The 2nd annual Great Bay Beach & Boardwalk Jamboree will return to Philipsburg, Sint Maarten, on Saturday, January 31, 2026, bringing together sailors, locals, and visitors for a full afternoon of racing and island festivities.

The waterfront celebration will center around Great Bay, where the DIAM 24 fleet will take to the water for fast-paced, one-design racing close to shore. Spectators can enjoy front-row viewing at the Dutch Blonde Beach Bar from noon to 3 p.m., with live broadcasting, island music, and cold drinks on tap.

From 3 to 5:30 p.m., the focus shifts to friendly competition ashore with beach games including volleyball, tug of war, and cornhole. This year’s events and evening entertainment will be hosted by Seaview Beach Hotel, a longtime Philipsburg landmark that first opened in 1947. The boutique beachfront property will host prize giving and an evening celebration with happy hour specials, music, and dancing.

“Seaview’s location and hospitality make it the perfect home base for both racers and spectators,” event organizers said. “It’s a natural fit for the fun and energy of the Jamboree.”

Guests can enjoy Seaview’s poolside cabanas, on-site restaurants, and a convenient nearby market for provisioning before Sunday’s events. The hotel is also offering a special promotion that includes breakfast for Caribbean Multihull Challenge participants and Jamboree guests.

Now in its second year, the Great Bay Beach & Boardwalk Jamboree has quickly become a highlight of the Caribbean Multihull Challenge, celebrating sailing culture while connecting visiting racers with Sint Maarten’s local community and lively beach scene.For more details and registration information, visit caribbeanmultihullchallenge.com.

The post Great Bay Beach Jamboree Returns: What to Expect in 2026 appeared first on Cruising World.

It’s May, the end of another season in the Caribbean.

Antigua Classic and Sailing Week have come and gone; the boats have packed up and left. My boat is one of the only ones still at anchor in this harbor.

So, what now?

I’ve got to decide what to do with it for the summer.

Do I haul the boat out here? Or scoot down to Trinidad and haul it out there? Or make the long voyage north, back to New England? My insurance company may have something to say about all of this. What’s it going to cost me?

Haulout and storage for six months will cost at least $4,000. The trip back north is less than $1,000—and then I’ll have the boat with me all summer. If I stay aboard all summer in the islands, I save on hauling costs and can get work done on the boat, but there’s a risk: hurricanes.

Leaving the Boat in the Islands

I wouldn’t leave my boat in the water—on a mooring, at anchor, or tied to a slip in a Caribbean marina—for the summer, unattended. Not these days.

There was a time when I did. Back in the 1980s, Afaran, my Lord Nelson 41, spent five summers on her mooring in Great Cruz Bay, St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands.

When Hurricane Hugo took aim at the USVI in early September 1989, I flew down and moved the boat to Coral Bay. There, Afaran and I rode out 150-knot winds on two anchors. We survived—but 50 other boats around us didn’t. (That story was published in Cruising World last November.)

Six years later, in 1995, Afaran and I rode out Hurricane Luis on three anchors in Maho Bay, St. John. After that blow, I put her back on her mooring and flew home to Maine. Two weeks later, Hurricane Marilyn came roaring through the Virgin Islands as a Category 4. I was not aboard, and Afaran was a total loss. The only parts found were the mast, engine, and pieces of hull and deck—none larger than a refrigerator door.

Had I been aboard, I wouldn’t have stayed in Great Cruz Bay; I’d have moved the boat to a safer anchorage.

My next boat, Searcher, a Bowman 57 ketch, I owned and sailed for 14 years. But I made sure she was in Maine each summer.

That was 30 years ago. Since then, hurricanes have become more frequent and more intense. Insurance has gotten harder to find and more expensive.

My pal Larry, who has been chartering his 54-foot private yacht, The Dove, in the Caribbean for over 30 years, hauls out in Trinidad or sails to Maine and the Canadian Maritimes for the summer.

I need to do some serious thinking about the options.

Staying Aboard for the Summer

If I elected to remain aboard for the summer, I’d save the cost of a haulout. Risky, yes—but many cruisers do stay aboard all summer.

If I did, I’d be reading Don Street’s books and website for advice. Don, the guru of Caribbean sailing, passed away last year at age 92, but his guidance remains rock solid.

“With today’s more accurate forecasts, it’s safe to predict the tracks of hurricanes a few days ahead of their arrival. Two days are all a capable yacht needs to get out of the way. Two days put you 300 nautical miles north or south of the track. Forget about hurricane holes. There are none left,” he wrote.

Want more of Don’s sage advice? Visit street-iolaire.com.

