Shielding my face from the misty rain, I was steps away from turning around when the sound of jeering cut through the creaking of moored boats. Amid the wind gusts, and under the glow of sunset and scattered streetlights, I could see that I was alone in the harbor, but I distinctly heard cackling, along with, “Weigh heigh and up she rises, weigh heigh and up she rises…” 

This was my first encounter with Peter Cafe Sport, a refuge for trans-Atlantic adventurers on Faial Island in the Azores. 

Unlike other islands in the Azores, Faial is sheltered, with soft, gray moonscapes and 10 sleeping volcanoes. Its harbor, at Horta, is guarded from storms by two peaks to the south, another to the east, and yet another to the north. It’s here that Peter Cafe Sport opened in 1918. Bedraggled seafarers with wild beards, sun-blistered skin and an unfamiliar tongue fueled fear in the isolated islanders, but cafe founder Henrique Azevedo and his son José welcomed them as brave pioneers of the ocean. José, in particular, became known in the sailing community as a friend who could be relied upon for a good chat, a shower, supplies and a boozy welcome party. 

This devotion to passing mariners runs in the blood of the family, still to this day. I returned to the cafe in daylight and noticed drinkers eyeing their docked boats from a raised deck. Above the entrance, a bowsprit reached out to sea. Below it was a ­ribbon-shaped sign etched with “Cafe Sport.” 

The building resembles a boat that’s riding the waves, with bright-white upper floors floating on the blue lower level, embellished with a sperm whale carved from whalebone. Behind wood-shuttered ­windows and through the open door is a dimly lit watering hole with the familiar warmth of a local pub. A sculpture from the prow of a ship hangs over the wooden bar that has stood for more than a century. Weather-worn flags are strung across the ceilings and walls, left behind by sailors for good luck at sea.

José became known in the sailing community as a friend who could be relied upon for a good chat, a shower, supplies and a boozy welcome party.

At the back of the room, through the swinging door, Peter busts out with open arms and a soft smile. “I’m the third Peter, but my name’s actually João,” he says while shaking my hand. “My father and grandfather are also Peter.”

Henrique, the founder, was João’s great-grandfather. João learned the ropes at age 6. By 15, he worked full time. As he grew, so did his appreciation for the family business, which got its name from a captain aboard the British Royal Navy’s HMS Lusitania. Henrique had named his son José, but while José served aboard Lusitania during World War II, the captain took to calling him Peter, after his own son. Back home in Faial, the nickname stuck. Islanders and visitors would refer to the place as Peter’s, so the name Peter Cafe Sport was born.

Today, José “Peter’s” son, José Henrique, is the main man, but he’s passing duties on to his kids, João, Mariana and Pedro, and their cousin Duarte—who all consider themselves the third Peter in the family line. João’s mother offers a helping hand when she’s not working as a doctor at the ­hospital, often treating mariners.

“Two weeks ago, a Brazilian seaman was rushed into hospital with heart problems, and my mother was the one who cared for him,” João says. “When he was better, he spent time in the cafe. My mother, of course, made a visit to see how he was doing.” 

Familiar faces return in the summers, along with unforgotten friends from 10 years past—every year, around 15,000 boats switch from sails to engines as the highest peak in Portugal comes into sight from the water. Some of the most celebrated mariners who have felt the heartfelt welcome of the Azevedo family: Jacques-Yves Cousteau, Larry Pardey, Joshua Slocum, Sir Francis Chichester, Annie Van de Wiele, Eric Tabarly and, just last week, Sir Robin Knox-Johnson.

“There was an English couple who visited at the beginning of a two-year trip around the world,” João says. “They said they’d stop by on their way back home. They did, 18 years later.”

And another, he adds, from just a couple of years ago: “Sven Yrvind, a crazy 82-year-old man, arrived from northern Europe on a hand-built 4-meter-long boat. He was already planning to build another boat once he’d finished his trip to South Africa and back. He wasn’t even halfway through the first journey yet.” 

They all got to hear what I heard: ­clattering cutlery and sizzling seafood on hot steel plates, with garlic butter spitting into the air. I watched satisfied guests nibble on light, creamy cheese starters, and then devour slow-cooked Azorean stews packed with locally grown vegetables. It’s customary here to wash down your meal with a gin and tonic or a signature cocktail made with the cafe’s own Gin do Mar (“gin of the sea”) and the Azorean passionfruit brandy Licor de Maracujá.

Back home in Faial, the nickname stuck. Islanders and visitors would refer to the place as Peter’s, so the name Peter Cafe Sport was born.

All the while, orders are put in for custom parts and boat repairs in the cafe’s workshop next door, and letters from loved ones are brought in to distribute. 

