanies as noggin covers thanks to their form-fitting profiles that can’t easily be blown overboard. Rooster Sailing’s Supertherm beanie is constructed using a soft and stretchy fabric that’s doubled around the forehead and ears to retain heat, while its top employs a single-ply fabric to encourage thermal shedding after grinding in an overlapping headsail or pulling up an anchor.

Cold-weather sailing often involves precipitation, but Zhik’s winter hat has you covered. The dome warmer is built using Zhik’s three-layer Aroshell outer fabric and Xeflex insulated lining, and employs fully sealed seams to help repel water. Ear flaps retain heat, an adjustable rear bungie cord ensures fit, a chin strap keeps the hat in situ, and reflective detailing helps ensure visibility.

Hand Warmers

While Atlas’ 460 Vinylove insulated gloves aren’t marine-specific, I’ve long used them to keep my hands warm when temperatures plummet or when the skies deluge. The all-purpose, affordable gloves feature a utilitarian design that includes a double-dipped PVC coating for waterproof protection and a seamless acrylic-pile lining for warmth. The gloves deliver great grip and are comfortable to wear for hours on end, but their weak spot is that they can be tough to don if your hands get wet.

Good cold-weather sailing-specific gloves need to insulate and provide waterproof protection while also allowing your hands to breathe after grinding in sails. Gill’s Helmsman gloves employ a breathable soft-shell fabric that’s reinforced with a waterproof and breathable membrane, as well as Thinsulate insulation on the backs; the palms and the articulated fingers use Gill’s Dura-Grip fabric for line-clutching grip. The Helmsman gloves feature extended wrist gauntlets to ensure compatibility with foul-weather jackets, and the cuffs are elasticized and reinforced with drawcord closures.

Neoprene has long been used as a heat-trapping fabric for cold-weather sailing endeavors, and this material gets put to good use in Gill’s neoprene winter gloves. The season-stretching gloves feature 3-millimeter, double-lined neoprene and liquid-taped seams to offer water-resistant protection, and the rubberized, sharkskin-style palms are designed to provide great halyard- and line-grabbing grip when on-deck conditions get sloppy. Better still, the gloves’ neoprene construction should help to ensure dexterity while working halyards, spinning winch handles or driving on cold days.

If you’re looking for winter sailing gloves that offer similar levels of performance as your summer pair but with closed fingertips and extra warmth, Musto’s Performance winter gloves could be your ticket. The gloves employ heat-trapping neoprene that’s reinforced on the palms and fingers with Clarino PU synthetic leather for rope-gripping traction. Better still, the back of the hands and wrists are double-lined with neoprene for warmth, and the fingers are articulated (that is, pre-curved) for improved comfort and dexterity.

High-performing winter sailing gloves should provide dexterity for tying knots and working shackles, while also delivering wind-chill protection and warmth. Rooster Sailing’s Combi fingered gloves accomplish this with neoprene gloves that are reinforced with Super Grip palms and have tuck-away Aquafleece overmittens. This innovative mitten folds back to accept a back-of-the-hand hand warmer, or to tuck away the finger hood. While the gloves are warm, the Aquafleece mittens deliver a wind-cutting polyurethane outer layer that’s fleece-lined for extra insulation.

Grippy, stretchy and warm. These adjectives describe Zhik’s Superwarm gloves, which—as its name implies —is designed to deliver warmth, stretchy comfort and line-grabbing grip on the coldest of days. The gloves are built out of 3-millimeter thermal neoprene using seams that are glued and blind-stitched for additional waterproof protection. Zhik’s Superwarm gloves are fleece-lined for additional warmth and feature polyurethane-reinforced palms with a studded pattern for additional grip. Better yet, the gloves purportedly deliver move-with-you ergonomics thanks to their pre-shaped pattern.

Toe Toasters

Dubarry’s Ultima sailing boots are, in a word, classic. There’s a good reason that the footwear is the go-to choice for many top offshore racers and bluewater cruisers, which is namely the boot’s all-leather exterior; its warm, waterproof and breathable Gore-Tex lining; and Dubarry’s nonslip, nonmarking sole. Moreover, the boots allow your feet to breathe, which is a huge plus if your on-deck work involves occasional bursts of sweat-inducing efforts on the winch handles or halyards. As mentioned, I’ve personally sailed many happy miles in my old pair of Ultimas, including countless winter days on Puget Sound, and I always appreciated the boot’s performance, comfort and stylish good looks.

If your sailing itinerary demands count-on-it waterproofness but you’d rather contribute your hard-earned coin to the cruising kitty than to your footwear, Helly Hansen’s Midsund 3 boots could be a contender. These Wellington-style boots consist of rubber uppers and grippy-­looking lug-style rubber outsoles that are sandwiched together using a rubber midsole and wrapped in yet more rubber to ensure waterproofness. Foot support comes courtesy of EVA insoles, however cruisers can swap these out for aftermarket orthotics. A pull tab on the back of the boot’s upper eases the job of donning these boots, which are stylish enough to wear ashore after a day of sailing.

While I might be a pinch biased, given that I own a pair of Musto’s Gore-Tex race boots, I think that these are sea boots that—if they fit your foot—work really well. The boots are built using full-grain leather and ballistic nylon uppers, as well as rubberized toe boxes that protect your toes from inadvertently dropped snatch blocks and winch ­handles and accidental stubs. The boots feature a comfortable and shock-­absorbing midsole, as well as Musto’s GripDeck rubber and GripFlex tread on the soles, ensuring steady and dependable footing, even if the foredeck or rails are submerged. Finally, a Gore-Tex lining ensures breathability and count-on-it waterproofness.

If you live in a region that has relatively mild shoulder-season and winter temperatures and want an agile, lightweight and ­comfortable-looking sailing boot, check out Ronstan’s offshore boots. These kicks are cut shorter than most of the other boots in this article, but they feature toggle-locked drawstrings around their apertures that help prevent water from entering or hard-won heat from escaping. Ronstan’s offshore boots feature waterproof rubberized outers and neoprene linings for warmth and comfort, as well as ­razor-cut soles for deck-­grabbing traction. Removable insoles allow the boots to dry quickly, and reinforced materials on the boots’ toe boxes, ankles and heels protect cruisers from “boat bites.”

While wind and water might be free, most everything else sailing-related, sadly, isn’t. If your goal involves maximizing cruising miles while minimizing elective costs, West Marine’s short rubber deck boots could be a good fit. As their moniker implies, the boots are built from vulcanized rubber. Polyester lining helps ensure fast-drying performance, and reinforced heels and toe boxes bolster support. The boots feature rubberized heel kicks on their transoms that purportedly make post-sailing removal a snap. Finally, ­razor-cut soles help ensure grip, while ­ergonomically placed flex grooves in the soles are designed to enable the boots to freely move with you, sans unwanted stiffness.

If you’ve cruised Alaska’s magnificent waters, odds are good that you’ve seen Xtratuf’s iconic-looking boots adorning the feet of local ­fishermen and sailors. Xtratuf’s 15-inch Legacy 2.0 boots are built using triple-dipped latex, and they’re lined with neoprene—making them fully waterproof—and employ nonmarking and slip-resistant Chevron outsoles that help ensure steady footing. Additional layers of rubber on the shins and extended toe boxes help prevent abrasion-created wear, and the boot’s top line dips in the back to prevent chaffing against the back of one’s calf. Other features include textured heel finishes for easy removal and a polyurethane-lined rim for abrasion resistance.

You’ve seen the photos: Volvo Ocean Race boats punching through waves, filling their cockpits with frigid-looking brine. If you’re seeking the kind of waterproof protection that the racing sailors demand, check out Zhik’s Seaboot 900, which was designed for—and tested in—this grueling around-the-world race. The rubber boots are neoprene-lined and feature integrated nylon outer gaiters that are secured with drawstring-protected tops and Velcro adjusters. High-grip molded rubber soles purportedly help wearers maintain their traction in all conditions, and reinforced arch and heel sections provide support and help prevent injuries. Each boot is individually tested during Zhik’s ­manufacturing process to ensure fully ­waterproof performance.

David Schmidt is CW’s ­electronics editor and occasionally reports on other topics.

