The 39th Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC) is officially underway, with a record-breaking 234 yachts leaving Gran Canaria to begin their 2,700-mile voyage to the Caribbean. Split across the ARC and ARC+ routes, the fleet showcases a vibrant mix of cruisers, racers, and multihulls, all setting their sights on Saint Lucia.

At 12:30 p.m. local time November 24th, 45 multihulls—the largest division ever for the ARC—were first to cross the starting line in a gentle southeast breeze. Leading the charge was Two Hoots, a Lagoon 400 helmed by Mark and Penny Belcher (GBR), with their sea dog Benji marking the first four-legged crew member to begin the journey. Close behind were Kenneth Frantz’s Fountain Pajot Elba 45 My Cherie Amour (USA) and Francesco Rongoni’s Neel 47 Ferdinand (FRA).

The IRC racing fleet followed at 12:45, highlighted by Jean Philippe Blanpain’s sleek Vismara 62 Leaps & Bounds 2 (MLT) and ARC racing veteran Jean Pierre Dick on his Swan 76 La Loévie (MLT). Mathias Mueller von Blumencron’s JV 43 Red 2 (CHE) and Johannes Schwarz’s Volvo 70 Ocean Breeze (AUT) rounded out the early contenders.

Finally, at 1:00 p.m., the cruising division enjoyed a smooth white-sail start as the wind picked up to 10–12 knots. The close competition at both ends of the line included Bengt Lyckåsen’s Mormor Alice (SWE) and Sebastian Gylling’s Swan 51 Eira (FIN). Meanwhile, Johanna Schalander aboard Greta (SWE) added a touch of cruising charm, baking and serving fruit pies as her yacht crossed the start.

World Cruising Club’s Paul Tetlow emphasized that the ARC is more about the journey than the finish line: “This is a marathon, not a sprint. Settle into your routines and enjoy the experience.” Weather expert Chris Tibbs predicts light southerlies veering through the day, encouraging many crews to aim for the traditional Cape Verde route before catching stronger trade winds.

Over the next few weeks, 820 sailors will face the challenges and joys of ocean voyaging. Some racing yachts may reach Saint Lucia in under 10 days, but for most cruisers, the crossing will take 14 to 21 days. No matter when they arrive, every crew will be warmly welcomed at IGY Rodney Bay Marina with a celebratory rum punch and congratulations from ARC’s iconic “yellow shirts” team.

Track the fleet’s progress on the YB Races app or at worldcruising.com as this global sailing tradition continues to unite adventurers on a shared Atlantic odyssey.

The post ARC 2024: Cruisers and Racers Embark on Atlantic Adventure appeared first on Cruising World.

Matthew Burzon was at the helm of the Swan 411 Albireo, offshore somewhere between Virginia and Bermuda, getting smashed in the face every few minutes.

The boat was making 7 or 8 knots in seas of 8 to 12 feet. Albireo is a well-cruised 1978 Sparkman & Stephens design, and this was happening in 2018, so there were no worries about whether the boat could handle the beating that Mother Nature was doling out. 

But the humans on board? That was a different story. 

“There’s big water out there,” Matthew recalls with a nervous chuckle. “You get wet. Every once in a while, a wave would hit, and it was the equivalent of taking a 5-gallon bucket of water to the face.”

Down below, his father, Steve Burzon—the boat’s owner and captain in charge of the trip—was out cold. Whatever had befallen Steve wasn’t seasickness, but it was something more powerful than a ­5-gallon bucket of water, and it was debilitating enough that the old salt decided that this journey on Albireo would be his last one offshore.

“I don’t know exactly what it was—­maybe just old age creeping in,” says Steve, who was 77 at the time. “I couldn’t perform. I couldn’t do anything. I would be in my bunk, back aft, and I remember Matt coming in. He’d say: ‘Dad, don’t get up. I’ll do your turn at the helm,’ or ‘I’ll cook dinner.’”

It’s not exactly how Steve or Matthew imagined that their first, and likely their last, father-son offshore sailing journey would be, especially after so many years of trying to make it happen. 

Steve and his wife, Nancy, had been ­sailors for what felt like forever, but Matthew’s experience on the boat with them was limited to coastal cruising, both as a kid and as a young adult. Steve had long wanted his son to join him out in bigger water, but Matthew was always in school or at work, running his recruiting business or volunteering as a firefighter. 

Finally, when Matthew was in his early 30s, this window of opportunity appeared. Steve needed to bring Albireo down from Lake Champlain in the Northeast United States to Sint Maarten in the Leeward Islands, which would become the boat’s new home. The plan was for Steve to cruise south to the Chesapeake Bay, then pick up Matthew and a few other hands, and from there, point the bow toward the warm ­waters of the Caribbean.

“I was pretty excited to get the call. It started this whole process of getting offshore foul-weather gear and all this stuff. I got all decked out,” Matthew says. “I was very excited. Dad had brought the boat down the Hudson River to Norfolk, Virginia. I was getting updates, which was building up the level of stoke.”

The plan was for 11 to 14 days at sea with no stops. The weather had other ideas, forcing Albireo and its crew to divert to Bermuda just as Steve’s health took a turn for the worse. 

And whatever was ailing Steve meant that Matthew and the rest of the crew would have to play bigger roles than any of them had anticipated, especially for his first time cruising offshore. 

A Lifetime of Learning

Fans of catamarans might recognize Steve, who is now 83, as an organizer and ambassador for the Caribbean Multihull Challenge on Sint Maarten. But for many, many years prior to that event being created, Steve was a monohull sailor based in the Northeast United States. 

He got started around age 16, while growing up in New England, and bought his first boat—a wooden 19-foot Cape Cod Knockabout—before he turned 20. That led him to a bookstore to find a title that might teach him to sail better. He brought the tome with him on the boat so that he could look things up along the way. He ended up having a blast.

As a young ad salesman, Steve kept ­sailing. He learned celestial navigation, figured out how to use a sextant, took jobs as a delivery skipper, and made his first offshore passage­—from Bermuda to Newport, Rhode Island. After doing a round-trip delivery from Connecticut to Maine on a Swan 411, he knew that was the boat of his dreams. He and his wife, Nancy, ended up buying it in 1984. 

That boat was Albireo. The couple would sail it from Maine to Grenada and all points in between, eventually with little Matthew in tow. Quite a lot of the time, Matthew would be asleep below, zonked out from the motion on the water.

Which was actually a relief to Steve and Nancy, given that the boy had, let’s call it, a relentless amount of energy. 

“Matt’s nickname is ‘Action Jackson,’” Steve says. “He’d swing from the handhelds like it was a gym.”

Matt played hockey. He liked stuff with engines that made noise and went fast. Being out on the sailboat, well, it quite ­literally put him to sleep.

“That was a lot of my childhood,” Matthew says. “But I loved going from destination to destination. I rode my bike all over the place—Nantucket, Stonington, everywhere. I think it was a mix of seasickness and trying to make a kid sit still.”

Steve adds: “My wife and I were into the romance of it, the beauty of it, and we brought our kid. We were forcing him to be with us, and he’d probably rather be driving his four-wheeler out in the yard.”

It wasn’t until Matthew got older that he realized the sailing itself could be exciting. Albireo was on Lake Champlain, and Matthew was between jobs trying to relocate back to Vermont, so Steve and Nancy let him live on board.

“Toward the end of that time, I would take my friends out and sail on Lake Champlain,” Matthew says. “That was the first time I realized, there’s something to this.”

So, when Steve called about the chance to head offshore together aboard Albireo, Matthew was finally ready to embrace the opportunity. 

Now, all they needed was the rest of the crew. Three more guys ought to do it, Steve figured, and a distant cousin of Matthew’s might be perfect.

Making It Happen

That cousin, Ben Fletcher, had gotten to talking with Steve at a family gathering. As it turned out, Ben and Steve had sailing in common. Ben had done the RORC Caribbean 600, as well as a big race in the Mediterranean, and had taught sailing too. 

“He’s a sailor,” says Steve, who figured that between Ben’s sailing know-how and Matthew’s mechanical brainpower, the two of them could figure out just about anything on the boat. “Matt is a mechanic. On this trip, Albireo was like 35 years old. Things go wrong. And Matt is agile. He’s an athlete. He can do anything physically. Ben was that same way.”