“About three weeks ago, a young ­gentleman, around 16 years old, arrived on a school boat. They travel for six months while learning to sail,” João says. “It was the Pelican of London, and they’d been at sea for a few weeks and out of touch with family. When the boy was in the cafe one morning, I asked if he was waiting for mail. He said yes, so, teasingly, I asked if it was a love letter from a girlfriend. He said: ‘No, no, it’s from my grandfather. My parents called today because he’s just passed away. It will be the last words I ever receive from him.’ 

“I didn’t have the letter, so after ­tracking it and seeing that it was arriving here, I went to the post office and made some noise,” he continues. “I fought for that letter. Later that day, I returned to the cafe with a surprise.”

João handed the teenager the envelope. The boy cried, hugged him and said, “I would’ve just given up if it weren’t for you.”

There’s plenty of tradition here too, in addition to the flags and G&T cocktails. “We have a closing-time CD that we play every day, with music that is special to us, like ‘Drunken Sailor’and songs by Jacques Brel because he was here six months before he died,” João says. “Some say his last live performance was here at the cafe. We also play ‘Imagine’by John Lennon because it’s a message of peace. It doesn’t matter about your race or country; here, you can always have a beer or gin and tonic—if you behave well.”

I left the cafe in the same way that ­thousands had done before me: by walking out onto the harbor, where the concrete breakwaters are covered with hand-painted murals that look like postage stamps from around the globe. Row upon row are intricate designs—some fading, others fresh—of elaborate deepwater dive suits, marine life and boats. Each one is dated and signed, with names of crewmembers and their country of origin.

It’s one last superstitious ritual for good weather during their journey onward.

The post An Oasis in the Middle of the Atlantic appeared first on Cruising World.

Cardoza. Sil­via. DaCosta. Dutra. Mello. Borges. Growing up in Middletown, Rhode Island, back in the day, those were just a few of the names of kids I went to school with who shared a common ancestry: Their dads — and in many cases, their dads’ dads — were fishermen. Farmers. Landscapers. Boatbuilders. Mill workers. Masons. Family men. They’d come to America seeking the vast opportunities it presented, and they epitomized the title of that great old Rolling Stones tune, “Salt of the Earth.”

Dashing through their kitchens, on the way from one baseball or basketball game to another, the stories around the table of the “old country” were all about the Azores, their homeland, an ­archipelago of nine rugged islands in the middle of the Atlantic where it was said that if you jammed a stick into the ground, it would grow into a towering tree, so fertile and lush was the land. That was the sort of observation that would send my buddies’ eyes rolling skyward, but it sounded pretty magical to me, and even as a landlocked teenager, I always wanted to go there, to see for myself. Then, when I grew older and became an ocean sailor, the itch to visit became stronger still for a whole new set of reasons.

Over the years, of course, literally tens of thousands of intrepid voyagers have made landfall in the Azores, along with Bermuda, one of the true crossroads of the Atlantic Ocean. Perhaps the first Yankee yachtsman to call there — all by himself, naturally — was Capt. Joshua Slocum, who watched the islands rise from the mist after an 18-day voyage from Cape Sable, Nova Scotia, in summer 1895. If some of my friends’ parents had originally piqued my interest in the place, it was Slocum who turned my hazy curiosity into a bona-fide obsession.

“Early on the morning of July 20, I saw Pico looming above the clouds on the starboard bow,” wrote Slocum in his classic tome, Sailing Alone Around the World. “Lower lands burst forth as the sun burned away the morning fog, and island after island came into view. As I approached nearer, cultivated fields appeared, ‘and oh, how green the corn!’ Only those who have seen the Azores from the deck of a vessel realize the beauty of the midocean picture…

“It was the season for fruit when I arrived at the Azores,” he continued, “and there was soon more of all kinds of it put on board than I knew what to do with. Islanders are always the kindest people in the world, and I met none anywhere kinder than the good hearts of this place.”

After reading those passages, and ­speaking with other sailors who’d arrived in the Azores after a bluewater trip across the Atlantic, I reckoned and hoped that someday I would do the same. As it turned out, though, my very first glimpse of the isles came through the window of a puddle-­jumping airplane inbound from Lisbon, the Azores being one of Portugal’s autonomous regions. And soon after, when we hoisted sail to wander in Slocum’s wake, it wasn’t aboard my own yacht on which we set forth. Nope, our party of four — including my longtime Newport sailing pals, Joy and Ian Scott, and my good ol’ Aussie mate, Carole — would be taking in the islands on a bareboat charter from a company called Sail Azores on their spiffy Dufour 460 Grand Large, Primo. Slocum probably would have been appalled.

Just for the record, Slocum’s Spray may well have had an easier time getting to the Azores than we did. First off, our overnight flight from Boston to Lisbon was delayed several times before being canceled altogether, which necessitated an overnight stay in an airport hotel. Then, on day two, another long delay in Beantown caused us to miss connections once in Portugal, which meant a second night in a hotel when we should’ve been aboard Primo and underway. By that time, we’d met several islanders in various airport lounges who assured us such travel nightmares to the Azores never happen (then again, they’d never flown with me, no stranger to such shenanigans). But as we soon learned, from a wind and weather standpoint, that missed day of what happened to be clear skies and favorable breeze threw a wrench in our itinerary from which we never truly recovered. In other words, we didn’t get to see everything we’d hoped to. That’s the downside of an ambitious weeklong charter.