Heat Helpers

While I’ve long enjoyed winter sailing, I struggle with Raynaud’s phenomenon, which results in miserably cold hands when I’m required to touch metal shackles, stanchions or spars. As such, I always pack a surplus supply of hand warmers from companies including Hot Hands and Grabber. These tidy-­size heat sources are inexpensive (roughly $1 a pair), long-lasting, and can be tucked into gloves or pockets. Likewise, toe warmers are available that can be deployed ­inside sea boots.

Guide To Manufacturers

Dubarry: dubarry.com

Helly Hansen: hellyhansen.com

Gill: gillmarine.com

Musto: musto.com

Outdoor Research: outdoorresearch.com

Ronstan: ronstan.com

Rooster Sailing: roostersailing.com

Showa (Atlas): showagroup.com

West Marine: westmarine.com

Xtratuf: xtratuf.com

Zhik: zhik.com

The post Cold-Weather Sailing Gear appeared first on Cruising World.

My wife, Tenley, and I do a lot of coastal cruising in New England, mostly short 6- to 20-mile hops on our 1972 Pearson 36, Snoek. I did a refit to Snoek in 2016 in my backyard that was chronicled in a series of CW articles, and we have since done tons of great cruising on her. One thing I installed in the original refit was an Engel 12-volt DC/110-volt AC free-standing cooler that draws about 3 amps when it kicks (it runs off the Solbian dodger-mounted solar panels) and is super-efficient. It’s perfect for chicken, fish, milk, butter and other perishables. But where do we keep the beers and soft drinks cold?

That was something we still needed to address.

At first we used the original built-in ice chest to starboard, but insulation technology in 1972 wasn’t so dialed in; a block of ice would last about 12 hours on a good, cool day in June but not on a scorcher in August. I suggested to Tenley a proper compressor-style refrigeration system for the old ice-chest space, but “the boss” said: “No, I like using ice. Let’s improve that system some and keep our little boat simple.” Music to my ears.

I did some research and figured out that there was enough room in the original ice-chest space to fit a Yeti Tundra 45 cooler without having to rebuild the whole galley countertop. I did have to enlarge the access hole to the ice chest by about 3 inches on the long side and about 2 inches on the short side. This was done with a jigsaw. I then filled the exposed foam edges with wood strips that I epoxied in place with Thixo Flex. I then filled, faired and painted it. It looked like new.

Next, I built a subfloor in the bottom of the ice-chest space from Starboard, first measuring it with a cardboard template. I then cut it to fit with cleats on the side of the box fastened with stainless self-tapping screws. Obviously, the Yeti cooler had to be lashed down in the space, and this was achieved with 1/8-inch, low-stretch Spectra tie-downs through newly drilled holes in the top lip of the cooler. I looped the Spectra through two side holes directly below the Yeti in the starboard subfloor.

RELATED: Brewing Beer on a Boat

The last thing I had to do was make a new, larger lid for the Yeti’s access hole. I used a piece of 3/8-inch plywood (varnished on all four edges and the bottom), and with more Thixo epoxy, glued a veneer of ¼-inch teak to the top. The teak was then oiled to seal it from spills and the hard environment of the galley.

To sum it all up, it works like a champ, and the ice lasts for days with no worries about keeping the house batteries topped off—just the occasional trip to get a bag of ice and another 12 pack of beer. The two items seem to last about the same time!

Award-winning marine ­photographer Onne van der Wal is a frequent contributor to CW. His most recent Rizzoli coffee-­table book is Sailing America. For more on his work, visit his website.

The post Installing a Cooler in the Galley appeared first on Cruising World.

As Yahtzee’s anchor bounces up into the roller, the bow slides to leeward with the gentle push of a warm 10-knot breeze blowing off a small beach town. When the wind is abeam, I unfurl the genoa with a snap and trim for a reach. Taking a seat at the helm, I steer for our destination, which is visible over a blue pane of water just 3 miles south. Down below, the boys, Porter, 7, and Magnus, 5, read books, and my wife, Jill, soon joins me to relax in the cockpit for the lazy sail to our next anchorage.

With COVID-19 restrictions now the norm, we’re entering week number eight of “Cruising in Place” and have once again completed our weekly provisioning run. When the uncertainty of coronavirus regulations swept through Mexico in March and April, cruisers scrambled to put their boats on the hard or find places to quarantine. We joined good friends on another kid boat in Bahia Chamela on the Pacific coast of Mexico, and Punta Perula—the small beach town at the north end of the bay—has become our haven to get the essentials.

Being aware of the delicate situation and our good fortune to be here, though, we try not to be a burden on the town or its residents. Our typical stop includes an overnight or two in the anchorage near town, and then a quick jaunt in for food. Topped up, we then sail south into the bay’s secluded islands and drop the hook in one of several anchorages available to us. Rinse and repeat.

After consistently being on the move while sailing south from Alaska over the past year, we’ve rarely stayed in one place for long…until now. And our hunch that Bahia Chamela would be a suitable place to hit the brakes has fortunately come to fruition.

Going on month number three of calling this 8-by-5-mile section of sparsely populated coast our cruising quarantine home, our life has slowed considerably. Week after week, we’ve fallen into simple routines: cooking, baking, reading, writing, playing games, surfing, fishing, swimming and helping the boys with their schoolwork.

Like many people who are adjusting to these new circumstances, cruisers included, taking an extended pause has been an abrupt change for us. Albeit, not necessarily a bad one. Sailing far fewer miles than we’re used to has allowed us to gain a new perspective on cruising, and life in general, and has been a welcome respite at times.

To be sure, the precariousness here and around the world has caused a level of anxiety that is hard to shake. But we continually remind ourselves how grateful we are to have found this place. In a way, free of hustle and bustle, it’s how life should be. Now more than ever, the two months we’ve spent in the bay have taught us not to take this time together, or our spot in the world, for granted. We’re just thankful to be here safe with each other.

The post Cruising in Quarantine appeared first on Cruising World.

The end of our cruising season signals the start of a flurry of activity aboard Outrider, our Westsail 42, as we prepare her for storage on the hard in Mexico during hurricane season. The to-do list is a rather lengthy one, with my husband, Jeff, and I sharing many of the chores. There are, however, a few delegated to me, one of which entails the removal of all perishables and non-perishables from the boat in order to keep cockroaches and other critters at bay during the five months we’re gone. A few days prior to departure, I take inventory of all remaining foodstuffs, then plan my last few meals accordingly. Keeping the necessary ingredients aside, I give all remaining items to marina employees or boat workers. I must say, it’s always a treat to discover a package of pasta that has made it through the season untouched, particularly macaroni, because Jeff is a huge fan. What’s even better is finding that I have all the other ingredients required to produce one of our favorite meals—macaroni and cheese—plus the recipe, perfected by my sisters and graciously shared with me. Mac ‘n’ cheese—the ­perfect way to end any day.

Mac ‘n’ Cheese with a Twist

• 12 oz. (3 cups) dry elbow macaroni*
• 2 Tbsp. butter
• 2 Tbsp. flour
• 2 cups milk
• 1 tsp. dried mustard
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• 1-2 tomatoes, sliced thinly
• 2 cups grated cheddar cheese (preferably sharp) or similar
• Fresh basil, for garnish (optional)

*or substitute penne, rigatoni or ziti

Serves two (with leftovers)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F and grease a 9-by-9-inch (or equivalent) ovenproof baking dish. Cook macaroni according to package instructions until al dente (not soggy). Drain. While macaroni is cooking, make white sauce: Melt butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat until it begins to bubble. Sprinkle in flour about a half-tablespoon at a time, stirring constantly to blend. Add salt, pepper and mustard, and stir for another minute or so. Slowly add milk a little at a time, stirring constantly, until sauce is creamy and smooth. Add one-half cup grated cheese, and stir until it’s melted and sauce thickens slightly. Combine sauce with macaroni, mix well, and place in greased baking dish. Sprinkle some of the grated cheese over the top to cover. Add tomato slices either whole or quartered; cover top as much as desired. Sprinkle remaining cheese on top. Bake for 20 to 30 minutes or until sauce and cheese begin to bubble. If you like crispy, golden-­brown cheese, broil for another 3 to 5 minutes, to taste. Garnish with a sprig of fresh basil, if you have it. Serve directly from ­baking dish.

