As far back as I can remember, I have always enjoyed the challenge of finding solutions to practical problems. This was certainly the case when I started work on fitting out the first Aventura. As an absolute greenhorn in anything nautical, I was forced to come up with answers to complex questions in virtually everything I touched.

The boat had a center cockpit and aft cabin, and the wheel was too far from the rudderstock. The easiest and cheapest solution was to have hydraulic steering, but that meant I could not use the self-steering gear whose control lines had to lead to a drum on the wheel or to a tiller. The solution I came up with was to extend the rudderstock by way of a 6-foot-long, 40-mm steel bar to the level of the aft deck, and then fit a tiller to it. The lines of the Aries gear were easily led to it. We could steer with the wheel and the tiller.

Many of the solutions that followed were rather unorthodox, but they worked. I repeated several of them on my future boats, such as having a day tank for the engine. On a number of occasions, the easiest solution was to do without certain nonessential items, such as a diesel genset or freezer.

Going without a diesel genset was the easiest decision because we simply couldn’t afford one. Auxiliary diesel generators for cruising boats were still a novelty in those days, and only the largest boats in the South Pacific had one. Our electrical consumption was modest, and we often used paraffin lamps. We managed to charge our one and only battery by the main engine. Later, on Aventura II, there was no need for a genset because one of the twin engines fulfilled that role efficiently. Aventura III had an additional large-capacity alternator, and a wind and towing generator. By the time Aventura IV came on the scene, we relied almost entirely on renewable sources of energy by having wind, solar and hydro generators. As for Aventura Zero, her name reflects my aim to do away completely with fossil fuels for generation and propulsion.

Not having a freezer was also an easy decision because we never had one at home. We always preferred to eat fresh things. On the subsequent Aventuras, we did have a refrigerator and learned to preserve food for longer passages by vacuum-packing meat, as well as fish caught on the way. We’d store them in the fridge.

Diving Gear

As part of the preparations for our first voyage, I completed a British Sub-Aqua Club diving course and qualified as a diver. I realized that diving gear would be an essential item to have on board, and I had a complete set on each of my boats, with a compressor on Aventura II. A dry suit on Aventuras III and IV proved its usefulness when I had to dive in Arctic waters. We also had survival suits that we used only once, after crash-landing through the breakers on the beach below the old Cape Horn lighthouse.

The diving gear and tanks were mainly for emergencies, as I was quite a proficient free diver. I spent hours spearfishing to feed the family on our first voyage, but abandoned the sport when protecting the environment became a major concern. I continued fishing on passage, and we always caught enough fish to ensure a supply of fresh food for the crew.

Perhaps the most important item on board is the liferaft. Because it is rarely used, it is often stowed in a location that’s far from ideal. A golden rule about the liferaft is that the weakest member of the crew should be able to handle and launch it. On all my boats from Aventura II onward, the liferaft was always at the stern for easy launch.

Day Tank

All my boats up to Aventura IV had a 10.5-gallon tank mounted about 3 feet higher than the engine so the fuel was gravity-fed to it. We topped up the tank every four or five hours by manually activating a fuel transfer pump. I deliberately avoided having an automatic filling system, and instead placed the switch for the pump where it was easy to see the glass water separator and make sure the fuel was clean.

Apart from that pre-filter, there were two more filters before the fuel reached the engine. Another advantage of a day tank was that we always knew we had 10.5 gallons of fuel, even if the main tank was empty.

Mast Steps

Another useful item that can make life easier is mast steps.

They were a great bonus when we were scouting ahead, either when we were looking for a lead through the ice in the Arctic or avoiding coral heads in a tropical lagoon. These tasks became much easier when we acquired the first forward-looking sonar, but we continued to play it safe with my wife, Gwenda, keeping an eye on the depth and obstructions ahead on the cockpit-mounted forward-looking sonar. I would still do my eyeball navigation from the spreaders.

Aventura III’s mast steps probably saved our mast when one of the spreaders collapsed on the way to the Falklands. My crew was able to climb the mast quickly, retrieve the spreader, and then secure the rig with a spare spinnaker halyard.

The mast steps were also useful when it was time to check the rigging or the instruments at the top of the mast. Most of the time, we used them to climb up the mast to take photos.

