When it’s blowing a gale and it’s hard to even see outside for the horizontal rain or, worse, sand being whipped off the nearby beach, there’s little appeal in going afloat. But if you were to choose one yacht to board in such conditions, even if just to stay in the marina… it might well be a Boreal.

Equally, with more and more floating debris contaminating our oceans, and marine wildlife increasingly (and literally) biting back, you can understand the increasing amount of new cruising yacht buyers seeking belt and braces builds. They may never need that diff lock, get-out-of-trouble functionality, but it’s certainly reassuring to know it’s there.

For those unfamiliar with Boreal Yachts, these are not simply aluminium tanks for off-piste cruising. They prioritise performance and are packed with intelligent ideas which can only be the brainchildren of true ocean sailors, mostly from its founder Jean-François Delvoye.

And so I found myself navigating a precarious pontoon in IJmuiden, Holland, in a strong mid-September gale and scaling the high and bulletproof-looking freeboard of the new Boreal 56. We were conducting European Yacht of the Year trials, the first day and a half of which were lost to the unseasonable weather.

I envisaged a cosy interior, the stove lit, maybe a sauna or some mulled wine on offer, but the notably bright, raised saloon and roomy accommodation will likely appeal to the majority in more agreeable weather. Seated at the table, laptop and drawings at the ready, was the perfect person to explain the genesis of this 56.

Delvoye spent six years cruising with his wife and four children, including two years in Patagonia, a period which really forged his thoughts on the optimum cruising yacht. He had the skills to transfer these visions into 3D drawings, which became the first Boreal 50 (20 years ago). Boreal has since built 113 yachts from its Treguier yard, with up to 12 in construction at a time, and – remarkably in today’s climate – currently has a three-year lead time!

‘We tried an extreme bow shape and it worked’. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

Nose job

The 47.2 was a European Yacht of the Year award winner in 2021, and we tested the 52 a decade ago, so we already know and respect Boreal. They are ballasted centreboarders, bare aluminium cruisers that sail well and offer the protection of being able to stand watches from the forward part of the cockpit or within a raised doghouse. They offer a mix of robust construction with keen attention to sailing motion.

This new 56 shares many of the upgraded features the 47.2 exhibited, especially the desire for a separate crew cockpit layout on a larger model. Then came the novelty: the scow bow influence.

Surely that IMOCA/Class 40/Mini 6.50 scow phase is just a fad? You can see why production yards have been trying fatter noses, but that’s principally for the extra volume it brings? Delvoye insists the shape works on multiple levels, not just for this increased volume, but also the power and stability it brings.

“When doing the initial design, we did a lot of hull shapes using our software,” he explained, using visuals from his computer.

“We tried an extreme one [bow shape] and it worked.” They then built a 10% scale model and tank-tested it before asking Bureau Veritas to run it through their software, which also confirmed the positive results.

Clean design leads lines and winches to hand for the helmsman. You feel protected everywhere with solid grabrails to hand. Here around the pedestal. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

“We had seven orders [at the time] for a 55 open cockpit model, and all changed to the 56!” Indeed, Boreal took 10 orders by September, before any shows or publicity. The boat we tested was the second 56 to launch, and splashed the week before our trials.

It’s not simply that fat stem, nor the chined plated purposeful look which defines this model – what lies beneath a Boreal’s waterline is equally intriguing and defines its handling characteristics.

A long keel trunk or ‘embryo’, as Boreal calls it, contains the centreboard, the ballast (6,600kg), and provides a level grounding plate on which to dry out. The swinging board is NACA profiled, ballasted with 400kg of sand to ensure it will sink, and can be raised from its 3.2m draught in five seconds.

This embryo protects the prop shaft and single rudder while, unusually, there are also two lifting daggerboards aft, either side of the rudder. These boards extend 70cm out of the hull and are designed to help provide some of the grip that twin rudder yachts enjoy, while also maintaining the benefits of a protected single rudder yacht that can dry out.

Comfortable, clean helm areas. The central utility winch can be used to do all the heavy work. It can raise the centreboard in five seconds, while simple manual lines on camcleats are used to control the daggerboards. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

Theory to practice

By the third day the wind had dropped to a Force 5-6, and a 12-strong EYOTY jury was itching to try out the 56. The North Sea swell was still large, confused and inhospitable, making for testing conditions. For my first sail we punched out to sea under single reefed main and genoa in 20 knots, making 7.5 knots at 45° to the apparent wind.

Once the wind is above 20 knots or so, Boreal favours changing down to the staysail, which we then did, for no tangible loss in speed. Equally, I noted that once the breeze dropped to 17-18 knots, the log slipped to 6-6.5 knots, and the yacht felt underpowered, so its ability to change easily between these headsail gears is useful.

We had plenty aboard for the trials but the Boreal didn’t feel overcrowded. Note the position under the doghouse, completely protected for de-robing before entering. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

During my second sail, we had a spell of 25 knots under staysail, which felt right, sailing with slightly tighter pointing for a bit less speed compared to the genoa.

It was the comfort, protection and motion this Boreal offers that really stood out during sailing in inhospitable short pattern waves and driving rain. You could choose to take it on the chin on the helm, seek protection in the forward part of the cockpit or, if sensible, move into the doghouse! Close the door to this and the comparative silence does the talking.

Motion for the ocean

The soft motion is no fluke, as weight centralisation is paramount. A prime example is the chain locker being located near the mast base (where the windlass is more protected), which helps ensure 400kg of chain is as central as possible. Combining that with 1,500lt water and 1,150lt fuel low and central (in the aft of keel embryo), helps ensure a smooth motion.

Of particular interest was how the full bow shape performed in these conditions. Granted the bows seem to immerse a lot, but I spent some time below decks while sailing upwind in waves and was impressed, both by how secure it feels moving around, with plenty of handrails, and how quiet it is, even in the forward cabin (watching our video for confirmation). Delvoye believes this bow shape actually provides a softer motion through waves when at heel than a pointy bow. That said, if the yacht were more upright, say under engine, you would almost certainly pound more, he concedes.

The 56 has multiple hearts, including the longitudinal galley leading to the stove. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

The Boreal is easily controlled, but can be tricky to settle into a groove. As well as the balance of sails, you have to remind yourself of this bow shape, and what’s happening beneath the boat while helming.

For example, the centreboard is not for stability, only countering leeway, while the daggerboards can directly alter the feel of the helm. The boards have a notable effect while on the breeze, where they help keep the yacht on a rail and take a lot of pressure off the rudder, thereby lessening the power needed to drive the autopilot ram.

It’s a playful setup then, where both boards can be left down, or the windward one raised, while you can also adjust the centreboard position when off the wind. This is particularly appealing if you want to surf – having daggerboards alongside the rudder is more like surfboard design where typically three fins are used for grip and control.

Sailing close-hauled in the calmer seas inside the breakwater felt strange for a single rudder yacht with wire steering, I experienced a neutral-slash-lee-helm feel, and would have liked more time to play with the board set up to see how that affects this balance.

The doghouse reigns supreme for its ideal surround view and protected watch position. The double pilot seat has a lifting section on the inboard end, to help keep you in place on port tack. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

Unleashing the furling gennaker livened things up, especially as I was the lucky one who got to experience this in the best conditions, with 22 knots true, surfing across ugly seas at 100°T/75°A back towards the port.

Where you could expect a moderate displacement single-rudder yacht to really load up on the helm in these conditions, the Boreal proved highly competent, no doubt aided by the daggerboards’ grip. Even with the apparent wind well forward, it remained controlled as we averaged 8.5 knots, hitting 11.5 knots in the surf.

Cockpit comfort

Boreal clearly worked hard on the overall cockpit design and functionality. The layout, principally the separation of guest and sailing areas, is a major selling point, which prioritises the comfort of the helmsman as well as those in the secure cockpit.

‘Boreal clearly worked hard on design and functionality’. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

These are evolutions from the 47.2 though, as we noted when we tested that in 2021, the design stops short of offering a fully protected cockpit. I suggest that could make a valuable option here, as we’re increasingly seeing fully covered cockpits being used on larger yachts.

Otherwise, the cockpit is superb, huge and deep, with high backrests, coamings with really useful, deep outboard stowage, and a large fixed table with long grab rails. This area is all completely free of lines, including the mainsheet, which sheets to the doghouse roof and back to the aft winches.

The helm area again shows where experience has paid. The twin wheels are far enough outboard for visibility to the bow, with sheet winches to hand on each side to ease solo operation. The powered utility winch with remote foot controls proved very useful, as all lines can be led to this central position between the wheels (although that can temporarily block cockpit access). Meanwhile deep, built-in tail bins keep the whole area tidy.

The transom arch includes a crane system for lowering the tender and provides mounting options for regenerative power. The test boat had extra solar panels, a Superwind generator and a Watt&Sea hydrogenerator, providing more power than the yacht could use (the arch would also make a great place to swing a hammock from).

A cavernous lazarette is accessed from the aft quarter lockers, where an inflatable tender can be stowed. Alternatively, a RIB can be lashed onto the wide foredeck. The offset sail locker is also plenty spacious enough for offwind sails.

Huge engine room very well laid. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

It feels really sturdy moving forward along the Boreal’s side decks, with long, waist-height rails on the coachroof, support beams for the pulpit, and granny bars at the mast base. In fact, there is something to grab hold of wherever you move on the yacht.

That said, you’ll bang your head on the doghouse roof extension and on the step down from galley to the forward accommodation. While you’ll quickly get used to avoiding those, I did find the gap between the chart table and the companionway base to starboard a concern, as someone is likely to fall down here one day.

Peninsula double berth with plenty of natural light in the Boreal 56’s forward master cabin. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

In the doghouse

The doghouse is a trump feature. Remove your wet-weather gear under the hard top, hang it in the locker behind the double pilot seat to dry from the heat of the engine box, and sit your watch in comfort. Close the watertight door behind you and you’re in a world of comparative calm – particularly when it’s blowing 45+ knots in the marina.

Boreal is not a custom yard, and views its one layout only as the optimum configuration. Considering the weight centralisation also helps support this format – with tanks and batteries centralised and kept low around the keel trunk, the spaces left under the seats and berths offer really useful stowage.

The majority of its owners are couples, who are on passage for comparatively short amounts of time they spend aboard, so Boreal believes it makes sense to them to have the owner’s cabin forward, where it is away from the dock and noises and can benefit from the space the scow shape helps provide. They can then pick from the saloon or aft berths when on passage.

Starboard aft cabin with double and twin berths (with lee cloths) can also be configured with bunks or as a technical workshop. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

Compared to the old 55, the 56 offers higher saloon seating, from where you can see out properly through the coachroof windows. This long saloon table lowers and converts into a double berth. The galley opposite is also long and spacious, yet with a practical shape.

A countertop return at its forward end contains aft-facing fridge drawers, and together with the island/centre seat, it helps form a near U-shape, offering bracing at heel. It also boasts long, fiddled stainless steel worktops and lots of deep stowage, while extra drawer fridges are available aft of the saloon to port.

Central heating is provided through a Refleks stove that consumes just five litres per day. The disadvantage of these traditional Danish diesel/oil burning systems is they use a flat plate, which is not ideal at heel, admits Delvoye. Boreal also offers an Eberspächer Hydronic system, although these don’t give the same ambience and cost more. Opposite the stove is a long workbench with an optional vice, abundant stowage including long drawers for heavy tools, and space for a washing machine.

The forward master cabin utilises the full bow shape, providing a large peninsula berth. It’s a generous and naturally light cabin, with plenty of stowage, including beneath the berth, but no tall hanging locker.

Port aft cabin offers access to the engine room. Photo: Jean-Marie Liot/Boreal

The aft cabins meanwhile feature double and twin berths, both with leecloths and the latter with good separation between berths. This starboard twin can also be configured with bunks or as a workshop/technical cabin. The main access to the superb engine room is through a door in the port cabin, where everything is very accessible, including the watermaker raised up aft, with membranes and filters on the bulkhead.

You also get a good look of the hull construction from here. Boreal always uses the same ratio of plating thicknesses, which allows sailors to visit most waters. For the 56, the keel plates are 12mm, the bottom plates 10mm, while freeboard chines go from 8mm to 5mm. Extruded polystyrene foam lines the hull above the waterline, and cork is sprayed on all the frames – the only place condensation can form is under the hatches, where Perspex covers catch any drips.

Boreal 56 specifications

LOA: 17.12m 56ft 2in
LWL: 14.47m 47ft 6in
Beam: 4.94m 16ft 2in
Draught: 3.18m-1.20m 10ft 5in-3ft 11in
Displacement (lightship): 20,500kg 45,194lb
Ballast (lead): 6,600kg 14,550lb
Berths: 8
Engine: 75hp 56kW Yanmar shaftdrive
Water: 1,500lt 330gal
Fuel: 1,150lt 253gal
Sail area/displacement ratio: 18.9
Displacement/LWL ratio: 189
Price test boat: €1.45m ex VAT (with circa €220,000 extras)

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‘RB3’ was the hull name of INEOS Britannia, the AC75 the British America’s Cup team sailed in the 37th America’s Cup Match against Emirates Team New Zealand after winning the Louis Vuitton Cup Challengers Series – the best British performance in over 90 years.

Dylan Fletcher shared America’s Cup helming duties with team boss Sir Ben Ainslie.

“My coolest yacht would have to be either Shamrock IV or RB3,” he explains, “The two most successful British challenges of the Cup.

“RB3 certainly means the most to me, given it was my first time sailing a Cup boat and it was such an epic experience.

“Sailing RB3 was breathtaking. A huge leap from the AC40 into an incredible piece of engineering that is very rewarding to sail, hugely technical, that requires finesse to maximise the performance. Finally fulfilling a dream to helm a British America’s Cup was something else.”

Make sure you check out our full list of Coolest Yachts.

AC75 ‘RB3’ stats rating

Top speed: 55.6 knots
LOA: 23m/75ft
Launched: 2024
Berths: 0
Price: €10+million (boat only)
Adrenalin factor: 98%

Dylan Fletcher

Dylan Fletcher was co-helmsman for the British America’s Cup team in AC37, taking the port wheel of the AC75 through the Challengers series and Cup Match. He currently helms the Emirates GBR SailGP team’s F50, and is a former Olympic gold medallist and world champion in the 49er and an International Moth world champion.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post World’s coolest yachts: AC75 ‘RB3’ appeared first on Yachting World.

Seen one Caribbean island, seen them all? Not at all: the region offers amazing diversity, from incredible habitats to vibrant cultures. For many cruisers the Caribbean is an extended stopover destination – a delightful cruising ground for one season, often en route from Europe to the Pacific, or as the highlight of the Atlantic Circuit. But if you look closer, there are many opportunities to stay longer.

The hurricane season from June to December effectively cuts the Caribbean cruising year in two, between blissful sailing in winter and spring, and the need to store your yacht in a safe place for six months. This is when many cruisers either fly home or travel inland to memorable places within reach, for instance Central or South America.

The six safe cruising months can be used to explore the Caribbean in depth. If you do it clockwise you make the most of the prevailing wind and current.

While the Caribbean is renowned for short passages between islands, the whole sailing area is surprisingly large: to complete the full ‘circle’, you’d need four seasons. The geography of the region means you can make as many shortcuts as you like, or you could use each year to explore the four cardinal directions of the compass: east, south, west, north.

Sandy Spit near Green Cay, British Virgin Islands. Photo:Christian Wheatley/Getty

Eastern arrival

There is nothing better than making landfall at a Caribbean island after crossing the Atlantic Ocean. Typically, yachts arrive in December or January and have five months available to explore the nearest island chains.

If you plan to cruise for multiple seasons in the Caribbean, it pays to aim for a destination further north in the Leeward Islands. Making Antigua your first stop and dropping the anchor in the sheltered Falmouth Harbour or English Harbour is a moment to savour. After celebrating your ocean crossing and exploring the island, you can either go north to Saint Barth, Sint Maarten or Anguilla or you use the prevailing east/north-easterly winds to carry you south to the other Leeward and Windward islands.

In winter, the north-east tradewinds blow with regularity and the days and nights are pleasantly warm. In summer and autumn, the tradewinds get lighter, but the threat of hurricanes increases.

There are many options to choose from as you sail south. Machiel Hermans and Liselotte Goddijn cruised their Root 51 Pitou extensively in the Caribbean.

Palm-fringed beach. Photo: imageBBroker/Alamy

“All the islands are different and each has its own unique character. We love the French islands, because of the culture and the culinary delights. Nothing beats eating a delicious croissant for breakfast under a swaying palm tree,” Liselotte says.

Machiel adds: “The Caribbean is a windy place, but if you keep a keen eye on the weather forecast you can make beautiful and comfortable passages.”

At the southern end of the Windward Islands, Trinidad and Tobago offer many options to store your yacht for the hurricane season.

Some adventurous cruisers head even further south-west to Suriname, the smallest country in South America, where you could wait out hurricane season inland up the Suriname River. But be aware, visiting sailors have reported that there are little to no facilities for parts or repairs, and paperwork can be cumbersome.

Machiel Hermans and Liselotte Goddijn have cruised the Caribean in their Root 51 Pitou. Photo: Machiel Hermans

Staying south

Typically many cruisers head south to avoid the hurricane belt, which means the second year of an extended Caribbean cruise could be spent exploring the south Caribbean Sea. Alan and Terry Ryall cruised their 50ft Island Packet Seminole Wind for 12 years in the Caribbean. Alan recalls: “Sailing from Grenada to the Dutch ABC islands (Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao) is delightful. It’s a downwind sail and with the help of the strong west-going equatorial current, we made excellent speed.”

Terry adds: “The three Dutch islands are very different. The diving and snorkelling around Bonaire is incredibly beautiful. To protect the coral, you can’t anchor there. The available mooring balls are situated just at the dropoff, so you literally jump off the back of the boat for the most amazing underwater vistas.”

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Curaçao is the largest of the three and, apart from the quaint pastel coloured buildings, has good facilities for visiting cruisers. In the Spanish Water natural lagoon, many yachts anchor in sheltered conditions or haul out for the hurricane season. Aruba is delightful as well, and despite a lot of tourism on the island there are still authentic places to be found. Machiel Hermans notes: “There are excellent yacht storage options on Aruba, both in water and on land.”

From Aruba it’s just 250-300 miles to the South American mainland and Colombia. Despite the country having a – perhaps unfair – reputation for being unsafe, many cruisers report it to be a fascinating and attractive destination, with diverse ecosystems and culture.

The old walled city of Cartagena is a highlight for many cruisers, as well as Santa Marta, where the yacht can be left for some inland travel as well. Passage to Colombia from the ABC islands can be rough, especially when sailing closer to the coast in shallower water. There is the option to stop in Colombia and store your yacht for the hurricane season in Santa Marta or Barranquilla, or continue westward toward the San Blas islands and Panama, where there are also storage options in Shelter Bay Marina.

English Harbour, Antigua. Photo: Greg Balfour Evans/Alamy

The west-bound passage to Panama is best made when summer approaches, by April or May, as the tradewinds are not as strong and the downwind passage can be made more comfortably. In winter, the tradewinds are at their strongest and large seas can be expected on the way west.

On the way to Panama the idyllic Guna Yala, or San Blas islands, are a must-see. The indigenous Guna people are very welcoming of cruisers to their islands and keen to share their culture. “The Guna are hunter-gatherers and it is fascinating to see how they forage in their dug out canoes,” says Terry Ryall.

Coiba National Park, Panama. Photo: Max Campbell

Western adventures

The western Caribbean offers some lesser known cruising areas, with many countries in Central America blessed with beautiful nature, interesting cultures, hospitable people and delicious food. The many reefs, islets and shoals that dot the coast can make for interesting navigation and many places to drop their anchor.

The prevailing wind tends to be more north than north-east along this coast. However, the influence of land- and sea breezes can help yachts make progress when sailing northwards against the tradewinds.

Terry and Alan have spent many seasons exploring the western Caribbean. “First, it’s far less crowded and commercial than the Windward/Leeward islands, and we find there’s much more contrast and variation in terms of scenery and culture,” Alan explains.

“Second, we find it safe and welcoming: there is far less hassle. And cruising budgets stretch much further here – the value for money is incredible.”

In Panama, the Chagres River is an interesting stop; but most cruisers go to the Bocas del Toro archipelago, near the border with Costa Rica.

Caribbean coast of Colombia, South America. Photo: Christian Kober

The lack of port facilities and limited anchoring opportunities in Costa Rica lead many cruisers to visit the country by land with the boat safely tucked up in Shelter Bay, Panama.

“The Colombian Islands of Providencia and San Andreas are a great stop off north of Panama: they are around 100 miles to the east of Nicaragua and well to the south of the shallow banks at the northern tip of Nicaragua,” says Alan. “There are reports of Nicaraguan drug smugglers using the fishing camps on the small islands in the banks so it’s wise to take an outside route and avoid the inner channels.

“From there, it’s not that far to the jewel in the crown of this area: the Bay of Islands of Honduras. There are three different islands, which are all very different.

“The friendly people, the fascinating coral which you can explore either diving or snorkelling, the facilities for yachts – it’s just a wonderful place where many cruisers linger longer than expected.”

Off the coast of Belize, the natural wonders are also renowned – particularly the diving along the Mesoamerican reef, the second largest barrier reef in the world. Belize has attracted some small-scale charter yacht fleets, but the cost of permits for visiting yachts is much higher than other countries in the region.

Spectacular isolation in Panama’s Rio Chagres. Photo: Tor Johnson

Continuing north allows you to explore the coast of Mexico. Beyond the overdeveloped tourism of Cancun, the Yucatan peninsula has interesting and historic places to offer. The Yucatan Channel has a reputation for confused seas thanks to the many currents coming from different directions: the Yucatan current flows from the north, the Gulf Stream flows from the south into the Gulf of Mexico, while prevailing easterly winds and tides push in from Cuba.

For hurricane season, a widely recommended option is to go to the Rio Dulce in Guatemala, a long, winding river which widens in a few places to create sheltered lagoons – the largest a spot where yachts assemble in the hurricane season. Terry: “Our boat has a relatively shallow draught. Boats of up to 2m can get over the bar to get into Rio Dulce. Deeper draught boats may look for hurricane season storage in Panama (Shelter Bay).

“There is a big freshwater lagoon in the middle of the jungle. No hurricane has ever passed there. We’ve spent five hurricane seasons in Rio Dulce and call it a ‘sticky place’, because once you’ve discovered it, it’s hard to leave. There are several first class boat yards for haulouts and refit work. The quality of the workmanship and the low prices are very attractive.”

Brent Grimbeek and Ana Hill, seasoned circumnavigators on Impi, a Lagoon 440, are currently in Rio Dulce: “There is a large social network between cruisers here, with lots of organised get-togethers and trips. Many restaurants and bars make for a lively atmosphere,” they report. “And the jungle is incredible: we spotted hummingbirds nesting in front of our eyes, there are toucans and in the water the odd dugong cruises by.”

Alan and Terry Ryall sail the 50ft Island Packet Seminole Wind. Photo: Alan Ryall

Northern Antilles

If you have a fourth year to explore the Caribbean, or want to stay further north, you could spend a season in the Greater Antilles, before heading back to Europe in spring – or exploring the Gulf of Mexico or the US east coast.

Cuba, the Cayman islands, Jamaica, Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico are larger islands that affect the local weather conditions due to their height and position. The land breeze at night counters the tradewinds, giving calm conditions. Sailing west from Central America inevitably means a lot of upwind work, but you can track south of the islands to get shelter from wind and waves as you go along, with many stops that can be made underway. Alternatively, passing the islands on the north side gives the advantage of east-going Luperon current.

Guna Yala in the San Blas islands of Panama. Photo: Max Campbell

Both the northern and southern coasts of Cuba are interesting to visit, and between the reefs and shoals offshore there are many secure anchorages. The Bahia de Jagua on the south side has a marina, where you can moor your yacht to explore inland. Just south of Cuba is Jamaica. Near the capital Kingston the Royal Jamaica Yacht Club offers a warm welcome to cruisers.

The Dominican Republic has long been a favourite for cruisers, especially in the large Luperon Bay in the north or Samana in the north-east, which are both ports of entry. And the last stop for many before returning to Europe is the lovely island of Puerto Rico. You could opt to just stop in the capital San Juan, but if more time is available a cruise along the south side of Puerto Rico offers great anchorages. On the east side of Puerto Rico is the large Marina del Rey, where your yacht can be moored for provisioning and clearance for the long passage to Europe.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post Beyond the postcard: Discovering the Caribbean’s hidden corners appeared first on Yachting World.

The restoration of an iconic racer, one that was so ground-breaking it helped create a whole genre of yachts, is no small undertaking. But that’s exactly what inadvertent owner Tina Roberts ploughed into headfirst with the two-year refit of Ragtime, the original ultra-light displacement boat from the land of the long white cloud.

Designed and built single-handedly by New Zealander John Spencer for industrialist and racing driver Sir Tom Clark in 1963/64, Ragtime was launched as Infidel and was reputedly the largest hard chine plywood keelboat in the world.

Infidel immediately upset the racing establishment, beating the Tercel brothers’ 60-footer Ranger, which had won nearly every race it sailed over three decades.

So comprehensive were Infidel’s victories that it was reportedly banned from competing in regattas in New Zealand. It was also barred from entering the 1967 Sydney-Hobart Race because it was deemed too light and not seaworthy enough for the notoriously treacherous 630-mile race.

Under spinnaker, Ragtime’s low freeboard becomes evident. Photo: Steve Jost Photography

California dreaming

With nowhere to turn Infidel wound up where many wayward souls are welcomed: California. A pair of businessmen in Newport Beach purchased the yacht for $25,000 in 1969 and renamed it Ragtime.

The yacht changed owners again in 1971 and, 10 years after her launch, benchmarked the performance of the ultra-light displacement genre by defeating the 73-footer Windward Passage in the epic 1973 Transpac Race, winning the Barn Door Trophy for first-to-finish by a mere 4m 31s over the 2,225-mile course. “I remember thinking, ‘Wow, that’s an interesting boat. That’s cool,’” recalls California yacht designer Alan Andrews of his first sighting of Ragtime in the early 1970s.

“Ragtime was a big boat, most of the racing at the time was in 30- to 40-footers. She was clearly very fast, at least downwind, with the hard chines as well.”

The plywood-built hull features hard chines that run its entire length. Photo: Steve Jost Photography

Ragtime is a simple but eye-catching yacht design, with a sheerline that drops noticeably from bow to stern. The hull is constructed from marine plywood; the cabin house, which stands tall of the sheerline, of kauri wood, and when launched it displaced 10 tons. The original LOA of 61ft 8in was determined in large part because that was the amount of floor space in Spencer’s shop, yet still the bow and stern hung outside the sliding doors on either end of the shed.

The boat hull features hard chines running the waterline length of 50ft 8in. In its original form Ragtime lacked an engine and was tiller steered, two features that were changed after she reached American shores.

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A reluctant refit

Since arriving in the US, Ragtime has had no fewer than 10 owners (individuals, syndicates and universities). Tina Roberts became the current owner in 2021, upon the passing of her partner Chris Welsh who was actually Ragtime’s longest owner.

