I have no problem being called a traditionalist sailor. I wouldn’t have made a brigantine schooner if I wasn’t. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t embraced some technology that has swept like a hurricane through the boating world, particularly in the area of electronics.

Undoubtedly, many of these modern inventions have made boating much safer and more enjoyable, but they have also created a dependency on the gadgets themselves. Far too many boaters are failing to learn and use the methods that have served, and many times saved, seagoers for centuries.

GPS, without a doubt, is the greatest innovation in the past 40 years. It might rival the invention of the wheel. Even so, I still mark our paper charts every hour because, if power is lost, the chartplotter will conk out.

I still use a lot of other traditional sailing tools, too.

The Sextant

Only two satellites had been launched when we bought our first sailboat and set sail south, leaving England by the lee for our great Mediterranean adventure. There was a 12-hour delay in obtaining a position, which was not much use on a boat traveling at only 6 knots.

That’s why we learned celestial navigation with a sextant. I would take the sights, while my wife worked out the math and marked the chart. After four days of crossing the Bay of Biscay, we made landfall on the nail at Cape Finisterre on the tip of Spain. We felt a great deal of satisfaction in this achievement, and that same sextant still sits in its teak case on my latest boat, nearly 50 years later. Britannia’s sextant. There are other uses for a sextant as well, such as calculating the distance of an object like a lighthouse, but all have been superseded by the miraculously accurate GPS, with which we once navigated into the port of Oporto in Portugal in a dense fog and never hit anything either.

Still, if GPS failed the great majority of the boating public, I suppose they would pull out their mobile phones. They probably don’t even know what a sextant is.

Depth Gauges

My boat’s hull-mounted electrical depth gauge is nonfunctional at the moment, because of growth over the fitting. Britannia is also moored in the Intracoastal Waterway, which is shallow nearly everywhere and extremely shallow in some places. Some form of depth gauge is most advisable.

There are two substitutes for a depth gauge: a handheld, battery-powered device that’s a bit like an electric shaver and that needs to be held in the water to give a reading. On Britannia, this would need to be strapped to a boat hook to pass down over the 4-foot freeboard.

The other option is the classic lead line, which is accurate when set up and used properly, and can even tell you the nature of the bottom if you are about to anchor. And the beauty is, it’s never subject to power failure.

Bilge Pumps

Electric bilge pumps can automatically empty a bilge. They are ideal for a boat that is not regularly sailed, but the operative word again is electric. The boat’s batteries can run down, the pump can clog up, the float switch can fail to activate the pump, and so on.

As a backup, Britannia has a high-volume diaphragm pump operated from the cockpit. It empties a normal bilge level in a few manual strokes, and we often use it when we first get on the boat. It also has a manually activated 120-volt high-volume sump pump, which works from the dedicated generator battery.

A small bilge can also be emptied using a manual suction pump. And there’s always a bucket.

Steering

Most boats over a certain size have wheel steering, which usually communicates with the rudder by way of hydraulics. They’re easiest for manufacturers to install, and they only need an oil pump on the wheel, leading by hoses to a ram on the rudder stock.

Another method of steering uses cables running from a cog and chain on the wheel spindle through cables and pulleys to the rudder quadrant. Neither of these methods employs electricity, but they are not by any means failure-proof. Hydraulic fluid can leak out of the pump or the ram, and leaks can occur over time from badly installed pipes.

The pulleys needed for cable steering can corrode or jam from a lack of oil, but there is a certain peace of mind in knowing that a properly maintained cable system physically turns the rudder. And there’s always a tiller that acts directly onto the rudder stock, making it wise to have one aboard as a backup.

Autopilots

A hydraulic or electric autopilot needs an electrical supply. Hydraulic autopilots use an electric pump to circulate the fluid to operate the hydraulic ram that moves the rudder. There will also be a rudder angle gauge and a control box, also electrically powered. Britannia’s is an amazingly accurate device, and it has never failed yet.

But that’s because I treat my battery banks like a newborn baby, and I am conscious of power consumption when the autopilot is on but the engine is not.

Many cruising boats that ply the ocean trade winds use a wind vane mounted on the stern. It requires no auxiliary power whatsoever and keeps running forever—so long as there is wind.

Another backup that needs no power, except feeding from time to time, is called a helmsman.

Lighting

Britannia has LEDs, including for the long-range navigation lights. These LEDs use less than one-quarter of the power of a regular bulb and are just as bright, so long as the electrical power remains.

I have lived aboard with auxiliary oil lamps in the saloon and staterooms, in case of a power failure, but these lamps can be quite dirty if they’re trimmed too high or if they lack a heat shield over the flame, which can scorch the ceiling. They also require the storage of kerosene as fuel.

Charts

Paper charts are difficult to store and read in a cockpit, or on a small chart table. I still want them anyway.

On every ocean passage we make, the chart is spread out over the saloon table and marked every hour (more or less) with coordinates from the plotter. This will give us a fix if there is a glitch in the chartplotter.

It’s also a keepsake. Without such a record, a passage becomes just a means to an end with nothing to remember it by. Our most recent passage, 530 miles from Cape Canaveral, Florida, to North Carolina, is now a framed picture on our wall at home.

Fresh Water

Freshwater hose connections can be seen attached to many boats in marinas, especially if people are living aboard. Such a simple pedestal hookup has some advantages. The constant pressure saves using the boat’s water pump, and usually gives a greater and more even flow to faucets and showers. It also saves the batteries and is a silent operation.

But if a water pipe breaks or a connection fails, sure, the bilge switch would activate the pump, but the powerful rush of water would probably overpower the pump, with possible catastrophic results. This actually happened to me once. If we hadn’t come back within a few hours, the boat would have sunk.

I devised an idiot-proof (that would be me) backup using a water shutoff solenoid and a latching relay, which is just like a normal relay, except it stays activated even when the power source is removed. The solenoid is fitted in the boat’s inlet line and closes when the bilge switch activates it. Then, the latching relay keeps it closed, even when the bilge switch returns to an open circuit.

It’s a simple and worry-proof solution.