Aventura IV’s Parasailor spinnaker was my favorite downwind sail, and it took me a long time to reach that high-tech level. My search for a functional downwind setup started with a twin-jib arrangement on the first Aventura. The system worked well and was easy to set up with two separate forestays. The only problem was the awful rolling, which I tried to dampen by having a storm trysail sheeted hard amidships on the mainsail track. It sort of worked, but I soon realized the solution might lie elsewhere.

A beautiful mizzen staysail, which Gwenda produced on her sewing machine, was perfect for broad reaching, usually in combination with the mainsail and poled-out genoa.

Aventura II’s first spinnaker turned me into an addict with sails that were asymmetrical and triradial, and then finally, the Parasailor. Each one played an essential role in the fast passages we achieved on our three following boats.

Shallow Draft and Centerboard

A fixed keel may be best for ocean passages, but having a shallow draft when cruising is ideal for exploring places that other boats cannot reach. It’s also safe because it lets the crew to find shelter in a protected spot in an emergency.

Aventura II’s lifting keel fulfilled both objectives, but it was only when Aventura III’s centerboard appeared on the scene that I finally had the perfect solution. It not only made it possible to reduce draft quickly, but it also improved our sailing performance.

I have often been asked how safe it is to sail on a boat without a keel. I have sailed twice across the Drake Passage to Antarctica and back, first on Skip Novak’s Pelagic and then on Aventura III. They both were centerboard boats. I once experienced winds of 50 to 60 knots, and I can vouch for either boat’s stability under such conditions. They coped impressively well with the high Southern Ocean swell, and they put any possible doubts to rest.

Aventura III and IV had an integral centerboard, which meant that when the board was raised, it fully retracted into the hull. The ballast-to-displacement ratio on each boat was 32, similar to most other cruising boats. Most integral centerboard boats have a flat bottom, so with the board fully up, they can dry out on a beach, which is yet another advantage.

In the words of Pete Goss, whose Pearl of Penzance was an Exploration 45 similar to Aventura IV: “A centerboard’s real advantage is not the ability to reduce the draft, but the peace of mind attribute. We were able to surf down Atlantic swells with the confidence of fixed ballast. Being able to lift the centerboard under such conditions meant that she didn’t trip up off the wind, and became directionally stable to the point of being docile. This, in turn, gave a more comfortable ride, de-stressed all areas of the boat, including the autopilot and power consumption.”

Shallow draft is a major attraction of centerboard yachts, but there are also some considerable performance advantages. The main role of the board is to provide lift when sailing closehauled, and to reduce leeway when reaching. With the board fully down, Aventura III drew 7 feet, 10 inches.  When sailed properly, it could point as high, or almost as high, as most keeled cruising boats. With a draft of 9 feet, 2 inches with the board down, Aventura IV performed even better than her predecessor. Aventura Zero had a draft of 2 feet, 11 inches with the two daggerboards raised, and 7 feet with them lowered.

There is a certain technique in sailing a centerboarder efficiently, not just on the wind, but off the wind as well. This is when the centerboard becomes a true asset thanks to the ability to lift the board gradually as the apparent wind goes past 135 degrees, and then continue lifting it up to the point where the board is fully retracted.

This is a great advantage, as the risk of broaching is virtually eliminated. As Goss pointed out, the absence of a keel to act as a pivot in a potential broaching situation means the boat does not tend to round up. It is a feature that has allowed me to continue keeping the spinnaker up longer than would normally have been safe. 

Fixed Pole

My favorite broad-reaching or running technique is to set up the pole independently of the sail I intend to use, so the pole is held firmly in position by the topping lift, forward and aft guys, with all three lines being led back to the cockpit. Regardless of whether I decide to pole out a foresail or spinnaker, the sheet is led through the jaws of the pole, which is then hoisted in the desired place.

Once the pole is in place and is held firmly by the three lines, the sail can be unfurled, or the spinnaker hoisted, and its douser pulled up. With the pole being independent of the sail, the latter can be furled partially or fully without touching the pole.

This setup is a great advantage when the sail has to be reduced or furled quickly, if a squall is threatening. Once the squall has passed, with the pole still in place, the sail can be easily unfurled.

When sailing under spinnaker and threatened by a squall, I preferred to douse it and lower it onto the foredeck. Once the danger passes, the spinnaker, while still in its sock, can be hoisted again and undoused.