Welsh was part of a group that bought the yacht at auction for $125,000 in 2003 before becoming sole owner two years later. Welsh and Roberts met in 2009, as kindred spirits and adrenaline junkies. When Welsh passed unexpectedly in March 2021, aged 58, he left Ragtime to Roberts.

Welsh had accumulated parts that he intended to use in a refit of Ragtime. He purchased a spare TP52 offshore mast in Europe and had it shipped to California. He found a marinised Smart car engine in Germany and also shipped it home.

Welsh intended to lighten Ragtime and make her easier to sail in his planned refit, but Roberts had great apprehension about undertaking the project on her own. “My first thought shortly after he passed away was: this is not my project.

Tina Roberts has spent around $1.5m on Ragtime. Photo: Steve Jost Photography

This was his project, and I don’t know what to do,” says the 54-year-old Roberts. “I had some really good friends who said I should sell the boat, get rid of it, sell the pieces and parts and move on. And I thought that was probably a good idea, but i wanted to wait and find out where life landed.”

Roberts spent the better part of a year clearing up Welsh’s estate, which besides tidying up his business affairs also included offloading cars and planes and submersibles. As she was going through his personal files she found a trove of Ragtime memorabilia that Welsh had collected, including clippings of Infidel’s launch from the New Zealand Herald and Seaspray magazine. She became more endeared to the yacht as she started to understand the life that Ragtime had led.

In 2022 Tina Roberts called designer Alan Andrews, who has drawn a slew of light-displacement boats, and asked if he’d be interested in taking on the project. Andrews had worked on Ragtime for previous owners and also knew Chris Welsh well, having been a sailing instructor to him in his youth.

Roberts had a vision of Andrews being the project manager, but Andrews didn’t want to be involved if Roberts wasn’t leading the way. “I hung up the call with Alan very frustrated,” says Roberts.

“Then I thought about it a little bit and decided that I knew what Chris’s vision was and I began to really understand who Ragtime was. I became really interested in the historical side of it. So, I called Alan back and said ‘Let’s do the project’.”

The rebuilt cockpit retains its previous woodwork and coamings, to preserve its historical appearance, though light weight, high-speed winches have been added. Photo: Steve Jost Photography

20-year project

Roberts, who previously owned food processing companies in the Pacific Northwest, set a budget of $1 million to $1.2 million, a sum that she didn’t expect to reach.

But after completely stripping and rebuilding the interior, rebuilding the centre cockpit, wrapping the hull in carbon fibre and fabricating new chainplates to support the new mast, which also needed modifications to fit the hull and new carbon-fibre rigging, she estimates that she spent more than $1.5 million.

“Throughout a project like this you have many decisions to make,” Roberts says. “My mantra for the decision-making process was, is this for the next two years or next 20 years?

“If you make decisions for the next two years, the boat will never survive; it’s a 60-year-old boat built of plywood. So, I had to make decisions about what the next 20 years for the boat would look like because every time you have to go back and modify something else, it’s very expensive. So, I wanted to do it right the first time and ensure she has longevity.”

Bow locker with its original showgirl decal. The stem-fitting and deck were rebuilt during the refit to strengthen the load-bearing areas. Photo: Steve Jost Photography

“Chris had a dream and a vision of what he wanted to do with the boat, and largely, the refit has been along those lines, except that it’s probably a bit more elegant,” says Andrews. “Tina didn’t take shortcuts. When she was presented with options for how things could be done, in nearly every case she did what was best for the boat.”

Andrews’ participation was important because he’d been involved in previous modifications to the yacht, including keel projects in the 1980s and working with Welsh in the 2000s. He noted how Ragtime’s hull construction was two layers of 3/8in marine plywood with the joints butted – not scarfed – over the middle span of the panel they lay upon. The interior structure included bulkheads, frames and longitudinal stringers.

“The interesting thing was the original bulkheads in the boat are hollow bulkheads with wood truss structure inside. So, there was quite some thought that went in the boat,” Andrews says. “Tina wanted to keep the spirit of Ragtime going, so when we added a few ring frames up forward they were done with plywood frames and laminated carbon and mahogany caps on them.”

Ragtime’s keel remains unchanged, though new rudder bearings and a new steering quadrant were installed. Photo: Steve Jost Photography

Carbon wrap

Perhaps the biggest modernisation was wrapping the hull in two layers of carbon-fibre, a decision made squarely with the boat’s life expectancy in mind. While the plywood hull showed very little degradation given its 60-year age, there were some areas near the bow where a couple of veneers had deteriorated and there was some rot around some of the original chainplate fasteners.

Previous keel modifications had added carbon-fibre around the bottom in the keel area, but wrapping the hull in carbon stiffened the boat (it always had a problem with headstay sag) and helped to distribute the loads more evenly across the sections of plywood. “We chose to use carbon-fibre instead of glassfibre because carbon works much better with wood,” explains Andrews.

Shroud chainplates are high-strength duplex 2205 stainless steel and allow the thickness outside the hull to be minimised. Custom fasteners without slots and fairing ‘ramps’ minimise drag
when heeled. Photo: Steve Jost Photography

“Another thing that occurred with the boat over time was at the chine log, where the bottom panel meets the topsides. There’s an overlap there, a piece of wood and the glue joint on that is what keeps the topsides from separating from the bottom. “Crack repairs under previous ownership were evidenced by wider pieces of wood laminated inside,” Andrews continues.

“By wrapping carbon over the boat, we were effectively able to overlap on the outside of this joint, increasing the bonding area by patching over the joint and better distributing the loads.”

This section of the boat needed to take more load concentration because of the new TP52 mast. The height of the TP52 mast was similar to Ragtime’s previous mast, at least when measured from the spinnaker height to the deck.

But the previous mast had inline spreaders and a cap shroud with fore and aft lowers, meaning three attachment points for the shrouds, spreading their load over about 4½ft. The new TP52 rig has swept back spreaders with all shrouds attaching at the same point, but a point that is wider than Ragtime. The TP52 rig was designed for a 14ft beam while Ragtime’s beam is 11ft 8.5in.

Keeping the chainplates in the original location, just inboard of the hull and stringers, would’ve led to much narrower spreaders and increased compression loads. So, the chainplates were moved aft to match the spreader sweep angle and attached on the outside of the hull just below the sheerline.

The mast step was rebuilt to fit the new mast, while the updated nav station now includes B&G instruments and Starlink communication. Photo: Steve Jost Photography

The new rig makes the boat easier to handle, as it can now sail upwind with a 100% jib and full, square-head mainsail instead of the previous large overlapping genoa with a 1960s-era triangular mainsail.

The updated cockpit allows more room for the crew, but also access to the engine compartment, which was required to fit the engine Welsh had sourced – a Mercedes Benz OM660, a 0.8lt turbocharged diesel made for use in Smart cars. It weighs approximately 250lb/113kg, which is about 300lb/136kg lighter than the previous Yanmar engine that produced similar horsepower.

Lasting legacy

“The refit’s fantastic for the boat and an ode to all the sailors who’ve raced on her,” says Roberts. “We run into people all the time in California, Hawaii, Australia or New Zealand where if you bring up the boat’s name there’s a reply, ‘Oh, I sailed on Ragtime once.’ “That’s the tradition that we want to continue.

We want the boat to continue to be relevant, because she has so much history and so many stories to tell. It’s really important to continue that legacy.”

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The post Extraordinary boats: Ragtime – the 60-year-old yacht that launched a genre is back on the water appeared first on Yachting World.

Picture a sunrise at sea. A quickening in the night sky far to the east; a hint that dawn is just below the horizon; a new day full of promise and challenge.

It is the dream of every sailor to take off and explore. But you need a platform that is capable of supporting that dream. Safe and comfortable, fun to sail, and robust enough for every adventure – Aquila catamarans are this and more.

After decades of building highly regarded power cats for discerning customers, Aquila is extending its unique blend of design and know-how to the sailing sector. The first Aquila 50 has already been launched and will debut at the Miami International Boat Show in February. With a 49’ 1” overall length and 25’ 9” beam, she boasts all of the design aesthetics of other Aquila boats. In fact, the entire sailing lineup was designed by J&J Design, the naval architects behind Aquila’s 50 Yacht, 42 Coupe, and the widely popular 32 and 36 Sport catamarans. Let’s explore these new models, starting with the 44…

Aquila 44

Over the next 18 months, the Aquila 44 and Aquila 63 will also hit the water, offering customers a compelling family of sailing cats for the first time in Aquila’s history. It is an illustration of the shipyard’s belief that there is no better brand for sailors who put the experience on the water before all else.

That’s because Aquila’s brand revolves around thoughtful design and superior manufacturing to maximise every moment on the water. Founded by sailors with a deep well of cruising experience, the brand is on a relentless quest to find what’s next, harnessing craftsmanship and cutting-edge technology to deliver better boats for experiencing “out there.” Their visionary thinking makes boating smoother, easier and more fulfilling.

Aquila 50

This is no empty rhetoric. Aquila’s sailing catamarans offer more interior space than their peers. A spacious aft cockpit opens up to a cavernous salon with all the comfort and panoramic glass of a penthouse apartment. If you are a private owner, a spacious owner’s suite ensures maximum relaxation and retreat, with three (3) additional guest cabins for friends and family. For those looking to place the boat in a charter program, Aquila has a six (6) cabin version, each with a private entry. Best of all, once the boat completes its charter deployment, it can be converted back to an owner’s boat with no structural work required.

And where many cats feature a forward trampoline between the hulls, Aquila’s three sailing models have a rigid bow. This introduces the possibility of unwinding in a comfortable, well-protected foredeck lounge featuring plenty of sunpad loungers for a relaxing view of the horizon. It’s the perfect spot for soaking up the seascape under sail.

For a loftier view of the journey, the flybridge offers some of the best seats aboard. Eat, lounge or simply enjoy a coffee as the sun comes up – all while keeping the helmsperson company. Aquila’s trademark “bridge-to-bow” stairs are integrated into both the port and starboard sides, making bow access quick and easy.

Adding to the appeal, the new Aquila sailing cats offer a choice of propulsion: diesel only, or Aquila’s Hybrid Ocean Drive which offers the benefits of electric propulsion when desired. It’s all part of Aquila’s ongoing effort to deliver sustainable boating options — a philosophy which also governs its massive shipyard, where solar panels cover 70
per cent of the factory roof and sustainable practices can be
found throughout.

Aquila 63

Great sailing adventures begin with great boats. And with Aquila’s new sailing range, it all starts right here. See the Aquila 50 in Miami next February, or stay tuned for more details of the Aquila 44 and the flagship Aquila 63. Visit aquilaboats.com/models/sail-catamarans to explore the full range.

The post Aquila Boats: Out there starts right here appeared first on Yachting World.

Wally launches a second Rocket. If the name and look seem familiar, it’s because we ran plenty of coverage of the first Wallyrocket 51 earlier this year, following its eagerly awaited launch and build-up to the Admiral’s Cup and Rolex Fastnet Race.

Yet just as we began featuring the first Rocket, Wally announced this larger sistership, with both yachts launching in the same season. Both are Botin Partners designs, and where the 51 is conceived to take on the TP52s and smash races on handicap, the 71 has the equally herculean task of becoming the ‘world’s most successful maxi’.

Wallyrocket 71 Django 7X became a world champ at its first major regatta. Photo: Gilles Martin-Raget

Compared with its main Maxi 72 rivals then (most of which have been extended), the Wallyrocket 71 is two tonnes lighter, with over 30% more water ballast (2.7 tonnes of it) for the same sail area, which brings advantages both in the light and going downwind. It can clock upwind speeds of 10.5-11 knots, while matching or exceeding true winds going the other way.

“We started from a blank sheet of paper, asking how we could beat the most competitive Maxi 72s on corrected time,” Botin’s Adolfo Carrau explains. “When they were designed, it was to a box rule, so many parameters were already set. Now, as everyone is optimising their boats under IRC rules, there is a lot more freedom.”

Clean, Spartan carbon interior – it’s a racing yacht after all. Photo: Gilles Martin-Raget

Giovanni Lombardi Stronati commissioned the build of the first 71, Django 7x, at King Marine in Valencia. It is already being campaigned by his Italian Django team, which represented the Yacht Club Costa Smeralda (YCCS) at the Admiral’s Cup with the first 51. Once again, this team is galvanised by the affable Vasco Vascotto, who holds more world titles than any other sailor.

Django 7x’s first major regatta was the Rolex Maxi Yacht Cup in September, hosted by the team’s club YCCS, where it took on the likes of seasoned competitors such as Bella Mente, Vesper, Jolt and Jethou – and beat them all, to claim the first Rolex IMA Grand Prix World Championship. Quite the proof of concept!

Article continues below…

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Wallyrocket 71 Specifications:

LOA: 21.44m 70ft 4in
Beam: 5.55m 18ft 3in
Draught: 4.90m 16ft 1in
Displacement: 12,500kg 27,558lb
Sail area (upwind): 305m2 3,283ft2
Sail area (downwind): 630m2 6,781ft2
Contact details: wally.com

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post New Wallyrocket 71: The Next Generation Racing Yacht appeared first on Yachting World.

The red bandit. This rocketship is the second Carkeek design for Italian carbon cognoscenti Neo Yachts.

The Neo 620 is its new flagship, which will muscle into the competitive mini-maxi arena. It’s an evolution of the 570 we featured a couple of years ago (check out the video tour), and continues to sport Carkeek’s distinctive chamfered topsides, which run into a reverse sheerline, a stealth bomber-style shape first seen on racing machines such as Ràn.

The 620 has various layout options, primarily adding a third heads compartment compared to its smaller sister, and providing the option for a convertible fourth cabin space, which can be used as a nav station, for dining or sleeping – all while keeping weight to a mere 13.5 tonnes (nearly half of which is ballast in a deep keel).

Making a point: the Carkeek-designed 620 Roma is Neo’s new flagship model

Neo manages this wizardry by building the 620 in prepreg carbon fibre, fitted with a high-modulus carbon rig. Cariboni hydraulics aid high-speed control, while it can sport a single or twin rudders, has space for a 3m tender, and includes 400lt tanks for both fuel and water.

Founded by competitive sailor and sailmaker Paolo Semeraro, Neo has now built 30 custom or semi-custom high-performance yachts since 2018. The ‘Roma’ branding is Neo’s fast cruising line, which reflects the possibility for the wood veneered interior to be removable. So these yachts suit those wanting to compete at high-level events with the lightest-weight boat, yet do so while protecting the timber finish and maintaining resale value.

Article continues below…

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460 Competizione (Race)

Where Roma signifies a cruiser racer or Gran Turismo theme, ‘Competizione’ is Neo’s pure racer line, and the Bari yard has just sold the first 460 in this guise to a German team. Designed by Ceccarelli as an offshore double-handed or crewed racer, which can compete in Group 1 of the Admiral’s Cup class, it is available with single or dual rudders, water ballast options and an electric retractable pod.

Stylish carbon in the Neo 620 Roma’s interior

It also displaces only 200kg more than the 430, so weights in at just 6.2 tonnes, yet adds a second heads compartment inside. Semeraro reasons: “There are no production competitive racing boats in the 45-46ft range, the only competitive boats racing are a bunch of very old Ker 46s.”

With this 460 he explains that the moulds and design costs have been amortised by the yard, as it shares the hull mould of the 460 Roma. “A new owner can enter a no-compromise racing program without having to support the full costs of a prototype,” thinks Semeraro. And with the next Admiral’s Cup already planned for 2027, teams will already be needing to get their new steeds in place.

Two versions of the 460 Competizione are already in build

“Our target was to produce an all-round boat, not too light, not too specific for reaching in strong wind etc, but a boat that can win and can be used in many configurations, including inshore, offshore and double-handed.”

Both versions of the 460 are in build, plus a 520 Roma – all due for launch next year.

Neo 620 Roma Specifications:

LOA 18.59m 61ft 0in
Beam 5.30m 17ft 5in
Draught 4.50m 14ft 9in
Displacement 13,500kg 29,762lb
620 Roma price: €2.1m ex VAT
460 Competizione price: €750,000 ex VAT
Contact details: neoyachts.com

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post Neo 620 Roma & 460 Competizione first look: Two new stealthy yachts aiming to top the mini-maxi market appeared first on Yachting World.

The sea around us was filled with orange and yellow buoys, causing my imagination to go wild with visions of fouled propellers and angry aqua farmers. The markers rose and fell with the swell like a coloured carpet that glowed in the grey, rain-filtered light. Ahead of us, Jehoon Yee beckoned us to follow the route he was taking aboard his small yacht, Frog.

“I hope he’s sure about this route. Look, that ferry is taking a different route through the farms,” I called to Fiona, who was standing on the bow for better visibility.

I followed Frog’s stern as closely as I thought was safe, matching Jehoon’s every twist and turn as he led us through the gauntlet of ropes, nets and buoys. We were about to enter Yokjido, a small island fishing port in the Hallyeohaesang National Marine Park off the coast of South Korea. We’d sailed about 20 miles from Tongyeong – a journey that began in light winds and flat seas, then turned to strong gusts which had me scrambling to ease out the mainsheet, and ended with a dousing of rain as we neared our destination.

Through it all I kept Jehoon in my sights, following his path through the rocky islands and past bays filled with fish farms. I’d met Jehoon on the docks of the Tongyeong Yacht School, where his Yamaha 30 was moored near Teng Hoi, our Hallberg-Rassy 42F. He was deeply tanned and a mischievous glint in his eye contradicted his otherwise serious demeanour.

Covered bridge in Gyeongju, the ancient capital of South Korea. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Foreign visiting yachts were rare here, and after asking the usual questions about where we were from, Jehoon invited us to join him on a weekend sail. “I’ll show you where to moor on some of the little islands around here,” he said.

Jehoon also helped us file the paperwork the local authorities required even for this short cruise – a cumbersome process we were still struggling to master.

Now we followed him around the towering concrete seawall into Yokjido, and to a small floating dock. This was one of six basic marinas that had been recently created by the city Tongyeong to promote pleasure boating on the sprinkling of islands within day-tripping distance of the city.

As I helped Jehoon with his lines I invited him and his friends to come aboard Teng Hoi for arrival drinks. “But we have nothing to bring,” one of his friends said. “We have plenty of soju to drink, just come!” I assured them.

Article continues below…

Minutes later Jehoon and his friends arrived, bearing instant noodles and a big packet of wet wipes. The South Korean sense of hospitality that had prompted Jehoon to invite us along, also meant these sailors could not simply drop in on a visiting yacht empty-handed.

They had to bring a gift – any gift. We humbly accepted their offerings and poured them extra shots of soju, a spirit popular in Korea and Japan, to show our gratitude as we swapped stories.

Jehoon and his friends had to turn back to Tongyeong the next day, but before he left he gave us directions to the public marina in Maemuldo, the next island to the east that we planned to sail to. We spent a day hiking along Yokjido’s soaring cliffs before setting sail. The skies were grey and overcast, but we had a light southerly wind, allowing us to cover most of the 15 miles on a beam reach.

Stone statue on the shores of Jeju. Photo: Cameron Dueck

In Maemuldo we again found simple but adequate floating docks, well protected by a massive sea wall, with water so clear we could see the bottom of the harbour. We hiked to the peak, from where we could see other rocky islands rising from the sea.

This was how we’d imagined it, exploring the myriad of islands of South Korea’s coast, interacting with local sailors, visiting small fishing ports, eating at port-side raw fish restaurants where the seafood was kept alive in big glass tanks until ordered.

But we already knew that beyond Tongyeong’s small network of marinas we were unlikely to visit the many islands we could see in the distance. We’d been in Korea for about one month, long enough to have tried, and failed, at finding a path through the country’s oppressive maritime restrictions.

The Duecks’ cruising route

South Korea seemed like the obvious next destination for us after we’d spent almost a year exploring Japan. Our online research turned up very little information on the country’s clearance procedures, but we had friends who’d cruised in South Korea decades earlier and loved it.

We’d been warned about the bureaucracy of cruising in Japan, and those fears had turned out to be greatly exaggerated, so we set off confident that South Korea would also welcome us with open arms. “There’s not much information about cruising in South Korea… that’s good, as it means there won’t be many other cruisers,” I foolishly boasted to friends.

Teng Hoi off the South Korean coast. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Japan to busan

We’d left Teng Hoi in Japan’s Seto Naikai, or inland sea, over winter. It was late March when we hanked on our sails and steered for Korea with a cold, stiff wind on our nose.

The voyage from the Kanmon Straits, which connects the Sea of Japan with the Seto Naikai, to Busan, South Korea is about 120 miles. In the middle is the Japanese island of Tsushima – the Koreans call it Daemado – which has bridged the two countries geographically and culturally for centuries. It is also a clearance port, making it the perfect place to exit Japan.

We left the main islands of Japan behind us and soon we were beating into 20-25 knots with three reefs in the main and the staysail. Seas of 2-3m slowed our progress and showered the boat in spray, but we pushed on, arriving at noon the next day.

We tied up to a concrete wall in Hitakatsu, at the north-east end of Tsushima, and walked into the village. Buses were disgorging Korean tourists by the dozen, the voices in cafes were speaking Korean, and many shops accepted Korean won as payment.

Tsushima played a key role in defending Japan against invasions from Korea and China over the centuries. It was also a base for the wokou, or Japanese pirates, that once pillaged the Korean coast, and served as a trading port for the rice that Japan imported from Korea. Even today Tsushima uses unique finance and taxation systems that resemble those of Korea, despite Japanese ownership.

Light winds and sunny skies on passage. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Early warnings

After clearing out of Japan we continued westward, again beating. Intermittent cold rain slashed at us from the west, keeping us huddled under Teng Hoi’s hard dodger.

Squalls skidded across the horizon as we motored the final miles through a shipping channel with Busan to starboard and Geoje island off to port. We were navigating across the channel when our VHF radio came to life.

“Where are you going?” a port authority official asked. We explained we were headed for Myeongdong Marina in Changwon, and that we’d already submitted all the requested paperwork.

After a long silence, the official came back to caution us about a ship that was several miles away, and far off our track. We assured him that we were keeping watch and were aware of the traffic.

Street market on Jeju Island. Photo: Cameron Dueck

The warning struck us as over-vigilant, but it was only later that we recognised it as a harbinger of our Korean cruising experience. We were in high spirits, buoyed further by sighting otters that surfaced near our boat as we neared the marina.

A commercial shipping agent, who is a friend-of-a-friend, volunteered to help us navigate our first experience with the Korean bureaucracy as we cleared in. Myeongdong is a brand new marina, and was still awaiting its new clubhouse and onshore services.

It was also a one-hour bus ride to the nearest shops and restaurants, so after a few days we decided to move on.

Southern appeal

South Korea’s best cruising grounds, and most of its yachting culture, are concentrated on the island-dotted south coast. Many owners keep their yachts on the south coast and travel from Seoul to go sailing, because the more industrial west coast has muddy waters and extreme tidal ranges. The east coast has pristine waters, but the coastline is featureless with few welcoming ports, making the south the country’s natural maritime playground.

We made plans to island-hop our way west, sizing up various anchorages to call at on the way. That was when reality set in.

We learned that any voyage of more than 10 miles from our port of clearance required us to apply to authorities both for permission to leave our port, and permission to enter a new port. Every time we wanted to change anchorage or visit a nearby island we needed to apply for permission several days in advance, providing exact departure and arrival dates – and if we were delayed by weather, all of the paperwork had to be redone.

The author was given a live octopus by Korean sailors. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Each port clearance costs 10,000 Korean won (around £8), and local sailors are also subject to the process and fee. We soon learned that each province, office and individual officer had their own interpretation of the rules.

Some Port Authority offices insisted we use PORT-MIS, their online registration system for commercial shipping, which is only accessible to licensed shipping agents. At the time of our visit, South Korea didn’t have any agents specialised in pleasure craft, meaning we’d need to hire a commercial shipping agent at significant cost.

Moving to a new province also required us to clear customs, immigration and quarantine at both ends. Adding a twist to the red tape, we communicated with officials using their personal email rather than a general office address, and if they went on holiday the entire process needed to be restarted with a new contact.

The officials appeared confused by our requests. Foreign visiting yachts in the past had either ignored the requirements, pretended to be a local yacht, or had remained in one port rather than cruise.

Han Kim, a director of the Gyeongnam Sailing Federation and the manager of a marina in Busan, offered us help and advice on a daily basis. He explained that recent security incidents had led to increased scrutiny of foreign yachts.

In 2020 a Korean man entered the country with a yacht he’d bought in Croatia, carrying an undeclared firearm that he used to shoot his girlfriend. Drug smugglers had used South Korean ports as trans-shipment points, creating further alarm. We were also reminded repeatedly by South Koreans that their country is technically still at war with North Korea.

A statue guards a Korean martial arts temple. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Kim told us the number of foreign yachts visiting South Korea each year is in the single digits. “I think some people that have attempted to come may have been put off by the paperwork,” he observed.

So we decided to simplify our plans and sail directly to Tongyeong which, like Changwon, is in the province of Gyeongnam and is a short day trip down the coast. There was no wind, so we motored, which was just as well as the inside route forced us to wind our way through endless fish farms that filled the protected waters.

We’d noted a bridge we’d need to pass under on the north side of Geojedo. Charts showed it had 20m clearance, only 1m higher than our mast. We checked the tides, and spoke to local sailors, all of which reassured us that we’d have several metres of clearance and that they regularly passed underneath it with taller masts.

But one mile from the bridge the Coast Guard called us on the radio. “There is a bridge in front of you. It is a great danger to you,” they informed us.

I explained that the charts, tides, and local sailors all indicated that we were safe to pass through, but they were unconvinced and commanded us to stop. We were drifting within sight of the bridge when a Coast Guard boat pulled up next to us and a phalanx of boiler-suited, hard-hat wearing officials crowded their bow, waving and shouting in Korean and blowing whistles.

Monks give a seonmudo martial arts demonstration. Photo: Cameron Dueck

One of them pulled out a loudhailer. “Danger! Danger! Very big danger! You must turn around!”

I attempted to argue, shouting across the water, but Fiona turned me back to the helm. “There’s no use, you’ll never change their minds,” she said. We detoured 10 miles to avoid the bridge, with the Coast Guard boat motoring behind us for half an hour before returning to base where they continued to watch us on AIS.

In the next hours they called us on the radio several times, asking us to change our heading by a few degrees or take a different route. They even telephoned the agent who’d helped us clear into the country to ask him about our voyage plans. Part of me was incensed at their interference, but we were also amused they were taking such an interest in our safety.

At the Tongyeong Sailing School, we found our sailing tribe, with new friends like Jehoon eager to offer their help with finding fuel and parts, or navigate bureaucracy. The city, and the province of Gyeongnam, have ambitions to turn the area into a marine sports hub. Han, who completed the Clipper Round the World Race in 2015/16, has played an instrumental role in bringing the Clipper Race to Tongyeong in 2026.

Market in Myeongdong. Photo: Maremagnum/Getty

Explore ashore

Once it became clear we’d not see as much of Korea as we’d hoped from our boat, we travelled inland instead. We went to a Busan Giants baseball game, stayed at a temple where we learned martial art basics from the monks, and revelled in Seoul’s sleek art museums and plentiful parks.