Parting Shot

Out on the water, especially on the open ocean, things can go wrong fast. Electronics and seawater don’t mix, and it is not possible to pull into a rest stop and call for assistance. It’s just plain common sense to have a backup available for the more important items, just like having oars attached to a dinghy in case the outboard fails. 

The post Buckets, Bilges and Backups appeared first on Cruising World.

Belgian skipper Quentin Debois has set a new world record for the fastest solo east-to-west Atlantic crossing, completing the passage from Cadiz, Spain, to San Salvador in the Bahamas in 24 days, 19 hours and 31 minutes. The time is subject to ratification by the World Sailing Speed Record Council.

Debois crossed the finish line at 6:30 UTC on January 31 aboard his Mini 6.50, beating the previous record by nearly six days. The mark had been held since April 2024, when Aina Bauza completed the same route in 30 days and 22 hours.

At 38, Debois becomes the first Belgian sailor to hold a world record for a solo transatlantic crossing. His run covered 4,466 nautical miles and combined disciplined weather routing, conservative sail management and steady mental focus over nearly 25 days at sea.

“I’m really happy with the performance, morale was excellent throughout the crossing,” Debois said. “This second transatlantic race confirms that this is the right thing for me. I gave it my all, keeping a cool head and enjoying every moment. Above all, it’s a team victory.”

Debois left Cadiz on January 6 and maintained consistently high averages across the Atlantic while following a carefully managed routing plan. His strategy focused on staying inside stable wind systems rather than chasing extreme pressure patterns, allowing him to preserve equipment and avoid prolonged light-air transitions.

The crossing was not without challenges. Two downwind sails were damaged, and the bowsprit suffered stress, but the boat remained fully functional throughout the passage. According to his team, careful sail handling and disciplined risk management were central to the successful outcome.

“What made the difference was Quentin’s consistent pace and his ability to stay focused over the long term,” said coach Quentin Droneau. “He managed to avoid too much damage, which means the boat was well prepared and he sailed cleanly.”

Routing support played a major role. Basile Rochut, Debois’ router, monitored weather systems throughout the crossing and helped guide the boat through complex ridge transitions.

“Quentin was very precise and always on time,” Rochut said. “His sailing was clean, error-free and clear-headed.”

Debois also credited his broader support team, which included a technical coach, mental coach, communications staff and project partners. For Debois, the record was less about individual performance and more about collective execution.

“This record is the result of a long-term collective effort based on shared values,” he said. “From preparing the boat to crossing the finish line, I benefited from the advice and support of my entire team.”

For long-range cruisers, Debois’ achievement offers a modern reminder that successful ocean passages rely less on maximum speed and more on disciplined decision-making, equipment preservation and mental resilience.

Debois is now looking ahead to his next challenge. In June, he plans to attempt the solo west-to-east North Atlantic record between New York and Lizard Point, a route generally considered faster but more demanding due to weather variability.

“I’m listing a few technical improvements to be made and starting to think about how we will choose the weather window,” Debois said. “This second crossing won’t be easy. It’s the North Atlantic.”

The post Quentin Debois Sets New Solo Atlantic Record appeared first on Cruising World.

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.

Sahula is kicking up her heels. Driven by a fresh westerly breeze, she eagerly surges through the cresting seas. With the yankee and staysail well eased, and two reefs in the mainsail, the speedometer shows 7.5 knots with frequent surges to 8. Occasional spray flies across the foredeck, turned to sparkling diamonds by the morning sun.

It is not often you get a 25-knot offshore breeze along Australia’s north Queensland coast. Normally the trade winds blow from the southeast, which means there can be up to a hundred miles of fetch to build up a sea. Combined with tidal currents that are often strong, the fresh southeast trade wind seas can be quite boisterous.

But today, with this offshore wind, the limited fetch between us and shore means easy sailing. There is one small downside to this: A line of large hills lies just a few miles inshore of us. The steep-sided valleys and ridges channel the wind, so it is not from a steady direction. Instead of putting the windvane in charge, one of us has to take the helm.

Ever since we lifted our anchor, my partner, David, has been steering. For three hours, he has been seated in his favorite position on the windward coaming, gently easing the wheel a few inches one way or the other to keep the 40-foot Van de Stadt cutter Sahula perfectly on course. He is grinning from ear to ear as he feels Sahula power through another gust. I am nestled happily onto the leeward cockpit bench, savoring every minute of this rare treat.

The miles tick off as the looming cliffs of Cape Cleveland grow ever closer. We only have 40 miles to go to reach today’s goal. We’ve got a fine wind, a good boat.

Only once did I move from where I have been comfortably watching the bow wave hissing by. That was when, halfway across the Bowling Green bight, I climbed below and boiled water for mid-morning tea. I cut two slices of David’s favorite fruitcake. As this fine morning flowed easily by, I was reminded of my first offshore sailing experience, one that my husband, Larry, carefully engineered exactly six decades ago.

On that early November evening, a warm, caressing offshore breeze soothed the ever-present northwest swells off the coast of Morro Bay in Southern California. The sweep of gaff sails outlined against sparkling skies competed for my attention with the green glow of bioluminescence in our wake.

Larry urged me to try my hand at the wheel. This was the first time I’d been more than 20 miles from shore. Agamemnon, a 36-foot Murray Peterson schooner, beam-reached along, creaming through the seas as only a schooner can, her blocks creaking, her bowsprit trying to kiss the waves.

At that time, Larry was working as a professional charter and delivery skipper while building his first cruising boat. We had known each other for six months. We’d spent more than five of those months living together. I’d been asking him to take me along when he delivered boats. Until this night, Larry had made excuses, limiting my sailing experiences to afternoons on various friends’ boats, or in the 7-foot sailing dinghy he’d helped me acquire as we worked together to build Seraffyn.

While we shared the midnight watch on board Agamemnon, Larry began showing me the finer points of steering with a wheel. Guided by him, I fought to keep my eyes on a star instead of constantly staring at the swinging compass card. When, only a short time later, I began to anticipate the schooner’s needs so I only had to make fine adjustments on the wheel, I began to wax poetical about the moment. Larry put his arm around me and said, “An old friend told me, you’ll go out 10 times and then it happens—a perfect sail—and you’ll keep going out nine times more to recapture that magic.”