For the final two crewmembers, Steve tapped a couple of guys who used to work for his landscaping company. They, ­forevermore, shall be known only as “the two yahoos.”

“These guys used to dig holes for me, plant trees,” Steve says. “It turned out to be a big mistake. They were too immature to go away from Mommy and Daddy.”

But nobody knew that when Albireo set off for the Caribbean, and then Steve got sick. Matthew and Ben realized that they had to rise to the occasion as they looked out across the rising seas. 

“Ben was a competent leader, so he’d be on deck and I’d be down below,” Matthew recalls. “We’d get food together or whatever we had to do. We had to make all these adjustments—the lines that lash down the dinghy would come undone, and we’d have to keep an eye out for things like that. You build trust quickly with your crew. You wake up and say, ‘Good job.’ After that happens a few times, there’s camaraderie and trust.”

The two yahoos, well, they “kept you awake and entertained,” Matthew adds.

“Matt was watch captain for his watch, and Ben was watch captain for his watch,” Steve says. “They had brainpower and ­management skills.”

Ben and Matthew needed those skills for things such as navigating at night—again, not something that was part of Matthew’s typical program. He was at Albireo’s helm under pitch-black skies at 2 o’clock in the morning when the boat came upon a cruise ship.

Matthew lost his night vision. He was blinded.

“It was so bright—so bright,” he says. “I couldn’t tell which direction it was going. I couldn’t pick up on the red and green lights because there were just too many lights. I was close enough that their crew put the spotlight on me, so, yeah, that’s something when it happens.”

But finally, mercifully, they made it to Bermuda. They arrived at night, cruising in through the Town Cut and tying up at St. George’s. 

The two yahoos rented motorbikes and got themselves into a bunch of drunken trouble. That was the end of them. Ben was happy to get some sleep, as were Steve and Matthew—who later headed ashore for a shower, some lunch, and a couple of beers at the White Horse Pub & Restaurant. 

“It was like a little holiday. We stayed for a few days,” Steve says, adding that for the first time in their lives, the father and son seemed to have a better understanding of each other as people. “This was a father-son bonding experience. It was something I wish all the fathers in the world could have, that experience. It’s really special.”

And it will remain a special memory, never to be replaced, because Albireo—for the first time in Matthew’s life—is no ­longer part of the family. 

After owning the boat for nearly 40 years, Steve decided to sell it. After settling the boat in Sint Maarten, he found himself out in the waters around the island in 18 to 22 knots of steady, strong heavy wind. For the first time in a long time, he felt a little scared.

“I know I’m hooked in and everything, but going forward, I began to think, Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead,” he says. “It was a member of the family—two daughters, a son and a boat. That was the family. But that Swan is a very athletic boat. You need a lot of strength to be able to crank the winches. The gennie is gigantic in that design. I kind of began to feel like my balance wasn’t as good as it was. I was thinking that one of these days, I’m going to fall off the boat, and my poor wife is going to have to come back and get me.”

Helping to organize the Caribbean Multihull Challenge is now Steve’s passion. He and Nancy are getting to experience how the ocean feels from aboard catamarans—which are easier, stability-wise, on their aging bodies. 

Matt, meanwhile, is often out cruising aboard a 23-foot Boston Whaler Dauntless that he owns with his girlfriend, and looking forward to a time when he can share the family’s passion for offshore adventures with her.

“I’d love to get a sailboat,” Matthew says. “I think I’m not in the right phase of my life to get a sailboat—it would be challenging to be in southern Vermont with a sailboat. We like the Whaler. We trailer it around. We’re toying with the idea of doing a sailing photography outfit.” 

That’s definitely one thing that the Burzon men have in common: They find a way to get their boating fix. Steve is also a member of the Sint Maarten Yacht Club, which gives him access to all its boats from about 20 feet down to tiny dinghies. 

“I was thinking the other day,” Steve says, “I could get in a little boat and sail around Simpson Bay Lagoon.”

Matthew smiles. That sure sounds like fun to him too.

The post Buckets of Water, Waves of Change: A Father-Son Bond Forged Offshore appeared first on Cruising World.

KM Yachtbuilders in the Netherlands has announced the delivery of the Pelagic 77 Amundsen, with plans for the boat to head to the Falkland Islands sometime before 2025.

Amundsen is the second hull in a series that began with Vinson of Antarctica, which launched in 2021. The name Amundsen is a tribute to polar explorer Roald Amundsen of Norway, who explored the north and south poles more than a century ago.

Peter Wilson of MCM Newport, who acted as the owner’s representative on the project, says aluminum was chosen for the hull and superstructure because it “offers great strength, ease of repair, and better weight performance as compared to steel. With Tony Castro’s design and Skip Novak’s racing background, good sailing performance is fundamental. A well-designed yacht is always more fun to sail.”

The team collaborated on the project for two years. Amundsen has two carbon masts for sail distribution and redundancy, supplemented by a manual sailing system with winches and jib furlers.

There’s also eco-friendly Volvo Penta engines. That propulsion system is a change from Vinson, as is the keel configuration on Amundsen, whose centerboard was eliminated in favor of a fixed keel with a fin and bulb. The idea was to eliminate moving parts and enhance reliability during long expeditions.

Interior adjustments were also made. The engine room’s capacity was expanded to make equipment access and maintenance easier, and the wheelhouse has increased headroom.

For times of relaxation, there’s a lounge, dining area and galley. Accommodations are for a maximum of eight guests.

“In her relatively short life, Vinson has been a great success, traveling thousands of miles in some of the world’s toughest conditions in Antarctica and the Southern Ocean,” Wilson stated in a press release. “For Amundsen, we updated the autopilot and steering gear and improved many details in the rig, rigging, deck and interior to enhance her performance and reliability.”Nicolás Ibáñez Scott, who was also involved with the project, added that the team had a clear vision from the start: “In an era where much of the world has been mapped and explored, Amundsen’s journeys remind us that the true essence of adventure lies not just in discovering new places but in the courage to dream, to dare and to embark on journeys that test our limits and expand our horizons.”

Key specs for Amundsen: Length overall is 77 feet, 2 inches; waterline length is 67 feet, 5 inches; beam is 20 feet, 4 inches; and draft is 7 feet, 1 inch.

Where to learn more: go to kmyachtbuilders.com.

The post The Pelagic 77 <i>Amundsen</i> is Delivered appeared first on Cruising World.

Every voyage starts with a dream. For me, it goes back a long while to when I was a little boy and wanted to become a sailor. That dream came true a quarter-century later. I was working in the Romanian language service of the BBC. My wife, Gwenda, and I had two children, Doina and Ivan, who were 6 and 4. Life seemed settled. The BBC Yacht Club had a 40-foot Lion-class sloop. I spent weekends sailing off England’s south coast and across the English Channel to France. It didn’t take me long to decide that sailing was definitely what I wanted to do. 

The early 1970s were a time of great ­uncertainty in the world, and I felt that having a successful career could wait, whereas a world voyage with the family could not. Fortunately, Gwenda was a passionate traveler. To my surprise and relief, she fully supported the idea. 

Our main concern was the children’s education. Gwenda completed a two-year evening course in education and taught for one year in a London school to gain experience. Meanwhile, I took courses in seamanship and navigation, and started looking for a boat. We could not afford even a used boat, so—with a loan secured against our small property—we bought a 36-foot bare fiberglass hull. All the rest of the work I would have to do myself. 

In spring 1973, it was wheeled into a shed at London’s Royal Albert Dock. I looked over the side into the void and saw the magnitude of my undertaking. Many unfinished hulls, mostly ferrocement, were spread about the shed.

Still, it was a friendly atmosphere, and I could always get help or advice from someone who knew more than I did, which was most people. This was by far the greatest challenge I had ever faced, but I was determined. Using every spare hour and weekends, slowly, I saw Aventura start to take shape.

The First Aventura Launches

In July 1974, I launched the boat, partly finished, for a test sail in the English Channel. That maiden voyage showed all the mistakes I had made, but I could easily put them right. By the following spring, we were ready to leave. I went to resign my job but was able to continue my weekly shortwave program. Also called Aventura (“adventure” in Romanian), it was a mix of adventure stories and pop music, and was a great success among an audience living under a communist dictatorship. I was thrilled with the weekly income of about $60 because the boat had swallowed all our savings. The BBC World Service also let me send recordings during our trip about interesting subjects and local people.