South Korea was electing a new president during our visit, which encouraged us to learn more about its history. Colonised by Japan, divided from North Korea after World War II by domineering American generals, it then suffered decades of brutal military rule before the bloody birth of its democracy in the 1980s. The country is dotted with museums to the democratic struggle, and its modern commitment to peace.

The inland travel was fun, and gave us a deeper appreciation of Korean culture, but we were on a sailing voyage after all and had not yet given up our aspirations to see more of the coastline. Our new local sailing friends helped us identify a string of islands to visit on our way to Jeju, South Korea’s most popular tourist island, about 110 miles south-west of Tongyeng.

This route would take us to ports in neighbouring South Jeolla Province, which increased the complexity of our plans. Fiona spent two weeks researching, emailing, telephoning and filling out forms. Then, just when we thought we were making progress, an official told our agent we were not allowed to enter port unless for repair or to change crew.

Disappointed and frustrated, we decided to instead sail directly to Jeju which, as its own province focused on foreign tourism, demanded less paperwork. Han was deeply apologetic and dismayed at the difficulties we were facing. He even wrote a letter of petition to the government, hoping to push South Korea towards realising its potential as a cruising destination.

Teng Hoi at anchor off Bijindo. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Another tangle

We left Tongyeong and motored to nearby Bijindo, an island with a bay created by a narrow isthmus of sand, where we anchored for the night. After seven weeks in port, Teng Hoi’s hull had grown a thick beard, so we scrubbed the bottom and basked in the freedom of our only night at anchor in Korean waters.

The next day we set off for Jeju amid light winds, alternating between motoring and slow sailing whenever we had enough breeze. But soon we came across the huge floating masses of seaweed that pollute these waters each spring.

We manoeuvred around the first few clumps, but then the engine bogged as a mass of seaweed wrapped around the propeller. We reversed, but the weed clung fast. Finally Fiona donned a mask and dove into the water with a knife to cut it all away.

Lush Yokji Island, off the south coast of South Korea. Photo: Cameron Dueck

That night we passed through large fleets of squid fishing boats, whose brilliant lights lit up the sea for miles around and created eerie outlines of the rocky, remote islands we passed.

Jeju is known for three things: rocks, women and wind. As an island created by numerous volcanic eruptions it has plenty of jagged black rocks along its coast.

The famous haenyo are female divers who dive off its coast without scuba gear, to harvest abalone, sea urchins and other sea food. And the island was indeed windy, with unpredictable weather.

Soon after we arrived in Jeju we decided to make one more attempt at cruising, sketching out a plan to sail around the island, a voyage of about 120 miles, with stops in a few small fishing ports along the way. We soon ran into familiar challenges, and found the fishing ports that looked so inviting were closed to yachts. Instead we rented bicycles and made a six-day loop around the island.

We followed the black, rocky coastline and saw haenyo diving and bringing seafood ashore. And we pedalled hard against the wind, all the time thinking these would be excellent sailing conditions.

Squid drying in port on Jeju. Photo: Cameron Dueck

After a month in Jeju our South Korean visas were about to expire, and we’d finally accepted that cruising its coastline was out of our reach. We pointed Teng Hoi back towards Japan, catching steady southerly winds on our beam for a fast, smooth passage across the Japan Sea.

A few days after arriving in Japan we received a message from Han. He’d met with government officials and had been granted agent access to the PORT-MIS online registration system.

“So now I can help visiting yachts deal with all the paperwork,” he said. Fiona and I looked at each other, recalling the small islands, remote fishing ports and quiet bays we’d researched but were unable to sail to. Should we turn around and try again?

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Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

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Asking WIll Oxley to pick the coolest yacht he’s ever sailed is a tough choice, as his list incudes Comanche, Sodebo Ultim, and the foil-assisted superyacht Raven. “It was quite a difficult decision,” he recalls, “but I thought back to all the sailing I’ve done, and some of the most fun I ever had was in 2005 with Brian Thompson in the Transat Jacques Vabre on board Skandia – which was, of course, more famous as Kingfisher.”

Skandia was an Open 60 (now IMOCA) design by Owen Clarke built for Ellen MacArthur’s 2000 Vendée Globe campaign, in which she finished 2nd. The boat was later campaigned as Skandia by Nick Moloney, as well as Thompson and Oxley.

The 2005 TJV was sailed at a record-breaking pace. “I remember double-handing with Brian and doing nearly 100 miles in four hours,” says Oxley.

“This thing is tiller-steered and you’re strapped in. You’re getting water pouring down the deck, screaming along, just the two of you. I remember it being the most amazing sailing I’d ever done in my life at that point.”

Make sure you check out our full list of Coolest Yachts.

Photo: Jon Nash/OC Sailing Team/DPPI Media/Alamy

Kingfisher/Skandia stats rating

Top speed: 30+ knots
LOA: 18.28m/60ft
Launched: 2000
Berths: 1-2
Price: (build cost) £50,000
Adrenalin factor: 80%

Will Oxley

Will Oxley is one of the world’s best offshore navigators, and has sailed some of the most exciting ocean race yachts ever built. Since skippering an entry in the 2000 BT Global Challenge, he has gone on to work on four Volvo Ocean Race campaigns, as well as Maxis, superyachts, and winning many of the bluewater classic races.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post World’s Coolest Yachts: Kingfisher/Skandia appeared first on Yachting World.

It’s safe to say that the catamaran is truly out of the bag when it comes to the appeal of multihulls as cruising platforms, and not just for a week-long charter in the BVI’s. The mono vs cat debate has long raged, and while there will always be those who will never consider a yacht without ballast as seaworthy, the number of long-term cruisers crossing the world’s oceans on catamarans is increasing steadily.

As they’ve become more popular, they’ve also moved beyond the charter-style offerings of mass production catamarans. While Gunboat remains the brand that defines the performance breed, the likes of HH, McConaghy, Marsaudon Composites, Outremer, Balance, Kinetic and several smaller boutique brands are building multihulls that seem to demand little compromise in comfort yet offer near-raceboat levels of performance.

Boards down and powered up to weather on the first GB80 Highland Fling XV111. Photo: Sailing Energy/Multihull Cup

It’s hard to deny the appeal – this new generation of fast cruising cats offers an unrivalled blend of performance and livability that monohulls struggle to match.

And as we can see from the preceding Supersail World pages, they’re growing, in size, comfort, power, and performance terms.

But as Spiderman Peter Parker knows, with great power comes great responsibility. If you’re going to be safe and comfortable on a big cat you need to develop a certain amount of Spidery sense for the boat. Cats don’t talk back the way monos do, and they’re a lot less forgiving. When a gust hits a monohull, you know about it immediately. She heels over, spills some wind, might round up and flog the sails. On a cat, with its huge righting moment, the structure absorbs all that extra load.

Kopman’s wife and friends line handling. Photo: Mike Kopman

There’s no tell-tale increase in heel, and no way for the boat to automatically shed that power. If it’s sailed well, and not overloaded, that power will quickly translate into speed – which is great when you want it, but not so great if you’re already sailing close to the edge of your comfort zone. The old adage of reefing when you first think about it is doubly true for performance cats. In fact, you need to reef before you think about it!

Sailing large catamarans: Exit strategies

When the boat is really lit up, it’s crucial that everyone aboard knows the plan for if you get overpowered. Whether you’re going to head up and feather your way through a big gust or bear away and ride it out needs to be decided on beforehand, because in sketchy conditions, there’s no time to freeze and think about it.

If you’re already in upwind or downwind mode just keep going. Luffing up or running off works well on cats. But it’s when reaching fast in the so-called ‘death zone’ of 80°-110° true wind angle that things become less clear. Heading up increases apparent wind, which increases boat speed, while bearing away increases boat speed, then apparent wind.

‘Sailors agree that flying a hull has no place in cruising’. Photo: Gilles Martin-Raget

Either way, loads spike fast, the yacht feels squirrelly and steering can become difficult. If you’re in gusty conditions or expecting an increase, then err on the side of being underpowered. This means boards up, traveller down, leeches open and twisted off.

If your ‘exit’ is to head up, you want both main and jib to start luffing evenly. Once you’re almost head to wind and the boat has slowed right down, sheet the jib on (to help with the bear away), dump the main, and turn the boat deep downwind aggressively before she can build speed again. Once you’re sailing deep, slowly and in control, you can plan to reduce sail.

Trimming and reefing

Modern multis tend to have the rig stepped further aft and carry higher aspect mains, with multiple headsails on furlers. This means changing gear quickly is a lot easier, but with the main further aft in the boat, it can act like a great big rudder and prevent you from bearing away, even with the sheet eased, so make sure you remember to dump the traveller too.

Kopman’s daughters at anchor. Photo: Mike Kopman

If you’re not familiar with sailing a cat with daggerboards it helps to think of them as another sail, and that means they can be reefed. Upwind, of course, you want a board down, but as the breeze builds ‘reefing’ the daggerboards is as important as reducing sail. In fact, it’s remarkable how much you can depower a cat on a beam reach by pulling the boards up. They can be hard to move on a reach due to the lateral load on them, but once they’re out of the water, the boat will be making considerably more leeway and generating a lot less power.

My family and I were sailing our own 20m cat, Komotion, off the south-east coast of Sardinia on the tail end of a Mistral. We’d headed offshore a little to avoid wind shadow, and pretty quickly the wind built into the high 20s, putting our apparent wind over 40 knots.

Mike Kopman is an MCA commercial captain with 25 years and 300,000 sea miles experience on yachts. Photo: Mike Kopman

While putting a few rolls in the jib, the lashing on the furling line turning block failed, and with a bang the jib unfurled and we were under full sail again. The boat speed jumped to over 20 knots and we suddenly had a bit of a situation on our hands.

We dumped the traveller, and my wife, Sarah, steered off deep to slow the boat, while I went up onto the trampoline and lashed the block back in place. Broken gear is not something you can usually anticipate, but having a way out of a difficult situation before it arises can be invaluable.

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Speed on

‘They suck going upwind!’ is still the oft-repeated criticism of sailing cats, and while it might be true for some designs where volume has been prioritised over performance, it’s clearly not true for all cats. With daggerboards down and quality, flat sails, it’s a case of sheeting in and hanging on. Cracking off a few degrees results in a smoother ride and the sharp increase in speed gives a nice return in VMG.

Fine bows and hulls on Mike Kopman’s 72ft fast cruising cat Komotion. Photo: Mike Kopman

When it comes to tacking, a few small points can help you avoid resorting to the ‘charter tack’, ie starting an engine to get the boat through the wind. Firstly, bear away a little to build speed (don’t try to tack when you’re pinching). Then come upwind sharply and decisively, but don’t stall the rudders. Ease the mainsheet a bit as you’re about to come head to wind. This will reduce the mainsail’s ‘weathervane’ effect that can keep the boat in irons.

As the bows come through the wind, hold off on releasing the jib sheet for a few moments. Letting it back will push the bows down on the new tack. Then ease it across onto the new tack, build speed, sheet in the main again and you’re off.

Ocean sailing at dusk aboard the author’s liveaboard performance cat. Photo: Mike Kopman

A quick note on flying a hull. On a true performance cat that is designed to be able to fly a hull, best boat speed generally comes from just skimming the water with the windward hull. If there’s any more air under there, that’s a sign you’re pushing hard and might consider dialling it back. That said, pretty much every big performance cat sailor would agree that flying a hull has no place in cruising. If you’re not on the racecourse, the risks are simply not worth it.

Keeping check

Where maintenance on a performance catamaran differs most from a mono is in the rigging. Visual inspections of the mast base and crossbeam area should be more frequent on cats. Don’t over-tension shrouds; the wide spreader base on cats mean rigs don’t need to be piano-wire tight.

Diamond stays and spreaders, though, take serious loads and need close monitoring for cracks, play, or corrosion. Mast base fittings and beam interfaces are under high stress and must be checked for elongation or wear. Check chainplates on hulls for symmetry and signs of creep or elongation.

Sight lines and crew communications become really important, especially if you can’t see all four corners of the boat. Photo: PKC Media/Tosca

Autopilots also work harder on a cat for all the same reasons. Without the ability to heel as a ‘pressure relief’, a catamaran’s autopilot feels a lot more sailing loads. The autopilot experiences higher loads, especially at speed, where shifts in apparent wind come quickly and unbalanced sails can throw the boat off course.

Shoal tactics

One of the attractions of a multihull is that the shallow draught allows you to anchor in places not accessible to monohulls, but this can have its own challenges. A big boat needs a lot of room to swing, and a big cat needs even more, so keep that in mind when picking a spot.

The usual rule of scope applies as much to multis as it does to monos, but it’s worth thinking about the extra windage of some bigger volume cats. Flybridges, solid bimini tops and acres of solar can add a lot of drag, and, as the saying goes, chain does nothing when it’s left in the locker.

Alex Thomson helming the Gunboat 68 Tosca mid-Atlantic. Photo: PKC Media/Tosca

Going one size up on your anchor will help you sleep better. Multihulls sail around at anchor a lot more than most monos, so it’s really important to have a good bridle system. Generally, if you’re swinging around like an excited puppy on a lead then setting out a longer bridle will help. And while Dyneema is super strong, its lack of stretch means it’s not ideal for this purpose. Good old three-strand is an ideal material, with eyes spliced at the anchor end shackled to a good chain hook. Simple whipped ends inboard means the length can easily be adjusted.

If you’re tying up to a mooring, don’t run a line from one hull through the mooring eye and back to the other hull. The yawing of the boat will chafe through the line, so always use two separate lines, one for each hull.

When it comes to getting underway again, remember the steering effect of your mainsail if you’re going to do the increasingly popular ‘hoist the main at anchor’ move in a crowded mooring field or anchorage. Keep the sheet eased, traveller loose, and get the jib out as soon as you can to help pull the bow down. Or better yet, motor to where you have plenty of room around you first. It may not look as cool, but then neither does ploughing into another anchored boat!

Manoeuvring

Sight lines on some catamarans are not as clear as on monohulls, so good communication among crew is really important when docking and anchoring. If engine controls aren’t ideally placed you’re going to need people calling distances. As is the same on any large yacht or superyacht, marine headsets make a lot of sense when anchoring and manoeuvring, particularly on cats with large blind spots. However, it’s still prudent to have backup hand signals, so make sure you agree on what distance one finger means beforehand!

Cruising mode engaged: big, fast cats offer long legs for passages and plenty of space at rest in shallows. Photo: Mike Kopman

Fortunately, twin props set far apart mean cats are really manoeuvrable, but the bows can blow off just like on any other boat and bow thrusters are not that common on cats. The key is to think through any close-quarters manoeuvre carefully in advance, and always have an escape route in mind. Weaving a tennis court through a crowded anchorage in gusty conditions can be pretty nerve-wracking. Daggerboards are just as effective at reducing leeway under power, so if the water is deep enough, then stick them down if it’s windy.

A little trick we sometimes use when picking up a mooring is to back up to it rather than approaching it bow on. Instead of standing up on the forward beam trying to guide the helmsman to the buoy (and then having to reach way down to pass a line through), we find it’s much easier for the line handler to stand on the transom where they’re lower to the water and within talking distance of the helm.

There’s much better visibility aft, the helmsman can bring the transom right up to the buoy, and a long line from the bow can then simply be passed through and brought back aboard as you spin around.

Motion

The motion of a cat offshore can come as quite a surprise to those used to sailing half boats. The sensation is more jerky, less predictable, and this motion can be quite fatiguing for the crew. If bridgedeck clearance on your particular design has been compromised, then expect sudden wave slaps from below that can make that much vaunted unspilled G&T leap right off the saloon table. The first time I experienced one of these I thought the whole structure had split in half.

Crew communications become really important, especially if you can’t see all four corners of the boat. Photo: PKC Media/Tosca

On Komotion, we find we are frequently slowing the boat down to keep our crew more comfortable, especially on longer passages and overnight. It’s important to manage fatigue and comfort across the length of the trip.

It’s great fun blasting along at 20 knots in flat water in the lee of an island, or for a wet and wild squirt across open water to the next one, but for passages longer than half a day or so the speed, the motion and even the adrenaline can become quite draining (although, that said, I’ll never get tired of watching the spray smoke off Komotion’s lee bow as we send it at 20+ knots!).

Noise in the hulls of a full GRP performance cat can be another fatiguing factor. Even aboard Komotion’s cedar-cored hulls, it sounds like a freight train down below when we’re doing more than 15 knots, and noise increases stress (no wonder, then, that some IMOCA 60 sailors use earplugs).

Sight lines become vital for sailing a big catamaran. Photo: PKC Media/Tosca

As a family we often find it more relaxing to sleep in the saloon on two- or three-day trips. Again, the key is knowing when to back off a bit. If you’re not racing, take your foot off the gas, reduce sail and enjoy the easy speeds that a large performance cat can maintain with less sail up. My wife and I will often sail through the night with a couple of reefs in the main and just switch between jib and staysail as conditions change.

For most of the long-term cruisers we’ve met sailing on larger performance cats, their choice of boat is more about enjoying the ability to keep sailing in light breeze, when everyone else is motoring, than sheer flat-out speed. This blend of performance and practicality is exactly why more families, ours included, are choosing to cruise fast, flat, and far.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post How To Sail A Fast Catamaran: Mastering the Art of Quick Cruising appeared first on Yachting World.

Patagonia isn’t a place you rush through. At least not if you want to experience it fully. Its fjords and channels, carved by glaciers and swept by wind, demand patience and reward curiosity. On a 35ft glassfibre sailboat, you don’t rush – not through williwaws, not through ice, and certainly not through the wilderness and remoteness you rarely find anywhere else.

Curiously, I never dreamed of being a sailor. My ideas of adventure were more about where I wanted to go than how I’d get there. I was drawn to the idea of wild landscapes and vast spaces, far from everything. Sailing came later – almost by accident – when my partner Nao and I realised it might be the perfect way to reach those places.

Lauric Thiault captures a slow voyage through the most remote corners of Patagonia. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

We first bought Tupaia, a 1970s Dufour 35, to see if the life afloat might suit us. In the beginning it was a lot of trial and error, spending our summers in the less-travelled corners of northern Europe. During the winters, we learned to fix whatever broke and fine-tuned Tupaia based on the experience gained over each season. Bit by bit, we learned our boat and found our rhythm.

The freedom and enjoyment of being self-reliant and taking care of our little floating home had us hooked. After three years of slow learning and growing confidence, we started to think bigger. Not record-setting voyages or dramatic crossings. Just longer trips in wilder places.

We’ve now spent 500 days sailing through southern Chile, mostly against the prevailing winds. Out here, freedom didn’t mean going wherever we wanted, whenever we pleased – it meant adapting to the weather, letting Mother Nature set the pace. Nothing happened quickly, and that was exactly how we wanted it.

Lauric Thiault is a French environmental scientist and photographer who grew up in Polynesia. He and his partner, Nao Nakamura, have been living aboard their 1974 Dufour 35, Tupaia, for the past five years. In 2023, they set sail from Brittany for Patagonia, capturing their adventures at youtube.com/@tupaia. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

Sailing Patagonia: Tierra del Fuego in winter

Chilean Patagonia might be overrun if it weren’t so remote, and if its weather didn’t do such a good job of keeping most people away. The thousands of islands fringing the continent’s southern edge – from Cape Horn to Chiloé – stretch across 1,500 miles of countless fjords and weather-beaten islands. But despite its growing reputation among adventurers, the place still feels empty. Even in high season, most of this vast sailing ground sees few visitors.

We had just completed a focused 7,500-mile Atlantic crossing in four months to reach southern Chile before winter. It hadn’t been exactly rushed, but we’d made few stops, with little room for exploration. Arriving in Puerto Williams, the southernmost town in the world, we were ready to slow down.

Mooring Patagonia-style at Seno Helado in the Canal Barbara. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

We began exploring the Beagle Channel which, despite lying at the ‘end of the world’, is surprisingly busy in the summer. Proximity to Ushuaia means charter boats and cruise ships weave through these waters en route to Antarctica. Come April, the crowds leave, and the golden days take over. As the South Pacific and Antarctic high-pressure systems drift apart, the ‘channel’ that funnels storms across Tierra del Fuego widens.

A stable high over the mainland often nudges those systems north or south, sparing the Beagle and giving us an unexpected number of calm and sunny spells. With the days shortening, the sun just hovered, low and golden behind the jagged peaks of the Darwin Range. Sometimes it felt like the entire day was a soft, extended sunrise, fading into a pink-toned evening.

Last fjord, last catch – mussels at Estero Cahuelmo. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

Our life settled into a rhythm that would define our time here. The good weather brought busy days – we sailed, hiked, and fished. When the weather turned, we slowed down, reading, resting, and catching up on boat chores. Mornings began with lighting the stove and waiting for the warmth to slowly fill the cabin, something that could take hours in winter.

Evenings were dedicated to downloading GRIB files and sending our position to the Armada via Iridium, a system we deliberately chose over the cheaper and more efficient Starlink to avoid the distractions of the internet. No two days felt the same. As the seasons changed we felt the first ice floes tapping against the hull, saw the first glacier at arm’s length, there was the first time we hiked from the shore to the snow line above.

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Confinement

Everywhere we went, we found an excess of perfectly sheltered coves known locally as caletas. Safe spots can be tight, but we quickly became proficient in the art of mooring Patagonian-style: backing into tight inlets, dropping the anchor and running long stern lines to trees or boulders on shore. It’s a method used routinely by local fishermen and sailors. Like many cruisers, we were hesitant at first. It seemed like a lot of hassle. But once in the channels, it quickly proved essential.

Blue hour with a view in Seno Pia. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

The holding ground here is generally excellent, but space is the real constraint. Gusts funnel down steep walls, so the most sheltered moorings are those where the seabed shelves sharply just a few metres from shore, ideally close to a dense patch of trees. When there is no shore as such, no transition between water and forest, you know that conditions in that spot are usually calm, even on the worst days.

We usually leave about three times the depth of chain on the bottom, then once the anchor is set, Nao rows ashore to set the first line while I keep the boat steady. That’s the tricky part: especially when the wind is pushing you out. But once the first line is set, the rest is easy.

Navigating deep into a maze of growlers in Seno Garibaldi, Tierra del Fuego. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

We always put out a minimum of two lines to the stern, and if needed, we can easily add more at the bow. Tied in tight, Tupaia barely moves. And in a place where the wind can rise quickly, that stability turns a restless night into a peaceful one.

This proved especially true during our time in the Wollaston-Hermite Archipelago. We spent eight days holed up in Puerto Maxwell, pinned by back-to-back lows. Every morning, we checked the GRIB files, hoping for a reprieve, only to watch another massive front build in from the west. Gusts whipped through the anchorage in a steady run of williwaws, sending white spray across the surface and making our boat sway against her seven shorelines. Our rigging howled, the ‘furious fifties’ earned their name.

Magellanic penguin at Isla Rupert in the Strait of Magellan. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

But we didn’t mind. I would even go as far as to say that this was the most memorable – if not the highlight – of this section. There was something strangely exciting in being completely cut off, knowing that we could not return to the world nor the world come to us. Confined in the few square metres of the galley, we spent our days cooking, making small repairs, and watching the clouds stream down the mountains at unbelievable speed from our fogged-up window.

On a few occasions we managed to make short land excursions to watch the storm roll over Cape Horn and the surrounding islands – raw, powerful, and unforgettable from our vantage point.

Frozen stalactites hang like a curtain along the shores of Caleta Chorito, Beagle Channel. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

Wildlife is woven into every corner of Patagonia. Caranchos, chimangos, kingfishers and other birds fill every anchorage – condors soar on thermals, V-formations of cormorants skim low over the fjords, and albatross glide effortlessly above the waves. Below the surface, dolphins, sea lions, and whales pass through, though it was on our return to the Beagle Channel, off Ushuaia, that we encountered the most striking concentrations of marine life.

We used our time in Ushuaia to provision, stuffing fresh produce and four months’ worth of dry and canned food in the hold. It was also a last chance to glean advice from the few charter professionals still around. We left Ushuaia and Puerto Williams under clear skies, making the best of an easterly breeze through the Beagle Channel before veering north around the eastern tip of Tierra del Fuego.

Still waters of Seno Garibaldi capture the mountain’s reflection, under a serene sky, at Caleta Scherzo. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

There, we faced the toughest passage of the trip. Our resolve to see Patagonia as more than a series of challenges was swiftly shaken. It was here we faced the toughest passage of the trip. Conditions were cold and relentless, with williwaws flinging water into the air like smoke so dense it obscured the shoreline, turning the landscape into a blur of blue-grey and noise. On the towering cliffs of dark, bare rock surrounding us, waterfalls that hadn’t frozen were blown back upwards by the wind.

When we finally reached shelter in Caleta Brecknock, we discovered the full extent of the damage: one of the shrouds was compromised, and both the staysail and mainsail were torn. It took us a week to carry out repairs.

Kelp forests can tangle in the propeller. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

From then on Tupaia began making new noises; small creaks and groans that hinted at stress in the structural bulkheads. Yet rather than discourage us, the experience only deepened our commitment. There was something profoundly satisfying about moving through Patagonia’s remotest corners entirely on our own and taking full responsibility for every part of the journey.

Legendary waters

Sailing through these waters, it’s impossible not to think of those who came before us – Magellan, FitzRoy, Martial, Sarmiento, Agostini – figures who shaped the history of these coasts, and whose names now mark channels, mountains, and anchorages. It blows my mind to think how they managed to navigate these waters under such harsh conditions, with no charts, no forecasts, and no room for error.

A calm winter day in the Wollaston-Hermite archipelago. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

And long before them, the Yámanas and Kawésqar had been navigating this coastline for thousands of years, in open canoes, guided by a deep knowledge of, and connection to, this place.

With each mile, the sailing grew more remote, the landscape more dramatic. There were no beacons, no lighthouses, nothing but the contours of the land to guide us – along with our own judgment and, of course, the chartplotter. By the time we reached Seno Agostini we were surrounded by so many tidewater glaciers spilling into the sea that we started calling it ‘Glacier Avenue’.

Making good speed across Golfo Almirante Montt. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

Dozens of ice tongues curled down from the peaks, some wide and stately, others fractured and blue, creaking under their own weight. The stillness was broken only by the distant crack of calving seracs and the faint scrape of the frozen layer of ice brushing against the hull.

We entered the legendary Strait of Magellan at Cape Froward – the southernmost point of continental South America. Westbound sailing in this section is famously difficult: the strait’s shape funnels the prevailing north-west winds directly against you, while contrary currents and a steep, short-period sea make every mile hard-earned.

On top of that, the season was shifting from winter to summer, bringing chubascos – sudden unpredictable squalls. But we took it slow, tacking from one side of the strait to the other, making small but steady progress each day.

‘We became proficient in the art of mooring Patagonian-style’. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

Over the course of a month, we had just three calm days which we used to make detours – one to a spectacular tidewater glacier, another to a penguin colony tucked into the forest. The rest of the time, we worked our way forward into headwinds of 25-30 knots on the better days. On the harder days, the wind howled relentlessly, making progress impossible. We stayed put, riding out the weather in windy anchorages. It was here that Graham Cox spent a month waiting for favourable conditions before he could continue westward.