Preparation: At Anchor

Time: 1 hour

Difficulty: Easy

Cook’s Notes

For variation, you can add a few raw, chopped spinach leaves and/or thin-sliced onions (quartered) or mushrooms (sliced, sautéed) to macaroni/sauce mix before placing it in a baking dish. Or sprinkle uncooked, chopped bacon on top of the cheese before baking and optional broiling.

The post Galley Recipe: Mac-and-Cheese with Tomatoes appeared first on Cruising World.

With its swooping deck-saloon cabin profile, plumb stern, and loads of ports and overhead hatches to let light pour into the sleeping cabins and saloon below, there’s a lot to like about the look and feel of Elan Yachts’ new midrange cruising sailboat, the Impression 45.1.

Throw in a full-batten main, overlapping genoa and agile steering, and the 45.1 is an able sailing boat too, as Cruising World’s Boat of the Year Judges found out during a light-air day right after the US Sailboat Show in Annapolis, Maryland, this past October.

Elan has been building boats in a mountainous region of Slovenia for a half-century, and in recent years, Rob Humphreys has been the designer for the entire range, which includes the sporty E Line, luxury GT models and three Impressions, including 40- and 50-foot sisterships.

The most visible change introduced on the 45.1 compared with its predecessor of the same LOA is the plumb stern, which makes for roomy aft cabins down below; a longer and wider cockpit that provides ample space for guests to relax forward of the twin wheels; and comfortable seating options astern for the skipper when underway. These include teak-covered spaces outboard of either wheel, letting a driver sit and see the telltales on the genoa, as well as teak-topped boxes located aft of each helm so the helmsman can face forward. On the boat we sailed, the starboard box doubled as a propane locker, and the port one housed a grill (a fridge or sink are other options). A large fold-down swim platform, when lowered, also gives the chef space to stand while cooking alfresco.

Forward of the helm pedestals, there are side-by-side, long drop-leaf tables. With the inboard leaves folded down, there is a clear centerline path between them from the transom to the companionway, and the stainless-steel frame on which the panels mount provides two sturdy handrails; raised, they form an expansive dining table that can seat eight. The outboard leaves, meanwhile, can be locked horizontally and lowered to seat level to make two large sun lounges or, as BOTY judge Dan Spurr noted, secure sea berths for an off-watch crew.

In theory, this makes for a quite versatile cockpit, though in practice, once seated at the fore end of either table, I felt a bit trapped in place, and while sailing, the forward end of the tables limits access to winches on the cabin top—an example of how design elements sometimes require compromise.

As I mentioned, thanks to numerous ports and hatches, the interior of the 45.1 is quite bright, at least during daylight hours. Both aft doubles offer elbowroom, with hanging lockers and cushioned seats. To port at the foot of the companionway there’s a nav desk with a foldout seat; a head and stall shower are to starboard. A large dining table with U-shaped seating takes up the remainder of the saloon to port. A centerline bench includes storage underneath and has a clever articulating backrest that can turn the seat into a settee for dining, or when reversed and locked, gives the cook a solid place to stand while working at the ­in-line galley to starboard.

At the aft end of the galley, there are two front-opening fridges with storage above; these abut a propane stove and oven. A sink and generous counterspace sit forward, next to the bulkhead, and are located where motion underway should be the least. A nice touch is a pair of stacked ports in the hull, which give the cook a glimpse of the world outdoors.

Forward of the saloon is the owner’s cabin, with a head locker to port and a stall shower to starboard. A hanging locker, plus drawers under the berth and shelves above it, provides lots of storage. In the four-cabin version of the boat, the head and hanging locker to port are replaced by a small cabin with bunk beds, and the two cabins share a combined head and shower to starboard.

For the 45.1, Elan uses African iroca veneers and solid wood. Joinery-work appeared thorough, though the judges noted that not all end grains were sealed.

Elan hulls are vacuum-­infused, with solid glass below the waterline and foam coring above; decks are balsa-cored and hand-laid. The hull and deck are both glued and screwed together, and are laminated on the inside; bulkheads are also tabbed and laminated in place, a feature that was noted and approved of by BOTY judge Ralph Naranjo.

Judge Ed Sherman, meanwhile, was impressed by the digital switching used for the electrical system. It was ­developed by Elan in conjunction with Slovenian electrical company Simarine. All circuits are controlled by a touchscreen at the nav desk, and there are manual backup switches for redundancy.

Base price for the 45.1 is $325,000, and includes the standard cast-iron keel (6-foot-2-inch draft) and a 50 hp Volvo and saildrive. A shoal keel (5-foot-3-inch draft) is also available. The boat we sailed in Annapolis was loaded with options, including air conditioning, an 8 kW Fisher-Panda genset, a 75 hp Volvo with saildrive, a bow thruster, a full suite of instruments and canvas, and three of the four Harken winches were electric. The price tag for that baby was $467,000. Expect to pay right around $425,000 for a nicely equipped model.

Underway, I felt secure moving around on deck thanks to beefy teak toe rails, numerous handholds on the cabin top and an excellent handle on either side of the dodger frame. Forward, the chain locker is deep, and a stainless-­steel bow fitting protects the gelcoat when lowering and raising the anchor.

Unfortunately, our sail aboard the 45.1 was the first of the day and the breeze was light. Still, in about 7 knots of wind, we were able to get the boat moving along at just over 4 knots closehauled, and gained another knot or so when the wind “gusted” to 8.5. Even in these light airs, the single rudder was responsive, and the boat hinted that it would be nimble given a little more oomph in the sails.

Overall, I liked the 45.1. It seemed a good size for a couple with kids or frequent sailing friends, and it would be easy to manage shorthanded. With plenty of storage below and an option to carry up to 150 gallons of water (56 gallons of fuel), the boat could be set up for longer passages—but it would also do just fine as a roomy, comfortable daysailer. Overall, I guess you could say the new 45.1 left a good impression.

Mark Pillsbury is CW’s editor.

SPECIFICATIONS

Sea Trial

• WIND SPEED 6 to 7 knots
• SEA STATE Calm
• SAILING Closehauled 4.1 knots / Reaching 3.5 knots
• MOTORING Cruise (2,400 rpm) 8.1 knots / Fast (2,800 rpm) 8.5 knots

The post Elan Impression 45.1 Boat Review appeared first on Cruising World.

On the evening of October 17, 2008, 30-year-old Dustin Reynolds drove his street bike a short distance from his house on the Big Island of Hawaii to meet with some friends at a local sushi restaurant. After a couple of hours and a good meal, in the early hours of the next morning, Reynolds hopped back on his bike, anticipating an ­uneventful ride home.

At approximately 1 a.m., a drunk driver in an oncoming pickup truck suddenly swerved into Reynolds’ lane, and despite his quick reflexes and a drastic swerve to the right, the truck hit him with such force that his left arm was ripped off, landing more than 50 feet away. Traumatically injured, he was thrown from the bike, which went into a ditch, and he found himself dazed by the side of the road. He tried to take off his helmet and couldn’t understand why his left arm wasn’t responding.

The enormity of his situation flooded into his consciousness when he reached over and touched his bloody stump and then, with some effort, he pulled out his cellphone to call for help. Suddenly, as the full weight of his situation set in, he stopped to assess things. The driver of the truck had kept going but then swerved off the road into a ditch quite a distance away. There was no sign of movement there. Nobody else was on the road at this time of the night, and he realized this was where he might very well die. He thought about what it would be like to go through life missing an arm and hesitated, but finally called 911.

The ambulance arrived only about six minutes later, and while the paramedics tried to stabilize him, the driver went off searching for the missing limb. After about 20 minutes and with Reynolds’ life fading, they had to abandon the search for his arm and rushed him to the hospital.

In the emergency room, the doctors assessed his situation. In addition to the missing arm and a badly mangled leg, which would require amputation, he had suffered a punctured spleen and lung; his stomach had been forced through his diaphragm; he had aspirated acid into his lungs; he had broken several ribs; and he had numerous other broken bones, plus other unknown internal injuries. A CT scan showed massive internal bleeding, but without exploratory surgery, the doctors couldn’t tell where this was coming from.