It was a half dozen years and halfway around the world before I learned how carefully Larry had planned my introduction to his world.

We had just sailed into Poole, a town on the southern coast of England, and secured the boat at the quay. The main street in this small town runs right along the quay, so we’d become a bit  of a local attraction. A young man came by and struck up a conversation. Larry invited him on board, and soon, our visitor said, “I’m dead keen on going off to the Med. Wife’s willing to give it a try. It’s a long weekend and we’re headed out tomorrow for a test run across the channel to France. The forecast is pretty bleak—Force 5 or 6 headwinds.”

“I’d can that idea,” Larry said. “That’s how I ruined sailing for my first girlfriend. Got her wet, scared. Why don’t you just reach over to Cowes? Take your wife out somewhere special for dinner, spend a day exploring Cowes, then the next day, reach back home. Try to make it a fun holiday. That’s how I eased Lin into this life.”

I listened as Larry described not only my first overnighter on board Agamemnon, but also the other small ruses he used to lure me into his dream and keep me there until it metamorphosed into mine. The local sailor listened, too. He changed his weekend plans.

His wife came by a few days later. Her eyes twinkled as she told us of their “grand adventure” up the Solent to Cowes, a prelude to what became several years of successful cruising.

Today, as Sahula rushes northward toward Townsville, I realize that Larry was right. For every day like this one, many will be far more challenging, and some downright uncomfortable and difficult. Right now, we are enjoying dream sailing, but in the back of my mind is the awareness that in two or three months, when cyclones become a real threat, we will have to beat south away from the tropics. Then, there are bound to be days when I wonder why I willingly go to sea in small sailboats.

But at this moment, a moment of sailing perfection, I silently thank the man who eased me into what became a sailing addiction.  Then I turn to David and say, “My turn on the wheel. You need a break.”

He reluctantly changes places with me. I settle in behind the wheel and gradually begin to feel the rhythm that keeps Sahula moving at top speed.

Yes, this is a 1-in-10 day. And it is more than enough to keep me coming back for more.

After cruising more than 240,000 miles, US Sailing Hall of Fame inductee Lin Pardey is off to sea again. Her latest book, Passages: Cape Horn and Beyond, encourages folks to go simple, go small and go now. 

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In an Atlantic crossing, whether racing or cruising, the ocean rewards preparation, patience and sound judgment. As competitors ready themselves for the 2026 RORC Transatlantic Race from Lanzarote to Antigua, three of offshore sailing’s most accomplished navigators are studying the same weather systems that shape any east to west passage. Their approaches may be sharpened by competition, but the lessons translate directly to long range cruising.

Chris Jackson, RORC race officer and an eight time Atlantic crosser, sets the strategic backdrop. “On current forecasts the weather outlook for the RORC Transatlantic Race this year is looking good,” he said. The trades appear well established, with a lighter wind exit from the Canary Islands before settling into steadier downwind conditions farther west. For cruisers, that familiar pattern reinforces the value of patience early on, resisting the urge to force speed until the trades fully fill in.

Jackson also points to factors cruisers know well. Isolated squalls may pepper the course, and much of the route is shaping up as a VMG run close to the rhumb line rather than a deep dive south. For passagemakers, that underscores the importance of balancing miles sailed against comfort and consistency, not simply chasing stronger breeze.

Juan Vila, navigating the Carkeek 45 Ino Noir, brings a perspective that resonates strongly with cruising sailors. Having navigated everything from America’s Cup yachts to record setting maxis, Vila emphasizes that boat speed dictates strategy. “On a fast boat you sail from one weather system to the next,” he said. “On a smaller boat you wait for the weather to come to you, so positioning becomes far more important.”

That mindset mirrors the reality aboard many cruising boats. Rather than hunting distant forecasts, Vila focuses on medium-range models, currents and the evolving shape of the trades. His advice applies offshore as well. Study how wind belts shift day to day, watch current flow and be ready to adjust course slightly to stay in pressure. Flexibility matters. “That flexibility is huge,” Vila said, noting how VMG sailing early and efficient reaching later can make a meaningful difference.

Vila also stresses instinct. “When you are in island shadows or playing squalls, you trust what you see,” he said. Cruisers threading squall lines at night or managing acceleration zones downwind know that no model replaces eyes on the water and experience built over miles.

At the other end of the spectrum is Will Oxley aboard the Baltic 111 Raven, a yacht capable of sustaining speeds that most cruisers will never see. Yet his core principles remain familiar. “The fundamentals of routing don’t change,” Oxley said. “Every boat has a polar and you run routings against that.”

For cruisers, the takeaway is knowing your own boat. Understand realistic speeds loaded for passagemaking and factor sea state into decisions. Oxley routes to avoid rough water even if it means sailing farther. That tradeoff will sound familiar to any crew choosing comfort and safety over shaving a few hours off an ETA.

Oxley also highlights the importance of understanding weather data rather than simply consuming it. “You must understand why they are showing what they show,” he said. High resolution models are powerful tools, but interpretation and context remain critical. New AI-based models may extend forecast confidence, but judgment still matters most.

Miles Seddon’s world aboard the MOD70 Zoulou is defined by speed and immediacy, yet his insights echo classic seamanship. “It looks like getting into the trade winds quickly and avoiding a ridge of high pressure north of the rhumb line will be key,” he said. For cruisers, that reinforces the classic Atlantic goal of finding sustained pressure and staying out of light air traps.

Seddon emphasizes discipline at speed. “We set clear limits on wind strength and direction before maneuvers,” he said. Long distance cruisers may not jibe at 30 knots, but preplanning sail changes, squall tactics and rest schedules is just as important when shorthanded.

Across three very different boats and mindsets, a common thread emerges. Data informs decisions, but experience refines them. Whether waiting for the weather to arrive, protecting the boat in big seas or committing to a conservative line through uncertain forecasts, the Atlantic demands respect.