Outside, the weather was so ridiculously bad that we could only laugh.

At least we had the company of the local fishermen, whose kindness and generosity stood out. We always made a point of going over to chat. Despite the hard, exhausting nature of their work, they welcomed us aboard to drink mate and offer astonishing amounts of shellfish, fish, centolla (king crab), or sea urchins.

These encounters became some of the most meaningful moments of the journey – opportunities to hear about their lives, the history of the region, and to gain invaluable local knowledge about anchorages and places worth exploring. No-one knows these waters better.

Winter sailing takes a little extra work, but the reward is having these wild places all to yourself. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

Our only chance to sail downwind came during detours to the east. That wasn’t the reason we chose to visit the Última Esperanza area, but it was a relief when conditions finally worked in our favour after two months of sailing to windward. This region lies at the meeting point of two very different worlds. On one side are the wet, mountainous channels; on the other, the open plains stretch endlessly across Argentina.

Sailing through Última Esperanza offered a taste of both: the dramatic cliffs and glacier-fed fjords of the Cordillera de las Montañas, with condors circling overhead, and, beyond the Bellavista region, glimpses of the rolling pampa dotted with guanacos.

Summer in the Ice Fields

After some restocking in Puerto Natales and a quick visa run to Argentina, we set off on Christmas Day, working our way west then north again. By then the typical days of prevailing summer weather in the channels were well established: north-west winds and overcast skies. And it rained, not hard but almost every day. Nothing was dry but the stove and the wall behind it.

Ashore, the vegetation dripped with moisture, and the carpet of moss was as full as a sponge can be. Our route was lined with more cypress trees, and the nothofagus forests grew taller and thicker. We made a few diversions deep into the Andes, where the steep mountains and the narrow fjords intensified the sense of scale. But the grandeur of this region is found not only in what you see, but in what you know is out there.

Sailing to windward on a calm winter day in the Brazo Noroeste of the Beagle Channel. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

That beyond the islands stretches a wilderness so vast and remote that few people, if any, have ever set foot on it. Given our modest sailing background, we hadn’t imagined reaching places so distant and so beautiful. When we came across our first huemules (south Andean deer), it felt like we were reaching a high point.

Then we entered Seno Eyre and reached Pío XI. Even in a region where the bar for scenery is already impossibly high, this glacier stands apart. It’s the largest tidewater glacier in South America, at 65km long, over 60m tall and 4.5km wide at the face.

We were already running short on superlatives, but Pío XI shattered whatever standards we had left. From our boat, we listened to sharp cracks and groans as the glacier inched forward. After a while, we could sense when a collapse was coming: the crackling would build, ice would shift, and then – with a thunderous roar – a massive block would break off and crash into the sea. We stayed the whole day, watching in awe, until the late summer dusk called us back to the safety of a caleta.

We’d now been in Patagonia for almost a year and were starting to feel more comfortable venturing off the main route. After a 10-day stop in Puerto Edén – the most isolated village in Chile – waiting for a weather window, we made a few more diversions into the uncharted, ice-filled fjords of the east. The sense of isolation was profound. Each anchorage felt as if no one had ever been there before.

Then came the Golfo de Penas, a milestone for anyone sailing through Patagonia. It marks the boundary between south and north; a point we’d been hearing about since Puerto Williams. Its reputation precedes it: conditions are so notoriously rough that most yachts make the circumnavigation as quickly as possible, eager to return to the shelter of the channels. Fortunately, a rare stretch of good weather allowed us to explore it more thoroughly than we’d ever hoped.

A friendly pause with horses along the path to Raper lighthouse. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

For 12 hours we were back in open water, with the Andes rising to starboard, the far horizon of the Pacific stretching out to port. We spent the night at sea, the calm almost surreal given the gulf’s reputation. The next morning the air was flooded with a deep yellow glow. In that vibrant light, albatross escorted us across the water.

What came next took us entirely by surprise. There’s little written about this section of the coast, and nothing had prepared us for what we found: wide, white sand beaches and lush green forests – it could have been north-eastern Australia were it not for the snow-covered peaks looming just behind. We had no idea a landscape like this even existed in Patagonia.

Further north lies the Taitao Peninsula, where the strongest weather system of the season shattered wind records: 97 knots, according to the keepers at the Raper lighthouse, who were still repairing their roof when we stopped by a few days later. But from the shelter of our cove, it all felt very far away.

A slow return

During one of our side trips we found ourselves in Laguna San Rafael, blessed with perfect weather again, approaching the last glacier of our journey. In the grandeur of the place, something closed: a chapter of the journey was behind us. Beyond this point the deep sense of isolation we’d experienced began to fade. Fish farms and the occasional small fishing village reminded us we were drawing closer to the edges of inhabited Patagonia. It was still wild, but no longer quite as remote.

A refreshing dip in front of the Jorge Montt glacier. Photo: Lauric Thiaul

From there, we spent two months sailing back and forth between the Chonos Archipelago and the mainland, where volcanoes rose from the low clouds and thermal springs bubbled up from the earth. Finally we arrived in Chiloé, a bucolic escape from the harsh elements we’d been navigating for so long. The island’s charm lies in its gentle simplicity: rolling hills, picturesque villages, and a slow pace of life that eased the transition from the wilderness.

It’s no wonder people find the sailing life so hard to leave behind. How long it will hold us, I don’t know. But with more than 40 days of bluewater cruising ahead, bound for French Polynesia, one thing is clear: we’ve only scratched the surface of what this life can offer, of the raw beauty, exhilaration, solitude, and sense of freedom that comes with it. One day, we’ll return to these southern waters, not to retrace our steps, but to keep exploring freedom to its limits.

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Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

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It’s the second day of a race weekend, an early season shakedown for boat and crew. A pleasant 12-14 knots is blowing from the eastern entrance of the Solent. The first upwind leg takes us eastwards from Hill Head, along the mainland shore towards Portsmouth and the shining white Spinnaker Tower.

We’re racing a 40-footer, and on handicap it’s the quickest boat in this fleet. So, we’re leading everyone towards the Lee-on-Solent beach, going to a mark that’s a mile away upwind. We know the left-hand side will pay on this leg, we’ve done it many times and, so far, the strategy – to win the pin and get as far in towards the beach as we can – is working.

The big question for the navigator at this moment (and that’s me) is how far we can go before we’re forced to tack by a lack of water. I’m working on it – or at least I would be if I had a bit more faith in the accuracy of the wind direction. It’s early in the season and the calibration of the wind angles is some distance from being sorted. So, I don’t have an answer to the question that the tactician really needs to know the answer to. At least, not an answer that I’m confident in.

I keep rechecking it because something doesn’t feel right, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Still, even allowing for that feeling, I’m really not expecting what happens next. The boat hits the bottom with a horrible lurch, tipping everyone forward. I glance at the depth a moment after the impact, and it reads 5m of water under the keel.

This, I note – slamming the door after the horse has bolted – was probably what didn’t quite feel right. The first step was to try and sail the boat off. This got us nowhere, and it quickly became apparent we weren’t going to be finishing the race. The second step was to put the engine on and try to motor off. No dice there either.

A classic run down the Green for Cowes Week competitors this year required confidence in their yacht’s depth calibration. Photo: Paul Wyeth/CWL

The third and final step was to call in the rescue boat and get them to try and tow us off, and when even that wasn’t working… ouch. It was going to be messy if we were still there at low tide with the racing paint wallowing in the mud and gravel. In the end, it was plain luck that we got the yacht safely back afloat.

That and the horsepower of the rescue boat. At which point, we cut our losses and went home. It didn’t take long on the way back to the dock to work out what had gone wrong; the boat had just had a brand-new instrument system processor/computer installed. Some of the calibration values had been (very helpfully) transferred across from the old system – and therein lay the problem.

Calibrating Depth

Now, depth is one of the more straightforward calibrations that must be done when setting up a yacht’s instrument system, largely because there is a fixed measurement that it can be calibrated against – the depth of the water. However, a warning; depth finders sometimes have trouble getting clear readings in crowded marinas.

So, if it’s reading erratically in any way, wait till you get a calm day and do the calibration while you’re stopped somewhere outside the marina. A second point to watch out for is that the depth can be a rather fuzzy measurement if it is a muddy bottom, so try to find a solid seabed.

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In 2012 I bought a neglected 15-year-old Hallberg-Rassy 46 which had stood ashore unsold for many years. She was strong,…

I haven’t been on a boat with an actual leadline since I was a Sea Scout, but it’s easy enough to improvise. I usually use a winch handle tied (securely!) and taped to the end of a line, but any heavy weight will do. I drop it over the gunwale, making sure I’m adjacent to the depth sensor, and let it sink so the winch handle is just touching the bottom.

If it’s a nice solid seabed I can feel when it lands, making sure that the halyard is tight, creating a straight line between the winch handle on the seabed and my hand at the surface (this can be difficult if there’s a lot of current). Then, just pinch the halyard where it exits the water and, if you’re worried about losing the spot, wrap a turn of tape or thread tightly around it.

Haul it back up, pull the halyard tight between the bottom of the winch handle and the taped mark, and measure the distance. Once we know the depth of water from the surface to the seabed there’s a choice. The depth sensor will have a calibration number, which is an offset.

This can be set to measure and read the depth from the surface, or to measure and read the depth below the keel types or rudders (depending on which is deeper). It’s straightforward to set it up to read depth from the surface; the calibration number/offset should be set to the distance between the sensor and the waterline.

The depth sensor (this from A+T) is a deceptively simple looking device, but immensely useful… if calibrated correctly

Now, we’re adding this amount to the depth the sensor is measuring, so we need to enter the number with a positive (+) sign. Even if we don’t know this distance, we do know the depth of the water, and the calibration number/offset should be entered (using trial and error if necessary) as the value that makes the number on the instrument display match the measured depth. Or maybe a little bit less than the measured depth, so that any error is in your favour!

However, I’ve always set the depth sensor to read depth of water under the keel. This is the number that matters to me, and it’s much more relevant to how I use the sensor. The tides range in the Solent means there’s around 3-4m of difference in depth from high water to low water, so it takes a bit of time to work out what the water depth should be at any given spot. And time is something I don’t always have on a race boat.

Depth Under the Keel

There are a few situations where it’s worth working out the water depth in advance of being somewhere – when a route option includes sailing over a sandbank or reef, for instance. Otherwise, and that’s for 99% of the time I spend racing in the Solent, I sail to the measured depth – after all, if you’re trying to get out of a foul tide, then you’re going to go as close in as you dare, managing the risk depending on the circumstances.

To set up the instruments to display depth under the keel, we’ll need to subtract the distance between the sensor and the bottom of the keel from the sensor’s measurement of depth. So we’re going to enter a calibration number/offset with a negative (–) sign. The distance can be obtained from a yacht design drawing, or measured when the boat is out of the water.

In the case of this particular yacht it was 2.5m between the sensor and the bottom of the keel – a number I had in my calibration notes. So, it should have been easy, on that bright and breezy Sunday morning, to check the number entered into the new instruments was minus 2.5m. Unfortunately, while the right number had been entered into in the new processor, it had been entered with the wrong sign. Instead of subtracting 2.5m of water from the reading, it was adding it. So, zero depth was therefore reading as 5m of water under the keel.

Awkward

On that Sunday I’d been preoccupied with the calibrations that control the wind direction data. I’d been taking the depth sensor for granted, and on this occasion got bitten hard by the assumption. My knowledge was – quite literally – not keeping me afloat.

It was a very particular kind of embarrassment to end up on the Lee-on-Solent beach in front of the whole Hamble River race crowd thanks to a measurement error – but these are the lessons we can learn from. So, this one’s on me: always check the calibrations or the readings on all the main instrument sensors before you leave the dock; apparent wind speed and angle, compass, boatspeed, depth and GPS… but especially when you have done any work on the instrument processor or computer.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post How to check your depth sensor calibration (and why you need to) appeared first on Yachting World.

‘Laaaaaaaaaand ho!’

The first shouts drifted through the companionway at 0545 on 25 April. Hiva Oa was visible in the pre-dawn light just off our starboard bow. French Polynesia: the South Sea Islands.

I lingered in my bunk a minute longer, lost in a sleepy stupor from the low drone of the engine. The last hundred miles of the crossing had been frustratingly windless, but there is no better sleep aid than constant rpms.

When I stepped into the cockpit, the island was close by to starboard. High green hills surrounded us on three sides as Falken approached the bay, a ragged ridgeline running down the centre of the island, and black volcanic slopes disappeared into the sea where the long south-easterly swell exploded onto the rocky cliffs in high plumes of spray. The crew was quiet, gazing at the land like they hadn’t seen any in weeks.

On the breeze came the rich smell of earth, my favourite part of any landfall and the most surprising – and emotional – to first-time passagemakers. We cut the engine a half-mile off and left the Farr 65 Falken to her own devices while the crew stripped down and jumped over the side, whooping into the cool water. Then we motored into the anchorage, threading between a dozen other boats.

Inside the breakwater the swell still found us, rolling the deck under our feet as we rigged the shade awning and popped the champagne. After nearly 17 days and 3,259 miles, the Marquesas were ours, and that satisfying sense of accomplishment started sinking in. And yet here’s the thing – if I ever cross the Pacific again, I might consider skipping them.

I know, I know, this is heresy. The Marquesas are sacred ground for bluewater sailors, one of the all-time iconic ports of call. They’re the mythical first landfall after the long haul from the Americas, the stuff of legendary sea stories and Polynesian fantasies. The dream.

The reality was weeks rolling at anchor and biblical rain. Weary after nearly three weeks at sea and longing for rest and respite, I eventually found what I was looking for further south-west, in the Tuamotus and finally Tahiti – still lagoons, coconut palms, unfathomably blue water, and deep rest.

17 days and 3,259 miles across the Pacific was a long haul to the Marquesas. Photo: Aidan Gray

Enchanted Isles

My South Pacific passage began by flying into the Galapagos to skipper Falken, which felt like cheating. In 36 hours I’d gone from playing with my five-year-old son on his trampoline in Sweden, to south of the equator, halfway around the planet, experiencing the surreal way time bends on long-haul international flights.

The Galapagos reminded me in a curious way of Svalbard – a group of remote, exotic islands, a heavily protected environment and an abundance of rare wildlife that you only see in these specific places. That the two islands are separated by 80° of latitude is moot. Where walrus and polar bears preside over the icy landscape up north, sea lions, blue-footed boobies and giant tortoises dot the terrain in the south.

The sea lions are particularly entertaining – in San Cristobal they own the waterfront, sleeping on park benches, occupying the transoms of boats who don’t put up enough fender defences, and barking at anyone who comes too close.

Before our ocean departure, first mate Emily Caruso ran the crew through MOB drills: point one: stay on the boat. The water was warm and calm, so we did live recovery practice. It was a hell of a job hauling someone up Falken’s high topsides, even in flat calm at anchor compared to the rolling Pacific swells coming our way. The drill did its job of making everyone think like a sailor: pay attention and, above all, don’t fall in.

instructions from skipper Andy Schell for the crew working forward. Photo: Aidan Gray

Pollywogs & Shellbacks

We crossed the equator southbound just as the sun was kissing the horizon to the west. To mark the moment the crew shut down the engine and fired a cannon salute (yes, Falken carries a small cannon), and with that King Neptune appeared. His accomplice ‘Davy Jones’ read our supposed crimes against the deep – steering too wide, sleeping too long, being general ‘ne’er-do-wells’ – and sentenced us accordingly.

My punishment was a ‘haircut’ from the Royal Barber, whose kit consisted of a bucket of saltwater and a pair of safety scissors. We drank Doctor Doom’s foul elixir, sang shanties, and banged spoons on a pot in the place of a drum. We graduated from Pollywogs to Shellbacks, initiated into Neptune’s realm.

But the wind didn’t return. The engine went back on, the sails stayed limp, and our ceremony faded into the monotonous cacophony of the iron genny. For days we pushed on, the boat rolling in a low swell, the rig shuddering every time the boom and the sea got out of sync. Old sea captains cursed calms more than storms for the damage they did to ship’s gear and crew morale. We were able to tick off 350 miles under power in two days – a far cry from the weeks the square-riggers could be becalmed here – but frustrating all the same. Patience in the doldrums is easy to preach but hard to live.

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The tropical South Pacific is also hot. And very humid. Nothing could have prepared us for the heat of equatorial sailing. When we slept, our bodies left an imprint against the sheets like a crime scene outline, but in sweat.

Outside it was marginally cooler in the breeze, but then we had to avoid the sun. We had an umbrella rigged up in the cockpit to provide a little extra shade (this despite the superstitious implications – umbrellas on board, like bananas, are considered very bad luck at sea). The only shade before noon was a small sliver next to the mast on the port side, which had become a popular spot for the on-watch while taking turns driving.

1,000 MILES Offshore

When the south-east trades finally filled in, Falken flat-out flew, covering 225-plus miles for eight consecutive days. The sailing was effortless; a poled out yankee and reefed mainsail made for fingertip steering, with each watch gunning for the surfing record. We regularly hit double-digit speeds, and topped out at over 16 knots.

Sea lions rule the roost in San Cristobal, Galapagos.
Photo: Aidan Gray

Though thankful for the wind, we hadn’t had many truly great starry nights on the passage. But one particular evening late into the passage, they were out in full splendour. The Milky Way dazzled to port, the Southern Cross lost among the myriad stars surrounding it. The Big Dipper hovered on the horizon to starboard, its pointer stars aimed at Polaris, now well below the northern horizon from our perspective in the Southern Hemisphere.

Arcturus and Spica, two of the brightest, were visible behind the helmsman’s head. It’s impossible to properly describe how stunning a fully starlit sky is at sea, where the only light pollution for a thousand miles is the masthead tricolour weaving around aloft as the boat pitches and rolls.

While we still had a long way to sail, by now the cracks had started to show in the crew’s resolve to stay in the moment. I was partly to blame – I’d raised the topic one night of what food everyone was most looking forward to eating when we arrived ashore (the correct answer is always a cheeseburger and a cold beer). But we hadn’t fully broken the spell.

The stars that night were a reminder to stay present. Falken had sailed 2,307 miles, with 1,000 more to go.

The Marquesas off the port bow after 17 days at sea. Photo: Aidan Gray

Marquesas to Starboard?

But our mid-ocean dreaming of burgers and beer gets to the core of why I might consider skipping the Marquesas next time. What is it that you want most after a long passage? Not having an opportunity for that first great meal ashore (there is one mediocre restaurant on the waterfront in Nuku Hiva) nagged at me.

Voyaging in remote places is a series of continuous ups and downs, emotionally and physically, and they tend to balance each other out over the long term. The Marquesas are spectacularly, exotically beautiful, but they are rarely comfortable. Anchorages are tight, deep, or exposed. Unlike the Caribbean, there aren’t shops and cafes on the waterfront – only goats, horses and an open-air market (though the French grocery store was well-stocked and the hardware store helpful).

Refuelling required a jerry can shuffle in the dinghy. I readily acknowledge that for many these are simply features of the adventure, not a negative. But I’d never really heard anyone mention it before. I’m also not a typical cruiser, Falken is not your typical cruising boat. It’s a business. Between 59° North passages with paying crew, we usually have just a few days of staying put to rest and reset.

In the Marquesas we had down time, but weren’t truly able to explore. Handling Falken’s big mainsail without a full crew is a project in itself, so sailing off to find a better anchorage wasn’t on the cards.

It was a rolling South Pacific passage. Photo: Aidan Gray

We did some exploring – hikes into lush valleys, enjoyed beers with other sailors, and completed minor boat work. But more often it felt like we were just waiting to depart while enduring the heat, humidity and ‘no-nos’, the horrendous sand flies. I wasn’t actually sure we’d ever get out of Nuku Hiva.

After more than two weeks at anchor in a rolling Taiohae Bay, when the crew arrived for the next leg, days of torrential rain delayed our departure further when the harbour became flooded with debris washed off the mountains. So when the skies finally cleared, we bolted.

Five hundred blissful, beam reaching miles later and the contrast between the chaotic anchorage at Taiohae in Nuku Hiva and the tranquillity of Kauehi village in the Tuamotus couldn’t have been any more stark. Where in Nuku Hiva Falken had rolled heavily in an unbroken swell that backwashed against the seawall, we sat perfectly still inside the protected lagoon at Kauehi atoll.

In Kauehi the sea-level elevation allowed the breeze to blow freely, and kept the bugs away. Crystal-clear water was highlighted in spectacular shades of turquoise and deep blue, occasionally disturbed by yellow-tinted lemon sharks that swam by the boat. We spent two blissful nights here, relaxing and exploring. With no cell service at the village, refreshingly nobody was even on their phones.

Not being able to enjoy the same little luxuries that had accompanied all my Atlantic landfalls after a long stint as sea perhaps clouded my judgement of Hiva Oa and Nuku Hiva. And one of those is being able to sleep on a still boat. There are no docks anywhere in the Marquesas and, with no fringing reef and incessant swell, there are also no calm anchorages.

South Pacific cruising is not always bright skies and blue seas. Photo: Aidan Gray

The strain of spending three weeks at sea isn’t relieved in the same way it’s relieved in say, Horta. It wasn’t until Tahiti, seven weeks after I’d joined Falken in the Galapagos, that we finally got that truly cathartic moment of luxurious release.

Tahiti was familiar, in both the best and worst senses of the word. High-end marinas – or a protected anchorage inside the reef at much less cost; a huge air-conditioned Carrefour grocery store; hipster smoothies at the beach bar; rum distilleries and rainforest hikes. It was everything a crew fantasises about towards the tail end of any long passage.

With its protected lagoons, fruit falling from the sky, friendly people, and French cuisine galore, Tahiti is like true paradise – why would you ever choose to leave? But for me, the passage ended in Tahiti, both literally and figuratively. I flew home after a week exploring the island and recouping my energy from the long ocean passage.

Returning dreams

Expectations dictate what you get out of a voyage. With hindsight, I realise my first Pacific crossing was about the South Seas myth at the expense of enjoying some of the reality. For my second Pacific crossing – and there will have to be a second – I know I can choose our own path. But, honestly, I don’t think I could resist going back.

59° North’s Falken is a 65ft Bruce Farr design built in 1999, originally for a round the world race. Photo: 59° North Sailing

Because for all my griping, you simply can’t miss the Marquesas. The sense of achievement of arrival after 3,000 miles at sea is unmatched. The cultural depth – from the tattoo traditions to the exotic feasts – is unlike anywhere else. You’re not being sold anything in the Marquesas, which may have frustrated my yearnings for a post-crossing reward, but in the moment is quite the relief.

And that first sight of land after weeks at sea… there’s nothing like it. One morning you’re looking at an empty horizon, the next at unfathomably steep mountains carved from the sea. So if you’re crossing the Pacific for the first time, definitely don’t avoid the Marquesas.

Instead, calibrate your expectations. It’s so easy in the age of Starlink to expect that anywhere you go, things will always be more or less the same. Leave all that behind, and experience the Marquesas for what they are – an isolated outpost in the middle of the vast Pacific with some of the most dramatic scenery and friendliest people on Earth. Ignore my heretic hot take. Go.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post 3,000 Miles to Paradise: Our Unexpected Reality in the Marquesas appeared first on Yachting World.

Lawrence Herbert loves his offshore racing but he and the Corazon crew are campaigning their J/133 on a tight budget. Necessity being the mother of invention, the 28-year-old and the rest of his 20-something crew have come up with some ingenious cost-saving approaches with minimal or zero compromise to performance.

Herbert learned a lot about boat maintenance and reliability in the Caribbean where he worked for a few seasons on race boats including the J-Class yacht Lionheart. This hard-earned knowledge has equipped him well to run much of his own maintenance programme rather than paying others to do the work.

Having been forced to retire from the 2023 Rolex Fastnet Race due to an injury to a crewmember not long after a stormy start in the Solent, for 2025 Herbert was determined to leave no stone unturned in his quest to complete his first Fastnet.

“I must admit there were one or two stones still unturned before the start, and one was not replacing the main halyard. When I heard a big bang, my heart sank as I immediately looked skywards,” he recalls.

“Fortunately it was the Cunningham pinging accidentally out of its cleat, so no harm done. But mostly we worked hard to make sure Corazon was ready for anything, even if it ended up mostly being a light to medium airs race this year.”

Here are five of Herbert’s best tips for bulletproofing your boat on a budget.

Faring a keel takes time so plan to sort big jobs like this well ahead of key races

Plan your schedule

Identify your next important race and build your preparation schedule back from there. In IRC you want to optimise your rating as much as possible for the route. You need to know when the rating deadline is for your race and make sure you get a rating slot as late as possible before that. For the Fastnet we had our sails re-measured two weeks before the start.

Sails shrink over time, and just by re-measuring a headsail we got an improvement to Corazon’s rating. Get all the big structural jobs out of the way during the winter when you’re not likely to be sailing so much. Do your hull and keel inspection super early in the year.

We did ours in January and had our rudder bearings replaced at the same time, which took longer than expected. Jobs like fairing the keel and the hull – all these things take time.

If you’re not sailing much for a few months, mouse all the control lines, sheets and halyards out and keep a bare deck while the boat isn’t being used. Even in the winter you’d be amazed how much UV damage can degrade lines. So take them home, put them through the washing machine with a small amount of fabric softener and vinegar (not soap!), and they’ll come out almost as good as new.

Winch maintenance

Elsa Swetenham is our winch maintenance expert on Corazon. She serviced our winches at the start of the year and again just before the Fastnet. For the early-season winch maintenance you want to put quite a bit of grease in there because it’s going to be there for a few months.

The downside of more grease is how much it slows down the winches, so unless you’re doing a really long passage like a transatlantic, for your pre-race winch maintenance you want to put in less grease. This means the winches will spin quicker, everything will run more easily, and all those small gains add up to a better performance on the race course.

Second-hand sails

If you’re mostly day racing on windward-leeward courses, your sail inventory is fairly well defined. But for a big offshore race like the Fastnet you have to be ready for pretty much all conditions and every angle. It could be blowing 33 knots at the start and three knots at the finish.

We can’t afford to buy new for Corazon, so we’re always keeping an eye out for second-hand sails. There aren’t many J/133s around, so we’re looking for sails that are a similar size but might require a bit of recutting.

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Find solutions

It can get wet down below and the last thing you want is for your cushions to get soggy. We could have paid a fortune for properly waterproof cushions, but instead we thought, why not get some waterproof bed sheets like they use in a care home?

So we bought a set online, put them over the top of the bunks and any water that comes down the hatch runs straight off and into the bilge. If you’re coming off watch you can jump into bed without anything getting soggy.

Budget electronics

We bought a Starlink satellite internet unit so we could download GRIB files and weather updates, as well as keep friends and family updated with our adventures out at sea. We didn’t have time to mount it properly so we ran the Starlink off the battery from a power drill. We’d get it out once every six hours for GRIB file updates and keep it running for just 15 minutes at a time.