That was the beginning of my freelance career. It marked a significant turning point in my life. Looking out for original material became a permanent quest. 

After a year in the Mediterranean getting used to this new life, we crossed the Atlantic, spent a year exploring the Caribbean and US East Coast, transited the Panama Canal, crisscrossed the South Pacific from Easter Island to Papua New Guinea and Tuvalu to Australia, cruised the entire Indonesian ­archipelago from Torres Strait to Singapore, and crossed our outward track via the Suez Canal.

Our planned three-year voyage stretched into six. We would have spent even longer had Doina not reached the age of needing to resume her formal education. In 1981, we returned to London, the children returned to school, and we reintegrated into life on terra firma. We sold Aventura, and I rejoined the BBC.

We could not afford even a used boat, so—with a loan secured against our small property—we bought a 36-foot bare fiberglass hull. All the rest of the work I would have to do myself. 

Throughout our 58,000-mile voyage, Aventura proved the best choice I could have made. Despite the boat’s modest length, it was a comfortable and safe home. The hull was strong, as I found out when we ran aground on a reef in the Turks and Caicos Islands. After the rising tide helped us off, there were only scratches.

Aventura II

When the time came to choose a successor for another world voyage, I had many ideas, in no small part because of surveys I had conducted among sailors we’d met. Nothing on the market came close, so I had a naval architect turn my ideas into a basic design. I contacted Bill Dixon, who was already known for his original approach to boat design. He produced the plans for the Aventura 40, a revolutionary design that included all the essential features I wanted. 

During the three years we had spent in the South Pacific, I had heard of several boat losses due to navigational errors, groundings or collisions. I wanted the new Aventura to be as strong as possible, and in those days, that meant a steel hull. I also wanted good cockpit protection. An overall length of 40 feet is what I regarded as ideal.

Since I believe that a shallow draft is an invaluable advantage when cruising, we included a retractable, hydraulically operated keel. It passed through a box that ended at deck level. Inspired by the Australian victory at the America’s Cup, I asked Dixon to add two large wings, which greatly improved the boat’s stability. The draft with the keel fully down was 5 feet, 10 inches. Twin rudders helped with the keel retracted; I believe this was something that had never been attempted on a cruising boat of that size before.

The most revolutionary feature was my idea of having two engines. Besides redundancy, the main advantage was that one engine, fitted with a powerful alternator, acted as a generating unit. Both of the 28 hp Perkins engines had Max-Prop folding propellers, which, combined with the two rudders, significantly increased maneuverability. 

Our rig was a standard cutter with a Hood in-mast furling mainsail, which was popular in those days. An eye-catching feature was the hard dodger, which not only provided perfect cockpit protection, but it was also attractive. 

The interior was quite unusual: The main cabin was in the stern, where a table and U-shaped settee were on a slightly raised platform with a good view to the outside. Two staterooms, separated by the keel box, occupied the center of the boat. The starboard one had a double berth, while the port one had bunks with high sides. A passageway through that stateroom led to the forepeak, which had submarine-type clamps and was a sacrificial collision zone. This was a service area with a full-size workbench, a dive compressor and gear, two inflatable dinghies, spare anchors, lines, and fenders.

Sadly, this highly functional boat had one great disadvantage: It was designed to have a displacement of 12.5 tons but came in at 17 tons. The builder had fulfilled my request for a solid boat by creating a mini battle cruiser. 

It was slow in light airs but stable and gentle in a strong breeze. Its versatility proved a great advantage in the first round-the-world rally. By the time I sold it in 1995, it had sailed over 40,000 miles. 

Aventura III

The annual ARC and various other rallies, both trans-Atlantic and around the world, kept me busy in the late 1990s, but the temptation of a new world voyage became irresistible. The choice of the next Aventura was quite simple because I knew exactly what I wanted: a fast boat that was easy to sail shorthanded, and that would take me safely anywhere.  

An obvious choice was the French-built aluminum OVNI range. All OVNIs shared a hard chine, flat bottom, integral centerboard and folding rudder. I set my eyes on the OVNI 43, which had a displacement of 9.5 tons and was known for good sailing performance. 

After my previous experience, having a proven design produced by a reputable builder was a great attraction. And, because of the maintenance frustrations and costs of the previous Aventura’s steel hull, Aventura III had an unpainted hull. Besides its strength, aluminum’s greatest advantage is that it naturally forms a durable oxide layer on the exposed surface that prevents further oxidation.

In 2010, when I sold Aventura III, having sailed 70,000 miles and 13 years, it took me fewer than a couple of days to bring that hull into pristine condition.

Aventura III is still close to my heart. A highlight was our voyage with Ivan from Antarctica to Alaska. That was followed by my third circumnavigation. At that point, I could say that I had sailed to all the places I wanted to see. 

Aventura IV

There was, however, one location missing on my list: the Northwest Passage. Three years after having sold Aventura III, and fortunately still in good shape at 73, I felt that I should attempt to achieve this most challenging goal.

It also would be my last chance to create the ideal cruising boat. While each of my previous boats had original features, this boat could bring them all together and add new ones. I knew precisely what I wanted: a strong, fast, comfortable, functional and easily handled boat, for all seas and all seasons.

Still convinced that only aluminum could be the answer, I contacted French boatyard Garcia, at that time regarded as the best builders of aluminum boats in the world. I was fortunate to work with Stephan Constance, its CEO, and Olivier Racoupeau, one of France’s top naval architects. I told them that I wanted to keep the best features of my previous Aventura but add the nearly all-around visibility of a catamaran. As far as I knew, a deck salon had never been attempted on a yacht with an integral centerboard because the added height and weight might affect its stability. The designer solved this problem by settling for a low profile. I got a spacious salon with 270-degree visibility, and without compromising the stability or the looks of the new Exploration 45.

Safety, however, was the top priority. The hazards of sailing in high latitudes meant that the hull had to withstand collisions with ice. It should also have watertight collision bulkheads fore and aft. The two aluminum rudders, protected by skegs, should have a crumple area in the upper section of each rudder blade. If the rudder was pushed upward in a collision, the sacrificial section—made of light composite material—would absorb the shock and avoid any damage to the hull.

Because of my concern for the environment, I wanted the new Aventura to have as low a carbon footprint as possible. Unfortunately, none of the hybrid engines available at that time were suitable. I made up for that by using a combination of solar, wind and hydro generation. 

On the advice of the designer, I agreed to a fractional rig with a full batten mainsail and Solent jib, a setup that he assured me made for a more efficient configuration. I also had a staysail for stronger winds. Occasionally they were used together, as on a cutter, usually with the Solent partially rolled up. The mast was also much better stayed than on my previous boat. Because of the swept-back spreaders, the lower shrouds did not obstruct the side deck. 

Ice conditions in the Northwest Passage in 2014 stopped us from completing our attempt at making a transit from east to west. Rather than wait until the following summer, I attempted to do it from the opposite direction. We headed south from Greenland, transited the Panama Canal and, in summer 2015, passed through the Bering Strait and transited the Northwest Passage.

Aventura IV fulfilled all my expectations, and I doubt that I could have done the passage so safely and easily in any other boat. In a critical situation, we got caught in ice, and the boat behaved like a mini icebreaker. It was, however, just as much in its element when we cruised the Bahamas. A boat for all seas and all seasons, indeed. My quest for an ideal cruising boat had been achieved.

In 2017, with no plans for any more voyages, I decided that Aventura IV was not the kind of boat to spend the rest of its life sitting idly in some marina. I sold it to a sailor who was planning a similar Arctic voyage. 

As for me, sadly, I had to admit that it was the end.

Or so I thought.

Aventura Zero

Historic anniversaries have always had a fascination for me, be it the 500th anniversary of the voyage of Christopher Columbus to the New World or of Vasco da Gama’s trip around the Cape of Good Hope. I celebrated by organizing rallies along their historic routes. The approaching anniversary in 2022 of the first round-the-world voyage was an opportunity I was not prepared to miss. I wanted to do something special for myself. 