Urgent action was required, but before he was taken into surgery, one of the doctors told him that his chances were not very good, and did he want to try surgery, or just spend his final hours with his family and friends who had all arrived and were around him. He told the doctor: “You really shouldn’t be putting this question to me now. I made this choice when I called 911.” Looking up at his tearful girlfriend who had just arrived and was mirroring everyone’s concern, he tried to lighten the moment and said, “Well, if I don’t make it, you’re not getting any tonight.” As he was wheeled away to surgery, he realized that if he did die on the operating table, these would have been his last words.

Amazingly, Reynolds did pull through, and after 17 days in the hospital, and over the next several months of rehabilitation, he eventually managed to get around with a prosthetic leg. And while the remains of his missing arm were too short to allow for a useful prosthetic there, he began to realize that there were still many things he could do, even despite two missing limbs.

With mounting medical bills—and because his small commercial-fishing business and carpet-cleaning company had fallen into shambles during his absence—financial ruin seemed ­imminent. When his own insurance ­company sued him for nearly a half million dollars in medical bills, his only option was to declare bankruptcy.

Three years after the accident, Reynolds had neither money nor a job, and was drifting with regard to his purpose and goals for the future. Then, one day while surfing the internet looking for ideas of what to do with his life, he ran across the website for the Joshua Slocum Society—an organization that tracks records for singlehanded sailors, particularly circumnavigators. He discovered that no double amputees were in the record books, and so his new life goal came to be: He would somehow buy a sailboat and sail it around the world.

There were only a couple of problems to overcome: He was nearly broke and didn’t know how to sail.

Somehow, with the sale of his old fishing boat, he came up with just enough money to buy a well-used 1968 Alberg 35 on nearby Oahu. While basically a sound old boat that had recently completed a circumnavigation with its aging owner, it had a tired engine, worn-out sails and many other issues, but it was a good, seaworthy design. Now with a suitable boat, he immersed himself in fixing it up and readying it for extended voyaging. His next hurdle to overcome was to learn how to sail.

Taking lessons was unaffordable and none of his friends were sailors, so he scanned the internet for videos on how to sail. After a few weeks of watching how-to videos on YouTube while he completed repairs and readied his boat with nearly the last of his cash, he provisioned it for the upcoming challenge. He named his boat Rudis, after the wooden sword issued to gladiators while they learned their deadly trade; if they won their freedom, they were allowed to keep their rudis as a symbol of their emancipation. So, with his Rudis, Reynolds set out from the Kona coast of Hawaii to take on the world.

When I first met Reynolds, six months after he’d left Hawaii, he was already in Western Fiji. We had sailed there on our Flying Dutchman 50, Small World II, after a cruise through parts of Kiribati, the Northern Cooks, the Samoas and Tonga, and were there preparing for another season of sailing when we walked past a slip and saw a young man with one leg and one arm swiftly and agilely moving about his boat. I stopped and spoke with him for a bit, and learned that I’d sailed virtually the same somewhat-off-the-­beaten-track route across the central Pacific. Later that day, I met up with him at the sunset bar on the point in Vuda Marina and learned a little more of his story. Over the next couple of weeks, I saw Reynolds often. We became Facebook friends and ultimately went our separate ways.

We kept in touch online, and I learned that he had gotten as far as Thailand. Upon reaching this milestone, Reynolds was tired. He had been without a reliable engine since Fiji, had just spent 24 days on a 900-nautical-mile nearly windless ­passage, and his aging Alberg needed a big influx of money to keep going—more than it was worth. He seriously considered giving up, but some of his friends convinced him to try a crowdfunding campaign.

This was difficult for Reynolds. He’s not the type to ask for help, and yet he finally did put up a GoFundMe page, and within a couple of weeks managed to raise $20,000, which, along with some money from the sale of his well-worn Alberg, was enough to buy a bargain-priced Bristol 35.5. This new vessel was named Tiama, which the previous owner told him meant “freedom” in one of the Polynesian dialects. With this vessel he was able to continue his way around the world.

In 2018 and 2019, he crossed the Indian Ocean with stops at Sri Lanka, the Chagos archipelago, Madagascar, Mozambique and South Africa. As his travels continued, he was met by many welcoming sailors and yacht clubs, some of whom provided sponsored dockage and assistance with his repairs.

Beginning in Thailand and continuing on his westward voyage, he’d begun to feel the effects of the enormous amount of goodwill and camaraderie within the world-cruising community. As his journey has continued, he told me he has been more and more impressed with how cruising sailors share and help each other out. After his crossing from Chagos to Madagascar, he ended up in a bay with about 22 other boats, 20 of which he knew from previous months and years. On what was the 10th anniversary of his debilitating accident, the cruisers in the bay threw a party for him on the beach. By the time Reynolds had reached Cape Town, South Africa, his reputation had preceded him, and he was hosted by the Royal Cape Yacht Club, where he was awarded the prestigious Ocean Cruising Club Seamanship Award.

Several months later, he’d made the 5,000-nautical-mile crossing to the Caribbean, with stops at most of the islands in the chain from Grenada northward. I finally caught up with Reynolds again at Nanny Cay Marina on Tortola, where they were hosting him for his time in the British Virgin Islands. He gave a well-attended, inspirational talk for local sailors and was interviewed there by a West Coast sailing magazine. Another presentation at the posh Oil Nut Bay Resort on Virgin Gorda brought donations and a future yacht-delivery job.

When I asked him what the high and low points of his travels had been, he told me about the time he was boarded in the Solomon Islands at night and scared off the boarders with a bright light and by telling them he had a gun (he didn’t). He spoke of breaking off his self-steering rudder just after leaving Niuatoputapu in Tonga and how he had to fashion a new rudder blade out of an old oar that ­actually served him well all the way to Thailand. He said he’d had persistent engine problems and was becalmed for many days in the area around Sumatra. He recounted losing his prosthetic leg overboard and trying to fashion a homemade one out of several broken parts.

But he also spoke of high points, such as being welcomed by a village chief and his family in Vanuatu; swimming with whale sharks while his boat drifted at sea; being immersed in village life in Indonesia; hiking the mountains of Dominica; freediving in Chagos; and barter trading with locals at small villages along the coast of Madagascar, where money was of no value.

While in Thailand he had met a sailor who hoped to do a documented voyage to Antarctica. So, upon reaching South Africa, with help from the Zululand Yacht Club, Reynolds flew to Puerto Williams, Chile, and joined a documentary filmmaker, the sailor and one other crew aboard his friend’s 38-foot Dudley Dix-designed cutter for a voyage to the Antarctic Peninsula, which whetted his appetite for future high-latitude sailing. His perfect 24-day passage from Ascension Island to Grenada was another high point of what has become an epic adventure.

In our lives, we are seldom given the opportunity to meet an extraordinary person, and for me meeting Dustin Reynolds certainly falls into that category. He has so far traversed approximately 30,000 nautical miles and has sailed through some of the most challenging areas of the world, all literally singlehanded and with virtually no outside assistance. His upbeat and optimistic personality is magnetic and energizing, and his endeavor is an inspiration for almost anyone who dreams of doing extraordinary things but might be apprehensive about trying.

After sailing to New England, where he spent the summer, his current plans are to sail south to visit Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic, and then to carry on to Colombia and the San Blas Islands of Panama before transiting the Panama Canal, with an eventual return to his home waters of Hawaii via French Polynesia. Reynolds has been offered a captain’s job for a Greenland expedition in the coming year and sees his future tied to the sea. Sailing around the world started out as a way to establish a goal and to succeed, but over time, the people he has met and places he has visited within the cruising world have become the rewards in and of themselves for his efforts.

Voyager, adventurer and writer Todd Duff is a frequent contributor to Cruising World.

The post Dustin Reynolds: One Arm, One Leg, All Heart appeared first on Cruising World.

During this past October’s Boat of the Year competition at the US Sailboat Show in Annapolis, Maryland, the judges became quite familiar with the concept of “garages.” That is, a large stowage area under the cockpit for dinghies as long as 10-plus feet, as well as hard-bottomed RIBs with sizable outboard motors, and even consoles. They are accessed by fold-down doors or transoms that double as swim or launch platforms. During our evening deliberations, we three BOTY judges—Ralph Naranjo, Ed Sherman and me, along with CW editors Mark Pillsbury and Herb McCormick—began to speculate what other developments in carrying dinghies might have emerged alongside this particular innovation.