We’ve worked hard to keep everything as simple and as low-power as possible. We used to have a clunky old chartplotter down below, so we stripped that out and now we have a fanless mini PC which has a really low power draw and integrates the B&G system with Expedition for weather routing software. Everywhere we can, we’re trying to make the boat as light and fast as possible – and save as much money as we can.

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Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

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“My Mini 6.50 was a Pogo 3,” recalls Crémer, who raced as a ‘bizuth’ or ‘rookie’ in the 2017 Mini Transat, making an impressive ocean racing debut in the pint-sized class that races from France to the Caribbean.

“It was my first single-handed offshore racing boat, the first time I did a transatlantic and the first time I spent a night at sea by myself. The boat was brand new when I got it, so I got to name it and make all the small modifications I could to make it better and faster.”

Mini 6.50s are short and beamy, nearly half as wide as they are long (just 21ft). The Verdier-designed Pogo 3 is a comparatively simple ‘Series’ class, though extremely powerful.

“I have so many wonderful memories on this boat. The first leg of the Mini Transat in 2017 was absolutely amazing. I could have done a Moitessier, and if someone had thrown me some water and food, I’d have kept on going forever. It was just so beautiful and such an adventure. And on top of it all I finished 2nd – a very nice result.”

Make sure you check out our full list of Coolest Yachts.

Photo: DPPI Media/Alamy

Mini 6.50 stats rating

Top speed: 17 knots
LOA: 6.5m/21ft 4in
Launched: 2014
Berths: 1
Price: €15,000-€100,000
Adrenalin factor: 85%

Clarisse Crémer

Clarisse Crémer is a solo ocean racer who finished 12th in the 2020 Vendée Globe Race (recording the fastest solo circumnavigation by a woman), and 11th in the 2024 race when she was in the first trimester of pregnancy. Prior to racing in the IMOCA class she competed in the Figaro and the Mini 6.50 classes.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post World’s Coolest Yachts: The Mini 6.50 appeared first on Yachting World.

“Mom, wake up! We’re approaching Cabo Frio.” My daughter’s voice cut through my drowsy thoughts as I dozed in the starboard cabin. I got up immediately, not wanting to miss it. In our 14 years of sailing as a family, it was our fifth time rounding this cape – but the first time we’d see it clearly in daylight with good visibility.

Aboard Thunderbird, our 15m performance cruising trimaran, was my husband, James, and our six children: Tormi (16), Raivo (14), Pearl (12), Zan (9), Jade (6), and Atlas (4).

Time has passed quickly since we last rounded Cabo Frio in 2020. I was pregnant then with my youngest child, heavy with a growing baby and uncertainty. We were sailing south-east from Vitória to Ilhabela, riding the early waves of the pandemic.

Back then it was night. Thunderbird had just cleared the point, and I was on watch with three reefs in the main and a partially rolled-in jib. I remember 30 knot gusts, big seas, the white flash of the lighthouse catching my peripheral vision. I watched the instruments, adjusting the pilot with shifting wind and currents. Even with reduced sail area, we were flying: 11 to 13 knots average, surfing peaks at 17 to 20.

Despite the speed of the boat, the motion of the trimaran was so smooth that the rest of the crew – then all under age 12 – were fast asleep, oblivious, below. Even though we had three cabins that could accommodate six, five kids piled together on the giant family sea bed in the main salon. Jade, the youngest at the time, was curled against me in the corner of my watch seat, her warm weight the only comfort in that tense darkness.

Thunderbird sails north along the South Atlantic coast of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil. Photo: Somira Sao

Today couldn’t be more different. Warm sun, gentle swells, and the smell of land mixing with salt air. James and Tormi held the morning watch, James studied the plotter. We’d grown into a proper crew over these years. James and I traded two-hour watches while our three oldest handled two-on, four-off rotations. The little ones joined whenever curiosity called them – which was often.

Tormi was watching for hazards, quietly absorbing the scenery of back-lit mountains. Even in grayscale, Cabo Frio’s dramatic stone cliffs erupt from the ocean with Brazil’s characteristic grandeur. As James steered us close to Ilha do Faro, the entire crew appeared in the cockpit, in awe of its massive sea caves and 16m cast iron tower.

As we rounded the point, the sun bathed the eastern side of the cape in morning light. Colours exploded to life as the light revealed vibrant greens and the rich tones of the stone hidden earlier in silhouette. We saw a couple of boats exit bays we had not yet explored. We knew white sand beaches and turquoise waters awaited us there, but we couldn’t stop – our time with Brazilian customs was up and we had pressure to move to new waters.

A sharp sensation hit my stomach just as it had the night before when I watched Rio’s illuminated cityscape drift by in the dark. These iconic landscapes brought back everything we’d experienced living in South America, the dramatic landscapes and people who had made this part of the world feel like home.

Everyone on board Thunderbird contributes while underway. Photo: Somira Sao

Sailing around South America

Over the last five years we’d sailed between Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina. The first two and half years, when international ports were closed, we stayed in Brazilian waters. I gave birth to Atlas in August 2020, in Ubatuba – São Paulo’s ‘Capital of Surf’. Though we sailed numerous times between Rio and Itajaí, much of our slower cruising time was devoted to exploring anchorages between Ilha Grande and Ilhabela.

With a foreign flagged boat, the pandemic offered us a unique opportunity to deeply experience this section of coast with the gift of time. The Brazilian sailing community loved our wild scene, a mess of feral kids on a fast trimaran, and embraced us with open hearts. We participated in local races and made wonderful friends.

Olympic 470 medallist Isabel Swan (far right) with five of the six Sao-Burwick children. She’s one of the Brazilian sailors who made the family feel so welcome. Photo: Somira Sao

When borders reopened, we sailed back and forth between Brazil and Uruguay. Then in October 2023, all movements stopped when James was diagnosed with cancer. Months of tests and doctor’s visits in Uruguay, Argentina, and Chile culminated in James having successful surgery in Santiago, Chile.

The medical treatment drained us financially. But instead of new sails and boat upgrades, we’d bought something more valuable: a clean bill of health and a new lease on his life. James wanted only one thing: to keep sailing with our family. We felt the same.

In May 2024, six months post-surgery, we took a critical look at our 90m2 carbon mainsail. Most of the delamination was in the lower part of the sail. James and the kids cut it off at the third reef. They selected the best cut offs and used it to patch problems areas in the sail that remained. The final product was more like a rigid wing. But we believed it would work.

We tested our patched main with a successful winter voyage up the La Plata River to Buenos Aires. When we returned, everyone was committed to continuing sailing. Our plan was ambitious: sail from Uruguay to Brazil, then onward to the Caribbean and Panama.

It was January 2025, still early in the season for heading north. The summer high pressure systems were lower down in the southern hemisphere, bringing beautiful warm summer weather, but this also meant a flow pattern that pushed persistent north and north-easterly winds down the Brazilian coast – directly against our intended route.

View of Rio de Janeiro’s distinctive city skyline over Guanabara Bay as seen from Niterói. Photo: Somira Sao

We wanted to make it directly to São Sebastiao state, so we needed the right low-pressure system: powerful enough for 4-5 days of southerly wind to make the 800 miles, but not so intense that we’d be battered up the coast. With the state of our current sails, going offshore was not an option. We would stay coastal to manage risk.

The timing had to be perfect. Too early and the system might overtake us; too late and we’d face messy seas or dying wind. We missed our first window in January waiting for an AIS unit to be repaired. The next six weeks, we watched in frustration as big summer high-pressure systems repeatedly elongated, squeezing promising lows into nothing. Finally, in mid-February, we saw our chance.

We left La Paloma on a four-day passage, beam-reaching and motor-sailing up the coast. One afternoon we had a short-lived opportunity to fly our gennaker, but the rest of the trip was an uphill fight.

We sailed to Ilhabela, Ilha Anchieta, and Ubatuba – home of Manuel Aparecido Jesus de Oliveira, our local problem solver. There we repaired our Mitsubishi electronic program controller, re-sealed our fuel tanks, and did routine maintenance on our engine.

Another 65 miles took Thunderbird up the coast to Ilha Grande Bay. We planned to base ourselves out of Paraty to prepare for the next phase of our voyage: 4,000 miles to the Caribbean. We spent a month living a very simple life on the hook, collecting fresh water from waterfall-fed springs. We took the tender deep into the mangroves to see red-clawed tree crabs.

Thunderbird anchored in the protected waters of Ilha do Cedro, Paraty, Rio de Janeiro. Photo: Somira Sao

The kids climbed giant boulders, ran barefoot on mossy trails through the Mâta Atlantica, swam and dived every day. Their energy was fuelled by tropical fruit, rice, beans, veggies and farofa. After just three weeks in the warm water, Atlas was swimming strong with no flotation. It felt fitting for our Ubatuba boy to learn how to swim in Brazilian waters.

We changed anchorages almost daily, from the tropical fjords and surreal emerald-green mangroves of Mamangua, to the beautiful mountainous bays and smaller islands surrounding Paraty.

Everyone got comfortable hand-steering the boat and using line of sight navigation. In Ilha Grande Bay, there was flat water and steady wind. It was an idyllic place, especially for young children, to learn how to sail.

‘Days became a blur of sea, sunrises, sunsets and nights’

The second month, we stopped our motion to focus on final preparations. We stayed anchored, disconnected far from roads and cell service. To get anything like food, parts, or supplies, we drove the dinghy 15 minutes to a small dock, then took a small local bus into Paraty. In this way, we started to meet the wonderful community of indigenous Guarani who lived along this peninsula.

We dived regularly on the boat, keeping the bottom clean and ready to go. We ordered a new AIS unit to replace the repaired one from Uruguay that had suddenly quit. We replaced solar panels, installed our spare Lewmar Mamba autopilot, did a rig check, reinforced our netting, and changed Thunderbird’s hydraulic fluid.

Anchored in the protected waters of Ilha do Cotia. Photo: Somira Sao

We checked and re-glued some of the patches on our mainsail. The main was holding up pretty well, but our jib did not look like it would last much longer. So we reached out to the local sailing community in a last-ditch search for some used sails.

A Brazilian friend, Silvio Ramos, who organises the BRally up the Amazon River, offered us a lifeline. He had an old main and jib from his 40-footer spare. They were Dacron, cross cut, smaller and lighter than we needed, but at least we’d have a back-up on board.

Then Roberto Paradeda from Quantum Sails Brazil got in touch. He had a used tri-radial taffeta jib sitting in his loft. It would be better for going upwind. The sail needed minor work but was a gift: we were blown away by his generosity.

When the sail arrived, we installed it immediately. Though slightly smaller than our original jib, it looked incredibly strong, and the loft’s workmanship on the new clew, luff and leech was perfect. We felt a rush of relief, certain we would now make it up the coast.

We made a test sail the next day to Tarituba, a small fishing village, staging ourselves closer to the channels that would take us out to the open ocean. We were ready.

The following morning, we departed Tarituba and phase two of our epic voyage began, the mountains of Ilha Grande fading behind us as the sun set. We felt nostalgic for the wild southern anchorages of the big island, especially the surf and squeaking white sand beaches of Praia de Lopes Mendes.

Pearl (12) and her brother Raivo (14) drive the boat to Ilha Grande Bay, Paraty. Photo: Somira Sao

This nostalgia was replaced quickly with the sudden responsibility of ocean navigation, and the mental toughness needed for our first night at sea after being in protected waters for two months.

Twenty-four hours later, the long days of voyage preparation (which had felt so gruelling at the time) seemed like a lazy vacation fading into distant memory. We were back in intense voyage mode and had found our rhythm again. Here we were, rounding the infamous cape that had humbled us so many times before.

The following days, the Brazilian coast unfolded like a familiar painting viewed under different light. We’d sailed these waters before, but never with such acute awareness of how precious each mile was for all of us. The days became a blur of sea, sunrises, sunsets and nights – a mix of upwind, beam reaching, and motor-sailing. Our goal was to traverse the remainder of Brazil’s coastline with minimal stops before reaching French Guiana.

As each child discovered what they could offer on board – and rose to meet that responsibility – we witnessed the kind of growth that only comes from being essential to a project, not optional. Their evolution from passengers to crew was proof that our decision to keep sailing, despite all its challenges, had been the right one.

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Magical mangroves

We passed Cabo São Tome in the dark. Then we sailed along the coast of Espiritu Santo, making a rushed fuel stop in Guarapari. Even though it was only half a mile up the river entrance and back, we begrudged every minute that took us away from our northward momentum.

After six days of minimal sleep we decided to stop in Camamu, a port in Bahia we had never been to before.

Raivo raises the sock on the gennaker. Photo: Somira Sao

We were tired and the plan was to pick up a mooring for the night in a narrow, protected waterway by Ilha do Goió. We had squally conditions on our approach: rain, lightning and gusts to 34 knots, so slowed the boat down so we could enter the river mouth at first light.

Dawn appeared, and we found ourselves in a magical, braided waterway surrounded by mangroves and coconut trees. The air was filled with the smell of flowers and the sound of singing birds. Brazil was showing us yet another face we hadn’t known she possessed.

Our next stop came three days later. Stella Marina, in the port of Barra de São Miguel had fuel. But it meant navigating an intimidating entrance.

Our Brazilian friends assured us it was no problem, but we thought long and hard about whether or not we should go in. Getting into the channel required a 90° turn towards land, over a narrow sandbar flanked by reefs, followed by a sharp right turn that threaded us between the beach and breaking waves, before the relative safety of the river’s channel. We studied all our charts and looked at any other options for refuelling.

Cabo Frio Lighthouse ‘Focino do Cabo’ on a calm, sunny day. Photo: Somira Sao

With the pressure of time on us, we decided to trust our friends and contacted Stella Marina to advise them we were, nervously, coming in. They sent two boats out to guide us. As soon as we committed to going in, I kind of wished that we hadn’t. After everything we’d been through, risking mechanical failure felt like tempting fate.

But it was too late. We were suddenly going for it, trusting the universe would keep us out of danger. We followed the marina’s RIB, surfing over the sandbar, the engine at 3,000rpm pushing hard against the current, and into the unmarked channel. I held my breath many times as we snaked our way along the curves of the river.

James’ 48 years of experience at sea was evident in these high stress moments, his hand calm and steady on the wheel, not letting us get spun off course by the strong currents, the pressure, or any hesitation.

We made it out safely the next morning the same way we went in, then all looked at each other once we were released to the sea, promising to never, ever, do that again.

Raivo Sao-Burwick and his younger brother, Zan, on board Thunderbird on the São Sebastião Channel, Ilhabela, São Paulo. Photo: Somira Sao

Approaching Recife two days later, we felt the sea state had already changed beneath us. The wind’s angle shifted subtly, the current that had fought us for weeks finally began to help, and suddenly we were sailing with Brazil instead of against it. Finally there was only the quiet of the ocean as the engine was silenced.

As we passed Cabedelo, where our Brazilian adventure had begun five years ago, the symmetry felt intentional, like a gift from the ocean. What followed was pure sailing magic. With 15-20 knot winds on our quarter, we flew the gennaker day after day, the kids taking turns on the sheets, their competence a testament to how far we’d all come. At night, when fatigue made trimming too complex, we ran the jib that Roberto had given us.

So much salt covered everything that we stopped adding any to our food. Everyone’s hair got lighter and faces had a bronze patina from the sun and wind. We were turning into creatures of the sea.

Into the North

The sargassum began appearing as we moved north, bright yellow patches that set off our depth sounder alarm, sometimes slowing the boat enough to make the pilot malfunction. As we approached the equator, the blooms grew thicker and more frequent, becoming more of a navigational hazard, and so we steered to avoid them.

We crossed the equator in the darkness, without any fanfare. It was Atlas’s 1st, Jade’s 2nd, Pearl and Zan’s 4th, mine and the oldest kids’ 5th and James’s 7th. The kids noticed a distinct line on the sea where blue water turned to green as we sailed along the mouth of the Amazon.

Sunrise heading for Recife. Photo: Somira Sao

Soon after, we were out of Brazilian waters and in French Guiana. Eleven days after leaving Barra de Sao Miguel, we anchored at Îles du Salut in French Guiana.
We had a crew discussion about going to see the island, but everyone just wanted to keep going. Another 600 miles to the Caribbean now felt like nothing. We continued north.

Four days later, Thunderbird was in the Caribbean Sea. We waited outside of the Bocas del Dragón for the tide to shift so we could enter the Gulf of Paria. The kids hovered excitedly in the cockpit, their salt-stained clothes telling the story of our passage better than any logbook entry.

Two months of preparation, 30 days of sailing, and five years of living in South America was all about to become memories. I had the familiar bittersweet feeling that comes at the end of every passage; relief and loss intertwined. I looked at James, whose eyes held a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. The scar from his surgery had faded, but the gift of this moment – of being here, together, alive – would never diminish.

High jinks at a magical anchorage in Brazil’s Ilha Grande Bay, Ilha do Cedro. Photo: Somira Sao

The trip was transformative in such a positive way.

We were not the same family that left La Paloma three months earlier. The dynamic nature of life at sea cultivated qualities like adaptability, critical thinking, and collaborative problem-solving. When you can’t just pull over or call for help, everyone had to rise to the occasion.

Gliding through the Boca, I felt pride for our six children who had evolved so beautifully to meet the challenges of fulfilling their father’s dream to keep on sailing. I also felt thankful for our strong boat, our trusty mainsail that had held together, and for the kindness of friends who helped make this trip possible.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post Sailing South America with six children: ‘Days became a blur of sea, sunrises, sunsets and nights’ appeared first on Yachting World.

It’s early morning on 25 June, and last night was tough. The wind peaked at 32 knots and up on deck the mood was a little sombre. Down in the galley area was the A4 gennaker, soaking wet after being recovered from the sea.

The heavy air sail had burst its zippers before it was on the halyard lock, filling prematurely and loading the halyard. As the on-watch crew tried to winch it up the final metre, the halyard snapped. After I’d shouted for assistance, the soggy sail was recovered back on board, but was in two pieces.

Modern sails and classic lines make Hound a fast all-rounder. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

I ran the tapes to see if it was repairable, but sadly the A4 was done. I glanced at the nav computer, we needed that sail to stay with the fleet riding the slow-moving front on the longer easterly route. Without it, we’d fall off the front and into the light winds behind it. We needed a revised strategy.

Ed Cesare and I share the navigating duties on Hound, a beautiful 1970s Aage Nielsen sloop. Built by the renowned Abeking-Rasmussen shipyard, Hound is a poster child for a bygone era of yacht design with her varnished toerails and elegant overhangs.

Sailing the Transatlantic Race: Race-winning upgrades

Hound is owned and skippered by Dan Litchfield, who acquired the yacht in 2020. Together with Tom Stark, Hound’s boat captain, he has overseen a series of race-winning upgrades, including a new, taller carbon mast, a bowsprit and a new North Sail inventory that looks to exploit some of the gaps in her performance polar.

Not just the prettiest boat on the dock, Hound’s classic design now masks an exceptional all-round performance, with no notable performance weakness despite her 25 ton displacement.

Silky smooth sailing and dolphins for company. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

Mid-Atlantic, we quickly ran a new route on Expedition with the latest ECMWF model forecast and it showed the northern route was just a few hours slower than the eastern option. It would put us closer to the ‘great circle’ route and keep us in the stronger north-westerly winds behind the front.

After the A4 sail damage, a noticeably shaken watch had hoisted the jib-top and we were now reaching into an increasingly building sea state. As our watch came back on deck, the decision was already made to put the smaller fractional A3 gennaker up and get ripping along again.

A chance to relax in light airs. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

It’s never an easy decision to split from the fleet, but all three of the yachts ahead of us in our class were lighter, more powerful downwind flyers and would likely stay ahead of the front in fresh south-westerly winds. Ed and I thought it unlikely we could keep up and, once that was clear, Dan made the quick decision to back ourselves on the northern route.

Article continues below…

Dodging windmillls

The RORC Transatlantic Race takes the fleet from Newport, Rhode Island, to Cowes, UK – a month before the centenary edition of the Rolex Fastnet Race (for which I would also be navigating on Hound).

The Transatlantic started at 1300 EDT on 18 June with the line shrouded in thick fog. It was just possible to make out the Castle Hill lighthouse, which marked one end. We had a great start and spent the first night sailing right through the middle of the partially constructed Vineyard Wind Farm (the first commercial wind farm in the US).

Hound didn’t win the RORC Transatlantic Race, but Conrad Humphreys still found the adventure was an enlightening experience. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

We weren’t the only ones to sail right through the middle of the farm, and I soon heard another former Global Challenge skipper and great friend Dee Caffari on the radio, talking to the wind farm operator, who seemed bemused as to why we’d knowingly sail through a wind farm in thick fog.

Like Dee, we had sight on both radar and AIS of the 62 giant turbines that were spaced one mile apart. Unknown to both of us was the fact that many were not yet in operation and not on AIS!

Once safely through we set about crossing the Nantucket Shoals, where the first of two waypoints were set to keep us to the south of the North Atlantic Right Whale area of conservation – an initiative where science is increasingly being used to help keep sailing boats away from sensitive whaling conservation zones.

Humphreys studies the weather. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

From Nantucket, we began a 1,200-mile drag race to the southern ice limit waypoint Alpha. Having watched fellow IRC competitor Moana extend a little in the early stages of the leg, sailing in the north with better pressure closer to the ice limit, we opted to also leave any favourable Gulf Stream early and look for better pressure.

As the high pressure took hold, Moana and the two other class leaders (Haspa Hamburg and Ikigai) found themselves in the centre of the high, so we made some really good gains around the outside with a track along the ice limit. By the time we reached Point Alpha we were back leading our class in IRC.

Route choices

On Hound, we sail with two watches, with Ed and I sharing the navigation duties. Using Starlink, we can grab regular GRIB weather files (ECMWF and GFS global models), satellite imagery, synoptic charts and some local observations (normally from buoys or other ships) We would then run the models using Expedition and colour code our routes, before spending time doing some analysis, based on our actual observed conditions.

Straight from the oven. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

We’d also run some routes for our competitors, which are tracked via Yellowbrick. At Point Alpha there was a nice jet of Gulf Stream current running to the north-east (up to 2.5 knots), but after that the routeing suggested we continue sailing eastward just ahead of a cold front, rather than the more typical great circle course to the north-east.

There was a danger with following that route, that unless we could maintain high averages, we might fall off the back of the front.

Ed and I considered that if we couldn’t maintain high speeds, we might be better gybing back onto port towards the rhumb line, so we ‘forced’ the routeing with an extra mark on the great circle course – the delta was only three hours, which didn’t seem a lot, considering there was a risk that if we dropped off the front, we’d be forced to gybe north in much lighter winds.

Original 1970s coffee grinder is still in use. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

Splitting from the fleet was not a decision I wanted to take, albeit we were the slowest of our class and the most likely to drop off the front first.

We agreed to push on with our eastward trajectory and look at the next weather update in six hours’ time. The breeze was steady at 20-25 knots and the on-watch decided to set the A4 gennaker. It was moments later that we were back on deck fishing the sail out of the water.

For the first few days, confidence built in our revised strategy. With the A3 we were quick and, while the sea state was challenging, we found a mode that was fast. However, our friends in the east were also making good speeds, pointing their bows directly at the UK. We could only hope that the front would overhaul them.

Modern sails and classic lines make Hound a fast all-rounder. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

Last chance

Twenty-four hours later our speed slowed as the low pressure moved away and high pressure moved in. A powerful secondary low formed on the trailing edge of the front and this was the killer blow.

Fresh Atlantic sailing. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

It provided a welcome slingshot for the eastern pack, allowing them to sail fast downwind almost all the way to the western approaches. We faced some headwinds on the northern side of the low, but were too far away to pass under it. This was sadly the nail in our coffin. We could only watch as Moana, Haspa Hamburg and Ikigai disappeared over the horizon and we were left languishing.

What did surprise me, however, was that despite these light downwind conditions Hound was still making good speed. We had a few hours where the wind shut down completely, but in 6 knots of wind we could sail very deep at 130-150° TWA with 7 knots boatspeed. Which, for a 25-tonne yacht, was impressive!

The sailing was silky smooth and we experienced some of the best sunrises and sunsets of the trip. We were also treated to an awesome display of wildlife with numerous whale and dolphin sightings.

Drone shot as Hound heads into a sunset. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

It was magical sailing and I think we learned a lot about the boat’s performance during that final week that would prove invaluable for the Rolex Fastnet Race later in July.

As we closed in on the Isles of Scilly, we got our first glimpses of the infamous Bishop Rock Lighthouse and the low lying island of St Agnes. From there we passed Wolf Rock and finally closed in on the Lizard, passing it on 4 July, to mark our official time for crossing the Atlantic.

From the Lizard to Start Point is my back garden, having spent many wonderful training sessions between Plymouth, Lizard and Start Point as I prepared for the Vendée Globe. Plymouth has been home since 1994, so I always feel a great sense of nostalgia arriving back into these waters. Luckily for me, the wind lifted us into the bay, so we passed within a mile of Eddystone Lighthouse.

Carbon mast and a bowsprit mean Hound can carry more sail area. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

Raiding party

We gybed back onto starboard as the wind continued to back around to the south-west and build. We peeled to the A2 gennaker off Start Point and Tom appeared with the customs flags, a yellow for ‘Q’ and the Red Ensign. Moments later, a large grey Border Control vessel passed by, I guessed en route to Plymouth.

But they paused behind us and then proceeded to launch their RIB, which was aimed straight at our stern wake.

UK Border Force officers climb aboard Hound. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

I called them up on the radio to ask what their intentions were and to see how we might assist, but before I had a chance to finish the call, they’d rammed the RIB alongside and four border control officers hauled themselves on deck.

They then searched the vessel while the person in charge asked a series of questions as to what we were carrying. I was quite surprised – boarding a yacht while racing under spinnaker at speeds of over 10 knots was dangerous and unnecessary.

Hound’s RORC Transatlantic Race crew. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

A quick search online would have identified the boat, the American flag and the fact that were racing in the Transatlantic Race. We were also flying a Q flag, which should have indicated we were complying with Customs regulations. Then, having established our credentials they left via the high side of the yacht, almost causing an incident with one of their own team. I was left pretty flabbergasted after the raiding party left.

The final run up the Channel was great fun, with winds of 20 knots from the south-west, we gybed in towards Portland Bill and then picked up a favourable wind shift to lay the Needles.

Humphreys takes his turn on the coffee grinder. Photo: Nicholas Horbaczewski

By this point it was dark, so my American team mates weren’t able to see the famous rock formation at the entrance to the Solent, but I could sense their excitement as we swept past Hurst Castle with the flood tide and finally crossed the line off Cowes to finish the Transatlantic Race in an elapsed time of 16d 08h 49mins.

Overall, this was one of my best transatlantic crossings. Hound proved herself a wonderful yacht to race. The sunsets, the wildlife, the banter and the exquisite food made for a fine adventure and I was looking forward to our next race in July, the Rolex Fastnet Race.

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Performance voyaging in a responsive, elegant craft is the dream for most sailors, a dream that Kinetic Catamarans was set up specifically to realise by offering top-quality fast-cruising catamarans with clean lines for those with discerning tastes. Its new all-carbon K6 range aims to push the boundaries of performance cruising in luxury.