As the RORC Transatlantic fleet prepares to depart Lanzarote, us mortal cruisers watching from afar can take comfort in a familiar truth: The same trade winds, squalls and currents shape every crossing. The best outcomes come from patience and preparation, and making every decision with the long view in mind.

The post How Top Race Navigators Read the Atlantic and What Cruisers Can Learn appeared first on Cruising World.

The Cruising Club of America has named British sailor Pete Hill as the recipient of its 2025 Blue Water Medal, recognizing more than 50 years of long-distance voyaging defined by simplicity, self-reliance and a deep commitment to life at sea.

Established more than a century ago, the Blue Water Medal is the CCA’s highest honor, awarded for exceptional seamanship and adventure by amateur sailors. Hill, 75, joins a lineage that includes Bill Tilman, Bernard Moitessier, Eric and Susan Hiscock, and Sir Robin Knox-Johnston.

Hill was notified of the award while cruising in New Caledonia. “I am blown away by this,” he said. “This is such an honor.”

Over five decades, Hill has completed extensive ocean passages aboard a succession of small cruising sailboats, many of them built or heavily modified by his own hand. Central to his philosophy is the junk rig, a low-tech sail plan he has repeatedly proven across the world’s oceans. His approach has resonated with a community of sailors who value seaworthiness, repairability, and independence over complexity.

Hill’s offshore career began in the 1970s aboard a self-built 27-foot Wharram catamaran, which he sailed with his first wife, Annie, on a demanding North Atlantic circuit in 1975. The couple later built Badger, a 34-foot plywood dory, and cruised widely in both hemispheres, reaching from Greenland and arctic Norway south to the Falkland Islands, South Georgia, and Gough Island before returning north via Baffin Island and eventually sailing to Cape Town.

He later designed and built China Moon, a 38-foot junk-rigged catamaran, and spent five years cruising the high latitudes of the South Atlantic, including Cape Horn, the South Shetland Islands, Tristan da Cunha, and South Georgia. After selling the boat, Hill delivered her solo from Baltimore to Brazil in 41 days, then sailed nearly 10,000 nautical miles from Brazil to Tasmania with the new owner.

Hill also tested himself in organized ocean racing, finishing second but last in the 2006 Jester Challenge aboard a Kingfisher 22.

Subsequent projects included converting a Freedom 33 to a junk rig and cruising extensively in Brazil with his second wife, Carly, while contributing a multi-part cruising guide to Brazil for the Royal Cruising Club Pilotage Foundation. He later built Oryx, another junk-rigged catamaran, and crossed the South Atlantic from Brazil to Cape Town.

Hill’s life afloat has not been without tragedy. In 2015, Carly was lost overboard off South Africa. In the years that followed, Hill returned to sea alone, sailing singlehanded across the Indian Ocean to Mauritius and Australia.

During the pandemic, Hill and his partner, Linda Crew-Gee, built Kokachin, a junk-rigged schooner. Her first voyage included a North Atlantic crossing, cruising in the Caribbean, and a circumnavigation of Newfoundland. When China Moon unexpectedly came up for sale, Hill bought her back. After a refit in Tasmania, he and Crew-Gee departed for New Zealand in 2025, surviving a severe Tasman Sea storm that damaged the boat and required six days of continuous hand steering.

Hill and Crew-Gee are now cruising in the Pacific.

In honoring Hill, the CCA cited not only the scale of his voyages, but also his lifelong commitment to simple construction, practical seamanship, and boats designed to be understood and maintained by their owners. His career stands as a reminder that ocean cruising remains as much about judgment and resilience as technology.

More information on Hill’s boats and voyages can be found at junkrigventures.org.

The CCA also named five other 2025 award winners for their adventurous use of the seas, including Tamara Klink (Young Voyager Award); Philip “Greg” Velez (Rod Stephens Seamanship Trophy); Peter Willauer (Diana Russell Award); Christopher and Molly Barnes (Far Horizons Award); and Doug and Dale Bruce (Richard S. Nye Trophy).

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The call of the open Atlantic is about to get louder. On Tuesday, Jan. 6, Belgian skipper Quentin Debois is scheduled to depart Cadiz, Spain, on an ambitious solo attempt to break the world record for an east to west Atlantic crossing aboard a Mini 6.50.

Once Debois crosses the official starting line between Puerto Sherry and the port of Cadiz, an on-site commissioner from the World Sailing Speed Record Council will start the clock. From there, the course stretches roughly 4,500 miles to San Salvador in the Bahamas. To set the record, Debois must complete the crossing in under 30 days, a feat that would make him the first Belgian sailor to hold the solo Atlantic record in the Mini 6.50 class.

After arriving in Cadiz on Dec. 22 for final preparations and weather standby, Debois and his team now have the conditions they were waiting for. Forecasts show favorable winds toward the Canary Islands with seas of about 8 feet, conditions well suited to high-performance sailing. Strong trade winds are expected to allow a fast westward turn after the required passage to starboard of Gran Canaria, with an anticipated four-day run to the Canaries.

Farther offshore, conditions across the central Atlantic appear stable, setting the stage for an aggressive but calculated opening phase.

“I am completely ready and calm for the start,” Debois said. “My boat is also completely ready, checked down to the smallest detail. All that remains is to give the hull a final clean so seaweed does not slow the boat down, and to load the [30 gallons] of water I will need for the crossing.”

Though alone on board, Debois will not be sailing without support. Each day, he will check in with shore-based router Basile Rochut, who will analyze weather models and routing options.

“As soon as I set sail, I will check in every day with my router Basile Rochut, who will be my co-pilot from land,” Debois said. “The goal is to get off to the best possible start because we do not know what lies ahead.”

Rochut emphasized that the skipper remains firmly in command. “Every day, I will send Quentin routings and comments on the strategy,” he said. “Quentin will be able to view them, give his opinion and make his choices. It is always the skipper who makes the final decisions on board.”

Debois expects to hand steer between eight and 10 hours a day, using the autopilot only for short rest periods of about 20 minutes. Safety remains central to every decision.