The first circumnavigation continues to be attributed to Portuguese navigator Ferdinand Magellan. In fact, the person who should be credited is Basque sailor Juan Sebastian Elcano. He sailed with Magellan from the start, took over the leadership of the expedition when Magellan was killed in the Philippines, and completed the voyage. 

This is how the idea of my Elcano Challenge was born: to complete a circumnavigation along the same route by a fully electric boat. ElCaNo: Electricity (El), carbon (Ca), No.

The aim was to conceive a sailing boat using no fossil fuel for propulsion or electricity generation, and to rely exclusively on renewable sources of energy. The essential factor of electric propulsion on a sailing boat is the ability to generate electricity not just by passive means (solar and wind), but primarily by the boat’s movement. That means a potentially fast boat under sail, whether monohull or multihull. Ideally, such a boat should also have enough surface available to display several solar panels. 

Because the time was too short to start such a project from scratch, I did it on an Outremer performance cruising catamaran. Xavier Desmarest, the CEO of Outremer, agreed to make all the ^­necessary modifications to the yard’s standard Outremer 45.  

The most important element was to generate electricity efficiently while underway. This desire led me to the Finnish company Oceanvolt, which had developed an ingenious system based on its ServoProp variable-pitch propeller. The software-controlled propeller could automatically adjust the pitch of the blades to provide an optimal level of regeneration or power output.

With a ServoProp capable of generating an estimated 500 watts at 6 knots and 800 watts at 8 knots, plus Aventura Zero’s solar panels with a capacity of 1300 watts, all my electricity needs would be covered. Under normal sailing conditions, it would be enough to charge the two propulsion battery banks of 28 kWh each, as well as a 2.4 kW service battery. 

Outremer insisted that I install a backup diesel generator, but I refused. I hadn’t had a diesel generator on any of my previous boats. On my return from the Northwest Passage, Aventura IV’s engine failed, and we managed to sail more than 2,000 miles to the UK relying primarily on a Sail-Gen ­hydrogenerator that covered all our requirements: autopilot, instruments, communications, electric winches and toilets. We arrived at Falmouth Marina with fully charged batteries.

At my request, the sail plan of Aventura Zero had performance features, such as a self-tacking Solent jib and a ­rotating mast. The boat was launched in La Grande-Motte, in the South of France, in September 2020. Within a month, we were on our way to Seville and the formal start of this special voyage. 

The night after our arrival, a thunderstorm of apocalyptic force broke over the city. Lightning struck the dock behind us and put the entire Oceanvolt electrical system out of action. It took two weeks to have it all replaced. By the time we got to Tenerife in the Canaries, COVID was raging, and several countries on our route were closed to visitors. My crew was reluctant to continue, and I agreed. 

Still, the 3,600-mile North Atlantic maiden voyage had put Aventura Zero and its concept to a rigorous test, and we completed each of our offshore passages with zero carbon emissions. On the last leg, from Tenerife to France, I carefully monitored the systems, keeping a record of the rate of regeneration and overall electricity consumption. On that 10-day nonstop passage, all our electricity needs were covered by onboard regeneration. We left with the battery bank at 95 percent capacity and arrived with 20 percent, enough for an emergency. 

Our 1,500-mile winter passage had been the perfect opportunity to put the concept to a proper test because we encountered a full range of weather ­conditions, including three gales with sustained winds higher than 40 knots. On that level, the test had been successful, ­albeit at the cost of a sustained effort to keep domestic consumption to a minimum. I was pleased that the concept itself had been proved right.

With no plans for any more ­voyages, I decided that Aventura IV was not the kind of boat to spend the rest of its life sitting idly in some marina. I sold it to a sailor who was planning a similar Arctic voyage. 

One area in which I now believe that a compromise would be acceptable is to occasionally charge the batteries when stopping in a marina. After all, this is what electric cars are doing, and they still claim to abide by the zero-emissions principle. Doing the same with a sailing boat could be an acceptable solution for anyone planning to sail in places where access to charging points is easily available. 

Conceivably, the future is electric.

Offshore cruising veteran Jimmy Cornell is the author of several books, including Sail the World With Me, a riveting recount of his voyages on the boats named in this story. 

The post Chasing Perfection: A Quest for the Ideal Bluewater Boat appeared first on Cruising World.

In 2025, the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers will host its 40th edition. Boats will depart from Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, bound for St. Lucia in the Caribbean.

It’s projected that when the 2025 rally concludes in St. Lucia, more than 8,000 boats and 40,000 sailors will have sailed the Atlantic with the support of the ARC.

To celebrate this achievement, there are discounts available now for all boat entries smaller than 40 feet and for any boats or skippers who participated in the inaugural rally in 1986. In addition, a portion of every entry fee will be donated to the newly formed World Cruising Positive Impact Fund.

“Forty years is a landmark anniversary” Paul Tetlow, World Cruising Club managing director, stated in a press release. “Supporting local organizations on our route has always been a part of the rally, from the ARC Forest in Gran Canaria to supporting local sailing in St. Lucia, and our new Positive Impact Fund will enable us to reach more charities and communities in the countries we visit.”

Sailors who prefer to contribute hands-on donations of time can plant trees in the mountains above Las Palmas, working with Fundacion Foresta. So far, 3,770 trees have been planted in what has become known as the “ARC Forest,” helping to capture carbon and improve rainfall retention.

Sailor Jimmy Cornell devised the ARC four decades ago to be a fun event for true cruising enthusiasts. The rally has always been intended to increase safety and enhance participants’ confidence on board, as well.

The first rally, in November 1986, attracted 209 yachts from 24 countries. Nobody could have foreseen just how much the event would grow throughout the years. Today, late November is known as “ARC season” in Las Palmas—and a sister event, ARC+, has been added from Las Palmas to Mindelo in Cape Verde and then on to Grenada.

To date, 7,656 yachts have crossed the Atlantic with the ARC and ARC+, sailing a combined total of more than 22 million nautical miles. The course record is eight days, six hours, 29 minutes and 15 seconds, set by George David’s Rambler 88 in 2016.

Have any boats already entered this autumn’s rally? Oh, yes. More than 160 boats are entered for ARC 2024, while ARC+ 2024 has 103 entries. ARC 2024 boats range in size from a Hallberg Rassy 352 to a Wally Yachts 83.

Where to learn more: click over to worldcruising.com

The post Celebrating 40 Years of the ARC appeared first on Cruising World.

The last of any cruising cobwebs were shaken out as we sailed our 47-foot Stevens Totem across a chunk of the Pacific Ocean. Our recent passage from Los Frailes, Baja California Sur, to Honokōhau, Hawaii, was within 100 nautical miles of the distance we sailed from Mexico to French Polynesia.

That’s a significant passage.

By the numbers, we covered a distance of 2,805 nautical miles. It took us 16 days, eight hours at a top speed of 12 knots and an average speed of 7.2 knots. Our best 24-hour run was 186 nautical miles. We burned just 12 gallons of diesel and 4 gallons of gasoline. And while we did not catch any squalls, we did stop counting after 19 flying fish landed on deck.

Two additional crew contributed meaningfully to the passage: our son, Niall, and our friend, River. Niall, who is two years past graduation from Lewis & Clark College, left his job in refugee services earlier this year. Of course, he intimately knows the floating home he grew up aboard. River is a boat-savvy friend we met while he and his wife were cruising in Mexico in 2019. He was supposed to join Totem to sail to the South Pacific in March 2020, but we all know how that year panned out. His gentle strength and can-do attitude make an excellent addition to a passage. Plus, he brought the chill that I sometimes needed.

After teaming up for the first couple of nights, we did two-hour rotations at night and ad-hoc watch-standing during the day. The help was a luxury that Jamie and I may miss for our next big leg to the Marshall Islands.

Conditions Underway

Conventionally, this passage benefits from northeast trade winds; the angle would put apparent wind at or just behind the beam on Totem, where our boat shines. These conditions are based on the establishment of the North Pacific High (a high-pressure weather system bringing stability and generally mild conditions) as spring progresses.

In the days leading to our departure window, the high developed into a nice, stable size and location. In our pre-departure crew meeting, my husband, Jamie, discussed our weather expectations for the passage: we’d time our departure to get around Cabo San Lucas in moderate conditions, we’d spend 24 to 36 hours of close reaching in 15 to 18 knots; and we would shift into broad reaching and then running as we got west under the high.