My routine became so well tuned that I could hoist and douse the spinnaker on my own. The last time I did this was on a test sail with Aventura Zero off La Grande-Motte, France, the site of the Outremer Catamarans boatyard. I wanted to show my much younger crew how more brain and less brawn could tame a monster the size of a tennis court.

Parasailor

The major attraction of the Parasailor is that it acts as a classic triradial spinnaker and doubles as an asymmetrical sail. Its main features are the wide slot that runs from side to side about one-third down from the top, and a wing below the slot, on the forward side of the sail.

Once the Parasailor is up and poled out, the slot and wing help it stay full even in light winds. I have used it on a few occasions in as little as 5 knots of true wind, and every time, it looked like collapsing the backpressure exerted by the slot kept it full.

It is in strong winds, however, that the Parasailor comes into its own. Normally, I drop the spinnaker when the true wind reaches 15 knots. On one occasion, on the way from New Zealand to New Caledonia on Aventura III, when I saw a squall approaching, I decided to leave it up and see what happened. From 15 knots, the wind went up and up and settled at 27 knots. Aventura took it all in stride, accelerated to 9, then 10 knots and then once, when it caught the right wave, surged to 14 knots.

The Parasailor behaved as normally as before, with the wing streaming ahead and the slot wide open, almost visibly spilling the wind.

Boom Brake

This was another useful feature on my boats, as it prevented major damage in an involuntary jibe, as I experienced on three separate occasions.

The most memorable one happened on the southbound passage from Greenland, after having abandoned the attempt to transit the Northwest Passage from east to west. All the crew had left us in Nuuk, except for my daughter Doina. The northwest winds with gusts over 40 produced some nasty seas while sailing across an area of banks with depths of 100 to 130 feet. We were broad-reaching with three reefs in the mainsail, no foresail, and the centerboard fully up, a combination I had used in similar conditions in the past. Aventura IV was taking it well, occasionally surfing at 10 to 12 knots.

Everything seemed to be under control until a large wave broke violently over us, throwing us into a jibe. The boom brake controlled the swing of the mainsail, but when I reset the autopilot back on course, Doina pointed to the boom, which was hanging down at a strange angle. The gooseneck fitting was broken, but the boom was still held up by the mainsail and reefing lines. Apart from the broken casting, the boom itself was undamaged.

I secured the boom with two lines to the mast winches, and we continued sailing like that. We completed the 1,100-mile passage to St. John’s in Newfoundland in seven days without any further problems. A local workshop manufactured a new fitting, this time machined of solid aluminium.

Sailing in strong winds with just the mainsail is something I discovered by chance while crossing the Bay of Biscay along the west coasts of France and Spain on Aventura II’s maiden voyage. With the northerly wind gradually increasing, I tried to furl the mainsail into the mast, but the furling gear jammed and wouldn’t budge. The only options were to put a knife to the expensive sail, something I was reluctant to do, or continue sailing like that.

Sailing with a full mainsail and no jib in winds often gusting over 30 knots was certainly exhilarating. We made it safely into Lisbon, Portugal, where the fault was diagnosed at the top end of the furling gear, which was easily fixed. It never happened again.

Another adrenaline-spiked passage was across the Tasman Sea from Fiji to New Zealand on Aventura III. A low caught up with us, bringing favorable but increasingly strong northwest winds. Because of the uncomfortable swell, Gwenda spent much of the time in her bunk. Earlier in the trip, when the winds were lighter, I had left the steering to the windvane, but when the wind got stronger and there was a risk of jibing, I preferred to put my trust in the autopilot. The worst drawback of a full-batten mainsail is the difficulty of dropping it, even in moderate following winds, as the sail is pushed against the spreaders and the battens tend to get caught in the rigging. Usually, I prefer to keep the full mainsail as long as possible, but when the wind gets over 30 knots, I furl up the foresail and continue sailing with the deeply reefed mainsail.

This may sound like a rather unusual way of sailing, and it may not suit some boats, but Aventura coped well with it, and I got used to it.

Every now and again, I disengaged the autopilot and steered for a few minutes, enjoying the boat surfing down the waves with the speedometer rarely going below 10 knots. At one point, Gwenda put her head through the hatch and, as she later told me, saw me standing at the wheel with a huge grin on my face.

“You are absolutely crazy,” was all she said before going back to her bunk. She repeated those words more colorfully later, when the weather had calmed down. 