Where to Summer Over

Where would I spend the summer while aboard, waiting for hurricane season to end?

St. Anne, Martinique, is a solid option. This charming village has a wide-open anchorage and sits in the middle of the island chain. From here, it’s 250 nautical miles to Sint Maarten, 350 to the BVIs, or 250 south to Trinidad.

A second option: anchor in one of the southern coves on Grenada. It’s just 36 hours—an overnight sail—to Trinidad if a hurricane threatens.

St. Anne is also near Le Marin, a major yachting center.

Preparing for a Summer in the Islands

Shade. If I’m staying aboard, I need shade! A full boat awning, from the mast aft to the stern—in white Sunbrella, please. Dark material transmits heat below; white reflects it. Even dirty white will do.

Bow deck awning? Yes, that too. And get the awnings fitted as rain catchers, with a hose leading to the deck water tank fitting.

Hauling Out in the Islands?

If you’re planning to haul your boat in the islands this summer, where?

I was going to write a full section on this, but Lexi Fisher, the new editor-in-chief of Chris Doyle’s Cruising Guide, beat me to it. Her detailed survey of islands, yards, and procedures appeared in the April edition of Caribbean Compass.

Here’s the link: caribbeancompass.com/hauling-out

Insurance

Dig out your insurance policy and read it. What are the geographic limits for hurricane season? What’s required if you haul out in the tropics?

Must the mast be removed? Is the keel buried in a pit? Are the jack stands welded? Is the boat tied down to ground anchors?

Do they want to see your written Named Storm Plan?

If so, call your agent and ask what the company requires. Do it now—months before a storm threatens. It’s a worthwhile piece of housework.

Sailing Back North

Another offshore voyage? Why not? You got the boat down here—just sail it back.

The spring passage north is far more enjoyable than a fall delivery. Gone are the cold fronts, the gales, the chill.

Fuel up, fill the tanks, and provision for a three-week voyage. A crew of three or four will do—or go it alone.

It’s about 900 nautical miles from Sint Maarten or the BVIs to Bermuda—five to seven days underway. It costs nothing to anchor on arrival, and a transit permit is just a few bucks. Rest, fix things, refuel, reprovision—then wait for a weather window to cross the Gulf Stream.

From Bermuda to Newport or Cape Henry at the mouth of the Chesapeake, it’s less than 700 miles—four to six days.

 To Wrap Up

Whatever you do, you’ve only got a few weeks to get the boat secured somewhere—or get out of town and above Cape Hatteras.

Good luck.

The post End-of-Season Options for Caribbean Cruisers appeared first on Cruising World.

Sailing my Lord Nelson 41, Afaran, from Maine down to the Caribbean each November and back again in May, my sole companion was the renowned French chef Pierre Franey—or rather his cookbook: The New York Times 60-Minute Gourmet. It’s more a storybook about food and the traditions of dining than just a collection of recipes. But Pierre’s book delivers on those too—each dish takes no more than 60 minutes to prepare.

The 60-Minute Gourmet was, and still is, a joy to read. It would occupy a good part of an afternoon watch as I scoured the pages for something to make for my solo dinner. What did I have aboard that could be adapted to one of his recipes?

Pierre came to New York City in the 1930s, a young French-trained chef, and ended up as executive chef at Le Pavillon. Soon after, he began writing a weekly column for The Times, which led to a collaboration with food critic Craig Claiborne on 10 cookbooks.

This famous chef helped me become more creative in the galley—and more resourceful. If I didn’t have cognac aboard, maybe a splash of rum would do. His Chicken Breasts Veronique with Curried Rice might become White Fish Veronique with garlic mashed potatoes. Out there in the middle of the Atlantic, 350 miles from the nearest market, I was forced to adapt and experiment. That led to many great discoveries—and a few disasters—but since I was alone, no one complained. I was building creativity and expanding my repertoire.

Meal preparation, I realized, can be a creative endeavor, like writing. You combine ingredients—or ideas—to create something whole. And if you do it well, your audience devours what you’ve made.

Few joys in life are better.

Another sailor/chef I’ve sailed with also imparted valuable lessons. Larry Taylor is a storyteller, yacht skipper, and hotel-trained chef. He’s been chartering The Dove, his 54-foot Crealock-designed sloop, in the Caribbean for more than 30 seasons, with side trips to Antarctica (twice) and Greenland (twice). He serves dinners aboard that rival any four-star restaurant ashore.

“Don’t scrape the chopped vegetables off the board with the sharp side of your knife,” he once told me, slapping the back of my head. “That’ll teach you. Same lesson my instructor gave me in hotel school. Use the back side of the knife. The knife is your best friend in the kitchen. Treat it with respect.”