Jamie’s only concern was the high growing bigger or shifting south, leaving us with little to no wind. He expected we’d drop 3 to 5 degrees south of the rhumb line route west to the big island. We also expected decent stargazing along the way.

Our passage did not follow this script.

There were two subtle changes to the North Pacific High. First, a low pressure system moved eastward in an arc over and down into the top of the high. Second, a stationary low formed near Hawaii, causing torrential rain and flooding. That low nudged the high a little farther north.

Where we were, compressed trades came out of the north. Totem’s speed often ranged from 7 to 10 knots, pulling our apparent wind angle well forward of the beam: not close-hauled, but 65 to 80 degrees was far from the broad-reaching to running we expected. After a week, the wind finally began to clock northeast. On day nine, the apparent wind angle was at 130 to 150, and we set up a wing-on-wing sail plan.

This was a more active passage than most. Cooking was a challenge. I complained at times that cooking required arms like an octopus to hang onto everything, but I appreciated the mostly starboard tack, as it makes our galley is easier to use. One passage win? Discovering that the roll of thin silicone mat I purchased for baking also serves as excellent nonslip under plates.

Another win was minimizing garbage. We throw organics overboard, but not glass or cans. We reduce packaging before departure. We cut soft plastics and stow everything in containers until landfall. How we make it work (and dealing with garbage while cruising more generally) is described in much more detail here.

Also unexpected were the number of chilly nights and gray skies. Starting on our second night at sea, there was rarely sun until day 13. That hampered our solar power generation. Those 4 gallons of gasoline burned? Running the generator to top up our batteries.

Some stargazing would have been nice, but overcast weather prevented that. It also hampered power generation. Totem has 1,215 watts of solar. In Mexico, this was enough to meet all power needs, including making hot water. With the cloud cover, we had to run the generator several times to keep up with power demands.

Gear Failures

We lost a Corelle dinner plate. It’s supremely durable dishware until it hits a surface just right and splinters into 16 million shards. It was our second plate in 16 years to break in dramatic fashion.

We also had a shackle failure on day 14. Jamie explains: “Pre-departure, I ran out of seizing wire on the last shackle to be moused, securing the genoa head to the upper furling swivel. Instead, I used a zip tie. The shackle pin still backed out, and gravity pulled the genoa down. Naturally, this happened in the dark hours before dawn. The sail slid down the foil, and since it was poled out to starboard, slipped into the water and trailed alongside like a well-behaved, wet sheepdog.”

Totem kept cruising along at 7 knots as our genoa skimmed the surface of the Pacific. It happened while Jamie and I were in the cockpit, chatting, as he turned the watch over to me; half of the crew was awake, the other half quickly roused.

It was a demonstration of quality teamwork as the crew got the sail, still attached at the tack and clew, back on deck and secured. Closer inspection after landfall turned up more.

As Jamie explains: “After the passage, I went aloft to retrieve the furler swivel and halyard from the top of the foil section. There, I was surprised to find that the endcap on the foil section was gone. Puzzled, I tried rotating the foil and found that it locked up in one direction. I suspect that when the shackle opened up, the genoa luff tension released, causing the halyard to recoil and pull the swivel up into the end plate—apparently with enough force to rip out the machine screw, which then fell inside the foil, causing the furler to bind. Should be easy to retrieve it, but it means another trip up the mast.”

I helped Jamie go aloft again to retrieve the bits. Then, it would be a matter of ordering replacement parts for the furler and some hand-sewing to repair the chafed top of the genoa. It got chewed up when it flogged at the masthead before making its graceful descent for a swim.

In Hindsight

We did not have fishing gear on board. Our kit went walkabout during the refit. Initial plans were to replace it before we left Mexico, but with the limited selection, we opted to wait until we arrived in Hawaii. Sure enough, even a convenience store in Hawaii had a better selection of lures and line.

All in all, though, this successful passage was a significant milestone. Putting about one-third of the Pacific Ocean between Totem and Mexico, after several false starts in the last few years, was meaningful.

Jamie and I have set off on a new chapter of our cruising life. We were gratified that our preparation and shakedown had been solid. The post-refit Totem, which still feels like a new boat in many ways, is ready to be our oceangoing magic carpet, once again.

Want to see some video from the trip? We had fun making a few clips; check our Instagram.

The post Passage Report: Sailing <i>Totem</i> Finds Aloha appeared first on Cruising World.

Musto has unveiled its MPX Impact Gore-Tex Pro sailing jacket and trousers, which are made with D3O pads in the elbows, hips and knees—a technology reportedly used by US Special Forces and Formula 1 racing to help prevent impact injury, cuts and abrasions.

Offshore racers are the target market for this line, which prints the pads onto mesh that is then bonded onto the fabric. The technology allows for a low-profile, lightweight, flexible pad that is waterproof without lessening the fabric’s breathable properties.

“D3O absorbs and dissipates the energy from impacts, reducing the amount of force that gets transmitted to your body compared to standard forms,” Mostyn Thomas, D3O global brand director, stated in a press release. “Each one of the broad range of D3O technologies is tailored to solve a specific problem or need in sport, motorcycle, electronics, defense and industrial workwear. We are delighted to have worked with Musto on designing MPX Impact, especially as we know offshore sailors can be dealing with some of the most brutal and hostile conditions on the planet.”

Armel Le Cléac’h, the French captain, navigator and solo, nonstop around-the-world racer, played a key role in the product’s design. “We go from 20 to 40 knots in just a few seconds. Accelerating this quickly and at these speeds means you are often thrown around on the boat, and that’s why impact protection is so important,” Le Cléac’h stated in the press release.

“Developing MPX Impact with Musto has enabled me to try and test various solutions in real ocean conditions, and we’ve worked together to design what I believe to be the ultimate offshore impact kit. It’s the first of its kind.”

Will Harris, co-skipper of IMOCA Team Malizia, tested the MPX Impact jacket and trousers on The Ocean Race and the Transat Jacques Vabre. He said: “With high-speed reaching in modern yachts, the slams and forces you have to deal with are multiplied, and protection all over the body is important. The jacket has all the features I need to be able to quickly jump on the deck during a maneuver while feeling protected from both the elements and the boat itself. The number of bruises I come back with afterwards being drastically reduced.”

The jacket has other cool features too: There’s an easy-access waterproof phone pouch with a touch-sensitive window on the forearm. Laser-cut pocket drainage prevents pooling. YKK Vislon AquaGuard zippers provide rain and windproof closures. Chest and hand pockets are trimmed with reflective details for higher visibility in darker conditions. The hood can pack away into the collar, and there is a hanging loop for stowage.

Where to learn more: go to www.musto.com.

The post Musto’s MPX Impact is Made for Offshore appeared first on Cruising World.

I would hardly describe myself as all-knowing, but at age 93, with a lifetime of offshore sailing experience in my bag, I’ve seen a lot. These days, I can walk on a boat that is preparing to head south and immediately start making a list of improvements.

Here are some of the most important things I’ve learned about how to make your voyage south safer and easier.

No matter what route you take to the Caribbean, or what time of year, your chance is high of running into blows of at least 25 to 30 knots. To prepare, when you’re still in your own home waters, head out with a crew in a good blow and push the boat really hard on various points of sail. Reef the main, and reduce the area of the headsail. On double headsail boats, get rid of the jib, shorten down to staysail and double-reefed main, beat to windward, heave-to, reach and run downwind. Install and test the emergency tiller.

You will undoubtedly discover deficiencies in sails and gear. Fix them, wait for the next blow, and then repeat the process. Your fear and anxiety about being on the boat in heavy weather will eventually vanish.

Next, check your mainsail and mizzen reefing systems. In moderate conditions. reef and double reef a couple of times. If you have single line in the boom reefing, then have a good rigger un-reeve it, get rid of the twists, and then re-reeve it.

Single headsail boats heading south should contact a great rigger. Have him design and install a removable staysail stay. This stay should be parallel to the headstay, meeting the mast about where the head of the reefed main will be. Then, have a hanked-on staysail built. Stow it and its sheets in a tight, double-zippered turtle bag, and secure it alongside the mast.

When cruising the Caribbean, before leaving the lee of an island, set up the staysail stay, hoist the staysail, roll up the genoa or jib, and reef the main. You’ll have a comfortable passage.