Essential Backups

The dual steering system on the first Aventura taught me the importance of having backups for all essential items. We always had two tenders: a smaller and a larger inflatable dinghy. The former could be quickly inflated and was easy to row, while the latter was used on longer trips. On Aventura III, we had two outboard motors, a 5 hp and a 2.5 hp backup, which we always took with us when we went on longer forays in Antarctica and Alaska.

Communications followed the same pattern. Aventura II had Inmarsat C for text, and single sideband radio for voice. Aventura III had a similar system, with an Iridium satphone added later. Aventura IV had an Iridium Pilot broadband, which allowed us to download the daily ice charts for the Northwest Passage, and let us send and receiving large files and photographs. Aventura Zero had the more advanced Iridium Certus broadband. An Iridium satphone was an emergency backup on all recent boats and was an extremely useful, and cheaper, stand-in for the more sophisticated systems.

However, I believe that the most important backup to have, especially on a shorthanded boat, is a second automatic pilot. We didn’t have one on the first Aventura because they were not available in those days, but we had reliable Aries self-steering gear. I hate to look back now at the countless hours spent at the wheel when there was no wind, and we had to motor.

On Aventura II, we had both a Hydrovane gear and a small automatic pilot. Aventura III had a Windpilot self-steering gear, an automatic pilot and a backup tiller pilot. The latter proved its worth when the main unit broke on a passage from Hawaii to Alaska. As we crossed the North Pacific High, we were becalmed in thick fog and surrounded by lots of fishing trawlers. We had to keep watch permanently on radar while maintaining course.

Aventura IV had two entirely independent B&G autopilots, which we used intermittently to ensure that both were in working order. Aventura Zero had a sophisticated emergency backup with an entirely separate second autopilot. In case of a lightning strike, the system was entirely insulated from the rest of the boat. It included an autopilot processor, ram and rudder sensor, Triton display unit, GPS and wireless wind sensor. An emergency 1,200-Ah battery, charged by a Sail-Gen hydrogenerator or the solar panels, could supply electricity not only to the autopilot and backup instruments, but also to the service and propulsion batteries if necessary. It was the ultimate belt-and-suspenders concept, in line with my almost obsessive cautious mindset.

The system proved its worth in Seville, Spain, when the adjacent dock was struck by lightning. The charge travelled through the water and reached the propellers. It put the entire propulsion system out of order. But the boat’s electrics and electronic equipment, which were not connected to anything else on board, were not affected.

I have always considered myself to be a lucky person. After 200,000 miles, I believe that the saying “fortune favors the bold” should be followed by “provided it is backed by a strong sense of prudence.” 

The post The Art of Lateral Thinking Under Sail appeared first on Cruising World.

Adventure sailors who believe offshore voyaging should leave more than a wake will find a new reason to look at Panexplore’s 2026 expeditions. The company has announced the launch of its Sea Dragon Ocean Fellowship, a program that places ocean scientists and content creators aboard its 72-foot steel-hulled expedition yacht Sea Dragon alongside paying guests and professional crew.

The goal is to combine long-distance sailing with real-world ocean research and storytelling that helps protect the seas cruisers depend on.

“The new Sea Dragon Ocean Fellowship program will make Panexplore expeditions all the more unforgettable and unique,” said Panexplore business manager Sanda Marichal. “Now, in addition to sailing to beautiful, remote destinations, guests aboard Sea Dragon will play a role in uplifting the voices of those protecting our precious seas and oceans.”

For cruising sailors, the idea will feel familiar. Many long-range voyagers already log wildlife sightings, collect water samples or share firsthand accounts of ocean change from anchorages and sea lanes few scientists ever reach. Panexplore is formalizing that spirit by inviting researchers and content partners to join its expedition schedule.

A Proven Bluewater Platform

Sea Dragon returns to service after a year-long refit and a recent Atlantic Rally for Cruisers crossing in support of Project SeaLabs. Built of steel and designed for high-latitude sailing, the 72 footer is a serious offshore platform, capable of handling long passages and remote coastlines.

The 2026 itinerary reflects that range, with voyages planned in the Caribbean, passages between the United States and Bermuda and Arctic sailing along the coasts of Greenland.

For cruisers accustomed to making their own way across oceans, the appeal is not just the destinations but the opportunity to sail with a professional crew while contributing to something larger.