“To succeed in this challenge, we want to stay close to areas of strong wind, but always within reasonable limits,” he said. “It is the good sailor who has the final say over the competitor. The first thing I have to think about is the safety of the boat and myself.”

While his target time is an ambitious 27 days, Debois is realistic about the variables. Technical reliability, human endurance, routing decisions and a measure of luck will all play decisive roles.

“I will be alone on the boat, but ocean racing is a real team sport,” Debois said. “If we break a record, it will be a team victory.”

Regardless of the outcome, Debois is already looking ahead. In June 2026, he plans a west to east Atlantic record attempt from New York to Lizard Point in England, a shorter but often more demanding route. Long term, he hopes these projects will form the foundation of a professional offshore racing career.

For now, the mission is simple. Cast off the dock lines, point the bow west and settle into the long rhythm of solo sailing across the Atlantic.

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The Blue Water Sailing Club’s (BWSC) Atlantic Canada Cruise 2024-2025 (ACC) was an unprecedented undertaking, a first of its kind in the club’s history. Four vessels—Going Merry (a Hallberg-Rassy 42), Grayling (Sabre 38), Truant (Southern Cross 31), and Avocet (Oyster 41)—set out from Boothbay Harbor, Maine, on August 15, 2024, immediately following the annual “Maine Cruise.” Despite the varying capabilities of the boats and the diverse experience levels of their captains and crews, not one captain had previously sailed their boat north of Halifax. The fleet was later joined by a fifth boat, Walkabout (a Sabre 38), in Baddeck, Nova Scotia, in June 2025. The expedition eventually concluded for Avocet in Boothbay Harbor on August 17, 2025, after a 49-hour sail from Halifax (Rogue’s Roost).

Truant was single-handed, more often double-handed and occasionally had three onboard. With a 25-foot waterline, Truant proved that many of our smaller BWSC boats, if sailed by inspired skippers, can manage this trip. Typical daily mileage was limited to usually not more than 25 nautical miles—and often considerably less daily mileage than previous Club trips to Nova Scotia and the Bay of Fundy. Alternating lay days and short legs appealed to many participants.

A number of things made the trip unique for the Club. The cruise was long. We sailed 2,200 nautical miles. We were at sea for 83 days. We saw 47 harbors. It spanned two summers. We went to three countries.

The Atlantic Canada Cruise (ACC) was an expedition-type club cruise. There were three overnight passages. The last passage (284 nautical miles) had two back-to-back overnights. Matinicus to Shelburne, N.S., St. Pierre to Sydney and Halifax to our various homeports. These passages made possible a detailed exploration of the Atlantic Coast of Nova Scotia, the Bras d’Or Lakes, the southern coast of Newfoundland including many of its magnificent fjords, several of the islands along Newfoundland’s southern coast including Burgeo and Ramea, and the French islands of Miquelon-St. Pierre.

Days off the boats were spent exploring these harbors and hiking in some really spectacular places. We were greeted warmly and with much curiosity everywhere—though many places were without a population or road access.

One fellow in Rose Blanche, eager to show us his way of life, took a few of us jigging for cod. The catch fed the entire group. These were fish you hook as soon as you drop the hook. So, we got equipped. In the fjords, birds perched high in the surrounding cliffs were answering my son’s cellphone bird-identification app. It was acoustically as impressive as listening to a concert in Carnegie Hall. And very remote. Our hiking teams, often exploring simultaneously different ridges, took handheld radios as help could only come from the anchored boats. Much of this was captured by Homer, which was our squadron’s only drone after the loss of its sister drone.

Nature was front and center. A small group of pilot whales repeatedly crossed within feet of our bows in 5- to 6-foot swells en route from Piccaire (Pink Bottom) to Brunette Island, Newfoundland. This was a different behavior than what I have seen crossing Georges Bank where larger groups of whales have flanked Avocet on both sides as if in a convoy. This was purposeful and playful activity by very large mammals. To finish that day at anchor at Brunette Island (en route to Fortune, Newfoundland), locals came over in their skiff, chatted it up, asked where we were from and gave us a bag of their freshly harvested scallops. They were the best scallops I have ever eaten. Caribou were grazing unperturbed on a hill in front of us at this spot. No roads. No bridges. No light pollution. Virtually no people. A few fishing huts. Elsewhere others in our group were given jars of moose meat and moose sausage. A delicious and unexpected appetizer for the group. Tasted like flank steak. Coming off the sea we were not quite tourists nor were we mere transients. The relationship was one of mutual interest and respect; we shared the sea. They were as curious about us as we were of them.

The composition of participants was another somewhat unique feature. For only five boats, there was an extraordinary number and mix of people of various ages, occupations and familial relation. By one estimate, 50 folks sailed various parts of the trip. Nine married couples. Three sets of brothers. Two sets of brother-sister pairs. A son. Cousins. Uncles. High school buddies. College buddies. New BWSC members. Old sailing friends. New relationships were made and old relationships were nourished. The different types of sailing permitted (and sometimes required) different sets of crew along the route. The number of participants coupled with the remoteness of many of our crew points in Newfoundland and parts of Nova Scotia added complexity to our crew changes and fresh faces to different legs. There was also continuity in the group. For three of our original four boats, many who crewed in 2024 returned to crew in 2025. One returning non-member crew sailed on two different boats.

The trip was organizationally unique. We were graciously given a pass by local Customs authorities in advance in regard to the statutory importation tax in Canada and departure requirements when overwintering. Canadian Customs officials have wide discretion. We also scheduled a departure from Canada and into France (St. Pierre) so as to re-new the one-year limitation period for Canada on re-entry. As it turned out, Customs would have granted us more than a year to clear out had we needed it. We were apparently deemed to be trustworthy guests.

The trip required a broader set of seamanship skills than our Club’s typical two-week cruises. These skills applied mostly to mechanical issues. One boat’s windlass fell through the deck and had to be re-bolted. Another boat’s windlass had electrical corrosion issues. An AIS transmit function required electrical work to get functioning.