At the risk of being ­anticlimactic, the best answer is: none.

The other options, beyond the garage, are familiar, but there is not one unanimous choice that suits all sailboats. The decision tree begins with the mothership, and the best choice is dictated mostly by its size and design. So if you haven’t bought your cruising sailboat yet, eye each candidate with its suitability for carrying the dinghy. But if you’re committed to your current boat, you’ll have to make do.

Tow It

This maneuver is OK for ­sheltered waters but not advisable in rough ­conditions, even on coastal forays. There must be a provision for securing the dinghy out of the water. If it fills with water, you might have to cut it loose before it endangers your boat. Losing a dinghy is painful.

Select the painter wisely. While it would be ideal if it floated, common polypropylene quickly degrades in the sun. Three-strand or braided nylon is strong and durable. Beyond capsize or filling with spray or rainwater, a third risk is having the painter foul the propeller. Years ago, while entering Chesapeake City harbor, we ran aground. Instinctively I threw the transmission into reverse and turned to wave off the boats following us. Minutes later, while looking for alternative places to anchor, I noticed that the dinghy was gone. We expected to find it adrift, but no such luck. Then we saw it, totally submerged half under the boat. Yep, the painter fouled the prop, which yanked it underwater. What an idiot! Worse, the dinghy’s bow eye smacked a prop blade, bending it badly. The lesson? Shorten the painter for tight maneuvers.

Stow It

If your tender is inflatable, it might be possible to deflate it to stow in a locker (this rules out RIBs, whose fiberglass or aluminum hulls won’t fit in the lockers of most boats). The one-time commodore of the Ida Lewis Yacht Club in Newport, Rhode Island, to which I once belonged, did this on his Wanderer III replica/sistership.

During one club cruise, upon arrival at an anchorage, I watched from our boat as he retrieved his deflated dinghy from a seat locker, laid it out in the cockpit, and began to inflate it with the familiar foot pump. It took perhaps 10 minutes or so. A 12-volt electric pump would’ve sped up the process. When finished, he tossed it over the side, secured the painter, helped his wife board, and then rowed ashore.

Granted, range in such a dinky dink is severely limited; this skipper eschewed even a small outboard, and inflatables do not row well. But in the right location, it is a means of getting ashore.

Lash It

Lashing down a dinghy on deck has long been a go-to option on many cruising boats. It’s dependent on having adequate space available between the mast and cockpit enclosure (dodger or windshield) or between the mast and foredeck. The latter is less preferred, and both require that sail- and boat-handling functions, such as reefing and anchoring, are not compromised.

In this instance, you need to figure out a means of deploying and retrieving the dinghy beyond picking it up with brute strength and flinging it over the side. A four-point bridle with a lift point at the center of gravity enables lifting more or less horizontally. For mechanical advantage, a halyard led to the lift point on one end and to a mast winch at the other will generally get the job done; the main difficulty is pushing the dinghy outboard over the water. A helper on the side deck, perhaps aided by a boat hook, will make the job easier and hopefully avoid a messy situation.

Minutes later, we noticed the ­dinghy was gone. Yep, the painter fouled the prop, which dragged it underwater.

The dinghy can be secured by multiple wraps of line to handrails port and starboard. Tighten well or use ratchet straps. Oars can be tied in as part of this package, along with an outboard motor set on the familiar rail mount. If it’s too heavy to hand down to a waiting dinghy in the water, consider an outboard-motor lift installed at the stern that employs a block and tackle to safely lower and raise the ­outboard off and onto its adjacent mount.

Lift It

Ah, davits. While davit hardware is somewhat expensive, this is a good option for coastal cruising. It is much safer than towing, and compared with lashing on deck, greatly simplifies launching and retrieval. If the boat has a swim platform, as more modern boats now do, it also simplifies getting in and out of the dinghy. Climbing down a transom ladder works too. And it’s usually OK to keep the outboard mounted on the tender’s transom, avoiding the often-tense business of lowering the motor from the deck to the dinghy.

However, large breaking seas could rip off the dinghy and mangle the apparatus, possibly jeopardizing the big boat. And when docking, remember you’ve got baggage back there and don’t want to snag it on something, or bash a piling or other boat.

There is variety in the design of sailboat davits; for heavy loads, they mount on the afterdeck or transom, well reinforced below. With loads up to around 350 pounds, there are systems that can be mounted on a sturdy stern rail, and even kits to reinforce the stern rail.

Some large traditional ­sailboats, such as schooners and windjammers, carry a shore launch in davits above the midship deck, but this won’t be a viable solution for most cruising sailboats.

Park It

We’re back where we started, with the dinghy garage that was so popular in the 2020 BOTY competition. With so many larger boats carrying max beam aft to the transom, some designers and builders are incorporating the so-called garage for even fairly large RIBs with steering consoles under the cockpit floor, as mentioned. This is probably the safest, most secure way to carry a dinghy. Big boats such as the Hanse 675 and others employed garages with a variety of enclosure systems, most hydraulically activated. Sliding cradles that facilitate launching and retrieval with handheld controllers mean you don’t have to risk slipping a disc trying to grunt the beast aboard. Pretty slick! This isn’t something you could retrofit to an older design, but if you’re in the market for a new boat, it’s a feature well worth investigating.

Yachting journalist Dan Spurr has stowed dinghies on a long line of cruising boats he’s owned, ranging from a 28-foot Pearson Triton to a powerful Tartan 44.

The post Dinghy Storage on a Sailboat appeared first on Cruising World.

It’s a typical down-on-the-dock scene in Maine. A handful of old-timers who have cruised this coast for better than a half-century share stories about favorite anchorages, shoreside hikes and precious swimming quarries. For them, the islands of Maine make life worth living, and the chance to sail among them summer after summer has more than justified the annual expense and effort they put into maintaining their sailboats. And then along comes Steve Stone and Amy Tunney, relative newcomers to town. Each is carrying a dry bag and wearing a backpack in preparation for a camp-­cruising voyage down Blue Hill Bay. Once out in the open water, they’ll make a final assessment of the wind forecast over the coming days, and they’ll ease off toward Acadia National Park to port, or toward Merchant Row and Vinalhaven to starboard.

Instead of spending countless hours sanding and painting and caulking their wooden boats as the purists do, Stone simply pulls the cover off their elegant craft, Howdy, slips it off the trailer into the water, and it’s good to go. No big hydraulic trailer necessary, no knuckle-busting engine work, no masts to step with a crane. When the wind blows, he and Tunney sail. When the wind quits, they row. Naturally the old-timers want to know more about how they go about the camp-cruising thing they have going.

Well, first of all, Stone and Tunney chose the right boat and boatbuilder: an Iain Oughtred-designed Caledonia Yawl built by Geoff Kerr. Kerr has built more than 20 boats to this design using marine-grade okoume plywood and epoxy, both of which are light and strong. And because the wood doesn’t shrink and swell like traditional sawn lumber, they can be stored on a trailer in a hot garage or under a tarp and be ready to launch at a moment’s notice without danger of leaking.

Besides this, Caledonias are great sailing boats: stiff in a breeze, easily reefable and surprisingly fast even to windward. A virtual ballerina of a boat at the hands of skilled sailors, these yawls are always in balance as they roll along before a freshening sea breeze on a summer afternoon.

At 19 feet, 6 inches, with a 6-foot-5-inch beam, Caledonia Yawls can carry a lot of gear and still have room for people. Occasionally we have even seen as many as 10 aboard Howdy with Stone and Tunney—plus a couple of dogs—enjoying an evening margarita cruise. With a draft of only 11 inches with the centerboard up and a sturdy keel, Stone can haul their Caledonia up the beach or pull it into deeper water with a haul-off anchoring system.

So how do they find big quantities of summer enjoyment in a small craft?