On a much more positive note, from the moment we finally landed in Horta, on the island of Faial, we were bathed in the same sort of warmth and hospitality that had struck Slocum all those years ago, and which became a recurring theme of our entire trip. The Azoreans we met were inviting, wise and friendly folks, but most of all, they were extremely proud of the natural beauty and heritage of the unique island chain they call home, and were more than eager to show it all off.

We were greeted at the airport by the affable Nicolau Faria, who founded Sail Azores several years ago. Before that, a coastal cruise of the Azores was a strenuous affair, for there are few spots to anchor in the deep, rocky waters adjacent to the steep, volcanic islands, which is why most transiting bluewater sailors confined their brief visits to the protected harbor of Horta before proceeding on their merry ways. More recently, however, a series of modern marinas, nestled behind new breakwaters and complete with clean, excellent shoreside facilities and even free Wi-Fi, have been erected on most of the islands. Harbor-hopping between them — and taking some time ashore to enjoy their many attractions — is now relatively simple and straightforward for voyagers and charterers alike.

Once aboard Primo, we settled into the chart briefing with Anabela Costa and Filipe Goulart of the Sail Azores team. As she spread out the charts before us, Anabela said, “The best we have to offer is nature,” and began to point out some of the must-see destinations on our route.

As the islands span nearly 400 miles of blue Atlantic from west to east, it would be nearly impossible to visit them all in even a fortnight, particularly since the weather is nothing if not changeable. (That said, Sail Azores also offers two-week charters for extremely motivated and experienced sailors who don’t mind overnight passages with suggested itineraries that cover most of the isles.) So Anabela advised a tour of the group’s central islands: São Jorge, Pico, Terceira and Faial. Since we were down to five days after our airline escapades, even this seemed like a fairly bold plan, but we were anxious to give it a go.

It was too late in the day to shove off, so we wandered along the waterfront and took in the dozens of colorful paintings on the seawalls created by long-distance sailors passing through, an open-air gallery of sorts and a tradition among voyagers for which Horta is famous. Afterward, we wandered up the hill to the bright, fully stocked supermarket where we loaded up on local wine, beer, fruit, bread, meats, cheeses and other delicacies. Finally, after catching a cab back to town with our goodies, we enjoyed a terrific seafood dinner at the Genuíno Restaurant, named after its proprietor, Genuíno Madruga, Portugal’s first and only solo circumnavigator, a local celebrity who greeted us at the door like long-lost mates. Everyone told us we had to try the local lapas, or limpets, delicate clams on the half-shell broiled in garlic and butter; so we did, and they were delicious. So too was the fresh pargo, or sea bream, that followed. Wandering back to the boat, we were astounded by how affordable everything was. Two full carts of groceries had come to roughly 70 euros, or about $75 USD, which was nearly identical to our restaurant tab for dinner for four, complete with flowing wine and several beers.

I was up early the next morning for a long swim off the deserted beach on the outskirts of town, reportedly one of the few true beaches in the islands and the only one we’d see on our travels. The water, in the low 70s, was delightful, precisely the same temperature as back home in Newport on this late-­September day. With that, there was nothing left to do but go sailing.

Read part two of the Azores adventure here.

The post Chartering the Azores appeared first on Cruising World.

With a fresh southerly coursing across the waters, and making better than 7 knots on a powerful beam reach, we pointed Primo’s bow toward Velas Marina on São Jorge Island, covering the 22 miles from Horta in about four hours after briefly losing the breeze in the lee of Pico Alta, the 7,700-foot volcanic peak on the island of Pico that’s the dominant, ever-­looming feature of the central group. “We’re out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean!” marveled Ian, an obvious statement that was still hard to grasp, especially given the benign conditions. It was a sunny, sensational day for sailing, but strangely, after a brief glimpse of another yacht as we left Horta, there wasn’t a single boat to be seen. It felt like we had this miraculous waterborne amphitheater, bordered by islands in every direction, all to ourselves.

Velas Marina was a minor miracle, a compact hidy-hole behind a formidable breakwater with berths for about 80 yachts, but only a handful are reserved for transients. It seemed to have been carved directly out of a 200-foot cliff, the tall perimeter of which was lined with the nests of Cory’s shearwaters, which enjoyed the ultimate bird’s-eye view.

As with every harbor in the Azores, you need to clear in and clear out, which is how we met port captain Filipe Silveira, who spoke excellent English and couldn’t have been a better ambassador for his island. When we told him we would be spending only a single night so we could sail on to Terceira the next day, he flatly told us we were making a huge mistake. “The hiking trails, the waterfalls, the swimming,” he said. “You will miss it all.”