The AIS transmit is an important safety capability when traveling at night and/or in the fog and especially in a group of boats. It is also handy when port authorities are trying to locate and manage your approach in no visibility conditions such as what we had going toward Port aux Basques. With lots of other traffic, there is not a lot of time for the traffic control officers to be plotting your exact position by digesting lengthy lat/long numbers given verbally over the radio.

Three engines had oil changes, which, in turn, unveiled a potentially serious issue relating to the exhaust system and decomposing air filter in one of our boats. A toilet pump in one of our boats required a call for tech support and an on the spot rebuild. In Burgeo, a boat’s anchor got stuck on a submerged pipe. To jimmy it free, a secondary trip line was secured and then winched from another boat’s primary. One boat developed engine starting issues relating to fuel intake. This was addressed eventually at Baddeck Marine as was another boat’s complete repower. There was also a transmission issue that was addressed on the fly.

Baddeck Marine is a wonderful place to winter over if you do the decommissioning work yourself. The yard forgot to winterize Avocet’s fresh water system. All plumbing fixtures, hoses and filters were replaced at the yard’s expense and without discussion. They are honest, friendly and hard working folks. Every yard makes mistakes. Not every yard covers the costs of those mistakes. Their rates were extremely reasonable. The town of Baddeck is on the Cabot Trail and is therefore a great place to spend the time necessary when hauling or launching.

The greatest perceived challenges turned out to be largely overblown. Anchoring was not a problem though heavy ground tackle was necessary. One boat upgraded their gear for 2025. Another boat passed on a few anchorages. Rafting up, splitting up, and/or tying stern to shore resolved matters in the few places that were tight. In Pink Bottom, three boats rafted up with a stern line and the other two boats moved on to alternate anchorages. More boats could have easily joined this trip.

Katabatic winds and fouled anchor rodes, referenced by Paul Trammell in his book, Sailing to Newfoundland: A Solo Exploration of the South Coast Fjords (2023), were never a problem—however Mr. Trammell, a newcomer to sailing, deserves all the credit for undertaking such a remote trip solo. Brave man. And without a windlass! He used an InReach device for tracking when he hiked.

Our group did have to hold position an extra night at anchor in Yankee Cove, Nova Scotia, in 2024 as we were in an extended small gale. In Francois, Newfoundland we tied to a dock for the night in winds which a local told me were gusting 60 to 65 knots. The wind was greater than I have previously experienced. This local fellow correctly advised before the wind hit that it would be pushed from the North to the Northwest by the cliffs—and he was correct.

Along the fjord coastline and in front of all the cliffs, this was a dangerous lee shore very close alongside and on our rhumb line heading east. On the most egregious day, only Truant (with my son aboard) took the conservative action and gained significant sea room. It would have been difficult to impossible to sail out of trouble had there been engine failure. Anchoring was not an option as water depth close to shore was too deep. This was an instance where sailing in a group actually added a measure of hope if not real safety since we had Going Merry and her 60-horsepower engine in close proximity for a tow.

There were similarities between the Nova Scotia and Newfoundland trips. Both areas are thinly populated and are stunning in physical beauty. Both summers had extraordinarily good weather: sun, little fog and almost no rain. There was so little rain in 2025 that Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, was under a no-campfire ban. At Liscombe Lodge in Nova Scotia folks were not permitted on the hiking trails. Warm air (cool nights) and warm water (in places). Bugs were not as bad as predicted. Provisioning was a snap. Canadians freely drove us around or lent their cars and trucks.

Differences between our Nova Scotia and Newfoundland trips were not immediately apparent in advance. We sailed Nova Scotia over 70% of the time. This sailing to motoring ratio was reversed in Newfoundland because of short, steep and confused swell in the Cabot Strait and along the southern coast. The Labrador Current, the Gulf Stream Current, the Atlantic Ocean Current and enormous fetch coming up against the cliffy fjord sections of Newfoundland created convergence, blocking, gap and funneling effects. Truly a bad combo. Leaving mid-August for Nova Scotia from Maine proved to be correct for better wind and less fog. Sailing west to east along the southern coast of Newfoundland (from Port aux Basques and Squid Hole to the Lampidoes Passage) was critical. Waves, wind and current were all against us if going the other way.

Entering and exiting Dingwall, Nova Scotia, was uneventful at high tide for Avocet. She draws 8 feet. Exiting Ingonish, Nova Scotia, was not so good. A narrow channel blocked by a lobster buoy in the middle offered a 50-50 choice—she bumped the bottom but got kudos for taking one for the team following astern. Another advantage to sailing in a group.

In two of the Newfoundland fjords (Hare Bay and Facheux Bay), fish farms combined with unrelated, very long, singular, and haphazardly placed floating lines made navigation sufficiently difficult to require assistance from the boats tending these farms. At night or in fog, these areas would be arguably non-navigable. Our group relayed this information to those behind. We closed quarters and filed through in a single row.

Our group of four boats sailed as a group in Nova Scotia in 2024. Our group of five boats in 2025 sailed as a group in Newfoundland. On the return from St. Pierre, France (8 nautical miles southwest of Newfoundland), decisions had to be made sailing against prevailing southwesterly winds and the group split. One group headed to Sydney two days ahead of schedule to catch favorable conditions on that overnight passage. One boat in the other group had a schedule to meet in Sydney; and, joined by another boat, departed St. Pierre on schedule but two days after the first group. This second group subsequently departed Sydney three days after the first group. One boat hauled for the winter in Baddeck. Another boat chose an accelerated route and schedule home. In Halifax, where three boats were joined, captains read the weather differently, as they did in St. Pierre, and made departure decisions accordingly.

It is essential in sailing passages that weather windows are paramount and that each captain makes his or her own departure choices. Crew meetings in both St. Pierre and Halifax were structured to ensure that this protocol was followed. This is not what happens in organized ocean races where a race committee makes the starting gun decision for the fleet. Although it is true that our group saw different things in terms of the forecasting, it is equally true to note that this was essentially a near coastal return where safe harbors are relatively close at hand. For this reason, a weather router, like Chris Parker, was not used though he did speak for us in a 2023 seminar on the trip.