Besides choosing the right boat to carry them on their sail-camping adventures, Tunney and Stone have amassed gear and equipment to ensure that while they might be camping, they definitely aren’t roughing it. First off, they insisted on comfortable bedding. For this they chose a couple of Therm-a-Rest NeoAir inflatable mattresses. Rolled up, each one measures 4-by-6 inches, so onboard stowage is no problem.

And this was only the beginning. Summer by ­summer, they have added to their gear, all of it a sweet balance of simplicity, portability and comfort. Stone says their go-to website for discovering the best in camping apparatus is outdoorgearlab.com.

Another thing they make sure they do is carry ample fresh water, not only for drinking and cooking, but also for showers. What they take adds up to something like a gallon per day per person, plus fresh water for their hang-in-a-tree sun showers from Hydrapak. Water is heavy and takes up valuable space in the boat, but to stay fresh and clean on a five-night trip seems well worth it to them. As the water gets used, the bags roll up to the size of a tennis ball and stow away.

There’s only one real menace along the Maine coast, but it’s so reliable, you can set your clock to its irritation: mosquitoes. The only defense is to wall them off; set up the tent early and then dive in as soon as the first mosquito appears. Naturally they bring along bug dope, but they resist a total DEET soak-down if at all possible. Their other defense is to avoid islands with intense mosquito problems: islands with standing fresh water or adjacent salt marshes. Setting up camp on the windward side of an island also helps. And camp-cruisers generally stay clear of islands with rocky beaches. They make for hard landings, and swarms of biting flies often lurk beneath the stones. Once when Tunney and Stone veered off course to an unscouted island too late in the day to find an alternate site, Stone recalls that his partner came under a ferocious attack of these biting flies as she scouted out potential tent spots ashore while he rowed along the cobblestone beach waiting for her signal to land and unload. Seeing her slapping and cursing as she strode through the high grass, he pulled ashore and threw her a can of bug spray. Vigorously scrubbing chemicals into her thick hair and coming up with a total grin at the situation, this otherwise chemical-averse woman showed him that camping-wise, she was signed up for the long haul.

RELATED: A Celebration of Boats in Maine

Besides a tent and comfortable bedding, they carry headlamps, a good Whisperlite white-gas stove, super-insulated soft coolers to keep food fresh and ice cubes at the ready for the daily margarita, a grate for campfire grilling, and a horse-feed-style rubber bucket with a rope handle. The bucket, they say, is good for chores and fire safety. Anything needing to stay dry goes in large dry bags. True, it’s a lot to lug, but that’s what it takes to make their life comfortable—a priority of their own choosing.

For food, Tunney does the planning. She puts together meals before they go, such as a vegetable hash with chicken, frozen pizza from their favorite pizzeria that they grill by the slice over a charcoal fire, or veggie burgers. What the meals have in common is that they are easy to transport and simple to prepare.

But what ties it all together is the beauty and accessibility of the Maine coast. Not only are there countless islands to camp on within easy reach along the midcoast, the islands are generally strung out in a way that makes four- to five-day trips work for them.

When summer weekends arrive, they cross-reference wind and weather apps on their phones to get a feel for upcoming conditions. No matter what they have laid out in theory, it’s the weather that will shape their actual trip. This means the starting point isn’t usually chosen until the day before the launch, and the specific route they end up taking through the islands develops as they go. They always have a rough plan, usually with a specific island in mind for the evening, and Stone draws upon his old flight training to keep one eye on the weather for storms as well as a stream of bailout islands and coves as “emergency landing strips” along the way.

A key part of the Down East camp-sailing planning process is finding a safe place to bring the boat ashore or anchor it off with a haul-out system. Given the 9- to 12-foot tides, using an anchor and line and hauling the boat out past the low-tide line often means anchoring the boat 100 or more feet from shore. Getting things right is essential to a good night’s sleep. The last thing campers want is to find themselves wading out in the middle of the night if bad weather blows up.

Like sailing itself, sail-camping is a learn-as-you-go experience. And both Stone and Tunney have found it to be an economical and enjoyable way to experience one of the most beautiful, safe and accessible coastlines in the world. In summer, winds are generally manageable and predicted with great accuracy on phone apps and National Weather Service VHF-radio broadcasts. Navigation, once a challenge, has been made simple by GPS-enabled smartphones and other portable devices. Although they prefer charts and a compass, they use Navionics on their iPhones as a backup. A great many, perhaps even a majority of Maine islands, are located in waters protected from the open sea.

The reward for all that’s involved in small-boat adventures? “Cruising without an engine, with only oar and sail power, releases the tension from sticking to some plan,” Stone says. “If we follow the wind and currents each day, there’s no hard plan that requires sticking to. We often speak of ‘going with the flow’ and being forced to be in the moment. Without an engine, self-reliance becomes a necessity, and self-reliance usually brings peace and independence.”

Ultimately it is this peace and independence, enmeshed as it is in the challenges of exploring the natural world of Maine’s ­beautiful islands, that make Tunney and Stone love their ­getaways so deeply and brings them ever closer as a couple.

Bill Mayher is a writer and sailor who hails from Brooklin, Maine. He and Steve Stone are co-founders of marine video site ­ offcenterharbor.com.

Get to Know the Islands

To better familiarize themselves with the geography of potential camping spots, Amy Tunney and Steve Stone often take time to scope out potential islands to camp on, dipping into coves and up creeks to see what might work on a future voyage. Luckily a great many potential camping islands are under the auspices of either the Maine Island Trail Association or the Maine Coast Heritage Trust.

MITA has arranged permission from over 200 island owners to allow access to the association’s members. Many allow overnight camping. In exchange, MITA runs spring and fall cleanup programs and generally keeps a close eye on things. Accordingly, island owners have come to value their relationship with MITA, and the number of islands designated for camping has increased over the years. For beach cruisers, the best reason to join the association might be to get a copy of its guidebook and be able to access its app by smartphone. The book makes for great bedside reading and dreaming in the offseason, while the phone app is particularly useful during the cruise itself.

Both the book and the app are arranged geographically and give a convenient regional overview. Additionally, there is a chart of each MITA island that points out landing places, informs campers about various regulations that might apply, and shows the locations of campsites. MITA is vehement about the latter. The last thing they want is campers roaming around on an island with hatchet and bow saw, whacking out additional campsites. If the guide indicates one tent site on a given island, that’s it—one campsite. Faced with such limitations, camp cruisers are advised to get going early to their next landfall so they can be sure to get what they want, particularly on summer weekends.

The Maine Coast Heritage Trust, according to its mission statement, “conserves and stewards Maine’s coastal land and islands for their renowned scenic beauty, ecological value, outdoor recreational opportunities, and contribution to community [well-being].” So far the trust has conserved 154,150 acres, protected 320 islands and established some 93 preserves featuring 93 miles of trails. Without question, the coast would look far different without both the efforts of the trust and the generosity of coastal land owners who have donated land in order to keep it the way it was when they found it.

The post Sailing and Camping Along Down East Maine appeared first on Cruising World.

When a new generation took the helm at Hylas Yachts a couple of years ago, it appeared at first that it would be business as usual for the long-standing brand. That business has been the ­building of finely crafted bluewater-­capable center-cockpit ­cruising yachts, designed by Germán Frers and built by the craftsmen at Queen Long ­Marine in Taiwan. After all, the first model launched by the latest family members in the proverbial corner office—Andy Huang is CEO, and his sister, Peggy, is COO—was the Hylas 48, named CW’s 2019 Boat of the Year winner in the Full-Size Cruiser Under 48 Feet category. A lovely boat to sail, it shared the solent rig, exterior styling and rich teak interior of its siblings.  

But with the introduction of the jaw-dropping H60 this past winter, the Hylas team made it abundantly clear that they are ready to entertain fresh ideas about what sort of sailboat might fit the bill for skippers contemplating ­long-range adventures.

This time around, Frers drew a hull that’s fully ­contemporary in its looks, from the sprit on the bow for flying downwind sails to a sleek, low-profile cabin top and a hybrid cockpit arrangement that provides plenty of room to lounge up toward the center of the boat, and twin wheels far aft, where all the ­actual sailing takes place.