A World Class Skipper

To support the expanded program, Panexplore is also strengthening its onboard leadership. In early 2026, Sea Dragon will be skippered by Emily Caruso, a veteran professional sailor with nearly two decades of experience including training for and competing in around the world races.

A New Way to Sail With Purpose

Ocean scientists and conservation-focused storytellers can apply to join the fellowship by contacting Panexplore directly via the company website panexplore.com or email: hello@panexplore.com. Guests book normally, but will sail alongside researchers gathering data and creating content that amplifies the realities of ocean health.

For long-range cruisers, the model highlights how modern voyaging is evolving, with today’s offshore sailors becoming more active observers, advocates and partners in the stewardship of the ocean.Berths aboard Sea Dragon are limited and Panexplore says they fill quickly, a reminder that expedition style cruising continues to draw sailors who want their miles to matter.

The post Panexplore Launches Sea Dragon Ocean Fellowship for 2026 Voyages appeared first on Cruising World.

I nurtured dreams of the Amazon as a kid growing up in rural Maine in the 1980s. What I saw on PBS documentaries and read in National Geographic at the library made Brazil feel as distant as the moon. Then I went to Bowdoin College, where I fell in love with the work of Brazilian photographer Sebastião Salgado. Later came beautiful films like City of God and Lower City, and images by photographer David Alan Harvey. These glimpses into different aspects of Brazil’s culture suggested layers of complexity I longed to explore.

Motherhood forced me to set aside, albeit temporarily, my visions of remote river adventures, wild carnival nights and wandering Brazil’s streets with a camera. Brazil wasn’t on our immediate sailing route early in our family sailing adventures, either. My husband, James, and I had no firsthand experience with Brazil, neither of us spoke Portuguese, and we had no contacts there. And we had toddlers aboard.

Over the years, however, we slowly started to explore Brazil. Each visit helped us fall more in love with the place. Our introduction began gradually, with brief encounters that sparked our curiosity and built our enthusiasm.

In 2011, we sailed through Brazilian waters with our two oldest children, Tormentina and Raivo, when they were 3 and 1. We followed the trade winds on our Open 40, Anasazi Girl, from Cape Verde to South Africa. Our route took us directly to the Fernando de Noronha archipelago, where we unfortunately had to change course to avoid the islands that night. We sailed past Recife without stopping, before tacking and turning toward South Africa.

In 2016, James delivered a Stevens 47 from the Brazilian state of Bahia to the island of Trinidad, gaining experience in the Salvador ports of Aratu and Bahia Marina. The marina staff were professional, the facilities were excellent, and he returned with a new understanding of the country’s sailing infrastructure.

In 2017, we made our first visit to Brazil as a family. It was an unplanned stop in Rio on Anasazi Girl while sailing from Uruguay bound for Grenada. By then, we had made many ocean miles with our children: North Atlantic, South Atlantic and a full loop eastward in the Southern Ocean. We had also added two new crew members, Pearl and Tarzan, who were born in New Zealand and Chile. With four kids younger than 8 on board, you could say we were more seasoned when it came to sailing with children.

On that passage, we encountered strong headwinds as we approached Cabo Frio. We decided to turn around and take refuge in Rio while we waited for a wind shift to continue north.

The moment we began our approach toward Guanabara Bay and saw our first glimpse of Rio’s cityscape, a euphoric feeling overwhelmed all of us. In this precise moment, we all began to fall in love with Brazil. Any disappointment at having to alter our course was overtaken by the natural beauty of the place and the excitement of discovering somewhere new.

Making landfall in Rio is truly unforgettable. Its skyline and mountains are distinctive, especially when approaching from the sea. The city reveals itself in a multitude of layers. The granite walls of Sugarloaf, Corcovado and Pedra da Gávea are unmistakable. The bright sandy shores of Copacabana and Ipanema are layered with the city’s urban architecture, which ranges from upscale modern buildings to densely packed favelas. For James, a lifelong rock climber, it was always a dream to climb the granite walls. Our children also talked excitedly about one day scaling the towering peaks.

Inside the naturally protected waters of Guanabara Bay were hundreds of sailboats on moorings, all with views of Christ the Redeemer and Sugarloaf Mountain. We tied up to a mooring ball of the Iate Clube do Rio de Janeiro, then had an unforgettable Sunday brunch on the club’s veranda.