The US-based brand builds high-end bespoke multihulls in small series from its own yard in Knysna, South Africa, a facility which has recently undergone a major expansion. Kinetic’s popularity is already proven in its existing KC62 and KC54 models; now it’s shifting gears with the announcement of a new K6 range of maxi-cats, which comprises a 63 and its sistership 67.

The Kinetic K6 is a new reference for true performance cruising

Where the 63 is designed to suit owner-operated cruising, with the ability to fit in a 20m berth, the 67 is more suitable for sailing with a professional crew. It should be emphasised that these two new models are individually designed and built to length, rather than one being a stretched or squashed version of the other. That means properly balanced platforms, with the 67 proportionally larger all over, with the key bulkheads moving aft to allocate its additional space proportionately and retain a balanced sail plan.

K6: For sailors who demand more

What sets the K6 range apart? Firstly, there’s the visual appeal: these fresh new Simonis Voogd designs have strikingly clean aesthetics. Then comes their tangible potential afloat: these carbon fibre builds offer thrilling sailing in first-class comfort and control.

Consider the ability to cruise shorthanded while matching the wind speed. This is achieved through multiple factors, including the lightweight composite construction, coupled with a powerful but manageable sailplan. For example, Kinetic provide the option for in-boom furling of the square-top mainsail. When you combine this with a hydraulically powered mainsheet lead and traveller, which is kept out of harm’s way on the coachroof, it all adds up to easy push-button sail trimming from the helms.

The K6 platform is also one which can be optimised further still to allow for racing indulgences, for those who occasionally want to really push their craft and see what’s under the hood.

Features born out of experience

Signature Kinetic features are continued in the K6 range, including lifting centreboards to benefit upwind performance, and spacious forward cockpits, which link to an interior helm station. This latter feature allows you to steer from a completely protected position, in close contact with the mast base winches, while being able to check the mainsail shape through the large moonroof stylishly blended into the coachroof’s solar field. For those sailors who really enjoy the hands-on sporty sensation, the K6 also has exterior wheels on the raised side decks.

A hydraulically powered mainsheet lead and traveller is kept out of harm’s way on the coachroof

While daggerboards are an option, Kinetic prefer centreboards as they maintain the clean deck lines and provide a safety fuse in the case of grounding. Once again, these are controlled by push-button, via powered line drivers, and are contained below the floorboards in the hulls.

When at rest, the K6 offers a formidable leisure platform. The new forward cockpit design again creates real appeal, with its removable awning and sunpads designed into the deck, while the aft cockpit is completely free of lines and sail handling systems. Imagine the horizon views from here as you fold the transom down to create a bathing platform terrace on the sea.

A real highlight of the new K6 designs lies in the flexible accommodation spaces, particularly in the owner’s suite, which can take over a whole hull as private space and offer a full office section too. These suites also have their own access out to the aft decks, for that instant morning swim.

Look and feel

September 2025 is the first time Kinetic Catamarans is exhibiting at a boat show in Europe. Be sure to pay them a visit at the Cannes Yachting Festival, from 9-14 September, on Sail booth 024, where you will be able to see their KC54 in person and learn more about this transformational new K6 range.

The post Kinetic Catamarans unveils stunning new K6 range appeared first on Yachting World.

The new Umberto Felci-designed flagship for this La Rochelle-based yard introduces several new features that make life on board more comfortable and civilised. Of particular interest to owners are the two options for the forecabin of three-cabin versions created by interior designer Luca Ardizio.

The ‘master cabin’ layout has a peninsula bed forward, separate toilet and shower areas, plus a small dressing table, ample stowage and an unusually large floor area that will translate to a very spacious feeling.

The ‘master suite’ version uses this space in an innovative manner we’ve not seen before on a boat of this size. The broad hull shape forward allows an athwartships peninsula bed offset to starboard, with its head alongside the starboard bow and a great view out of the hull windows opposite.

There’s also a small sofa opposite the foot of the bed, while en suite toilet and shower facilities move to spacious compartments right forward. In addition, there’s a further compartment that could be used as a dressing room or a private office area.

On deck, there’s a choice of a classic fabric bimini and sprayhood, or a fixed rigid arch above the companionway plus optional hardtop. This looks to be an excellent set-up, covering the whole cockpit and creating a very comfortable area with protection from both sun and inclement weather. It also offers a huge area for installing solar panels.

Trademark Dufour features include the built-in outdoor galley and barbecue that’s operated from the large fold-down bathing platform.

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£250,577.00

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Dufour 54 Specifications:

LOA: 16.84m 55ft 3in
Hull length: 15.90m 52ft 2in
LWL: 14.85m 48ft 9in
Beam: 5.25m 17ft 3in
Draught: 2.0m 6ft 7in or 2.4m 7ft 10in
Ballast: 4,900kg 10,802lb
Price: €455,000 ex VAT
Contact details: dufour-yachts.com

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Fika rolls in the swell as Sophie clings to the mast. Twenty-four hours since we left Melbourne, we are sailing through Bass Strait, notorious for its gale force winds and nasty seas.

I hoist Sophie skyward towards the masthead and, with each roll, look up to check her progress. Her movement becomes increasingly precarious, like a human pendulum. I watch my daughter wrap her long limbs around every available hold to prevent her being flung into the mast. I dread to wonder what Sophie will find at the top. It’s only day two and I admit to feeling a little defeated: we have over 5,000 miles to go.

It has been a tough 24 hours. My inner critic is berating my decision to take us offshore to avoid a predicted wind hole between us and Australia’s Victorian coast. These light conditions are uncharacteristic of Bass Strait. The race tracker only reinforces my foolishness. The rest of the fleet is sailing swiftly north-east. Meanwhile we are ghosting along heading south-east towards Tasmania, next stop: Antarctica!

Fika is running under symmetric spinnaker. The wind continues to veer northwards and I’m not sure what the right tactic is. Regardless, it’s time to sock the spinnaker and lower it. My heart sinks when I realise the halyard is jammed and the spinnaker will not come down. But there’s no time for self-pity. This is the sail of a lifetime. A priceless journey with my incredible daughter. We are sailing in the Melbourne Osaka Cup; double-handed, non-stop from Australia to Japan.

Fika is a seakindly Najad 490 family cruising yacht and the backbone of Annette Hesselman’s sail training business. The yacht was mildly modified for easier short-handed sailing in readiness for the Melbourne Osaka Cup. Photo: Al Dillon/Melbourne Osaka Cup

Melbourne Osaka Cup

This race has been on my mind since I watched the start of the first Melbourne Osaka Cup in 1987 aboard my father’s timber motorboat. I was a sailing-obsessed teenager believing I one day would sail around the world just like my idols, Naomi James and Claire Francis.

At 5,500 miles the Melbourne Osaka Cup is the longest longitudinal yacht race in the world and the equivalent of eight Sydney to Hobart yacht races. Competitors sail from 38°S to 34°N, traversing many weather systems, and travelling backward through the seasons from autumn in Melbourne to summer at the equator and spring in Japan, via the Tasman, Coral, and Solomon Seas, and North Pacific. It is held approximately every five years.

In 2025, crew ages ranged from 27 to 76 years, with six female sailors. The 16 yachts included every conceivable style, from an S&S 34, Class 40s, J-Boats, one-off designs, – such as the Reichel-Pugh Alive with a pro crew – and cruising yachts including our Najad 490, Fika.

Having competed in the 2018 Melbourne Osaka Cup, I found the race truly life changing. It is a humbling experience feeling the enormity of the vast ocean. Coping with the incredibly challenging light winds and lack of progress at times teaches patience, perseverance and humility. Successfully completing the 2018 race gave me the confidence to start my own sailing adventure business, which is now an RYA Training Centre.

Mother and daughter Annette and Sophie worked well together. Photo: Sophie Snijders/Sailing Nakama

Co-skippers

After the 2018 race, my then-20-year-old daughter, Sophie, offered to be my first mate for the return voyage back to Australia. We set sail for what Sophie described initially, and naively, as a sunset cruise. It soon became rudely apparent that the delivery would be anything but with constant shipping, squalls, heat and discomfort aboard the spartan racing yacht I sailed at the time.

On the two-month passage home Sophie proved invaluable and I cherished every moment. Following our return, Sophie moved aboard her own yacht, Nakama, and began sailing around Australia while completing her degree and documenting her travels on YouTube (@SlimSophSailingNakama). So I didn’t hesitate to enter the 2025 race – nor to ask Sophie if she’d be my co-skipper.

I am incredibly fortunate to have the most beautiful yacht to sail on our adventure. Fika is the backbone of my sail training business, and we spend much of our time plying the oceans while sharing knowledge, skills and hopefully developing the confidence of all who sail aboard. Designed by Judel Vrolijk, it’s a Najad 490, built in Sweden in 2001. With no intention to swap Fika for a fancy racing yacht, Sophie and I set about preparing her for the marathon sail from Melbourne to Osaka.

Article continues below…

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With her fine lines and outstanding design, the Najad 490 is a seakindly yacht. As dogged as her owner, when conditions deteriorate she just knuckles down and gets on with the job. Despite her weight (19 tonnes), Fika performs well and can easily make 200 miles a day on passage. With a versatile cutter rig she’s well set up for offshore sailing, though we have tried to simplify by replacing the furling boom with a conventional boom and single line reefing leading to the centre cockpit.

Our training schedule included a 750-mile sail out to Lord Howe Island, and our qualifying race: the Rolex Sydney-Hobart (in which we won the double-handed PHS Division). With each training sail, we tweaked Fika’s deck set-up and tested our original spinnakers and second-hand Code 0. Each training sail also reinforced how compatible Sophie and I are as a team. In the seven years since that delivery, I felt my daughter had become my sailing peer.

The two months leading up to the race were spent in Melbourne. Both my elderly parents were hospitalised six weeks before the start. My time became focused on mum and dad rather than the race. At times I felt incredibly selfish to be even thinking about starting, and seriously wondered if we would make it. My husband, Gerry, and Sophie’s partner, Simon, worked tirelessly to support us and help prepare Fika. Despite the sadness of leaving my parents, it was a huge relief to finally cross the start line.

Fika raced with a limited sail wardrobe, but still a lot for two to handle, especially when the spinnaker halyard jammed, requiring a mast climb. Photo: Sophie Snijders/Sailing Nakama

Bass Strait

Shortly after the start, we find ourselves in this predicament in Bass Strait. Besides the stuck spinnaker halyard, our hydraulic boom vang is faulty, greedily gulping all the hydraulic fluid required to work not only the vang but the backstay and babystay.

One step at a time, we tackle each of the issues. At the masthead, Sophie discovers the halyard soft shackle is caught around another fitting but is able to free it. We jury rig a Dyneema rope boom vang, then bleed and refill the hydraulic system with oil after isolating the vang from the more critical backstay. After four days we head offshore to find the north-bound East Australian Current. I feel immensely proud of the two of us as we problem solve.

At last we start making progress. I turn the race tracker back on and watch as we slowly rejoin the main fleet. We capture the tradewinds and make our way northwards along the Australian coast some 100 miles offshore. We push Fika as hard as possible, flying the spinnaker and Code 0 well into the night, sacrificing precious sleep for speed. Fika is in her element powering along on a broad reach. The gap to the fleet reduces to 5 miles from our nearest competitor Magellan, a one-off Knoop 39. It’s a game of snakes and ladders, and we are climbing a ladder.

Glassy seas and no wind were a regular feature. Photo: Sophie Snijders/Sailing Nakama

As we shed layers of clothing with the warming weather, we settle into a lovely routine sharing our meals, taking it in turns to catch up on sleep during the day, then sitting on the side deck in the shade for a ‘happy hour’ of soda water and nibbles. I relish our time together.

A low pressure trough disrupts our progress and prematurely stifles the south-east trades. The wind backs to the north-east and then north. The dice has rolled and we have landed on a snake. Our progress slows in lightening winds and the fleet sneaks ahead. We fly the Code 0 and chafe through the outer sheath of the halyard. With a bulging halyard we are unable to lower the sail. At midnight, Sophie and I mouse a spare while cutting the deformed one away. With success, we lower the Code 0 in the strengthening wind.

Solomon Sea

The temperature continues to rise as we inch closer towards the equator. Saltwater baths bring brief, welcome relief. We tack our way north, averaging just three miles an hour towards the entrance to the Solomon Sea. At 13°S the ocean resembles a mirror, the doldrums still a few hundred miles away.

Our progress is excruciatingly slow through the Solomon Sea as we experience light to no wind, headwinds, thunderstorm cells and constant squalls. If we are doing greater than one knot, we are veritably hooning along.

Sophie and I work hard to keep Fika moving with our limited sail wardrobe. We use the radar to monitor squalls, timing each reef to within a nautical mile of being hit. We’re relieved whenever a storm cell and rain squall passes to the north or south of us.

Annette at Fika’s wheel. Photo: Sophie Snijders/Sailing Nakama

Unfortunately there are times when there’s no escape. Squalls torment us, each bringing a minute of wind before it changes its mind in direction and strength. Then they get bored, toss us out like a play toy and move on. We’re inevitably left wallowing, usually pointing in the wrong direction. The larger storm cells bring torrential rain, 30-plus knots of wind and scary electrical storms. One night, Sophie and I cower in the cockpit with bolts of lightning and deafening thunder overhead. It lasts for an hour.

Mirror calm

There are, however, moments of sheer beauty. Periods of no wind often bring a glassy sea. We drop the sails and marvel at the stars and planets reflecting on the mirror-like ocean. I stop looking at the race tracker, as I end up berating myself for each mile lost to the competitors.

I feel powerless when our progress is poor, and give myself pep talks to sail our own race. I feel myself learning the gift of patience and perseverance. Sophie is much more at peace with our situation, she calmly listens to my moaning and puts it all in perspective. I try to mimic the tranquillity surrounding us.

It is hard to know where the doldrums start and finish, but we continue to experience calms and squalls until approximately 2°S. The Code 0 is a godsend and keeps Fika moving in the slightest breeze, until it tears from luff to leech. Our wings are clipped and we drift westwards with the equatorial current, trying to fight it whenever there is wind.

Thunderstorm cells and squalls were a constant threat in the Solomon Sea. Photo: Sophie Snijders/Sailing Nakama

We are hit by squalls, spat out, and spun around. I stop fighting the tide and try to be at peace with the doldrums. The nights are magnificent and when there is no swell, we drop the sails and drift while the sea and sky become one.

The strain on Fika from the constant slatting is noticeable, and at times distressing, with halyard chafe, mainsail cars coming apart and the main traveller loosening and leaking. We reef or drop the mainsail to prevent damage, use the preventer to hold the boom when the main is up. It is a never ending battle.

Flocks of small cumulus puffs herald the arrival of the north-east trades. Our spirits rise with our newfound movement and we revel in making progress once again. Fika glides along on a close reach under full sail and staysail. We are once again gaining on Magellan.

Pacific dreams

With our newfound freedom from constant sail changes, we watch the world go by from the cockpit, awestruck at the beauty surrounding us. The ocean is a magnificent blue. It is alive and dancing, seducing us with its vibrancy. Flying fish, false killer whales, booby birds and giant tuna grace Fika’s presence. I’m spellbound by the clouds and realise I can predict the day ahead by their behaviour and size. Time is marked by the phases of the moon, its light and reflection on the dark ocean bringing comfort to our night watches.

Fika’s huge overlapping headsail was a handful in tacks. Photo: Sophie Snijders/Sailing Nakama

We cross the equator and mark the milestone with an offering of rum to King Neptune. I make us Turks Head bracelets to mark the occasion, and we celebrate with pancakes. This is Sophie’s second crossing and my third.

All the while there is never-ending navigation and tactics to decode. Sophie and I spend each morning uploading GRIB files and working out the best strategy for passing through the Federated States of Micronesia and the Marianna Islands. Having made a decision, I then doubt myself when I see the other yachts taking different routes through the islands. We opt for the rhumb line, and I remind myself, again, to sail our own race. Sophie is steadfastly unfazed.

Osaka Wan

With 1,000 miles to go we feel like we are almost there, but know that our greatest challenge is yet to come. We leave the tradewinds and sail into the variables. As we inch closer to Japan shipping increases and we plan our final leg weaving our way through the Kuroshio Current to exploit its northbound flow.

The weather is moody and we prepare for low pressure systems sweeping across the course. Following a gale warning we make our final approach towards the entrance to Kii Suido, the entrance to Osaka Bay. With no moon, and building wind and seas, we sail blindly through the night. The phosphorescence outlines the breaking waves behind us. Fika is goosewinged with reefed sails, surfing down waves at 14-15 knots. It is a black night with a cacophony of ships flashing on our AIS and radar. We are back to chasing Magellan hard, now 12 miles ahead.

Sailing through the seasons from autumn to summer requires a full complement of foul weather gear. Photo: Sophie Snijders/Sailing Nakama

I hope that our luck holds and we don’t entangle the multitude of fishing floats and matted nylon rope ‘islands’ we’ve seen during daylight hours. With Fika’s skeg-hung rudder we’re susceptible to snagging flotsam.

By dawn, we are in fog with ships surrounding us. Horns sound every few minutes. We have just 70 miles to go and Sophie and I are tired. I know these last miles may take us 24 hours as the winds are fickle in the Osaka Wan. I remind us both that we need to stay safe and patient – in 2018 five yachts finished within hours of each other. All of us lost sense and many yachts did more damage in the final 50 miles than the whole race.

Sophie tackles each ship and its impending collision one by one. The wind eases and we favour the western side of Kii Suido which is predicted to have more wind. We are gaining on Magellan, painstakingly close to the finish. Inch by inch we close in. By dusk we ghost through the Yura Seto, the neck between the Kii Suido and Osaka Wan. There is a Traffic Separation Scheme with ships funnelling through. With luck, a gap opens between ships and we cross through it without being run down.

Sophie watches telltales. Photo: Sophie Snijders/Sailing Nakama

The final hours of our race are incredibly tense as we pass Magellan, only for them to overtake us again. We fall back into a tacking duel up Osaka Wan. By necessity rather than strategy we tack side by side, avoiding unlit seaweed farms, anchored barges, ships, tugs and lumps of reclaimed land.

The wind increases from the north. In 20 knots, we are tacking Fika like a dinghy, Sophie at the helm. With Fika’s huge overlapping headsail, in each tack the headsail threatens to entangle with the staysail before breaking free. I heave on the sheet with all my might. Fika is pointing high, slightly overpowered and we feather her up with the gusts.

Fika crosses the finish line. Photo: Kazuyoshi Yamano

There is light pollution and obstacles everywhere as Magellan and Fika blindly wrestle their way towards the finish. We are so amazed that after 5,500 miles we can be within metres of our competitors, a father and daughter team – this race really is a family affair. We cross the line in chaos, unsure where the virtual mark is. The VHF booms to life as the Japanese volunteers tell us we have finished. Magellan had snuck across nine minutes ahead having favoured the windward end. Regardless, we are blown away with excitement.

Sophie and I are in disbelief at what we have achieved. We spent 38 days at sea together and sailed over 5,500 miles racing our beloved cruising yacht. We sailed through equatorial heat, emotional highs and lows; beauty and joy. I am immensely proud of my daughter, her capability, empathy, resilience and strength, and honoured to be part of this great race.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post The mother and daughter team who took on the longest longitudinal yacht race in the world appeared first on Yachting World.

This large Spirit of Tradition yacht is another masterpiece from Belfast, Maine-based Stephens Waring Design that blends classic style with contemporary shapes below the waterline and carbon construction.

The project emerged from a conversation with the owner eight years ago, with the initial brief being for a broad-beamed, low-profile Mediterranean-style yacht, with an emphasis on performance and comfort.

However, this later changed to a more classic hull form echoing shapes of the 1950s and 60s, with a spoon-shaped bow and modest counter stern. The spacious, modern layout that had already been fully developed was retained, while the longer stern sections allow for a larger tender garage, plus a drop-down swimming platform.

“The underwater lines are modern but moderate,” says Stephens Waring co-founder Bob Stephens. “We tuned the displacement/length ratio to offer high performance with comfort at sea, and the hull lines incorporate more deadrise than many modern boats to reduce pounding in a head sea.”

The bulb keel is deep and moderately narrow to minimise wetted surface area, yet a forgiving section was chosen to provide a wide groove when sailing upwind.

The large master stateroom is forward on the port side, with a sofa and a large shower and heads. The saloon amidships is described as the beating heart of the yacht. Eight can sit around a table with views through the hull windows on both sides, while skylights provide an excellent view of the sails and plenty of natural light.

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Stephens Waring 68ft Cirrus Specifications:

LOA: 20.88m 68ft 6in
LWL: 16.67m 54ft 8in
Beam: 5.43m 17ft 10in
Draught: 2.77m 9ft 1in
Displacement: 22,100kg 48,500lb
Sail area: 198m2 2,028ft2
Contact details: stephenswaring.com

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post Stephens Waring 68ft Cirrus first look: Low-profile Mediterranean-style yacht appeared first on Yachting World.

This enormously powerful and spacious water-ballasted Shaun Carkeek design is intended to appeal to those who want to be competitive on the Mediterranean’s regatta scene, and also want to enjoy relaxed, fast cruising with family or friends.

Wide beam of 6.2m creates a yacht with enough interior volume for civilised accommodation, while prepreg carbon fibre construction keeps displacement down to only 23,500kg. The Mylius 72 is therefore a rare dual-purpose yacht with an appealing blend of high performance, comfort and style.

The Carkeek-designed Mylius 72 targets competitive Med racing as well as luxury fast cruising

Twin rudders promise easy control even when pushed hard, while the lifting keel has a very deep 5.7m draught when lowered. In addition to the hull’s high inherent form stability there’s a massive 1,000lt of water ballast – equivalent to a dozen people on the rail.

Carkeek spent a large amount of time on minimising both aerodynamic and hydrodynamic drag, hence the retractable anchor and propeller shaft, as well as the low-profile coachroof and reverse bow profile.

The very crisp deck styling is complemented by a retractable bimini and removable cockpit table that help to make for a quick conversion between racing and cruising modes.

Interior designers Parisotto+ Formenton Architetti created spacious layouts in a clean minimalist style

Interior designers Parisotto+ Formenton Architetti created spacious layouts in a clean minimalist style. The version proposed by the yard has three cabins with private bathrooms, including a master cabin forward, plus a fully equipped galley, spacious dinette and a day head. In the centre of the yacht, the keel box is flanked by a Pullman berth on one side and an office area on the other.

Construction of the first example, which is still in need of an owner, is already well under way at the Piacenza shipyard in northern Italy.

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Mylius 72 Specifications:

LOA: 22.24m 73ft 0in
Beam: 6.2m 20ft 4in
Displacement: 23,500kg 77,000lb
Draught: 3.9m-5.7m 12ft 9in-18ft 8in
Upwind sail area: 366m2 3,940ft2
Code 0: 281m2 3,020ft2
A3 spinnaker: 480m2 5,190ft2
Contact details: mylius.it

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Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

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The post Mylius 72 first look: Spacious layout with a minimalist style appeared first on Yachting World.

I was a man obsessed. I longed to see the sea, to sail quietly across its surface driven only by a puff of wind, to smash through the night in a great tempest. I had become seduced by the books I read describing strange distant lands, postcard-esque shorelines, foreign cultures and a complete absence of bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic.

William Albert Robinson’s 10,000 Leagues Over the Sea was the first cruising book I read, and it made me want to run away – or rather sail away – from home immediately. Robinson circumnavigated between 1928-1932 on his 32ft ketch Svaap and wrote tales of exploring then-still-exotic Tahiti and spending time with headhunters in Papua New Guinea.

I went on to read Harry Pidgeon’s book Around the World Single Handed. Pidgeon built his modest 34ft yawl Islander in 1917 on the banks of the Los Angeles harbour, not far from where I refit my own boat, Triteia. Pidgeon was the second person to ever sail solo around the world, 23 years after Slocum. Reading Pidgeon’s stories from my own local waters, coupled with the mantra of iconic cruisers Lin and Larry Pardey – ‘Go Small, Go Simple, Go Now’ – was all the inspiration I needed to charge forward with my own dream.

The thought of going with someone else never even crossed my mind in the early days. On my 40th birthday I was recovering from double pneumonia that nearly took my life, and it was on that day I decided I wanted to circumnavigate. Life is simply too short to wait on dreams.

When his rudder failed Frederick improvised and sailed 1,000 miles to Hawaii steering using a towed drogue. Photo: James Frederick

Self reliance

August 20th, 2021
28° 52.019N 131° 20.984W

0200: The winds had vanished, and the boat was being tossed around in a ruckus that made the cabin sound like a box of dishes in the back of a pickup truck. I climbed out on deck and steered us back on course. The wind is so light it seems hopeless because the windvane can’t steer with no wind.

Our course should be 240° on the compass. I steer her to 270° to try and get her moving and suddenly Triteia is screaming through the water like a Nantucket sleigh ride, but when I bring her back to 240°… not a breath of air.

I started to wonder if I actually didn’t know how to sail, before I remembered we were 700 miles offshore so at some point in the last eight days I must’ve known how…

This cycle went on for 30 minutes, with me mostly sitting in my underwear in the cockpit. I would get Triteia moving, climb back into my nest, then she’d wallow again.

Finally I’d had enough, put on my foulies to climb out into the cockpit – only to find that we were sailing perfectly on 240° making fine speed.

The solo sailor, to a certain degree, is always on watch, even when you’re off watch. There are no other hands to quiet the boat, to keep her moving efficiently and on course. The best we can do is be patient, keep the boat balanced and trimmed and hope the squalls are kind to you when they arrive. The trade off is you don’t have anyone else to complain when the wind and seas are not co-operating.

I departed Los Angeles and sailed for the Hawaiian Islands on my 1965 Alberg 30 sloop Triteia in August 2021. The passage ended up taking me 32 days due to total steering loss some 1,000 miles from the Hawaiian Islands. I resorted to steering by drogue for 18 days then proudly dropped the hook off the world-famous Waikiki Beach on O’ahu.

Frederick sailed from Fiji to New Zealand and cruised the Bay of Islands without engine. Photo: James Frederick

Solo ocean sailing means you must face all the challenges alone, but it also means you don’t have to worry about a mate or crew member when all seems lost. I lay adrift for two days during that ordeal, attempting to dive on the rudder to lash a line, to no avail. A task I assumed would be an easy fix proved completely impossible. I was faced with only two options; call for help and scuttle my beloved boat that I had spent the last four years preparing; or find a way to steer her to safety.

I have a chilling memory off imagining her filling with water as I scuttled her and climbed up a rope ladder on the side of a cargo ship. I recall saying “Hell No!” out loud and realised for me, there was only one option; to find a way. And that’s exactly what I did.

If I’d not been alone, I’d have had to consider the well-being of the crew, who would have likely been pushing for rescue when all seemed lost. Being able to see it through alone allowed me the time to figure out a solution.