Between those wheels sits a massive Antal electric winch for controlling the mainsail, and four smaller electric winches for handling sheets and ­assorted running rigging for the self-tacking jib and 105 percent genoa, arranged cutter-style. Here, an owner who takes sail trim seriously has all the tools necessary to push the boat into high gear. Or a skipper and guest can choose instead to kick back on couches to either side of the spacious cockpit ­table and let captain and crew push the buttons and drive. It’s good to have options.

But by far the biggest ­surprise—and I mean that in a wonderful way—came when I stepped below to find myself surrounded by an interior that is a study in shades of white: white ash furniture, white leather fabric overhead, white meganite acrylic counters and a light-colored sole, and all of it set off with just the right amount of dark African wenge accents to make it all pop. ­Interior design is by Hot Lab. “Wow” is the first word that came to mind as I scribbled in my notebook.

In an interview this spring, Andy Huang said that by design, the H60 is intended for a certain group of sailors. “It is very attractive in terms of the look, performance, deck setup and lifestyle aboard. It will be the luxury, performance and modern model for the ­Hylas range.”

That said, the actual layout of the H60 is fairly traditional for a passagemaker. ­Starting far forward, there’s a VIP cabin just aft of a watertight crash bulkhead that features an island queen and a pair of ­hanging lockers. This ­cabin shares a head that’s aft to ­starboard, with a second guest cabin with bunks to port. 

The saloon sole is raised and provides room for tankage ­beneath to keep weight low in the boat. With 370 gallons of fuel, 391 of water and a watermaker, the boat’s equipped for the long haul. 

There’s a proper rear-­facing nav station to port at the foot of the companionway, with walk-in access to the engine room farther aft. A large dining table, surrounded by an L-shaped outboard couch and padded stools on the centerline, occupies the port side of the saloon, and there’s a second large couch to starboard. 

An efficient-looking and well-equipped galley, with tons of counterspace and cupboards for stowing provisions, is located in the starboard passageway to the aft owner’s cabin. 

And the aforementioned en suite aft cabin? Well, that earned another underlined “wow” in the notebook. The space feels huge, with a couch to starboard, desk to port and a spacious berth in between.

The H60 is also available in a four-cabin configuration, which splits this space ­into two cabins, each with twin single berths. In this arrangement, the owners get the VIP quarters up front.

Besides its modern look, the H60 introduces several new construction methods that the yard has incorporated. Previously, hulls, decks and other parts have all been hand-laid at the Queen Long yard. The H60′s Divinycell-cored hull, deck and bulkheads were instead infused at the nearby ­Atech Composites, ­specialists in SCRIMP (Seemann ­Composites Resin Infusion ­Molding Process) technology. Hylas says the result is a hull that’s 8 percent lighter and 40 percent stronger. The hull and deck were then shipped back to Queen Long for the build-out. Other innovations ­include twin rudders, a CZone electrical system, Seldén ­hydraulic in-mast furling for the main and Seldén electric furlers for the headsails. Base price for the boat is $1.85 million, but hull No. 1, adorned with bells and whistles, carried about $380,000 in upgrades, including North NPL sails.

As I mentioned, the H60 was designed and built to be a long-range cruiser, so our test sail following the Miami International Boat Show was a bit unusual. Rather than long tacks and reaches along South Beach, we instead found ourselves short-tacking up and down the channel alongside Port of Miami piers. But ironically, this proved to be a good thing because it kept us on our toes as we ricocheted between the shallows to one side, ships on the other, and considerable traffic in between. The breeze was light, so we kept the staysail furled and used the genoa instead. In 12 or so knots of wind, our speed over ground was a little better than 6 knots, and we were still making 5 knots when the breeze dipped below 8. Handling was effortless in these conditions, thanks to Jefa Steering, and I found it easy to bounce between wheels when coming about. ­Placement of the winches kept lines close at hand. My one (minor) gripe while sailing was that the ­Bimini restricted the view of the mainsail, but then again, I wasn’t complaining about the hot sun, and the awning can be rolled back.

In launching this latest model, Hylas decided to go ­after sailors who are looking for something new and different but not at the expense of seakindliness and performance. In that regard, the H60 sure worked for me.

Mark Pillsbury is CW’s editor.

SPECIFICATIONS

Sea Trial

Hylas Yachts

561-515-6027

hylasyachts.com

The post Hylas H60 Boat Review appeared first on Cruising World.

It’s easy to be satisfied enough with cruising sails. Seasonal sailing and a nearby sail loft minimize the consequences of any problems. Offseason, local sailmakers inspect and repair. They might report that those sails won’t last forever, while pushing a glossy brochure featuring impressive new technology into your hands. But cruising sailors are…frugal. For seasonal sailors who are careful with their canvas, cruising sails can work well enough for a decade or more. However, shift to a sabbatical cruise in the Caribbean or extended voyaging through the South Pacific, and the consequences of worn and torn sails grow quicker than wind in the ­leading edge of a squall.

In 2015 we were enjoying the wild, far side of the world on our Stevens 47, Totem. The Indian Ocean offered Nelson’s lauded Trincomalee Harbour in Sri Lanka and countless Maldivian reefs as prized playgrounds for a relatively small group of offshore sailors. Along the way, MacGyver-ing autopilots, outboards and other gear into working order was common. “If it breaks, we can fix it or do without” is a self-fulfilling axiom when remote. But sails that withstood one squall too many began to fail. A common repair using adhesive Dacron proved inadequate. MacGyver-ing cruisers struggled without a nearby sail loft.

Fortunately, there was an experienced sailmaker in the group: me. I’d repaired sails in unloftlike places before, such as the inside of a stiflingly hot shipping container in Antibes, France, tweaking a 900-pound Kevlar genoa for a 120-foot sloop. While cruising on Totem, I repaired sails in roomy cockpits, skinny foredecks, splintery docks and on an ­idyllic beach. No clean, spacious sail lofts inhabit remote-cruising reality.

I am a sailmaker without a sewing machine. Not a problem: There is usually a cruiser nearby eager to lend their machine. Good Samaritans abound when it comes to sewing machines, with the caveat that “it might need a tuneup.” This sets up a trade triangle. I correct the machine’s timing and smooth the burred hook so that it sews. Then I sew the failing UV cover—shredded cloth fluttering from the genoa leech like Tibetan prayer flags—back onto the sail. In exchange for the repairs, I receive sincere gratitude, thus keeping alive the tradition of impoverished, appreciated sailmakers.

At uninhabited Salomon Atoll in the Chagos Archipelago, Ripper’s (not its real name) crew carefully piloted into the coral-head-studded lagoon. Once secured on a mooring, Ripper’s crew asked for help repairing two sails damaged on passage from the Maldives. Before seeking out a Good Samaritan with a machine, I dinghied over to assess Ripper’s sails. At a glance, I winced, knowing that any repair would be unreliable. 

Before explaining the issue, I demonstrated it. Pinching each side of a tear, daintily for effect, just a light tug easily tore it further. Ripper’s crew winced. “What are you doing?” they demanded. The sailcloth was like tissue paper, badly damaged by the sun. Unrepairable. That four-year-old sails built for offshore duty could be rotten confounded the crew. How did we stare at these sails over thousands of miles, without a hint that they were doomed? they wondered.

It’s ironic that long-distance sailors often learn more about suturing pork bellies and analyzing diesel-injector spray patterns than inspecting the sails that muscle them so far. Those skills are worthy of practice, especially suturing with its similarity to hand-sewing sails. But skill in sail inspection is attainable without years spent crawling around sail-loft floors like a deranged J.R.R. Tolkien character. Fundamental knowledge about sail materials is the crystal ball required to seeing problems before they happen.

Sailcloth 101

Fibers bundled together make yarns. The more fibers there are in a yarn, the thicker, stronger and heavier it is. Weaving yarns mechanically locks them together with strength in two directions. Fill yarns run across a cloth roll. Perpendicular to those are warp yarns that run the length of a cloth roll. Diagonal to fill and warp yarns is called cloth bias. Without diagonal yarns in woven cloth, the bias has more stretch and less strength. This Achilles’ heel of woven cloth is mitigated somewhat by very tight weaving and synthetic coatings to rigidly bind the yarns into place. 