We met welcoming club members and explored the high-end restaurants, gardens and service areas. We met Olympic sailing athletes who were training. Even though we were in the middle of the city, it felt like we were in a magical oasis.

What struck us most during those two days was how warmly welcomed we felt. Local sailors offered advice about the best spots to visit in Brazil. They shared weather insights with the genuine enthusiasm of one mariner helping another. We left after two nights, but felt an undeniable pull to return.

So we did. In 2018, while delivering a Chuck Paine 62 from the Caribbean to Uruguay, we made several planned stops in the Brazilian ports of Salvador, Rio, Ilhabela, and Itajaí. The kids enjoyed açaí, água de coco, savory churrascos and panquecas de tapioca. They went rock climbing in Rio and sailed optimists at the yacht club.

Our stops were relatively short, but we were figuring out the coastline and a variety of ports. We made wonderful friends with local sailors in every place we stopped. With increased miles and time, we felt completely at home. The Brazilian sailing community was remarkably welcoming, helpful and generous with local knowledge.

In 2020, on our 50-foot trimaran Thunderbird, we had five children younger than 12. Our youngest, Jade, was born in Chile. We were sailing from Cape Verde across the Atlantic to Cabedelo, Brazil. This time we would check out new places and revisit some ports we already loved.

It was a fortuitous decision, because 2020 also happened to be the year that the Covid-19 pandemic began. What started as a loose plan of about six months turned into more than two years in the country. With international borders closed, we were we given the gift of time and the freedom to explore slowly. Our biggest gift was giving birth to our last child, Atlas, in Brazil—solidifying our deep connection with the country.

Between 2020 and 2025 on Thunderbird, our exploration stretched the entire coast of Brazil, but was concentrated between Rio de Janeiro and Ilhabela. Rio provided small doses of big city life to enjoy art, culture and urban energy. The coastline between Ilha Grande Bay, Ubatuba, and Ilhabela provided nature and open spaces to connect with the elements.

The experience of raising our children in these waters was nothing short of surreal: lush green forests cascading down towering mountainsides, the ancient canopy mirrored perfectly in glassy, protected waters below. These waterways unlock a different world where waterfalls plunge from mountain heights into protected coves, and where every anchorage has its own character and beauty.

In the labyrinthine anchorages of Ilha Grande Bay, there are more than 365 islands to explore—a new island for every day of the year. The island of Ilha Grande rises from the sea like a forested fortress, reaching skyward to Pico da Pedra D’Água at nearly 3,400 feet tall. This is one of the world’s most biodiverse ecosystems, with plants and vertebrates found nowhere else on Earth. It’s an astonishing diversity of life: Ferns, mosses and epiphytes create living tapestries on every surface, while lianas, orchids and bromeliads transform trees into vertical gardens.

The surrounding mainland, from Angra dos Reis south to São Sebastião, is equally breathtaking. Watching my children scramble over colossal granite boulders, snorkel beside giant starfish, stand beneath tropical leaves bigger than their bodies, and dive into waters with colors that varied from gold to turquoise to emerald, I couldn’t shake the feeling we’d tumbled into our own wonderland. Granite peaks pierce the clouds, rising directly from beautiful beaches, dwarfing everything. It’s a layered landscape that seems like it was drawn from an artist’s imagination.

From the cockpit, we spotted colorful parrots, night herons and Brazilian tanagers calling from the canopy while dolphins surfaced near our bow and manta rays glided beneath us in crystal-clear water. Great white egrets stood motionless in the shallows, and flocks of them filled the trees. Capybaras—the world’s largest and cutest rodents—grazed along hiking trails that wound through the forest.

Perhaps most spectacular are the Blue Morpho butterflies that flash their iridescent purple-blue wings as they flutter between the forest and the water’s edge. With wingspans reaching 8 inches, they are living jewels against the green backdrop, catching sunlight like nature’s own stained glass windows.

Another thing that makes this sailing paradise remarkable is its abundance of fresh water. The towering Serra do Mar mountains that frame the bay serve as a natural watershed, capturing moisture from Atlantic clouds and transforming it into countless springs and waterfalls. With annual rainfall ranging from 1,400 to 4,000 millimeters, these peaks ensure a constant supply of crystal-clear fresh water cascading down through the forest.