You’ll also want an easily rigged, easily disconnected main boom anti-jibing preventer rig and reaching sheet. (My own failure to install one of these ended my own boat’s 114-year career.) Start by securing a becket block to the end of the boom. To the becket, secure a wire or Kevlar line about 6 inches shorter than the length of the main boom. Secure the end of the line to the gooseneck with a light lashing. Through the block, reeve a line that’s double the length of the main boom, plus about 15 feet. Secure this line to the gooseneck, and coil the excess line.

From the stem head or bowsprit end, rig two spinnaker pole foreguys with both ends secured to lifeline stanchions alongside the mast. Once the wind goes aft, and the boat is sailing on a broad reach or almost dead downwind, you can disconnect the line under the boom, attach it to one end of the spinnaker pole foreguy, run the other end back to a cockpit winch or cleat, and set the man boom foreguy preventer up tight. You now have a preventer running from the end of the main boom to the stem or bowsprit end, making it impossible to jibe.

When sailing broad off, attach one end of the reaching sheet to the genoa. Run the other end through a block that’s well forward of amidships, then back to a cockpit winch. Trim the genoa with the reaching sheet. This will open up the angle, allow the main boom to be eased, ease or eliminate weather helm and eliminate chafe. The boat will also be faster.

A double headsail rig is great because it can be properly shortened down in heavy weather, but one problem is that when broad reaching, the jib sheet chafes on the main boom. This problem can be easily eliminated. Go hard on the wind, use tape to mark the jib sheet about 4 feet forward of the rail cap lead block, and then roll up the jib and cut the jib sheet off at the mark. Join it with the section that has been cut off by using a double sheet bend. Mouse the ends of the knots with whipping twine or electrical tape. Then, when sheets are eased and chafe begins, attach the reaching sheet to the jib sheet forward of the knot. Rig the reaching sheet as described above, opening the angle and eliminating chafe.

When you are out there pushing the boat hard, double reef the main and reduce headsail area. On a double headsail boat, experiment by rolling up the jib completely, sheeting the staysail flat, and tacking but holding the staysail sheet. Experiment with main trim and helm angle. Hopefully, you will end up lying about 60 degrees off the wind, with little or no headway slipping to leeward, leaving a smooth slick to windward.

If the staysail is roller furling, then roll up one full roll so that even the worst gust will not blow the sail out of the foil. Ketches and yawls usually will heave-to with the staysail aback and mizzen trimmed flat, or sometimes under mizzen alone.

The modern fin-keeled single headsail sloop with no forefoot to prevent the bow from falling off is almost impossible to get to heave-to. Just try jogging along on a double- or triple-reefed main. Each boat is different, so you’ll have to experiment. After trying to heave-to in a real blow in a single-headsail boat, you will probably be persuaded to install a removable staysail stay with a hanked-on staysail.

Next, have a sailmaker check all your boat’s sails. In general, on any well-used sail, have him stitch 2/3-foot in on the leach on each seam for the main and headsails. If the main is old, then replace it with a Doyle fully battened stack pack main or the equivalent. This quality of sail will outlast its cover, in my experience, especially if you protect the sail from the sun.

Change the fuel filters on your engine and generator under sail while the boat is well heeled over. It’s a different job than when you do it in port. Practicing will mean that on your way south, if the filters need to be changed at sea, you will be able to do it.

Buy spare belts, and make sure you have the tools to adjust tension. Change belts to make sure you can do the job with little difficulty.

When it comes to bilge pumps, the vast majority of today’s boats have a pair of 10-gallon-per-minute pumps with short handles. These can be inadequate to move large quantities of water. A 30-gpm Edson diaphragm pump with a 42-inch handle will move large quantities of water and can be pumped for long periods without wearing out the pumper.

Loss of steering or loss of rudder should not be regarded as a complete disaster, but rather a major inconvenience. On boats with a twin wheel installation, install an emergency tiller 6 feet long, hinged so the forward end is at a convenient height. If a cockpit table obstructs the end of the tiller, then the table base should be altered so that the table can be easily removed.

While sailing up and down the islands of the eastern Caribbean, spinnaker poles are rarely used, but if your trip south is at the beginning of a cruise to the Pacific (where you will be doing a lot of downwind trade wind sailing) then it is worthwhile to re-rig your spinnaker pole stowage. Stow the pole or poles vertically against the mast, with the inner end on a slider that goes up the mast. It makes rigging and unrigging the pole fantastically easy.

There is nothing that gets crews seasick faster in heavy weather than a stuffy cabin. Install proper ventilators. Double opening hatches—which can be opened facing aft under a dodger at sea, or reversed in port to gather air—are a great bonus. In port, good wind scoops will make life more comfortable belowdecks in even the hottest weather.

When heading south, you are not racing. If the wind goes light, you can motor-sail. If you keep engine revs down to 1,200 or less, your range will be considerable. If it starts to blow hard, then slow down to be comfortable.

Have a minimum of four crew with offshore experience. All too often, the crew is a couple heading south for semi-retirement with friends who may be good sailors, but who are not experienced offshore sailors. They run into heavy weather and things start falling apart, sometimes disastrously. If you fit that description, then hire a good delivery skipper to sail with you. In some cases, a boat’s previous owner can serve this purpose. After 52 years of owning the 46-foot yawl Iolaire, I sold her and served as the new owner’s sailing master/coach on a 500-mile passage.  

A good crew is also necessary because fatigue is the rust that destroys boats. With five crew on board, you can stand watches four hours on and six off. It is essential that there are at least two bunks set up so the off-watch crew can comfortably sleep, no matter the angle of heel. Test the bunks along with everything else in heavy weather.

Crew also need to be well-fed. I have always insisted on a solid breakfast, soup and sandwiches at lunchtime, and a solid dinner. There is rarely a reason to miss a meal, especially if, before you head offshore, you make up a pasta sauce, beef stew and a chicken for roasting. That will give you three meals semi-prepared for cooking in heavy weather. A pre-cooked ham is also wonderful for snacks.

Seasickness can take trial and error to resolve, but anybody who is prone to it should start taking their preferred remedy 24 hours before the trip starts. Those who are seldom seasick should start taking their remedy before heavy weather is predicted to arrive.

All boats heading offshore should stow the ultimate seasickness cure: suppositories of promethegan. Pills are useless, as they just keep coming up, but the suppository gets into the system and produces an amazingly fast recovery. I have had completely disabled crewmembers fully recover in four hours with the suppositories.

Keep this article handy when planning your passage south. If you follow the advice, you’ll boost your odds of enjoying a successful voyage south—even if you run into heavy weather.

The post Southern Comfort: Tactical Tips for Sailing South appeared first on Cruising World.

For the past 30 years, Andrew Burton has been trying to put himself out of a job—because he doesn’t want owners of the boats to miss out. 

“A lot of delivery skippers won’t have the owner on board,” he says. “I encourage it, because for me, the fun part is the offshore sailing. To take that away from the owner doesn’t seem right.”

He wasn’t always so concerned about sharing his biggest joy. He can remember, long ago, listening to a single-sideband radio to check in with other captains. 

“Six o’clock every day, we’d catch up with weather and see where everybody was,” he says. “And every now and again, we’d hear the Coast Guard in a conversation with somebody abandoning the boat. I was young and not particularly empathetic: ‘These idiots, going out there with no experience.’”

He shakes his head and adds, “As I matured, I started thinking about why those people were getting off their boats, usually giving up on a lifetime dream of sailing to the Caribbean.” 

Many folks just weren’t prepared for the reality of offshore sailing, he realized. 

“They get out there, and it’s blowing 35, and the motion is something they’ve never experienced because there can be three different components to the waves,” he says. “They’re wet, exhausted, scared, the decks are leaking, it’s the middle of the night, and they’re seasick. So it seems like the best thing they could possibly do is call the Coast Guard.”

Finally, Burton decided that he could help people learn to sail safely offshore—and maybe even find their own bluewater joy.

An Idea Emerges

in the 1990s, nautor swan managed a fleet of midsize and larger charter sailboats that migrated between summers in Rhode Island and winters in the Caribbean. Burton did a lot of those deliveries. 