Another method of making yarns into cloth is by chemically bonding them with other material layers. Though there are different lamination techniques, they all rely on the integrity of chemical bonds. The same fill, warp and bias direction apply but without being limited to fill and warp yarns only. Laminated sailcloth can and often does have diagonal yarns that give bias strength and stretch resistance that woven sailcloth cannot match. Laminated sailcloth and the construction options that it enables are far superior to woven sails in all measures but one: Chemically bonded layers are less tenacious than woven yarn. 

Frugal cruisers like tenacious sailcloth. Dacron offers durability and economy, so it’s no surprise that woven Dacron crosscut for upwind sails and woven nylon triradial downwind sails remain the most common choice for boats up to about 55 feet. Sometimes, trauma—as in an uncontrolled jibe—can bring an unexpected end, even to tough sails. The role of DIY sail inspection won’t prevent botched sailhandling. It does help sailors to stay tuned to subtler issues like UV damage, chafe, bias distortion and delamination (of laminated sails) that ­degrade structural integrity. 

Sail Inspection

I divide sail inspection into two categories: passive inspection and active inspection.

Passive inspection

While sailing, do more than admire your beautiful sails. Inspect them. It’s a hands-off, zoomed-out approach and still helpful. Try to position yourself so the sun is shining through the sail toward you. Look for variations in the light passing through the cloth for possible signs of 1) subtle tears; 2) a line of weakened yarns from hard or repeated creasing; 3) an area of thinned cloth caused by chafe; 4) pinholes from bias distortion that loosen the weave; and 5) discoloration from UV ­damage (can also be dirt, which requires more testing).

When sailing downwind, look where the mainsail lies against rigging. This points to obvious chafe spots to check during an active inspection. Keep in mind that those spots change when reefed. Is better chafe protection on rigging or sails necessary? 

While sailing upwind, look for damaged sailcloth where the genoa leech impacts rigging. In an active ­inspection, the cloth there might feel much softer than other parts of the sail. On the mainsail, look for horizontal wrinkles projecting outward from luff attachments. If halyard tension is good, these wrinkles might indicate a luff hardware misalignment. Luff slides shouldn’t carry much load. Misalignment can lead to distorted or torn sails and broken hardware. Also note that the battens should present a smooth curve. Irregularities could be a fracture or break that can hole a sail very quickly.

Active inspection

Up close and hands on gets to the heart of sail inspection, but finding a space to do so can be challenging. If you’re able to lay the sail flat, inspect the top surface and then flip the sail over to inspect the other side. When space is insufficient, inspect in smaller sail sections that fit the available space. In the absence of a suitable workspace, go vertical. On a windless day, hoist up a sail several feet at a time, inspecting both sides as you go.

Downwind sails made with thinner, lighter cloth are easier to inspect. Tie a line to the head of the sail and secure it to a fixed object, such as a tree or bored crewmember. Near the head, lift the sail overhead, with arms held high and apart. Then slowly walk toward the foot, with arms fixed in place, forming a 3-foot-wide viewing area of sailcloth. Think of this as a sailmaker’s X-ray machine, looking for light and color variations as the cloth slides by over your hands. Downwind sails are easily damaged by snagging on fixed objects and need this active inspection to surface a problem.

Upwind sails get too heavy to inspect in the same way. Instead of the X-ray-machine approach, traverse the top surface in 3-foot-wide swaths. Scan the surface of the sailcloth for abrasion, frayed yarns, small pinholes and, of course, more-obvious tears. Remember those downwind chafe spots you noted on the mainsail? Look there. Take note of color variations. Is it soiled, as we see on Totem’s sails in the dusty and rainless Sea of Cortez? Or more of a yellowed patina from baking in the sun? If an area shows possible damage, slip under the sail to look up through as a kind of spot X-ray. Subtle topside damage might shine through clearly from below. 

Feel the cloth surface for textural differences and areas of greater roughness. This can indicate degrading sailcloth. Crinkle the cloth to gauge the hand. Dacron and nylon tend to be crinkly from coatings added for bias stability. Softer areas indicate that the coating is chafed or failing from excessive bias stretch. This was the case with Totem’s genoa by the time we rounded South Africa after a sporty Western Indian Ocean crossing. Crinkling laminate cloth can reveal delamination—failed chemically bonded layers. Delamination is revealed by a higher-pitched, extra-crinkly sound.  

Test stitching integrity by scratching a thumbnail firmly across stitching. Broken stitches indicate that the thread is rotten from UV. Fraying stitches indicate ­rotting thread. Both conditions are repairable if the sailcloth isn’t also rotten. Stitching that tends to get more exposure is on UV covers; the mainsail leech, which might not get covered as soon as the sail is lowered; furled downwind sails (screecher, cruising code-zero) that have little or no UV protection; and webbing reinforcement exposed on furled sails.

Inspect sail hardware. Metal sail hardware isn’t affected by the sun, but it can wear, corrode and deform. Inspect battens—along with the pocket—especially at the ends for wear from point loading. Inspect luff cars with low-­friction bearings. Worn or lost bearings and ongoing use can irreparably damage the car and track. Plastic hardware degrades from UV; check it closely for discoloration and rough surfaces, which might indicate damage.

On passage to Madagascar, the crew on another boat in our group shredded their mainsail. No problem—they had a spare! Unbagged, the spare main’s mildewed funk put it to question; upon inspection, the aluminum headboard was a corroded, crumbling mess. I repaired it by installing a large stainless-steel ring, secured by hand-sewn polyester webbing straps.

The Tear Test

For crosscut Dacron sails that have done time in the sun, the only way to truly test sailcloth integrity might make you cringe. Gauge sailcloth strength by deliberately tearing it a little, just as I did with Ripper’s main. Make a 1-inch cut parallel to the fill yarns (across the crosscut panel width) in the suspect area. Then tear it a little by hand. If it tears like tissue paper, it’s rotten. If it tears with relatively little force, then it’s rotting.

Yes, this method hurts! Review UV damage indicators before cutting into a potentially good sail. Those indicators include areas with discoloration (not dirt), rough texture, pinholes and very softened hand. If the cloth is suspect and your local sailmaker isn’t nearby to say otherwise, this is a sure way to verify cloth integrity before going on passage.

I recently taught a class on sail inspection to a group of cruisers in Mexico. Within a few days, three students reported testing and confirming rotten sailcloth. All expressed sincere gratitude for help exposing this before departing on the 3,000-nautical-mile passage to the South Pacific (made impossible later due to COVID-19 restrictions). 

Ripper sailed 1,200 nautical miles to Reunion Island with old sails and a conservative sail plan. There they collected new sails and carried on to circumnavigate the globe. Journeys and destinations get woven into the sailing adventure of a lifetime, one yarn at a time. 

A former sail designer for America’s Cup and Vendée Globe competitors, Jamie Gifford now focuses on cruising boats.

More Cloth Smarts

Polyester fibers that make up Dacron sailcloth degrade at the same rate from UV exposure. However, differences in the yarn sizes make or break sailcloth strength. Exposed outer yarn fibers degrade from UV exposure. And they act like sunscreen to protect the inner fibers. But small yarns have few inner, undamaged fibers. This is why we orient the tear test with the cut parallel to the fill yarns. It’s the smaller warp yarns being tested. And this point is a consideration for new sail choices. High-aspect Dacron uses small warp yarn to dedicate great fiber density in the fill direction, thus making the warp yarns more susceptible to UV degradation. This is the case of failure for most UV-damaged sails. Low-aspect Dacron is a better choice for tropical sailors, even with a high-aspect-ratio rig.

DIY Tips When There Is No Loft

• Sewing thick layers: Pull out your power tools, and pre-drill holes for stitches with a small bit.
• Patching the torn test area with adhesive Dacron: This is suitable for sails with rotten cloth, where the sailor needs to eke out just a little more use. Wipe the repair area with acetone, and then ­apply two layers of ­adhesive Dacron.
• Patching the torn test area with 3M 4200: This is suitable for a sail that retains cloth integrity. Cut a Dacron patch (similar weight to the sail) that is about 1.5 inches longer on each side than the tear. Wipe the repair area with acetone. Spread a thin layer of 3M 4200 FastCure over one side of the patch. Press the patch over the tear. Be sure the patch stays pressed into place until cured.

The post The DIY Sail Inspection for Aging Sails appeared first on Cruising World.