Anyway, determined to have at least a brief look around, we strolled into the nearby village square and were astounded by the ancient parish church and town hall, the intricate gardens and the ­amazing paving stones. But we also wanted to get some elevation for a broader view, so we hired a cabbie called Manuel to take us for a ride. Our Portuguese, of course, was nonexistent, and Manuel spoke little English, but he did understand “up” and “more up,” and before we knew it, we were on a long tour of the island.

As we gained altitude, winding through thick stands of trees on a road lined with brilliant hydrangea, it just got better and better. Once beyond the tree line, we found ourselves in lush, terraced ­pastureland where cows have grazed for centuries — and are grazing still — and the shadowed cordillera of volcanoes long ago erupted. Even the aroma was great. Carole, who grew up in the dairy country south of Sydney where the movie Babe was filmed, took a deep breath and said, “It smells like home.” On top of all that, the view of Pico, cast in the low light of the setting sun, was magnificent.

The next morning, against Filipe’s advice, we took off for Terceira, some 50 miles distant, which Anabela, during our orientation, insisted we visit. The historic city of Angra do Heroismo, beautiful lakes and stunning caves, perhaps even a bullfight: Terceira was said to be one of the highlights of the Azores.

And this is where our flight snafus caught up with us. Had we arrived on time in the first place, we would’ve had the ­previous wonderful day to sail to Terceira. Instead, we never got there.

Not that we didn’t try. Leaving Velas, we popped outside the marina and realized, though it had been windy in the protected basin, that in the open water, the dogs were getting completely blown off their chains. Worse, it was ­blowing southeast at a staunch 25 knots with higher gusts, basically the direction we needed to go. There was a ripping ­seaway building and waves crashing against the exposed shoreline, sending plumes of spray high into the air. Unlike the previous day, there was now no doubt we were in the middle of the tempestuous Atlantic. Still, it takes a lot for me to get the hint, so we hoisted a deeply reefed main and attempted to claw upwind. After all, we needed to see Terceira! But as we crashed and rolled, with solid waves burying the foredeck, it was readily apparent we’d be in for an ordeal, and at least a 10-hour one at that. So we bailed out and returned to São Jorge. The women were visibly relieved, and secretly, so was I. “Discretion is the better part of valor,” said Ian. He was, of course, correct.

Thanks to Felipe, however, we had a Plan B: a long hike down and along the northern shore of São Jorge, which proved to be like something right out of The Hobbit.

We hailed a cab and, following Felipe’s advice, were dropped off at a trailhead about a thousand feet above the coastline near Pico do Esperanço, beginning the trek, quite literally, in the ever-­present cloud that the island is known for. (The helpful cab driver promised to pick us up at a designated rendezvous spot about 6 miles down the coast a few hours later.) It doesn’t rain much on São Jorge, but the moist atmosphere keeps the flora and fauna green and flourishing. After descending a few hundred feet, we exited the thick mist and were greeted with sunshine, which provided breathtaking views of the north shore, including several of the fájas – low tongues of old lava that slid down the hills and extend into the sea – for which São Jorge is renowned. About that time, we ran into a small group of cattle munching their lunch from scrub just off the well-marked trail. It was like a hallucination; none of us had ever seen mountain-climbing cows.

Halfway along, sweaty from the exertion, we stumbled across the waterfall Felipe mentioned, and Ian and I took the plunge into the clear, cool, wonderful water. It was sensational. Continuing on, once we’d reached sea level, at the Santo Cristo fája — a ring-shaped lagoon that provides a world-class surf break — we met a bunch of Aussie surfers who’d rented a simple shoreside shack from Airbnb and were spending a couple of weeks chasing waves. I knew the surf had to be special when they said they were from Byron Bay, a famous Aussie break in its own right. They’d come an awfully long way in search of a better wave than the one in their own backyard.

At the end of the line, above and beyond our awaiting taxi, there were a couple of treats: a small chapel with a breathtaking statue of the Virgin Mary in the crypt of a volcano, and a tiny cafe serving icy Sagres beers for 1 euro apiece. It was nourishment for the body and the soul.

The next day, with our time evaporating and a run to Terceira now completely out of the question, we quickly knocked off the short trip across the channel from São Jorge to Pico, where we picked up a free mooring off the whaling museum in the town of São Roque do Pico. These days, whale-watching is the only whale-related activity in the Azores, but for centuries whaling was an important part of the local economy, and was still in practice as recently as the early 1980s before being outlawed altogether.

Once ashore, for 50 euros we hired another cabbie, 82-year-old Joe Souza (yes, there were Souzas in my high school too), for a rambling four-hour drive from one end of the 28-mile-long island to the other. Joe looked about 20 years younger than his age, spoke great English and, like every taxi driver we hired, he’d spent a good 20 years working in the United States — in his case in Fall River, Massachusetts, another New England stronghold of Azorean immigrants.