For the Blue Water Sailing Club’s “CCC” (the Caribbean Challenge Cruise 2026-2027), the stakes are higher sailing Newport to Bermuda in November. Using Chris Parker will be helpful to everyone regardless of experience levels.

Although our captains could have called in their own weather router, they relied on their own resources, heard from all other captains and learned from the experience. Weather models do not always agree with each other. Without hands-on experience doing the weather routing part and sailing a few overnight passages, one has a disadvantage relying solely on another person’s opinions and advice.

What did I learn as trip leader? It is more fun to sail in a group.

If I were to do the trip again with the same northerly winds some of us enjoyed sailing south from St. Pierre, I would sail straight to Louisbourg and skip Sydney. Sailing home in prevailing southwesterly winds requires one to be opportunistic whenever there is a northerly component. Chris Parker, prior to this trip, put it starkly. It is easier to sail from Newfoundland to Bermuda than it is to sail Newfoundland to New England.

Louisbourg gets you farther south and is more direct than going through the Bras d’Or Lakes and St. Peter’s Canal. Sydney has about an 8-mile slog up the harbor which is long, out of the way; and it comes after an overnight passage. Baddeck is not a port of entry. Sailing to Louisbourg does mean that your crew skips the Bras d’Or Lakes, but our group of boats sailed the lakes in 2024 going to Newfoundland. The lakes are a thing of beauty—not to be missed. As awesome in their solitary splendor as the fjords in Newfoundland.

On the return along the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia, Avocet adopted several strategies. Sail early before the southwesterlies pick up, go short and stop early, and make more stops. Sail the rivers and inland bays on a beam reach like Country Harbor, Tor Bay (Webber Cove) and the beautiful and navigationally entertaining inner passages like Dover Island Passage. No rush.

The key to my kind of sailing is to find a way to do it all in cool, new places with the right mix of gunkholing, offshore passages and local exploration and to do it slowly, often with significant breaks in the action, with the right crew, friends and family. This trip has now introduced me to club cruising and it has elevated the experience. Those who join are like-minded folks who are excited about going. Hopefully, they have chosen the parts of the trip they will like. It is more rewarding to share it than it is to go solo.

About the Author: John Slingerland sails out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine on his Oyster 41, Avocet. A graduate of Middlebury College and a retired lawyer, he is presently Commodore of the Blue Water Sailing Club. John has recently completed a four-year circumnavigation of the North Atlantic Ocean and Western Mediterranean Sea. He has since led Blue Water Sailing Club members to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. Click here for information on joining the Blue Water Sailing Club or participating in its upcoming sailing adventure to the Caribbean. The Caribbean Challenge Cruise leaves Newport, Rhode Island, in November 2026 and returns from Grenada, via Sint Maarten and Bermuda, in April 2027. Review the short form itinerary and register for the trip here.

The post 5 Boats, 2,200 Miles: An Epic Atlantic Expedition Unveiled appeared first on Cruising World.

Ocean Posse has announced a new voluntary reporting arrangement designed to improve safety for private cruising boats transiting parts of the Caribbean and the Eastern Pacific. The program encourages offshore sailors to share basic voyage information before departing remote areas where vessel identification can be difficult.

The initiative focuses on passages beyond 12 nautical miles in the Eastern Pacific south or east of Huatulco Mexico and north of Ecuador as well as portions of the southern Caribbean. Ocean Posse says the goal is simple: help reduce the chance that an innocent cruising yacht could be misidentified while underway.

“Recreational sailors could become collateral damage in an environment where accurate vessel identification is increasingly difficult,” said Dietmar Petutschnig founder of Ocean Posse. “A properly filed float plan and an up-to-date vessel profile can make a meaningful difference during an unexpected encounter.”

At the core of the program is voluntary pre-departure communication. Captains are encouraged to update their vessel profile on MarineTraffic with current details and photos and to file a standard U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary float plan 48 to 72 hours before departure. That float plan is emailed to a dedicated humanitarian notification address so it can be referenced if needed during the voyage. Crews are also asked to confirm safe arrival at the end of the passage.

Ocean Posse emphasizes that participation is optional and designed as an added layer of situational awareness, not an enforcement process. Underway best practices include maintaining a continuous watch, monitoring VHF Channel 16, transmitting AIS when possible, clearly displaying a national ensign and responding promptly to any hails at sea.

The organization also highlights established rescue coordination contacts for family members and shore-side supporters should concerns arise during an offshore passage.

“This is not mandatory but it is the best layer of protection available right now,” Petutschnig said. “It provides clear confirmation that a vessel is a legitimate cruising yacht with a known itinerary.”

Ocean Posse says full instructions are available to members and the wider cruising community and encourages offshore sailors to review the guidance as part of routine passage planning.

The post Ocean Posse Launches Voluntary Safety Reporting for Offshore Cruisers appeared first on Cruising World.

Each fall, a familiar sight plays out along the US East Coast. Mastheads dip southward, cockpit canvas snaps in the first cool northerlies, and cruising sailors trade frost for turquoise water. The run from New England to the warm latitudes is not just a trip. It is a rite of passage, something between a seasonal escape and a seamanship masterclass.

Whether your winter destination is Florida, the Bahamas or deeper in the Caribbean, planning early and moving with intention can make your passage safer and a lot more enjoyable. Here is how experienced sailors approach the southern migration and what you can do to prepare your crew and boat.

Test your heavy-weather game at home

Before pointing the bow south, take your boat out in a solid breeze and practice. Reef early, shorten headsails, and get comfortable handling the boat when it is pressed. Try beating, reaching and running. Practice heaving-to. Hoist and tension your storm or staysail rig if you have one. Try your emergency tiller on multiple points of sail.

You do not need a gale. You need repetition. The goal is to uncover weak points in gear and confidence while you still have chandlers, riggers and parts close by. Veteran voyagers will tell you that nothing lowers offshore anxiety like knowing your reefing systems and steering backups work without hesitation.