“I worked out a deal where I chartered the boats and put paying crew on them, to help them learn,” he says. “For many, it was their first time out of sight of land or sailing at night.” 

That’s how Adventure Sailing was born. It’s Burton’s company, which teaches sailors how to enjoy, rather than simply endure, their time at sea.

All of Burton’s clients must have basic sailing knowledge and know how to steer a compass course. If not, he suggests they first get educated at a place such as J/World Performance Sailing School. “Tell them what you want to learn, then come back, and we’ll go,” he says.

Instead of asking for references, he has blunt conversations about experience and fitness: “I tell them, ‘If you bullsh-t me, it’ll be a waste of money. But if what you’re telling me is true, well, then, this is a really good value, and you’ll get a lot out of it.’”

“They get out there, and it’s blowing 35. They’re wet, exhausted, scared, the decks are leaking, it’s the middle of the night, and they’re ­seasick. So it seems like the best thing they could possibly do is call the Coast Guard.”   

Typical clients own a small cruising boat and are hoping to step up to one that’s bluewater-capable. Burton has two basic goals: “One, to help people realize their dream of going offshore by providing the tools to do it successfully. And two, to give them a good baseline in what offshore sailing is all about.”

His most successful passages have a convivial crew, and most have never met before they sign up. 

“If somebody sounds like an idiot,” he says, “well, then, I’m sorry, but we’re full.” 

Building the Business

Nautor Swan sold its charter fleet several decades ago, but on one of the last trips, Burton had nine boats leaving Newport, Rhode Island, with 54 people headed offshore. By then, his reputation had built a word-of-mouth private client base. 

By fall 2017, Burton and his wife, Tami, had spotted a Baltic 47 for sale. The boat needed new teak decks and an electronics upgrade, but it had what he calls “three really good” cabins, plus one for himself. The layout was perfect for Adventure Sailing. 

“Generally, it’s myself and six paying people,” Burton says, of Masquerade, adding that he encourages couples to sign up together. “We run three watches, with somebody new coming on every hour and a half, so everybody gets to know each other.” 

With six hours off, there’s plenty of time for ­relaxation. All of his clients have to steer, he says, “because that’s how you get the feel—to really know a boat. Unless we’re motoring, the autopilot stays off. We talk about storm tactics, weather, all kinds of things, but it’s not constant teaching.” 

For instance, he sits in the cockpit and tells sea stories and answers questions—lots of questions— because the whole point is to get the experience of being out there.

Burton also does the cooking, and says he really enjoys it—though he has an ulterior motive. Before GPS, he’d get out of dishwashing duty by charting the day’s course. Now that crewmembers can pinpoint the boat’s exact location themselves, cooking has become his escape. “GPS took a lot of the fun out of it, but it’s also allowed more people to get out there and do what I love to do,” he says.

Most clients eventually go offshore on their own, but not all. He’s had some customers step off the boat in Bermuda and buy a plane ticket home. “They’d say, ‘Hey, Andy, I really hated it,’” he recalls. “And: ‘Thank you very much. You just saved me a lot of money.’ I get it—there can be a lot to hate about offshore sailing.”

With some clients, he’ll offer a challenge: He takes them to the Caribbean, and then they have to bring the boat back on their own. Shipping is a good option for some boats, he says, but he estimates that delivering a boat on its own bottom costs about half as much. “And if you’ve got a good skipper, there’s not going to be that much wear and tear,” he adds. “Anybody worth his salt is gonna take really good care of the boat.”

Over the Horizon

As we chat, Burton is waiting for a weather window to ease his next delivery to the Virgin Islands. Forecasting has gotten better during the past 30 years, but even the best forecaster can get it wrong. On one delivery from Bermuda back home to Rhode Island, Burton decided to heave-to rather than bash upwind into a strong northwesterly blow. He was settled in under the dodger, admiring the huge whitecapped swells and “that gorgeous turquoise, when you look through the top of the wave,” when another boat passed by close enough to chat on the VHF radio. 

“They asked if we were all right,” he says. “I told them we were just having a cup of tea.” 

By the next morning, the wind had shifted ­southwest, so they set sail again—and soon passed that same boat, which was by then hove-to, with no one on deck.

“Our goal is to be ­inclusive. The idea is for all the owners to have the same thrill that I did finishing my first ­Bermuda race as ­skipper, because that thrill was still there ­finishing my ­second race.”

“They must’ve gotten just over the horizon and decided, ‘Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea,’” he says.“One of the things that I teach people is how to heave-to, because if everything hits the fan, you can stop and wait for it to go away.”

In 2018, Burton entered Masquerade in the Newport Bermuda Race. He’d delivered boats to the island hundreds of times before, but says they finished in “the cheap seats.” In 2022, Masquerade won its class and finished second in the cruising division. As he prepares for this year’s race, he’s also trying to help organizers streamline the entry process. 

“Our goal is to be inclusive,” he says. “The idea is for all the owners to have the same thrill that I did finishing my first Bermuda race as skipper, because that thrill was still there finishing my second race.”

Adventure Sailing is currently booking clients for 2025, and for Burton’s eighth and ninth trans-Atlantic crossings: to the Azores and Scotland in June and back to the Caribbean in the fall. Add in five Panama Canal transits and 40 years of multiple deliveries between the East Coast and the Caribbean, and it’s easy to believe his personal sailing estimate of close to 500,000 miles logged. 

Along the way, he’s helped many sailors achieve their dreams—all without accumulating many dramatic sea stories. 

“Boats give us so much pleasure, especially one like Masquerade that’s such a delight to sail,” he says. “I have such mixed feelings about making landfall. On one hand, we’re happy to be reaching the goal and looking forward to a celebratory beer. On the other, we know we’re really going to miss sailing offshore.”

The post Getting More Sailors Offshore appeared first on Cruising World.

Sailing rallies come in a lot of shapes and sizes. They’re a smart way to try long-distance cruising or a transoceanic passage with a group, to check out a new destination with people who know it well, and to meet some like-minded sailors who share your cruising goals. 

You don’t have to be an America’s Cup-level sailor to join a rally. Just the opposite: Many people join rallies as a way to improve their skills while having fun. You can be an entry-­level sailor and participate in all kinds of rallies. You can use your engine whenever you want a little extra oomph. You can bring the kids and the family dog along as crew. 

Being part of a rally is a way to become a part of a sailing community, only without the pressure of a timed race. You’ll very likely find yourself learning helpful tips and tricks to improve your cruising experience as you make lifelong friends.

Rallies happen at all times of year, on both US coasts as well as all around the world. Here’s a look at some rallies you might want to try if you’re thinking about getting involved with a rally for the first time.

Salty Dawg and NARC Rallies

The Salty Dawg Sailing Association is a nonprofit organization whose rallies focus on the United States and Caribbean. These rallies are open to all sailors, with some experience requirements. The group prides itself on offering preparation help, as well as weather briefings, a daily forecast, personalized routing guidance, and more. 

Salty Dawg’s Homeward Bound rally starts in Antigua in late April, headed for the US Virgin Islands, the Bahamas and, finally, Virginia on the US East Coast. The group’s Caribbean Rally makes the opposite journey every fall, starting in Virginia and heading south. 

In fall 2022, the Salty Dawg folks started working with Hank Schmitt and the NARC Rally, which has sailed from Newport, Rhode Island, to Saint-Martin via Bermuda since 2000. There are talks to combine the two rallies in the future, including sailors who want to start or end in New England, as well as those who want to start or end in the Chesapeake Bay.

Additional Salty Dawg rallies include the summertime Maritime Rally from Massachusetts to Maine and Nova Scotia, and the Downeast Rally, focusing on Maine.

The ARC Rally

The World Cruising Club organizes the ARC trans-Atlantic rally from Gran Canaria in Spain’s Canary Islands some 2,700 nautical miles to St. Lucia in the Caribbean. This rally welcomes cruising couples, families, and boats at least 27 feet length overall with at least two people on board. Departure is in late November, and the crossing takes most boats 18 to 21 days. The ARC offers two additional start dates and routes: The ARC Plus is a two-stage trans-Atlantic rally that departs in early November from Gran Canaria, with a stopover in Cabo Verde and a final destination of Grenada. The ARC January follows the longer, traditional route to St. Lucia, with a January departure.