One of the highlights surely was lunch, which we enjoyed at a local restaurant overlooking the sea that served fresh fish along with chewy bread and the famous cheese and wine that Pico is known for. At subsequent stops along the coastline, we wandered through lava arches and formations that have been formed over the centuries, and many picturesque saltwater swimming pools built directly into the rocky landscape, which provide the islanders and visitors places to swim and sunbathe in the absence of any beaches.

The most unusual part of our tour was a visit to the Landscape of the Pico Vineyard Culture, which has been designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Centuries ago, the vineyard had been divided into small plots surrounded by black lava walls, the purpose of which was to protect the vines from the howling Atlantic winds. The view from the windmill in the center of it all was ­positively surreal.

Once back in São Roque, after dining at a local burger spot, we retired to Primo for what turned into a very long night with only snatches of sleep in the rolly mooring field. My loose plan had been to attempt to tackle an ascent of Pico — Ian was up for a try, though the gals seemed happy to continue sightseeing — but the day dawned rainy and foggy, and it was impossible to even see the mountain, let alone scale it. (Once again, thanks to our initial delay, we were a day late and a dollar short … the previous day would’ve been ideal for a big hike.) So we decided instead to return to Faial — which we’d only dashed through at the outset of the trip — and have a good look around. Heck, we’d yet to even down a famed gin and tonic at Peter’s Café Sport, one of the sailing world’s most ­celebrated watering holes.

Underway by 1100 with a reef in the main and 12 to 15 knots of northeast breeze, we sailed close-hauled out of São Roque, making good progress on the way to Horta, until the breeze faltered and we hoisted the full mainsail for a little more punch. Making only 3 or 4 knots, I was just about to call it a day, roll up the jib and start motorsailing when, just to again underscore how conditions can change rapidly in the Azores, the wind shifted 20 degrees and came banging in from the north. It turned out to be a cracking great sail in breeze that topped off in the low 20s, making for a ­fantastic power reach under full canvas that had Primo touching 8 and even 9 knots of boat speed. Roaring into Horta, it was a ­memorable way to wrap up the sailing portion of the journey.

Outside Horta, if there’s one thing everyone agrees you must take in on Faial, it’s the Capelinhos Volcano on the island’s western flank. It produced one of the seminal events in the history of the Azores: the creation of a deep crater by more than 300 explosions and earthquakes between September 1957 and October 1958. So we hailed one more taxi and set forth to check it out. It was a quiet, barren, haunted place, with loose sand and ash everywhere that gave the entire area an almost lunar feel. Today, there’s an Interpretation Center built among the remains that tells the tale of those fateful months, and there’s also a tribute commemorating President John F. Kennedy, who was instrumental in ­helping upwards of 15,000 people — nearly half the island’s population — to emigrate in the volcano’s aftermath, many to the United States. It was like finding the missing piece to a puzzle: Clearly, that still-remembered natural disaster is part of the reason I have so many friends from this small part of the world.

After that hot, dusty sojourn, the mandatory G&Ts at Peter’s Café Sport, with a big slice of lemon and rattling ice cubes, could not have been more refreshing. Burgees and stickers decorate the place, and the ones near our table — for the Water Brothers surf shop back in Newport, and the Fall River Police Department — made it feel like home. We wrapped up the festivities at a restaurant across the way called Canto da Doca, where hot lava stones are delivered to the table on which you cook your own thin slices of meat, fish and pork. “You are the chef,” said the waiter. Like every other meal we’d eaten on the trip, it was marvelous.

So, all in all, it was a good several days, enough to get a nice taste of these remote, alluring islands. Still, Pico remains unclimbed, Terceira unvisited, and I’ve yet to make my own landfall after crossing the Atlantic. Which means only one thing: We’re going to have to go back.

*Herb McCormick is CW’s executive editor. *

The post Chartering the Azores Pt. 2 appeared first on Cruising World.

On a quiet street off the main drag of Horta, a crossroads for cruising sailors on the Azorean island of Faial, lies a lovely cut-stone storefront with a sign in big block letters over the front door: Mid-Atlantic Yacht Services. But its proprietor, a bearded native of New Hampshire with a twinkle in his eye, has another name for the place. “This,” says Duncan Sweet, a formerly peripatetic cruiser who washed up here over a quarter-­century ago and has been running the ­business with his wife, Ruth, ever since, “is the biggest little chandlery in the world.” It’s also for sale. Trust me, nobody is ever going to mistake Mid-Atlantic for a West Marine, though the chances of finding whatever it is you’re looking for are exceedingly high. But let’s not get ahead of our little tale.