Was it easy? Absolutely not, all the stresses of that situation laid solely on my shoulders, the weight was heavy and the consequences great. But I prevailed. Hopefully I won’t face future challenges of that magnitude, but if I do I know I’ll find a way. To sail around the world alone, you must be mentally fit and able to control your emotions and anxiety.

Squalls on passage from Los Angeles to Hawaii. Photo: James Frederick

August 30th 2021
24° 56.821N 142° 54.323W

2030: We have already done 23.5miles since noon, that was yesterday’s entire noon to noon run. The sun is golden and threatening to set and I have a 360° view of clouds that look like they were painted as a scenic backdrop for a western set in Monument Valley. But in the place of dusty plains and mountains is the steady rolling sea much further than I can see.

We have had amazing and constant winds all day long and have been charging along or surfing down waves since sunrise. I had a wonderful visitor today – a White-tailed Tropicbird! He was majestic and beautiful and attempted to land atop my mast, but its motion was too unruly.

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Anxious passage

After eight months cruising the Hawaiian Islands and making repairs to my rudder, I pointed my bow towards the Southern Cross and beat into the tradewinds to make enough easting to visit the ‘Dangerous Isles’, the legendary Tuamotu archipelago in French Polynesia.

The distance between Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii and Rangiroa in the Tuamotus was almost the exact same distance I’d sailed between Los Angeles and the Hawaiian Islands; 2,300 miles.

I was fairly anxious leading up to this passage, after what I’d experienced sailing to Hawaii. I carried enough water and provisions for more than 40 days at sea, had equipped the boat with new sails, larger solar panels, lithium batteries and an all-electric galley while in Honolulu. I loaded up every spare I could manage, stowage on a 30ft boat being minimal at best. I made one last trip to the grocery store the night before departure and hoped that I’d remembered everything.

‘To sail around the world alone you must be mentally fit’. Photo: James Frederick

June 30th, 2022
14° 51.373N 152° 14.201W

1800: A sailor who chooses to wander the world’s watery surfaces in a small boat must have two characteristics; 1. The inability to distinguish between feelings of misery and comfort and 2. A very poor memory, for if they could accurately recall the misery of their past voyages they should never set to sea again.

The first eight days of the passage were the worst I have experienced before or since. To visit the Tuamotus, I had to beat my way east into the tradewinds before reaching the Inter-Tropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) to make my easting. It was abusive and exhausting, even in my full-keel boat which takes the seas well.

Once I reached the ITCZ and crossed the equator I was able to ease the sheets and had glorious sailing all the way down to French Polynesia.

The Tuamotus ended up being worth the beat. From exploring uncharted motus in the Lagoon of Rangiroa to swimming alone with manta rays at an abandoned pearl farm on Tikehau, these sparsely populated atolls were the highlight of my time in French Polynesia.

I went on to visit the legendary island of Tahiti, dropped my hook at Mo’orea, surrounded by its otherworldly landscapes. I sailed on to Hauhine and visited its sacred blue-eyed eels and visited Polynesia’s most significant religious site, Taputapuatea on Raiatea.

I ended my time in French Polynesia with two weeks at Bora Bora where my 30ft yacht was exempt from the anchoring restrictions (any boat under 10m is allowed to anchor and is not restricted to moorings) – a wonderful surprise benefit to seeing the world on a small boat.

Triteia anchored off the uninhabited islet of Motu Faama in the Rangiroa atoll, French Polynesia. Photo: James Frederick

As I prepared to sail for American Samoa I found I was really looking forward to the ‘short’ 1,100-mile distance. I realised I had none of the anxiety that had weighed on me on the previous big ocean passages. I was far more comfortable now with so many miles in my wake. I knew the boat and what she was capable of, and the moment I cleared the pass at Bora Bora I set the sails wing-and-wing and enjoyed a lively but fast 10 day passage.

I wasn’t free of problems, but I found myself being far more confident and relaxed, even when things broke or got crazy.

July 25th, 2022
14° 58.156S 147° 38.293W

0700: I awoke as the sun was making his entrance. I popped my head out of the hatch and was greeted by a gorgeous sunrise in the making.

Climbing out of my berth into the cabin, the story book clouds over the lagoon slowly began to glow pink and then orange. A $75million superyacht sat anchored astern of Triteia in deeper water. I realized we both had the same view. I also realised no one was on the deck of the superyacht watching the sunrise.

Life on an angle – meal prep in Triteia’s compact galley. Photo: James Frederick

Heading east

Departing French Polynesia I ran before the strong tradewinds to Pago Pago on American Samoa and on to Fiji. When I departed Los Angeles for this circumnavigation I made myself a promise to say ‘Yes’ to any experience that wouldn’t land me in a foreign prison.

For most of my life I have carefully chosen what I would and wouldn’t do, to avoid being in a situation I didn’t want to be in. Now I find myself in places I would have never agreed to visit with my old mindset. Sometimes they lead to me being uncomfortable or are simply not fun, but more times than not I find myself having amazing experiences that I will cherish the rest of my life, all because I opened myself up to saying ‘Yes’ and just going with the flow.

When you’re solo this is easier to manage and, if you find yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain, there is no one else there to be mad at you. It’s known as ‘Type 2 Fun’.

While in Fiji my engine began to fail, and though I got it running long enough to get Triteia outside the barrier reefs of Fiji, it never started again. Sailing south to New Zealand, out of the reliable tradewinds and into the variables I found myself battling low pressure systems with sustained winds of 40-plus knots regularly followed by days of light winds.

I sailed into the Bay of Islands of Aotearoa in a building gale and accepted a good samaritan’s offer for a tow the last mile to the quarantine dock. I spent the next three months cruising the Bay of Islands engineless, riding out four tropical storms and one cyclone under anchor.

Reefing down ready for stronger conditions in the Tasman Sea. Photo: James Frederick

Circumnavigating on a small boat forces us to keep up a quicker pace, due to our slower speeds. Larger yachts with big sails and bigger motors can linger in places longer and make quicker work of the ocean passages. While in the tradewinds, Triteia averages about 110 miles a day on ocean passages with 138 miles being her record best.

This means I need to set realistic goals when it comes to passage planning for the year. In the South Pacific, all sailing yachts need to be out of the cyclone danger zone by the first of December. The distance between Tahiti and the next cyclone-free safe harbour is 3,000 miles on the shortest line. I chose to sail south to New Zealand, while some boats continued west through the Torres Straits for Indonesia or the Indian Ocean.

A year in Aotearoa

I had originally thought I would only be in New Zealand for four months but was amazed at what a vast cruising ground it was, so decided to spend more than a year exploring both the North and South Islands. I visited 77 different anchorages in that time, the highlight being Marlborough Sounds, an elaborate network of coves and inlets whose deep waters are populated with well-maintained mooring balls. (I joined Pelorus Boating Club and received a printed guide showing the locations of more than 100 balls to choose from).

Most of the anchorages provide 360° protection and, even with the intense williwaws that blow down from the surrounding mountains, the sea state never packs much of a punch. But to get here you must cross the infamous Cook Strait.

Triteia anchored in Kāne’ohe Bay, O’hau in the Hawaiian islands. Photo: James Frederick

December 7th 2023,
40° 47.810S 173° 52.086E

0300: I am resting and licking my wounds. Yesterday’s crossing across the notorious Cook Strait was spicy to say the least. Neptune gave me a wink and a nod as I crossed into the Roaring Forties just to remind me what he can serve up.
Yesterday’s forecast called for 17-knot winds sustained.

What I saw was closer to 25 sustained with gusts of 35 and some longer sustained gusts of 40-plus around midnight. Seas were in proportion to the wind, so I am guessing 2m most of the time with some 3m-plus thrown in from time to time, and all very short period, which is what makes them mean.

Cook Strait is a supersonic acceleration zone. The Strait goes from being 60-miles wide to just 11-miles wide at its most narrow point. Combine that with the mountains, and hills on either side and the wind and seas are squeezed into a narrow slot. The depths also go from 3,000ft to 300ft in less than 100 miles. This is like putting your thumb over the end of a garden hose; the wind accelerates in speed, as do the currents, and the waves stand up as the seas drive into the shallows.

We had two low level knockdowns yesterday. The first one was a very large wave that hit with great force and threw Triteia on her side. Everything from the port side flew at high speeds to the starboard side. I was sitting up in the normal spot when the hit happened.

Every piece – and I mean EVERY piece of silverware – flew across the cabin, somehow didn’t hit me. I looked down and saw all five of my large filleting knives, in sheaths thankfully, laying in my lap.

The second knockdown was slow and quiet, basically just a giant swell that rolled Triteia completely on her side. At that point there was nothing left on the port side to fall so nothing went flying. I know Triteia’s entire bottom was out of the water because I heard it make a great splash when the boat righted itself. I laughed at how absurd it was.

James Frederick is a solo sailor circumnavigating in his 1965 Alberg 30 sloop Triteia. Photo: James Frederick

I departed New Zealand from Nelson and made my way out into the Tasman Sea. I’d been nervous about this particular passage for more than six months as the Tasman has a reputation for being a deadly serious stretch of water. I’d spoken to half a dozen Kiwi sailors who had ‘crossed the ditch’ numerous times and all suggested I try and ride the top of high pressure systems all the way across to Sydney.

Following this advice, I ended up having the most pleasant ocean passage I have ever had, making my way north out of the Roaring Forties to complete the 1,200-mile passage in 13 days. I sailed through the Heads into the protection of Sydney Harbour at 2am smiling ear to ear knowing I had successfully crossed the entire Pacific Ocean solo on a 30ft boat.

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage,” wrote author Anais Nin. I find this sentiment to be very true when it comes to seeing the world by sail. We must live our lives to the fullest, and for me this means seeing as much of the world as I can from my modest 30ft sloop.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post ‘What I’ve learned from sailing half way around the world alone’ appeared first on Yachting World.

There is a fierce and surprisingly passionate debate unfolding on the deck of Freeranger, our 50ft Beneteau. The question at hand is which weight to use: the big one or the small one?

All around us, other boats are not wasting their time. It’s the first day of coho salmon season in the glassy waters of British Columbia, and everyone else is bobbing joyfully in the midday sun, hauling fish out of the sea with jubilant ease. Cries of “Fish on!” echo across the sound. The salmon are biting. The FOMO is real.

But we’re not here for the fish, and this isn’t a conversation about fishing tackle. We’re here for science. Citizen science, to be precise. And the debate is about a Secchi Disk – a simple white disk on a measuring tape – and our comic inability to make it behave.

Unfortunately, the current isn’t cooperating. Our Secchi Disk is meant to sink smoothly until it vanishes from sight, thereby allowing us to log the clarity of the water and contribute a tiny pixel of information to a planetary picture of ocean health. But instead, it’s being carried sideways like a drunk jellyfish, and everyone has a theory about how to fix it.

Our son, Eden, has observed all this with the detached cynicism of a seven-year-old boy. “We could just start fishing instead,” he suggests, clutching his lucky lure. “Then tell them how big our fish was. That’s data too.”

He’s not wrong, and we’ll do that later. But right now we’re determined to get this right.

This Secchi Disk reading is the first of many small contributions we plan to make on our voyage around the world — a grand experiment in turning family travel into something scientifically meaningful.

Larissa Clark, Duncan Copeland and family are doing their bit for ocean science

Citizen science

Fast forward 10 months, and we’re in the UN biosphere reserve at Fakarava Atoll, French Polynesia, where the Secchi Disk project has by now become so routine that our primary-aged kids lower the disk with practiced flair and log data into the app without adult intervention. It’s one of over a dozen projects we’ve taken part in since leaving Victoria, Canada, in July 2024.

At the beginning, it was all about adventure. To sail off into the big blue yonder. And yes, we wanted our kids to learn from the world, rather than just about it. To swim with sharks and taste fresh mangos and get unreasonably excited about sea cucumbers. But over our decade of planning, another idea started to take shape.

We’ve spent our careers at the sharp end of environmental justice, marine resource management and conservation communications. It became increasingly clear that we couldn’t just sail past the many challenges the ocean faces.

A small microscope on board brings home-schooling science lessons to life

Plastic pollution, acidification, overfishing, loss of biodiversity, sea temperature rises… Yet it’s also a place filled with solutions – or at least, the potential for them. But what’s needed is data, lots of it. So an idea slowly took shape: what if, instead of just observing the world as we sailed through it, we could do a little bit more. We wanted to journey with purpose and, if we could, encourage others to do the same.

Enter citizen science – a phrase that sounds like something dreamed up by an underfunded government initiative but is, in fact, a rather beautiful idea. At its core, it means regular people contributing to real science. In our case, cruisers.

Measuring, sampling, logging, photographing, submitting and analysing data – all helping researchers build scientific knowledge which will, says UNESCO, illuminate the path to reversing the decline in ocean health, conserving marine life, addressing ocean aspects of climate change and using the ocean sustainably to improve lives.

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Keen to help

Bluewater sailors are regularly in locations scientists can’t easily get to. As cruisers we’re often, quite literally, in a position to assist, and regularly sail, fish, anchor, snorkel, paddleboard, and putter about in biodiverse or far-flung places that researchers only dream of visiting.

Lots of sailors, we’ve discovered, would love to help – if only they knew how. We quickly found out when we started looking for projects that our family could get involved with, that it can be surprisingly difficult to find information on citizen science projects relevant to your region, area of interest, or circumstances.

We decided to do something about that. With the help of some incredible volunteers, we started collecting details of as many ocean-focussed citizen science projects as we could find. We established a small not-for-profit called Free Range Ocean. We built a website and created the Ocean Citizen Science Directory: a one-stop shop for curious ocean lovers looking to pitch in. From whale sighting apps or microplastics sampling to seaweed beach surveys, there is something for everyone.

A Neuston Net survey aboard Freeranger resulted in a haul of fascinating marine

Over time, we’ve found that the easiest projects to get involved with are the ones that build on our interests and skillsets and what we’re already doing day to day. If you see a whale, fantastic: watch it, and then enter the data into one of the many projects that need it.

In British Columbia we logged sightings into the WhaleReport app, which adds to a database of over 330,000 observations that is used by universities, environmental organisations and conservation-research projects. The data is also used to alert commercial ships to whale locations to avoid collisions. We got an email thanking us for our ‘invaluable contribution’ which, frankly, made our week.

Marine life being carefully recorded to be shared with researchers

Netting data

On our Pacific crossing this March between Bahia Banderas in Mexico and Henderson Island in the Pitcairn Islands, we deployed a Neuston Net – a device used to sample surface biodiversity. The project is part of the Neuston Net Research Collective in collaboration with Dr Rebecca Helm and The International SeaKeepers Society.

This required more precise planning: receiving the net to an address in Mexico, storing it, waiting until we were far offshore in international waters, hoping for calm weather, slowing the boat to a crawl, and then towing the net for 30 minutes.

When hauled in it was teeming with strange and wondrous life: translucent shrimp, alien jellies, and even a Halobate, the only truly marine insects. The kids were beside themselves, and they weren’t the only ones. Science had never been so squishy or so thrilling. All the findings were carefully recorded to be shared with researchers.

Eden (8) and Skye-Elizabeth (6) help out too

We now participate in around half a dozen citizen science projects on a regular basis, depending on where we are and what’s feasible. In the Directory, there are dozens more. Some require internet access, others just a notepad. Some want photos, others want actual samples.

A few are so low-effort that it feels like cheating. One simply requires you to plug a dongle into your depth sounder and collect depth data as part of a global effort to better map the seabed.

The ocean we need for the future isn’t going to restore itself. It’s going to take data, commitment, and a little curiosity from a whole lot of people. Whether you’re recording manta rays, scanning for seagrass, or just watching a white disk vanish quietly beneath the waves, you’re helping.

6 citizen science projects to get you started

WhaleReport App

What – Help rescuers, researchers, and mariners reduce vessel strikes on whales.
How – Report sightings into a handy app
Where – Canada, US, Mexico,
Contact – freerangeocean.org/projects/whale-alert

Secchi Disk Study

What: Help researchers understand the impact of climate change on phytoplankton
How: Use a simple scientific tool to map the ocean’s phytoplankton and submit your findings via a free app. Order one online or build your own.
Where: Global, all seas
Contact: freerangeocean.org/projects/secchi-disk-study

iNaturalist

What: Help researchers grow a global dataset of biodiversity observations
How: Share your observations via the website with a network of naturalists, scientists and biologists.
Where: Global, all seas
Contact: freerangeocean.org/projects/inaturalist

Seabed 2030

What: A global Citizen Science initiative to map the world’s oceans by 2030
How: Privately-owned vessels can share depth measurements from navigation instruments while out at sea
Where: Global, all seas
Contact: freerangeocean.org/projects/seabed2030

Neuston Net Research Collective

What: A project to conduct plankton surveys
How: Conduct survey-style transects by trawling a fine mesh net
Where: North Atlantic Ocean, North Pacific Ocean, South Pacific Ocean
Contact: freerangeocean.org/projects/neuston-net-research-collective

Big Seaweed Search

What: Learn more about Britain’s sealife
How: Take a 5m transect of UK shoreline, identify living seaweeds using the field key, send in photos and a recording form.
Where: United Kingdom
Contact: freerangeocean.org/projects/the-big-seaweed-search

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post The ocean citizen science being carried out on yachts appeared first on Yachting World.

One of the biggest gifts you can give yourself is time. Time to do the things you love, time to set off on a world voyage on your own yacht. But where do you even start to plan a circumnavigation? There are many variables to consider – not least how much time you actually have.

In the end, every world voyage is a tailor-made unique cruising experience. But, to help you get started, there are roughly four basic itineraries or approaches. Here we guide you through them.

Key circumnavigation questions

The first step is the best of all. Grab a world map and start marking all your dream destinations that you NEED to go to. Next, mark all your ‘nice to go’ choices.

Then, before you start to connect the dots to build your itinerary, look at some of the practicalities. First of all: climate, seasons and weather conditions. How does your dream itinerary fit into the world’s wind patterns and ocean currents?

Second: your yacht. Is she ready to go for long distance cruising, with just the regular maintenance jobs to do underway? Or do you still have to make some big upgrades or major maintenance after you’ve cast off, so you need to stop over at places where you can get parts and help.

Photo: Tor Johnson

The third consideration is the available time you have: in two years, you can do a fast circumnavigation, but upwards of three years makes for more leisurely cruising and lots of exploring. And how big a deal is it for you to cross your wake, or is visiting only the dream destinations a better idea?

Other factors to consider are of course the crew – where do they want to go, what are they interested in? Are you planning crew changes, which will inevitably influence your itinerary? The age of who you’re sailing with will also impact plans – sailing with children is very rewarding, but requires time for homeschooling and meeting other ‘kid boats’. Career break cruisers may be on a tighter schedule. A retired couple may be able to take as much time as they want…

Then there is the budget: how many years can you afford to live aboard? Satellite communication has opened up so many opportunities for remote working, could you stretch your available time and budget over a longer period? Or you could take advantage of the growing availability of yacht storage services worldwide, which has made cruising part-time in combination with work or visiting family increasingly popular.

Four options for sailing around the world

There are four basic concepts for a cruising circumnavigation, and once you’ve answered the questions above you’ll have a good sense of which is right for you. If the voyage in itself is the destination, the route plan focus will be on sailing long distances and making short stops along the way. That makes for a quick, two-year circumnavigation – ideally on a sporty and fast boat.

A second approach is cherry picking: sailing to your desired destinations and taking time to explore. The yacht is shipped for the parts of the itinerary which are less appealing to the crew. Instead of crossing your wake, you spend time on your own yacht in the most fabulous places you can imagine. In two to five years, you can make this dream come true.

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The opposite is an option as well: taking it easy, and sailing around the world in three or more years in the lower, tropical latitudes. This world cruise is centred around long stopovers, with plenty of exploring while you’re slowly sailing back to where you started.

A fourth option for hardy cruisers who love to go off the beaten path would be to explore further – sailing into the higher latitudes and more remote areas where not many yachts go. This type of schedule requires three to 10 years, depending on the conditions and crew.

We take a look at what each of these four options might look like on the world map…

Route 1: Loving the miles

The pure joy of sailing, trimming and tweaking to get maximum performance out of your boat is the key ingredient of this bucket-list itinerary for a quick trip around the world.

Basic track and diversions

When your home port is in Europe, this track will take you across the Atlantic and into the Caribbean in autumn. You spend the winter sailing through the Caribbean and, after crossing through the Panama canal in February or March of the following year, then sail the long trek to French Polynesia.

Then you have a few options – either keep going, with short stops in Samoa, Fiji or Tonga and Australia, before you go north-east in the Indian Ocean to the Red Sea. In January, those who are up for it will start the tough voyage up the Red Sea and the Suez Canal. By spring of the second year after your departure, you’ll be in European waters again.

catamarans such as this Outremer 55 are popular with cruisers planning fast passages. Photo: Robin Christol/GLY

For those who don’t fancy Suez, another option is to sail through the Pacific at a slightly slower pace and end your season in New Zealand or Australia. The cyclone season gives you time to do maintenance, to work or to fly home to see friends and family. The following season, in May or June, you sail around South Africa to get back to the Atlantic (or through the Torres Strait to the Red Sea).

For the adventurous, there is another option: to skip the cyclone season and keep sailing – the Great Australian Bight offers just that option.

Most of this itinerary’s cruising is done in lower latitudes, which makes for warm and comfortable weather with mainly downwind sailing.

Who for?

This fast track is perfectly suited for those who love sailing fast and who want to achieve the once-in-a-lifetime goal of sailing around the world. It can be done in just under two years, or three years with some alternative options when underway. This itinerary is not for the fainthearted, because all sorts of weather systems can be encountered. Typically, a younger and more athletic crew with limited time available would opt for such a circumnavigation.

Idyllic stop for the Oyster World Rally at Cayos Holandeses in San Blas. Photo: Rick Tomlinson/Oyster World Rally

What do you need?

The budget for a voyage like this is mostly spent before the start: the boat needs to be quick and in mint condition. Spare sails and spare parts, ample space for food and water – this can be a puzzle in a weight-sensitive, performance-oriented boat.

You’ll need to spend pre-departure time planning and testing different set-ups and configurations. During the trip, the cost is relatively low: visits to destinations are limited and the use of fuel will be limited as well, though canal fees and clearance costs will be a factor to take into consideration.

Time-wise, you’re looking at two years, but if you opt for the long cyclone stop in New Zealand or Australia, another year needs to be added to the planning.

Route 2: Cherry picking

Your ‘need to see’ list of destinations is centred around warm, pleasant climates and you’re not fussy about crossing your own wake? Then there are lots of interesting options for you to choose from.

Basic track and diversions

Your voyage can start in Europe, but doesn’t have to. Assuming you sail across the Atlantic to the Caribbean then you can spend a season there enjoying the many beautiful islands, before sailing west to the Panama Canal. Or, if you like to explore more in the Caribbean, head north or south to store your yacht in a hurricane-safe spot and add another season of blissful island cruising to your itinerary.

After that, the Pacific Ocean awaits with splendid islands and authentic cultures. You could spend the six-month season cherry-picking your way across the Pacific and end your cruising in New Zealand or Australia, where your yacht will be sold or loaded onto a transport ship to go back home. Or pause, store the boat somewhere in Oceania and fly home.

Stunning Bora Bora in French Polynesia. Photo: Olivier Parent/Alamy

The following season, from May to October, sail back north to Fiji or Tonga for another six months of tropical sailing. Or, from northern Australian ports, you could sail for one incredible season exploring south-east Asia (typically June-December) before returning to Australia.

Apart from shipping your yacht back to Europe, there is an interesting alternative to consider: buy a good-to-go yacht at a convenient location at the start of your dream voyage, and sell it at the end. For instance: buying a boat in Florida or south-west USA and selling it in Australia or New Zealand. Another option is to buy a boat in Australia, sail one season in south-east Asia and sail back to Australia to sell.

If your wishlist includes more off the beaten track options, your route could lead north from the UK up to Iceland and Greenland, then to Canada, where you go inland via the Saint Lawrence Seaway. Sail as far west as you can then transport the boat across to Seattle or a port in British Columbia, where your Pacific adventure can start.

Who for?

This type of cruising is for those who have limited time and want to see the best cruising grounds on the planet. It’s suitable for any type of crew: families with children, couples or fully crewed yachts. This itinerary overlaps with several rallies, so ‘cruising in company’ is an option as well.

Making landfall in stunning Martinque. Photo: GLY Odyssey

What do you need?

Scenarios can be tailored to the time you have available and the destinations you want to visit. Have less than a year? You could opt for buying in south-west USA and selling in Australia for a perfect Pacific adventure. Have more time? In two years, you can easily sail from the UK to Australia and take in the best of the Caribbean as well as a southern hemisphere adventure.

These itineraries require a fairly ‘standard’ bluewater yacht, with the necessary spare parts and supplies – a high-maintenance boat is not the best choice.

But the budget needed for these itineraries is higher than normal. If you choose to ship your yacht at any point you’ll need to reserve a large chunk of budget to cover the cost. And if you choose to buy or sell underway, you run the risk of depreciation, broker’s fees and currency fluctuation. Apart from that, make sure that you factor in funds for lots of exploring on the islands and enjoying one or two drinks on a powder-white beach fringed with palm trees.

Route 3: Taking it easy

For yachtsmen whose primary motivation of sailing is to explore great places and live life at a slower pace, a myriad of itineraries is available. The famous ‘Coconut Milk Run’ around the world carries you to slices of paradise: beautiful islands, downwind sailing and several options to store the boat to go home or to linger a bit longer at anchor.

Basic track and diversions

The basic track is a well-travelled one: leaving Europe in summer and leisurely cruising south to the Canary Islands or Cape Verde Islands.

For those in no hurry to leave, a diversion to the Gambia or to Morocco adds an extra dimension to the trip early on. Then cross the Atlantic for a season in the Caribbean.

Another interesting diversion is the trip up the Intracoastal Waterway along the east coast of the USA. When all the exploring on the Atlantic side is done, heading through the Panama Canal unlocks the wealth of destinations in the Pacific. Straight to French Polynesia or a stop in the incredible Galapagos? Or a quick diversion north, to see more of Mexico before sailing west again.

Chances are that one season of six months in the Pacific is not enough for sailors on this itinerary. There are great places to store the boat on the Pacific islands, or to stay on the boat through the cyclone season. The other option is to wait for the cyclones to pass in New Zealand and do some maintenance, before heading north again to Tonga and Fiji.

Pacific cruising. Photo: Rick Tomlinson/Oyster World Rally

After an extensive exploration of the Pacific, the coasts of Australia are interesting to visit. From there, the track goes north to Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia and Thailand, all of which offer very interesting and at times challenging cruising opportunities.

From Thailand, the track can lead north-west to the Red Sea and ultimately to the Mediterranean, or west to Sri Lanka, Maldives, Madagascar or Seychelles.

After sailing along the beautiful African coast and rounding the iconic Cape of Good Hope you reach the home stretch: back north in the Atlantic.

You can add more miles yet by heading the long way back via more of the Caribbean. Or point straight north to the Azores, which are a cruising ground in themselves.

Unmistakable Thailand. Photo: David Bristow

Who for?