WCC also organizes the west-to-east ARC Europe rally, leaving the Caribbean or US East Coast every May, with a stop in Bermuda and the Azores, as well as the seven-stage ARC Portugal, which sails south across the Bay of Biscay from Plymouth, UK, to Bayonne, France, and then on to Portugal, and continues south along the Portuguese coast.

If you really want to go for the gusto, there’s also the World Arc, a 26,000-nautical-mile circumnavigation leaving from St. Lucia and Australia. 

Panama Posse 

The Panama Posse sails between Southern California and Annapolis, Maryland, by way of the Panama Canal. It’s a go-at-your-own-pace, 5,500-nautical-mile rally, with stops that can include Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, Jamaica, Belize, Cuba and the Florida Keys.

Singlehanded sailors are welcome to participate in this rally, and some boats include families and pets on board. A list of participating boats is on the website; many are in the 30- to 50-foot range of length overall.

The Baja Ha-Ha

Held in late October and November, the Baja Ha-Ha is a rally from San Diego to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. It’s a 750-­nautical-mile journey, with two planned stops: in Bahia Tortuga and Bahia Santa Marina. Organizers make the schedule in a way that gives even the slowest boats about a day and a half of rest at each stop.

Boats that can participate in this rally must be at least 27 feet length overall, and be designed, built and maintained for open-ocean sailing. Organizers will also make exceptions for some smaller boats on a case-by-case basis, and powerboats can join as well. Each boat must have at least two sailors on board. 

Coho Ho Ho

The Coho Ho Ho is a rally from Seattle to San Francisco on the US West Coast. It departs at the end of August and makes it to California in early to mid-September. From there, some Coho Ho Ho participants join up with the Baja Ha-Ha rally and continue on down to Mexico. 

This is a smaller rally with about a dozen participants, and it occasionally includes powerboats along with sailboats. –Kim Kavin

Rally Shots?

We’d love to see your rally photos. On Instagram, tag us @cruisingworldmag or email us at editor@cruisingworld.com.

Newport to Bermuda

When Hank Schmidt of Offshore Passage Opportunities told me about a couple who had bought a slightly used Southerly 535 and were planning to sail it in the 2021 North American Rally to the Caribbean, known as the NARC rally, I needed very little convincing to join them and their professional skipper as crew.

Southerly built only two of the 535s before Discovery Yachts acquired the brand. This boat was Hull No. 1, berthed in Boston, where I stepped aboard for one night and got to know the boat well ahead of the rally. My first recommendation to the husband: Add a second anchor on the bow.

“Once in the Caribbean, you’ll be at anchor most of the time,” I said. “Put two anchors on the bow. You’ll feel better.” 

We looked at the steering system, engine, main reefing and furling systems, and retractable keel mechanism. This Southerly had in-boom furling and a Solent stay, a prerequisite for any offshore voyage (that, or an inner stay on which to hoist a storm jib).

It was a well-thought-out and nicely designed yacht that they had christened Schatz Sea, which they tell me means “my ­beloved” in Germany, where the wife is from. 

A few weeks later, they sailed Schatz Sea down to Newport, Rhode Island, in late October, ahead of the NARC rally the following month. As they entered the bay, things began to come apart. The starboard helm wheel disconnected from the rudder linkage; the bow thruster failed; the boom furling system jammed; and the mainsail ripped. Fortunately, the port helm still worked, so they got the boat safely into a slip at Newport Yachting Center Marina, where the NARC fleet was ­gathering. I joined them there as repairs were underway. Soon, our ­professional skipper also arrived.

While we were getting ready, so were the crews on 21 boats other boats. Seventeen were leaving from Newport, with another four departing Chesapeake Bay, all set to converge on Bermuda as their first stop. The fleet included five Swans, two Caliber 40s, an Amel, a Discovery 55, a Southerly 534, one Oyster, a Passport 43, a 50-year-old Hinckley 48 and one catamaran. The Newport crew totaled 75 people, some 22 of them making their first offshore voyage as crew. A few of the boats had made the trip a dozen times since the NARC began in 2000.

Off We Go

Bermuda is 640 miles southeast of Newport. At 6 knots, that’s 4 days, 12 hours. At 7 knots, it’s 3 days, 16 hours. A piece of cake, right? 

No. It seldom is.

Because hurricane season usually ends in late October, there are only a few three-day weather windows for leaving Newport. Weather Routers Inc. was predicting Friday afternoon that “this could be the easiest crossing you’ve had in years. Conditions on Sunday morning will be unpleasant, after a big storm on Saturday, but improving. Winds south-southwest, 10 to 15 early. By midmorning, as you get farther offshore, they will increase 15 to 20. Seas 5 to 7 feet, building farther offshore. The tendency will be for those winds to become more southwest, then west-southwest by the evening.

“You’ll have to contend with residual south-southeasterly swells, 8 to 10 feet, left over from Saturday’s storm,” the forecast continued. “The period is long, 8 seconds, but these will diminish over the day. The winds will continue to shift into the west, northwest and north, then drop. Monday, winds should be northwest, 14 to 18 knots. The southeast swells will be replaced by southwesterly swells, but on the beam.”

Although the start was delayed Saturday, with the predicted storm raging outside, we were all optimistic as we backed Schatz Sea out of its slip Sunday morning at 8:15. We motored out of Newport with a dozen other NARC boats, to be met by a brisk south-southwest wind blowing 15 knots up the bay. The sky was filled with yesterday’s storm clouds—an ominous start—but off to the west, behind us, was a hint of open sky. 

We hoisted half the main, unrolled the working jib on the ­inner Solent stay, turned off the engine, and made a left at Brenton Reef onto a southeast course. We then chased the storm clouds out into the Atlantic.

By noon, it was still cold on deck, but the sun was out. The wind, forward of the beam, was blowing 20 knots. The boat was heeled over, making 7 knots, climbing up and over yesterday’s southeast swells, only to plunge down into the troughs. 

It was then, I realized, that I had failed to take my seasickness medication. Off watch, I lay on the couch in the main cabin, looking out the windows at the horizon. I was still sick when I went to the cockpit at 2 a.m., but I was able to perform my watch. The wind had gone into the north, 15 knots. The ­southeast swells were unnoticeable. Around 4 a.m., I felt better.

By Monday morning, we’d traveled 190 miles, averaging nearly 8 knots. The day was sunny, winds northerly 12 knots. White, puffy clouds ahead told us that the Gulf Stream was near. We entered it around 2 o’clock that afternoon, 30 hours out of Newport.

The Gulf Stream

I’d downloaded the Gulf Stream chart from Windy before we left Newport and picked out a possible entry point. It’s a phenomenon to contend with: a narrow, fast-flowing current of warm, tropical water that comes up through the Florida Straits, glances off Cape Hatteras’ shoal, and heads east out into the Atlantic, eventually warming the shores of Ireland and England. The Gulf Stream is a moving river of water, a conveyor belt. You can use it, but you can’t avoid it. 

We were fortunate to have the Gulf Stream take a southeast meander, right on our rhumb line to Bermuda. All we needed to do was hop on as it turned southeast and ride it for 10 hours, exiting it when it turned north again. We’d pick up a 3- to 4-knot kick.

The wind turned light, over the stern, as we entered the Gulf Stream. We rigged the pole with the genoa so that we could run wing on wing for a few hours. The Stream was now pushing us along at 9 knots. 

Making Landfall

By Wednesday morning, our third full day at sea, we were less than 100 miles to Bermuda, with a projected arrival of 4 a.m. Thursday. The wind had clocked into the east, so we sailed for the afternoon. By dusk, the wind was southeast, 10 knots, 15 knots over the deck. In came the sails, and on went the motor. The southeast breeze kicked up a chop, and Schatz Sea ­shouldered into it, her flat bow pounding. 

I couldn’t sleep below, so I joined everyone else in the cockpit as the loom of Bermuda’s lights raised above the horizon. We headed through the narrow Town Cut into St. George’s Harbour at 3 a.m. and anchored in the Powder Hole, positioned to clear customs and immigration later that day. We were 3 days, 18 hours out of Newport. 

The weather forecaster was right. It was the fastest voyage I’d made in 20 years. –David H, Lyman

Read more of David Lyman’s stories of sailing in the Caribbean at dhlyman.com

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