Sweet’s story is, well, pretty sweet. With a sailor’s heart and a wandering soul, he left the Granite State behind in 1979 for his first Atlantic crossing, to Greece, aboard a CT 54 called Ereni. For the next decade he ran boats professionally, before finding his way to one of his favorite ports, the bustling town of Horta. “I was looking for a project that wasn’t an old boat, so I bought an old house,” he says. “At least I didn’t have to bail it.”

I met Sweet last fall during a bareboat charter in the Azores, and immediately took a liking to him. He’s a sailor through and through, and an opinionated one at that. Always a handyman around yachts, he got his start in the business side of the sport by walking into cruisers’ watering holes with “a conspicuously red toolbox” and just waiting for the inevitable question that some flustered skipper always asked: “Do you fix boats?”

Oh yes.

In the Azores, one of the planet’s busiest ports of call for far-flung voyagers — these days, some 1,200 yachts visit annually — there was just one problem. Where do you find parts? In Horta in the early 1990s, you were totally out of luck if you needed a winch handle, an impeller or God knows what else. “You couldn’t even buy stainless-steel screws,” says Sweet.

Into this vacuum, in 1992, Sweet launched Mid-Atlantic. Ruth is a staunch partner, as is the couple’s dog, Jack, whom they rescued after he was tossed out of a passing truck. (“He was a total train wreck,” Sweet notes.) But the real boss may be Sweet’s Azorean associate, Ilda, who guards Sweet from people like me, with their endless questions, from behind her desk just inside the front door. A framed sign on that desk pretty much says it all: “Do you want the man in charge or the woman who knows what’s going on?” Ironically, for a guy who sells marine gear for a living, Sweet believes too many cruisers set sail with stuff they don’t really require. From his vantage point in the middle of the Atlantic, Sweet has a unique perspective on what sailors want and need — or don’t — when calling in from an extended ocean passage. And he’s not shy about sharing his thoughts.

“Modern cruisers want every bell and whistle,” he says. “You don’t see as many kids cruising with their parents anymore, or Americans for that matter. I think people are really hung up on the idea that you need every piece of equipment. Then it takes so much time getting everything ready that they miss their weather window and can’t leave. The marine industry has really built up this idea that you need fancy deck gear, watermakers, furling sails. What’s wrong with hanks? I wish people would lose this idea that everything has to be complicated. “Nobody needs a boatload of electronics,” he adds. “The biggest repairs we see are autopilots. If I was fitting out a boat now, the first thing I’d get is a windvane. And after that, spares for the windvane. And people are in such a hurry. They take three months to cross the Atlantic and return on the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers race. They should take three years!”

All that said, Sweet remains an unabashed fan of cruising sailors. “The greatest thing about Horta is that there are no weekenders here,” he says. “Everybody has passed the test and proven they’re oceangoing people. I love that. It’s a very adept group.” After 23 years of serving that constituency, however, Sweet is ready for a break. “It’s time for new watchkeepers,” he says. “But we’re not going anywhere. Ilda is staying, and we’d be available for a two- or three-year turnover. All the major bases are covered.” It’s a great opportunity for some ambitious sailor. As the supposed man in charge will tell you, running your own show in Horta can be one sweet ride.

Herb McCormick is CW’s executive editor.

The post Sweet and Simple appeared first on Cruising World.

Crouesty is situated on the outer coastline of the peninsula Presqu’ile de Rhuys. Besides sailing, this destination is renown for cycling, walking trails, horseback riding, golfing, historic sites, food and wine. We were guests at the oceanfront home of Jean Paul Deloffre in one of the peninsula’s quaint villages, Sarzeau. Among the sites we visited while in Sarzeau is the Château de Suscinio, a restored 13th century castle that was built for the Dukes of Brittany. We also enjoyed a beautiful meal at Hotel Restaurant Lesage.

While I walked the trails of Sarzeau and did boat laundry one day, captain Rick Martell and mate Todd Mennillo took the 50-mile drive northwest to Lorient to tour the site of the former Keroman submarine base built by the Germans during the occupation of France in World War II. Today, the base facilities are used to house racing multihulls and other marine industries. To learn more about the submarine base and how it’s evolved into a major racing center, Rick and Todd visited the Cité de la Voile Eric Tabarly museum.

Before we departed Sarzeau for good and headed northeast, we stopped for a brief visit on the shores of the Golfe du Morbihan. An island-studded inland sea that’s a popular sailing destination, Morbihan extends along the northern border of the Rhuys peninsula.

As our flights home were routed from Paris, we decided to do a road trip that included visiting the site of a landfall of a very different sort. In 2014, Europe and North America marked the 70th anniversary of the massive Allied assault on the Normandy coastline on June 6, 1944. To bring this historic event to life and deepen our understanding of World War II, we made separate pilgrimages to the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial and to the Caen-Normandy Memorial Centre for History and Peace. Each of these outings was emotionally overwhelming and if I could do it all over again, I’d have spent a week in Normandy alone. Highly recommended.