This itinerary is perfect for people who have time to take it easy and explore, perhaps a retired couple or a family which can work remotely. If you’re cruising part-time this itinerary can be done in anything from three to 10 years: whatever works best for you. The Coconut Milk Run is popular for all the right reasons, so cruising in company is easy.

What do you need?

A yacht taking on this type of route needs to be well suited for downwind sailing, because that’s the advantage of this track. The lower latitudes offer sunshine and warm water, so systems on board need to be adapted just for that: solar panels, batteries, watermaker, fridge and freezer capacity.

Your budget will be slightly higher, because it’s likely that you’ll be doing a lot of land travel. Besides that, you’ll be visiting a long list of countries which all have their associated clearance costs. The cost of major maintenance will also be higher, because after five years or more you’ll likely need to replace the dinghy, batteries and other expensive items.

Route 4: Expedition sailing

If you love solitude, prefer life off the beaten track and don’t mind a bit of cold weather, the higher latitudes offer cruising grounds beyond your imagination. North or south – or both? It’s all possible with a strong yacht and a determined crew.

Basic track and diversions

When the sky’s the limit, your itinerary is largely dependent on the weather. Summers in the north are short, so you need to plan well. Leaving the UK, you can opt to follow the path of the Vikings: Iceland, Greenland and on to Canada. You can turn south to the lower latitudes to get to the Pacific or to keep going towards Cape Horn.

Surfing from a yacht in Fiji. Photo: Tor Johnson

The other option is the Northwest Passage (right). In the short window of the northern summer, it’s a challenge to do in one season, but not impossible. Ice conditions vary. If you make it through the Northwest Passage, then you can go south to Hawaii, on to Japan and back up to the stunning north-west Pacific coast via the Aleutians.

If you choose to sail from Europe, after your Atlantic crossing keep sailing south – along the east coast of South America to Argentina. From Ushuaia, you can sail to Antarctica before heading north-west in Patagonia, one of the last wildernesses in the world.

After a few months in Patagonia and a pit stop for maintenance on the Chilean coast, there’s the option to head to Easter Island, Pitcairn and on to French Polynesia. And then, the world is literally your oyster. North to Hawaii and the north-west USA? Or across the Pacific to New Zealand or Australia?

From the Galapagos the Pacific options are vast. Photo: Rick Tomlinson/Oyster World Rally

Once across the Pacific, the remote track across the southern Indian Ocean becomes an option. Sailing along the south coasts of New Zealand and Australia, anchoring at the remote Kerguelen archipelago before heading to Mauritius and on to Cape Town: not many people venture this far south. Once in the Atlantic, you could plan to visit South Georgia, Tristan da Cunha or remote islands like Saint Helena or Ascension. A long beat north will eventually bring you home to Europe – unless, of course, the adventure is not yet over.

Who for?

These challenging itineraries with many options and diversions are not easy and require cruisers who love a challenge. Mentally and physically, it’s hard so the crew needs to be fit and able to sail the boat at all points of sail and in different circumstances.

Depending on routing choices for each part of the track, 4-10 years are needed. The boat can be stored when trips home are required or when the seasons dictate a stop for a few months.

An expedition yacht is dwarfed by a glacial iceberg drifting in Disko Bay near Ilulissat Icefjord, Greenland. Photo: Paul Souders/WorldFoto/Getty

What do you need?

A sturdy ‘go-everywhere’ yacht is vital, sailed by a crew that has the technical knowledge to fix things in remote places. Remote places require specific heavy duty gear, like long lines to tie the boat in small bays, heavier ground tackle, robust sails and a rugged dinghy.

A large part of the budget will be spent before taking off: the boat will need to be adapted for long distances without any outside help or options for provisioning. Cold climates require sufficient heating and battery storage.

Once underway, the options for land travel and exploration ashore will be limited, so an average budget will suffice. One element is more important in this scenario: communication. Getting weather information is vital, so the satellite communication and back ups need to be up to date.

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Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

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“This was the boat that represented the style of Wally and was the first large yacht really able to sail fast,” recalls Vascotto.

“I remember having an iconic picture in my house of it sailing from Monaco to Porto Cervo, reaching along at 25 knots… and this was at an IOR time when the maximum speed was around 10 knots, so this was another level!

“Then add the colour [green] and the double mast – it was indeed something that was 20 years ahead!”

Wallygator II, (now Nariida), was the first all-carbon big yacht, including a full lightweight honeycomb interior fitout and hydraulics package.

It was designed by Luca Brenta and Luca Bassani and built by Concordia Custom Yachts. The poster to which Vasco is referring is the incredible photograph by Franco Pace above.

Make sure you check out our full list of Coolest Yachts.

Photo: Carlo Borlenghi/SEA&SEE

Wallygator II stats rating

Top speed: 20+ knots
LOA: 32m/105ft
Launched: 1994
Berths: 8+4
Estimated price: €20million
Adrenalin factor: 70%

Vasco Vascotto

Vasco Vascotto, 56, from Trieste, has won more world championships (25) in more classes than probably any other sailor in the world. He now spearheads the new Wally raceboat era as tactician for the Django programme, including the wallyrocket51 (page 72) in the Admiral’s Cup this summer, and the even newer wallyrocket71.

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Motor Boat & Yachting is the world’s leading magazine for Motoryacht enthusiasts. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams, as well as tests and news of all the latest motorboats.

Plus you’ll get our quarterly Custom Yachting supplement where we share the last on offer in the superyacht world and at the luxury end of the market.

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There are moments in life when an opportunity comes your way and you have approximately two minutes to make a decision that will change the course of your day. Yesterday was one of those days for me.

An early morning call whilst out walking the dog in a quiet field on the Isle of Wight: was I available to jump on a boat with Sunsail for Cowes Week Women’s Day as part of an all-female crew? Yes. Yes I was.

And so 30 minutes later I was at the Island Sailing Club in Cowes, being greeted warmly by the Sunsail team and meeting Jen and Hattie – Sunsail’s skipper and mate – and the rest of the crew for the day’s racing.

The Sunsail fleet race in evenly matched Prometheus 41s, in the Performance Cruiser B fleet at Cowes Week. Martin Allen/CWL

Had I had any time to mull this decision over, these are the thoughts that would no doubt have been running through my head… Despite having sailed countless thousands of sea miles I am very much a cruiser – I am certainly no racer. I’ve also not sailed at all this year. If I’d thought about it, I’d probably have worried whether I would be a hindrance or a help?

But any doubts or fears I may have harboured were dispelled within minutes of meeting the rest of the crew. The atmosphere was instantly welcoming and supportive – a tone set and maintained throughout the day by skipper Jennifer Ramsdale.

It only took a few minutes chatting to the other women to realise that, whilst I certainly wasn’t joining a ready-made crew (in fact no one had actually sailed together before) there was some incredible and wide ranging experience onboard. Our team ranged from young dinghy sailors to seasoned pros, this was going to be fun!

There was certainly no sense of tokenism – no one was there simply by virtue of being female.

Local boat Nightjar and Libby Finch’s all-female crew won the Mermaid Trophy for the best female team on Cowes Week’s Women’s Day. Photo CWL/Paul Wyeth.

‘Ladies Day’, as it was previously known, is now Women’s Day at Cowes Week, and things have moved on since it was first introduced nearly 20 years ago – thankfully. The focus is less on themed outfits and cocktail parties, more on celebrating the many women taking key roles in the regatta.

Around 30% of competitors at Cowes Week are female, but for the Tuesday races that proportion increases, with more women taking on prominent roles. Glance around at any point during the day and you’d see women helming, trimming, navigating, or running the bow on all sizes and types of yacht and keelboat.

Racing in Cowes Week Women’s Day

After a quick safety briefing we headed out into the busy Solent with the rest of the fleet. We had a bit of time to get a few practice tacks in before the start. Then, with the firing of the Royal Yacht Squadron cannon, we were off! There really is something pretty special about a Cowes Week start line.

Philippa (right) joins the Sunsail team at Women’s Day during Cowes Week 2025. Photo: Sunsail/RYA

The pro crew onboard were outstanding. Their professionalism and skill were a great reflection of the ever-growing female talent and depth of experience levels in the industry. At several points during the day I thought what an inspiration these women would have been to a younger me, had I had the chance to sail with them in my late teens and early 20s.

As we tacked west up the Solent in a gusty breeze I found myself sharing the rail with Susie Moore, the RYA South Regional Manager,  whose job it is to make sailing more accessible to everyone.

“It’s about creating those environments at club level where everyone feels welcome and a big part of that is done by women helping other women.” The irony of her explaining this to me just as we went through a particularly gusty tack and she physically hauls me back up onto the high side after I’d lost my footing wasn’t lost on either of us.

Looking aft I could see Kitty,  a student nurse from the north west and keen GP14 sailor, grinning from ear to ear as she ground on the working headsail winch as the boat completed another increasingly smooth tack. “You did that so quickly that time,” I hear someone say encouragingly. The communication and atmosphere onboard throughout the day is exceptional, calm and positive, making for an optimal supportive learning environment for those who wanted to improve and zero pressure for those who simply wanted to enjoy the ride.

There was some tussling as we rounded the windward mark followed by a glorious spinnaker run home across the finish line in a very respectable third in the Prometheus 41s class.

But Katrina Lawson, Head of Brand and Acquisitions at Sunsail summed it up when she said, “This wasn’t about winning – it was about teamwork, confidence, adventure and connection.”

Just get on the boat

At Cowes Week in general this year it seems like there has been a conscious shift from being all about the brands, bands and bucketfulls of booze. (As well as the sailing of course!)

Whilst those elements are all very much still part of the annual festival that is Cowes Week, being onboard with Sunsail and the RYA yesterday felt like a chance to make a genuine and authentic connection between their ethos and values and a diverse range of sailors. It was an opportunity to meet and celebrate the female sailing community where it is now, and support and champion it into the future. A huge thank you to Sunsail for the hospitality.

And my big takeaway from the day for female sailors? Don’t doubt yourself, just get on the boat!

The post Why ‘Women’s Day’ still matters – we get onboard at Cowes Week appeared first on Yachting World.

The Pegasus 50 is one of the standout yachts we have trialled in recent years. It’s a brilliant design for both its performance ability in lighter breezes, and its deck and cockpit layout, which will look after short-handed sailors while sailing serious passages. Having built 18 of these since this Slovenian yard formed in 2019, and after multiple requests for a larger version, Pegasus is now announcing this Pegasus 67. It gave YW the exclusive.

As you can see, the concept is very much in line with the original yacht, so is again aimed at owner-drivers. It’s a platform which offers the performance of a 65ft+ hull with the ease of handling of one 10ft shorter. “We want to build a boat that a couple would not hesitate to take out on a windy day,” designer Marko Pas explains.

Refreshingly, length is not the decisive factor here. Volume and displacement are the controls, built on the desire to keep it to under 25 tonnes loaded – consider that similar length 60-65ft cruising yachts are typically 10-tonnes heavier.

Weight is reduced by minimising hull volume where it’s not needed, and max beam is kept comparatively narrow. This helps Pegasus’s desire to present the P67 as visually small as possible, so as not to put sailors off by its size.

Long, sleek hull of the Pegasus 67 is designed to be easily handled by a sailing couple even in challenging weather.

In terms of internal hull volume, it’s more comparable to a 57-59ft yacht. Indeed, the 67 began at 59ft, but Pegasus chose to extend the hull forward rather than add a bowsprit. The company’s view is that this adds more performance and a softer entrance and gives more sail locker space, while doing the same aft created space for a dinghy garage and gangway.

This struck a chord, as longer hull lengths can really help with passage speeds if you can control weight. On a fast cruising cat, for example, you’d ideally make it as long as you could handle (and afford) but with empty ends.

Today’s 60ft+ monohulls typically have wide aft beams and a tall sailplan to help the weighty volume in light winds, but Pegasus’s ‘less is more’ philosophy sees it using the length for speed not volume. “It’s the total boat displacement that makes the difference, not the length,” argues Pas.

As per the P50, the design is by Pas, also responsible for the Shipman carbon cruising range. Pegasus then went to Juan K, chiefly for his computing power rather than any big name promotional reasons, “to optimise the hull appendages and to make the sailplan as small as possible, and to run the VPPs on these.”

Keeping displacement light and low allows for less mast height and standing rigging, and less sail to manage. The P67 is conceived for light wind sailing and serious passagemaking. So despite bow sections deliberately designed for a soft entry, that means sailing with the tradewinds when possible. Offwind sails will typically be left rigged on furlers, with lines and reef controls led to the cockpit, while the mainsheet is out of harm’s way on the fixed arch.

This leaves the proper all-weather cockpit protected by a composite roof and windshield, both features integrated into the design rather than as a bolt-on extra option. The cockpit, saloon and galley, where most spend the majority of time aboard a yacht, are all sited as centrally as possible, and linked by only two steps.

Almost all equipment required for bluewater sailing is included in the base price

The saloon features a similar gimballing settee seen on the P50 and the engine room is again deliberately placed aft, under the cockpit sole to keep noise and smells from the interior.

In terms of layout, the chief gain of the P67 over its smaller sister is the space to house two aft cabins. This gives the option for three or four cabins with two or three heads. And there can be full separation between guest and owner’s cabins. The latter can be a super-suite that takes the full area forward of the main bulkhead.

Fitout looks really thorough for cruising, including the doubling-up of all major systems for redundancy, such as autopilot, watermaker, pumps, batteries and charging. There are two technical lockers, one for pumps and liquids, one for electrics.

The Pegasus is built using vacuum-infused epoxy or Vinylester, with a hybrid of glass and carbon fibres on a PVC core. The first boat is expected to be ready by early 2027. The standard price comes with a very full spec, which includes a painted hull, Estec decking, carbon mast, sails including Code 0, thrusters and aircon.

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Pegasus 67 Specifications:

LOA: 20.46m 67ft 2in
LWL: 19.50m 64ft 0in
Beam: 5.60m 18ft 6in
Draught: 3.00m 9ft 10in
Displacement (light): 21,000kg
Price: €3.5m ex VAT
Contact details: pegasus-yachts.com

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Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

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The post Pegasus 67 first look: A roomier Pegasus 50 for sailing couples appeared first on Yachting World.

I came to traditional sailing by accident, but now I’m here, I’m a convert. And that’s because sailing traditional boats will make you a better all-round sailor. Don’t believe me? “I agree with the proposition 100% having spent my life voyaging, racing and teaching in traditional craft,” says Tom Cunliffe. He literally wrote the book on gaff sailing and pretty much all other sailing topics as well.

Today I skipper the 104-year-old, 100-tonne, former Lowestoft fishing smack Excelsior, which operates as a sail training vessel in the North Sea and is still rigged and sailed authentically. I began sailing less than a decade ago when I dropped out of my previous life working in the arts and moved to the Caribbean, teaching English and eventually living on a little yacht.

I was mostly self-taught aside from occasional hops through the RYA syllabus, and eventually became confident enough to cruise single-handed in the Lesser Antilles. Initially I wasn’t remotely interested in tall ships, nor carried away by the romance of an old wooden schooner; I just wanted to sail.

It’s all hands on deck when hoisting Swan’s big gaff rig. Photo: Swan Trust

But when a role came up on Excelsior as mate, just as I was fresh from achieving my Yachtmaster, the old hands promised me: “If you can sail Excelsior, you can sail anything.”

They also sagely pointed out that, while the Suffolk coast could be seen as flat and boring, I’d quickly learn one hell of a lot of seamanship from navigating its tides and sand banks. At 77ft Excelsior can be a heavy and ungainly beast at close quarters, and a headache to manoeuvre, which is exactly why I’ve learned more sailing her than I have on any modern-rigged yacht.

Seamanship skills

Andy Schell, founder of offshore sailing company 59° North, explains: “Seam’nship [Andy makes a point of taking the ‘man’ out of the equation] boils down to two simple fundamentals – the ability to anticipate; and the ability to adapt.

“[It] requires an understanding of the bigger picture and all the elements that come together during any kind of sailing trip, short or long – weather, ship, crew, nav, maintenance timelines etc. The most technical sailor will fail if they’re not paying attention to the chart, for example, and this happens all the time.”

Turning a 77ft vessel in tight spaces with a fat, full keel and a powerful prop walk is nothing short of an education! Photo: Matthew Perring

There’s a lot that can feel unnecessarily challenging about sailing traditional boats. They were built with more limited materials than we have now, and usually designed with a particular region or purpose in mind (for example, Brixham trawlers vs Bristol pilot cutters). They might not be able to do something you’d take for granted with a modern rig, like point to windward or move in winds lighter than a Force 4!

Handling such a vessel requires more than simply the ability to sail a boat. You also need to know your environment. Off the coast of East Anglia, tides are critical to any passage Excelsior undertakes. There have been times when I’ve sat at the chart table while trying (foolishly) to beat to windward, looking at our ground track, and being quite satisfied that the plotter says we’re doing 1 knot.

Until I realise it’s 1 knot backwards, and if the crew are already sick, disheartened and miserable, and nobody has it in them to cook a meal, it’s only going to get a lot worse. Passage planning for where we need to be by certain times, based on predicted changes in the weather and tide, is crucial seamanship that could make or break a voyage.

Knowing that closer to the shore the tidal current will be weaker can impact your tactics significantly. On a swifter, more forgiving modern boat you may get away with less fastidious planning, but not on a traditional vessel.

The same goes for keeping an eye on changes in the weather well in advance. On a lightweight contemporary rig you can execute a swift tack or sail drop in minutes, but on a ship like Excelsior these manoeuvres take time and in strong winds a gybe might need two watches’ worth of crew.

Preparing to hoist a large canvas sail with a traditional block purchase. Photo: Ed Compson

Can you afford to wait until the watch change, or do you want to wake them up early? And if you’ve woken them up early, is there enough time for them to go back to bed afterwards before they’re due to take over?

Richard Titchener runs the Sea Change Sailing Trust, which sails a replica Thames Sailing Barge in Essex. He says. “Under sail, especially if you are relying on wind and tide to reach your destination, you are always trying to make the best of the conditions.

Effectively, you are always racing. Always looking to use the last of the fair tide that runs in the centre of the river with short tacks rather than the more relaxing young slack or ebb at the sides. Always picking up on the seaweed that may indicate a tide edge seemingly in the middle of the channel. And these days it’s studying with a forensic eye the speed and direction of turn in a distant wind turbine for signs of the sea breeze.”

But the trade-off is that one of the most thrilling seam’nship muscles I’ve begun to flex thanks to sailing Excelsior has been my ability to use the natural environment to my advantage.

With a vessel like ours, sometimes there is no other choice. For example, when leaving tidal berths, if the wind is blowing us on, no amount of springing will free us. But we can use the tidal stream to push the bow (or the stern) away from the pontoon. It’s the same for coming alongside.

Traditional sailing ships taking part in the Fest Ar Mor maritime heritage event in Brest Harbour in Brittany. Photo: Mathieu Rivrin/GlazPictures/Getty

Ferry gliding is extremely elegant in a heavy long-keeler and makes you look like a manoeuvring deity. When your passage involves turning in a tidal river, plan your turn for a moment you know the current is going to help you, not dangerously hinder you (and drive you sideways downstream as you battle against the opposing forces).

Maggie Adamson, who skippered the 125-year-old sail training vessel Swan of Lerwick, is double-handed offshore world champion as well as International Sail Trainer of the Year. She’s at home in both arenas, and has learned a great deal from each. “Everything is at a different pace on board traditional boats. There’s still the adrenaline rush and excitement of manoeuvres but you have to give things a bit more time and planning,” she says.

“I started offshore racing about the same time as I started skippering Swan so there are a lot of aspects that complement each discipline. In sail training it could be anything from managing your crew expectations, seasickness levels, to time management on schedule for port visits and weather. In both disciplines, sail choices and forward planning are extremely important, and so is food!’

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Using your sails

“What you learn from different rigs is creativity and learning to get the most out of the boat,” says Andy Schell. A gaff rig comes with a unique set of challenges, and when sailing an ex-fishing trawler, you really need a lot of drive to get going, meaning you need to understand what your arsenal of sails can do for you, and how to work your rig.

“Every sail on Swan is hoisted in a different way,” explains Maggie Adamson. “The main sail is gaff rigged, mizzen a standing lug, the jib is hoisted on a wire traveller system after hauling out the retractable bowsprit, the topsail is hoisted on her own yard and the foresail being the most straightforward, is permanently bent on the forestay. This gives you a great understanding of the different systems and running rigging that goes with it.”

A Swedish traditional boat enthusiast once told me that in Baltic regattas, if you’re the one racing on the British fishing trawler, you’ve got no excuses when you don’t win. I had definitely been doing something wrong, then.

Charlotte Hathaway is an Ocean Yachtmaster, she is skipper of Excelsior, taking teenagers and young adults on adventurous sail training voyages around Europe.

Dinghy sailors would hop around the deck saying words like ‘slot’ and I used to roll my eyes, quipping that on Excelsior we don’t ‘trim’ our sails, more ‘arrange’ them. They’re either in or out, and there’s either two or five or eight of them up.

But I was so wrong. It’s really exciting when we have dyed-in-the wool gaff sailors on board, passing on their wisdom.

“Do you understand when the topsail needs to be flat and when it needs a bit of belly? We’re going downwind, so peak the gaff up a little higher and make the topsail more baggy, and we’ll speed up,” they tell me.

“And have you noticed there’s massive weather helm right now because we’re going upwind but the main is over-sheeted? There’s too much force to the aft of the boat and it’s pushing the stern around. You need to ease the main far more than you think because of the way the sail is shaped.

The Excelsior Trust offers sail training experiences for young and old. Photo: Excelsior Trust

“Also, when you reef don’t reef the mainsail first, because you might not even need to. Adjusting the sails on the extremities will have a dramatic effect on the overall balance. Lose the topsail, reef the mizzen, house the bowsprit and use a smaller jib. Your centre of effort is now far lower and she’s sitting much more comfortably in this miserable gale.

“And when you’re tacking? Back the mizzen, to guide the stern round, then back the headsails just long enough to get the nose through the wind, and don’t use too much rudder or she’ll stall.” There is so much to learn.

Close quarters

I’ll confess that I’d never really used springs before docking Excelsior. On a large, heavy boat springs are everything. Using lines to warp yourself round tight spaces and control your movements around the dock is also extremely satisfying, and I recommend everyone experiments with it.

The Excelsior Trust offers sail training aboard the traditional Lowestoft fishing smack Excelsior. Photo: Graham Cross

Did I mention that Excelsior has a 9ft tiller? My favourite turning trick is a well-deployed staysail, or even a quickly peaked mizzen. Our pirouette in Hartlepool marina using mainly staysail and a lot of forward and reverse has become legendary.

Always make sure you have a Plan B, because you carry a lot of momentum and there are usually more fragile boats everywhere. As Tom Cunliffe notes: “If you can come alongside with a 15ft bowsprit without murdering the harbourmaster, docking any modern yacht with a bow-thruster and spade rudder will be a breeze.”

Try Traditional

“I’ve always wanted to go even more traditional and have an open invite to sail on board Pride of Baltimore II, a gaff-rigged topsail schooner, just to see how they handle it all,” says Andy Schell. “There is always something to learn.”

Traditional sailing makes your life more difficult but teaches you so much: why a specific hull shape makes your yacht lie at anchor in such a way, or how to handle heavy loads without winches (a crash course in the use of purchases, but so useful if you have a gear breakdown on board).

Conning the Thames Barge Blue Mermaid into an anchorage – the wheel in one hand, mainsheet in the other while the mate is forward preparing the anchor. The head of the topsail has been dropped, but the sheet not yet run in. The vessel can be slowed or speeded up as needed while choosing the spot to let go the anchor – all by a crew of two. Photo: Blue Mermaid

There is a plethora of opportunities to try traditional sailing. My bias would be towards supporting a sail training charity like Excelsior Trust, who often subsidise their life-changing youth trips by offering adventures for adults, too. You can also find charter companies operating historic vessels, and National Historic Ships franchises a traditional seafaring course. Whichever you try, you’ll come back a better sailor.

Organisations offering traditional sailing opportunities

■ Excelsior Trust: theexcelsiortrust.co.uk
■ Swan Trust: swantrust.com
■ Sea Change Sailing Trust: seachangesailingtrust.org.uk
■ National Historic Ships: www.nationalhistoricships.org.uk/page/traditional-seafarer-introductory-certificate
■ Coastal Exploration Company: coastalexplorationcompany.co.uk
■ Classic Sailing: classic-sailing.com

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Banque Populaire XI isn’t just any boat; it’s a floating testament to the bleeding edge of sailing technology, designed for record-breaking speeds and gruelling ocean races. Sam Goodchild, fresh from the 2025 Rolex Fastnet Race with the Banque Populaire team, offers a unique perspective on what it’s truly like to sail one of these magnificent foiling multihulls.

From the central cockpit, Goodchild highlights the surprising simplicity of the control station, dominated by handles that manage an extensive hydraulic system. Unlike traditional yachts and in keeping with the developments we’te seeing in top level foilers like the Ultimes there are remarkably few ropes here, as much of the power is routed through hydraulics.

This setup allows for a highly efficient crew operation: one person at the helm, a pit manager overseeing the intricate hydraulic maneuvers, someone dedicated to navigation, and four crew members tirelessly working the handles. Goodchild explains the sheer physical effort involved, noting that a single tack—which includes deploying and retracting foils and rudders—can require 10 to 15 minutes of continuous handle winding, pushing vast amounts of hydraulic oil.

We also get to see the fascinating details of the foiling system, including the crucial daggerboard flap control in the middle of the boat. This mechanism, akin to a traveller on a conventional yacht, allows the crew to precisely adjust the boat’s heel and so righting moment, a critical factor when rocketing across the water at 40 knots.

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Sailors on Banque Populaire XI often steer to leeward, allowing them to directly observe how the foils are performing and make immediate adjustments. For single-handed or short-handed sailing, a sophisticated autopilot is on hand.

There are foot releases for the mainsheet and controls for canting the rig (tilting the mast 6 degrees to leeward before a tack), emphasising how these innovations allow for speedier depowering and enhance safety. Despite their immense power, these foiling machines sail remarkably flat, making capsizing less likely.

A crucial component of the Ultimes are the aerodynamics that dominate the boat’s design, from the cockpit’s fairings to the minimal on-deck activity when the boat is flying at speed. Goodchild showcases the challenging exit from below deck through narrow aero fairings, highlighting the extreme measures taken to reduce drag.

He also touches on the practicalities of sail changes and general checks that still require venturing onto the trampoline and foredeck.

Reflecting on their recent Rolex Fastnet Race, Goodchild notes that Banque Populaire XI achieved an average speed of around 35 knots on the return leg from the Fastnet Rock.

If you enjoyed this….

Yachting World is the world’s leading magazine for bluewater cruisers and offshore sailors. Every month we have inspirational adventures and practical features to help you realise your sailing dreams.

Build your knowledge with a subscription delivered to your door. See our latest offers and save at least 30% off the cover price.

Note: We may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site, at no extra cost to you. This doesn’t affect our editorial independence.

The post Inside a Foiling Giant: An Onboard Tour of Ultime Banque Populaire XI appeared first on Yachting World.