Many local settlements and anchorages rely on natural spring-fed catchment systems that originate from these mountain waterfalls. Sailors can easily catch rainwater, and find freshwater streams and springs to replenish tanks, a rare blessing for off-grid cruising.

Long before modern yachts arrived, the indigenous Caiçara people mastered these protected channels in dugout canoes carved from single Guapuruvu tree trunks—some stretching 40 feet long. They understood what today’s sailing families quickly discover: This natural sanctuary provides predictable breezes across flat water, while towering peaks block ocean swells.

Especially in Ilha Grande Bay, protection comes from pure geography. It’s as if a massive breakwater shields the entire bay from South Atlantic swells and prevailing southeast winds. The Serra do Mar mountains rise directly from the water’s edge, blocking weather systems and funneling thermal winds down through valleys. This all gives sailors predictable afternoon breezes without the confused seas found on the open coast.

Sailors can choose their level of shelter here depending on conditions, with smaller islands creating a maze of channels where you’re always sailing in the lee of something. Children can learn the helm in flat water with steady winds, gaining confidence in ideal conditions. The same mountain walls that sheltered Caiçara canoes for generations now create perfect conditions for young sailors: gentle breezes, calm seas and forgiving waters where mistakes become lessons. Here, a child’s first time at the tiller is pure joy. It’s about falling in love with the wind.

And with countless anchorages scattered across its waters and relatively few boats to fill them, you always have options for finding the perfect spot to drop anchor. It’s well worth exploring the anchorages on Ilha Grande’s south side, though you must choose your weather windows carefully. The exposed southern coast includes spectacular anchorages like Aventureiro, Dois Rios, Meros, Lopes Mendes and Ilha Jorge Grego, but they all require paying attention to Atlantic swells that can become uncomfortable.

Even in these places, we were never completely cut off from civilization. In many of the most popular anchorages, we’d find someone selling ice-cold beer, refreshing caipirinhas, crispy French fries, calamari, traditional seafood moqueca or hearty feijoada, which is Brazil’s beloved national dish of slow-cooked black beans with pork and beef served over rice.

The region also supports sustainable aquaculture, and has incredibly fresh scallops, mussels and oysters. On Ilha Grande’s north side and near Pouso da Cajaíba close to the Juatinga Peninsula, artisanal producers have been cultivating these bivalves in the bay’s pristine waters. Shrimp boats operating from Paraty and Tarituba produced some of the most extraordinary shrimp we’ve ever tasted. It was sweet, plump and impossibly fresh from the bay’s rich waters.

Even ice cream boats make the rounds through the anchorages, with vendors calling out their wares of Kibon treats—perhaps classic Eskibon bars, popsicles, or premium Magnum ice creams. And while not all anchorages have internet or cell coverage, the short sailing distances make it possible to stay connected, a perfect balance between remote wilderness and modern convenience.

Most sailing adventures here begin from one of two historic gateway cities that frame the bay. Paraty is a beautifully preserved Portuguese colonial jewel, frozen in time from the 1500s to the 1800s, with cobblestone streets that lead down to businesses like Marina do Engenho. Modern yachts moor against a backdrop of centuries-old architecture, while the waterfront comes alive with colorfully painted fishing boats and charter schooners. For provisioning, sailors will find Super Carlão, which is Paraty’s well-stocked supermarket. It has international goods and local products, as well as exotic Brazilian fruits and vegetables. Marine chandleries are abundantly stocked, and anything not found on the shelf can be sourced through online retailers on Mercado Libre.

To the east lies Angra dos Reis, located 93 miles south of Rio de Janeiro and serving as the primary jumping-off point for charters. Here, there’s Piratas Shopping, which is Brazil’s innovative shopping complex where boats can dock for free while crews provision. Sailors can step directly from their boats into air-conditioned shopping comfort.

Ask any local cruiser about their favorite waters, and most will tell you Ilha Grande Bay is  where their childhood dreams of sailing adventure first took root. Now, after a total of four years in Brazil, I can say it is one of the most spectacular and rewarding places in the world to cruise. We have logged thousands of miles, explored countless anchorages, and still have barely scratched the surface. It would take several lifetimes to truly experience all the country’s waterways.

The Brazilian approach to life—with its emphasis on joy, family and connection to nature—resonated deeply with our own values as a family. For us, Brazil became not just a sailing destination, but a place where we felt truly at home. The dreams I had as a child were even better in reality, because I got to share them with my family.

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