• Port du Crouesty (www.crouesty.co.uk)
• Le Petit Mont (www.petit-mont.info)
• Sarzeau (www.sarzeau.fr)
• Château de Suscinio (www.suscinio.info )
• Hotel Restaurant Lesage (www.hotelrestaurantlesage.com)
• Offices de Tourisme de la Baie de Quiberon (www.baiedequiberonetsesiles.com)
• Offices de Tourisme Presqu’ile de Rhuys (www.rhuys.com)
• Offices de Tourisme du Golfe du Morbihan (www.golfedumorbihan.fr)
• Sellor Ports de Plaisance (www.ports-paysdelorient.fr)
• Lorient U-boat base (www.uboat-bases.com)
• Cité de la Voile Eric Tabarly (www.citevoile-tabarly.com)
• Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial (www.abmc.gov/cemeteries-memorials/europe/normandy-american-cemetery)
• Caen-Normandy Memorial Centre for History and Peace (normandy.memorial-caen.com)

Mid-Atlantic Waypoint
The nine islands of the Azores, scattered from 37 to 40 degrees N and 25 to 31 degrees W, a distance of some 370 miles, are clustered in three geographic groups, the eastern, the central, and the western.

The Eastern Group is made up of Santa Maria and São Miguel; the Central Group includes Terceira, Graciosa, São Jorge, Pico and Faial; the Western Group is composed of Corvo and Flores. Distances between islands ranges from as little as 2 miles to more than 100, and attractions at sea and on land are a delight for anyone who appreciates the great outdoors, whether trekking, touring, golfing, cycling or whale watching. Flights to and from North America and Europe are frequent. For information on booking a bareboat charter contact Sail Azores; for general information consult Visit Azores, the region’s official tourism board.

• Sail Azores (sailazores.pt)
• Visit Azores (www.visitazores.com)

Flyer by the Numbers
1978, 57-foot, S&S designed Swan
Hull No. 7
4 water tanks (265 gallons total)
10 5-gallon jerry jugs on deck + ship’s tanks, holding a total of 200 gallons of fuel
21 frozen dinners
10 lbs coffee; 3 boxes Lipton tea
292 bottles of water
3 cases Parmalat long life milk
8 boxes cereal
2 jars peanut butter, 2 Nutella, 1 Speculoos cookie butter, 4 jars berry jam and orange marmalade
14 loaves of bread
12 bags rice cakes
18 chocolate bars, 2 bags peanut M&Ms, 1 bag York peppermint patties, 2 bags peanut butter cups, assorted fruit and pudding cups, granola bars, mixed nuts, fruit bars, Chips Ahoy, peanut butter crackers, mini bags of potato chips, Cheez its, Olives to Go
25 cans: green beans, mushrooms, 3-bean salad, beets, corn, baked beans
4 jars sauerkraut and purple cabbage
3 heads cabbage, 2 bags romaine hearts, 2 heads iceberg lettuce, cucumbers, mini carrots and peppers, 2 packs precut celery stalks
Pasta and noodles: 9 bags regular, 3 gluten free
4 boxes instant mashed potatoes
5 boxes instant brown rice

Ship’s Library
Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe
The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
In the Heart of the Sea by Nathaniel Philbrick
Sea Change by Peter Nichols
The Sportswriter by Richard Ford
Liar’s Poker by Michael Lewis
Martin Dressler: The Tale of an American Dreamer by Steven Millhauser
I Remember Nothing: And Other Reflections *by Nora Ephron
Autobiography of Neil Young (French version)
*Sick Puppy by Carl Hiaasen
The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
Pacific Vortex! by Clive Cussler
Never Go Back by Lee Child
Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat
The RCC Pilotage Foundation Atlantic Crossing Guide
World Cruising Routes by Jimmy Cornell
RYA Competent Crew

Gear Resources
• Gill North America (www.gillna.com)
• Patagonia (www.patagonia.com)
• Dubarry (www.dubarry.us)
• Reactor (www.reactorwatch.com)
• Iridium (www.iridium.com)
• Delorme (www.inreachdelorme.com)
• Commanders’ Weather (www.commandersweather.com)
• NOAA/National Weather Service NW Atlantic Radiofax charts (weather.noaa.gov/fax/marsh.shtml)
• Secur (securproducts.com)
• Flyer Transatlantic (www.cruisingworld.com/tags/flyer-transatlantic)
• Blue Sailing (www.bluesailing-school.com)

Flyer

The post Transatlantic Notes appeared first on Cruising World.

Sail Azores

While the Azores are renown as a stopover on a transatlantic passage, there’s another way to experience the 9-island archipelago straddling 36 to 39N and 25 and 31W — via bareboat from a company that offers five Dufour monohulls from 38 to 45 feet.