Treat reefing as a daily tool

The boats that stay comfortable offshore are the ones that reef with purpose. Reefing is not about surrender. It is about flattening the main, reducing weather helm and locking in an easy motion when evening squalls roll through. If you have in-boom or single-line reefing, have a rigger inspect the run and remove twists before departure. Sail in moderate air and practice tying reefs and shaking them out until the process is smooth.

Rig a preventer you trust

A preventer system is cheap insurance against an accidental jibe when running in swells. Rig one end permanently forward, keep it ready to deploy, and rehearse the setup so there is no fumbling in the dark. Many experienced crews also run a reaching sheet for the genoa to open the slot and reduce chafe when broad reaching. Small rigging refinements can turn a rolling run into steady, fast downwind sailing.

Think ventilation, warmth and crew comfort

Early legs can be cold. One day you may be scraping frost off dock lines. A few days later you are rolling into Charleston in shorts. Make it easy for your crew to stay warm, dry and rested during the transition. Fit reliable dorades or opening hatches under a dodger so you can keep air moving when closed up in heavy weather. Offshore fatigue causes mistakes. Warm meals, sleeping bunks that hold you on heel, and a watch schedule with real rest time go a long way.

Pick the right route for your boat and timing

There is no single “right” way south. Boaters choose based on mast height, time, comfort level offshore and destination.

Popular approaches include:

Inside to Florida on the ICW

Ideal for boats that can clear bridges and want to stay inshore. The Intracoastal Waterway offers protection, services and shorter travel days. Watch tides, bridge timing and shoaling. Frosty mornings are temporary. By the time you hit St. Augustine, you will be peeling off layers.

Offshore hops to Charleston or Beaufort, then offshore to the trades

Many crews jump offshore in mid-Atlantic ports and work south-southeast until the easterlies fill in. This route avoids the worst North Atlantic gale belt and keeps the Gulf Stream crossing short.

Avoiding Bermuda on late-fall departures

Classic offshore voices warn that the November gamble to Bermuda often looks good on paper and bad on a weatherfax. Boats that cannot outrun fall systems may find themselves in the teeth of a front. Unless you are heading there early season or cruising slowly, most modern snowbirds skip Bermuda and head straight for lower latitudes.

Weather windows are shorter than you think

Modern routing tools are excellent, but long-range fall forecasts still expire fast. Look for a clean Gulf Stream crossing period and commit to conservative calls. A steady 15 to 20 knots over the quarter is cruising bliss. Thirty knots on the nose in cooling water is teaching you lessons you can learn in textbooks instead.

Experienced voyagers do not hunt perfect weather. They avoid bad weather, prepare for uncomfortable stretches and keep options open.

Fuel, spares and mechanical confidence

Heavy-air training is important, but there will also be quiet stretches when a low-rpm motor push keeps the schedule sane. Carry filters, belts and tools, and practice changing them underway. Clean fuel and reliable cooling belts matter just as much as a balanced sailplan.

If you have never changed a filter offshore on a heel, do it once before departure. Confidence in basic engine work removes stress when you need it most.

Crew matters more than electronics

One of the most repeated offshore truths: fatigue breaks boats and people. A couple with limited offshore time is wise to bring an experienced friend or paid skipper for the first run south. The learning curve is steep, but with the right help, you start the season confident instead of rattled.

Food helps too. Prepare a few hot, hearty meals in advance. When the boat is moving and the breeze builds, having stew or pasta sauce ready to heat keeps morale high.

Enjoy the ride and embrace the surprises

The great migration south is not just about palm trees and rum punches. It is about stories. Sometimes those stories involve warm trade-wind surges on the quarter. Sometimes they involve coaxing a frozen hose off a North Carolina dock at dawn. Either way, you remember them forever.

Prepare, sail smart and give yourself space for the unexpected. That is how you join the long tradition of cruisers who point the bow toward the tropics when the days turn short and the sea calls you forward.

Southbound Prep Checklist

Hands-On Sailor Quick Guide

Before You Cast Off

• Inspect rigging, chainplates, turnbuckles, and cotter pins
  
• Service winches and lubricate furlers
  
• Test and practice reefing under sail
  
• Install jacklines and inspect harnesses/tethers
  
• Confirm emergency tiller fits and functions
  
• Review ditch-bag gear and register EPIRB

Sails and Deck Gear

• Add or prep a staysail and removable inner stay
  
• Carry spare sheets, preventer lines, and chafe gear
  
• Inspect sails for weak stitching and UV damage
  
• Practice heaving-to and running off in heavy weather
  
• Secure anchors, dinghy, and deck gear for offshore

Mechanical & Electrical

• Change fuel filters; carry spares and belts
  
• Bleed fuel system and practice at sea
  
• Test bilge pumps and manual backup
  
• Verify alternator, batteries, and charging systems
  
• Inspect steering quadrant and cables

Safety & Navigation

• Update charts and nav software
  
• Confirm radar, AIS, and satellite comms
  
• Create daily radio schedule with a buddy boat
  
• Review abandon-ship plan and crew roles
  
• Practice man-overboard recovery

Provisioning & Comfort

• Pre-cook several heavy-weather meals
  
• Stock seasickness remedies and hydration supplies
  
• Ventilation scoops and fans ready for tropics
  
• Foul-weather layers, gloves, and handwarmers
  
• Warm-up line and hose if freezing temps possible

Weather & Routing

• Study Gulf Stream angle and eddies
  
• Track fronts and avoid early-season tropics
  
• Identify bail-out harbors and alternate routes
  
• Pick a departure window with light northerly push
  
• Plan conservative watches: 4-on/6-off ideal

Mindset

• You aren’t racing: comfort equals safety
  
• Slow down when tired or the sea builds
  
• Embrace the unexpected and enjoy the ride south

Pro Tip: Practice every critical evolution in home waters first. Offshore is no place to realize you don’t know where a wrench lives.

Rich Douglas is a lifelong cruiser who has logged thousands of miles between New England and the Caribbean aboard his 36-foot sloop, Island Time. When he’s ashore, you’ll likely find him tinkering with a new galley gadget or hunting down the best marina coffee on the East Coast.

The post The Southern Migration: Practical Tips for a Smooth Passage to Warmer Waters appeared first on Cruising World.