For high school teacher and sailor Nicolau Faria, starting Sail Azores with his family in 2011 was more than a way to stay busy during summer break. “We love the Azores, our home,” he told me in Horta, on Faial, during my visit to the islands aboard the Swan 57 Flyer.

“We love to sail, we love boats, and we want to show the Azores to other people,” Faria said. “We want to show our place to the world. For those for whom it’s difficult to get to the Azores by boat, now you can sail in the Azores. We have a strategic position in the Atlantic.”

From Flores in the west to Santa Maria in the east, the area encompasses more than 300 miles and the between-island distances range from as little as two miles to more than 100, so diehards won’t be disappointed. Flights to and from North America and Europe are frequent.

On land, attractions of the individual volcanic islands satisfy a range of interests beyond the renown watering hole of Café Sport— from sites with world heritage and biosphere designations to those with golf, trekking, bird watching, surfing and diving. Excellent food and wine come from island farms and vineyards. The standard bareboat amenities, from linens and provisioning options to galley and navigational gear, are provided, as are dinghies and outboards. Anchoring is in deep water and Faria is working on a plan to install moorings in selected harbors throughout. High season for one and two-week charters is May through September. For details contact Sail Azores.

The post Explore the Azores appeared first on Cruising World.

Flyer in Horta

Faial, one of the nine islands of the Azores, may not be the biggest in the group, but for the roughly 1,500 boats that annually make landfall at this North Atlantic port of call, its significance can’t be overlooked.

Part of its prominence in the annals of world wars, air travel, and communication is due to the small waterfront city of Horta, whose centuries old seafaring tradition, from before the whaling era to present, makes it a significant harbor of refuge for any boat (and in its day, seaplane) making an ocean passage.

It’s that reputation, which I learned of in accounts by bluewater sailors of yesterday and today, that filled me with a strong desire to get to the island by boat and experience it myself.

“Only those who have seen the Azores from the deck of a vessel realize the beauty of the mid-ocean picture,” wrote singlehander Joshua Slocum, who made landfall there in 1895 aboard Spray.

Slocum appreciated the lush green of cultivated fields; others valued the varied and vibrant shades of blue from hydrangeas in bloom in June and July, a quality that has earned Faial the moniker the Blue Island.

Describing the Blue Island and the other eight volcanic isles as a delightful destination in an article for Cruising World in 1991, circumnavigator Jimmy Cornell also noted of Faial that “sailors are notoriously superstitious and legend has it that it is unlucky to set sail again without recording your name on the Horta seawall.”

All this ran through my mind as we made landfall in Faial recently aboard the Swan 57 Flyer, and if images and words convey as much directive as a shopping list, I am thrilled to report, thanks to the stunning natural beauty we found everywhere and the welcoming generosity of the locals, the spree was a complete and overwhelming success.

Just as no sailor dare depart Horta without painting her boat’s name on the seawall, no salt arrives in Horta without a stop at the renown Café Sport (www.petercafesport.com). After handing a blue Cruising World 40th anniversary cap to Jose Henrique Azevedo, 4th generation of the family who started the bar that is so much more than a drinking establishment, our crew was invited to lunch at the café and a tour of the second floor, which contains the scrimshaw museum that Jose and his father, Jose, established.

These days, Café Sport attracts sailors and others who come to the Azores for all types of outdoor adventures, from climbing to cycling and diving.

In reflecting over the success of the Café Sport brand, which also now operates in Lisbon, on mainland Portugal, as well as on the other islands, and has expanded to include whale watching and other types of recreational tours, Jose explained that it evolved out of a real need.

“1918 was the first Café Sport,” he said. “It was called Café Sport because of my grandfather’s love of sports. And it became a resource for those coming from sea. We called them adventurers, not yachtie people: Tabarly, Chichester, Moitessier.

“We helped sailors who made landfall here, and ultimately Café Sport became a place where sailors could exchange money, get laundry done, receive and send mail, obtain medical assistance. It was open from 8 a.m. to 2 a.m. Better to read letters with a cold beer in hand than stand in line at the post office.”

Jose Henrique Azevedo gives a tour of the vast holdings of whale teeth, ivory, and bone at the Scrimshaw Museum.

The museum, open to the public, offers guided tours of an extensive display of intricate artwork engraved in sperm whale teeth, ivory, and bone. Glass cases contain work done aboard whaling ships centuries ago as well as pieces done by Azorean artists on land after local whalers, who hunted from open boats kept on shore, returned with a catch. While Azevedo prizes the valuable holdings he showed us, he made clear his feelings about whaling as an industry that took from the islanders as much as it gave: “The whaling life was the worst life.”

With that, we bid farewell, toured the island in a rental car, saw the spectacular sights, breathed in the fresh air and beheld the green fields and blue hydrangeas. And before we shoved off, we noted Flyer‘s arrival, crew, and passage in a painting on the waterfront — for good luck, of course.
Track Flyer at www.cruisingworld.com/flyer

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