That advice replays in my head every time I scrape chopped onions into a skillet.

I learned breadmaking from Larry. When I asked him for a recipe, he said he didn’t have one. “I’ve done this so many times, it just comes naturally.” Another Larry lesson: use real charcoal in the grill, not briquettes. It makes a difference—whether you’re cooking leg of lamb, mahi-mahi, or burgers. Finding real charcoal in the islands isn’t hard; most locals use the real stuff.

Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking is a good read, but her recipes are all-day affairs—and not well suited to the cramped confines of a boat’s galley.

I do keep a copy of Lin and Larry Pardey’s 400-plus-page book, The Care and Feeding of the Sailing Crew. It’s not just another cookbook—it’s a complete guide to how food fits into every voyage, from provisioning and meal planning to food storage, told with authority. The Pardeys circumnavigated the globe twice on small, engineless boats they built themselves—and authored eight more books along the way.

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”

Bequia to Carriacou on Strider

Meal prep is hard enough in a small boat’s galley. Add in limited provisioning ashore, and the cook’s creativity is really tested.

“What’s in there?” I asked Richard, who was half buried inside the freezer chest at Knight’s Market in Port Elizabeth, on Bequia.

“Frozen pork chops and some chicken legs,” he mumbled.

“No hamburger?”

He didn’t answer but emerged with two packets of frozen chicken and two of pork chops.

“These’ll have to do,” he said. “That’ll give us dinner for four nights.”

Richard and I were provisioning for a sail down to Tobago Cays and Carriacou. He’d been sailing his 44-foot Reliant sloop, Strider, south through the islands most of the 2024 season, solo. I’d flown down to help him sail back north to Antigua for the Classic Yacht Regatta in late April.

Provisioning a yacht in the Caribbean can frustrating and expensive. In some places, you might visit three or four small markets and still only find half of what you want. The rule here: forget the shopping list. Go ashore, see what’s available, then decide what’s for dinner once you’re back aboard.

These islands are the last stop in a long supply chain. Islanders make do with what’s available. Most West Indian meals are little more than rice and black beans.

Thankfully, there’s no shortage of fresh fruits and vegetables. Much of it is locally grown, and the rest arrives daily from larger islands. You’ll find a dozen fruit and vegetable stands on the streets of Port Elizabeth, some little more than a card table with pineapple, coconut, papaya, mango (in season), and pumpkin. Others have crates of produce.

Ten years ago, the open-air market near the fish dock was bustling. Last year, only one vendor was there. The others must have realized they could skip the rental fees and set up on the street instead.

On Back Street, Doris’ Fresh Food and Yacht Provisioning is a small, air-conditioned gourmet market with a lot of high-end groceries. She’s been there for decades, catering to on-island expats and visiting superyachts.

At Knight’s, we bought the basics: rum, tonic water, fruit juice (for rum punch), rice, canned tomatoes and beans, cereal, eggs, and whatever frozen meat we could find. They took my credit card. The fruit stand vendors, though, needed cash. We filled canvas bags with pineapple, bananas, nutmeg (for the rum punch), garlic, onions, peppers, potatoes, and mangoes. That would hold us for the week.

It took the better part of a day to sail south from Bequia to the Tobago Cays. By 4 p.m., we picked up a mooring in Clifton Harbor on Union Island. We’d leave the Grenadines tomorrow, bound for Carriacou, but first we’d clear out in the morning.

Late afternoon, time for a rum punch. Reclined on cockpit cushions, we sipped and watched the harbor unwind.

“What do you think we should do with two of those chicken legs?” Richard asked. He’d had enough of his own cooking and wanted fresh input.

“That large cast-iron skillet down there would be perfect for Chicken Cacciatore,” I said.

Richard and I are both one-pot sailors. Anything that can be cooked in a single pot or skillet is on the menu.

“Take that cast-iron skillet and cook the chicken. While that’s going, chop up an onion, two peppers, and some garlic. When the chicken’s done, take it out and sauté the vegetables in the same skillet. Boil up two cups of chicken bouillon. When the veggies are done, throw in two cups of that pineapple I cut up. It’ll give it a Caribbean twist. Add the chicken back in, pour in the broth, and let the whole thing simmer.”

No need for specifics. Richard knew how to cook—he just needed the idea.

“A splash of rum?” he asked.

“Can’t hurt.”

The post Feeding the Crew: Cooking Under Sail in the Caribbean appeared first on Cruising World.

A dinghy is indispensable. It’s like the family car. It’ll take you shopping, to the chandlery, and to the bars and restaurants. Dinghies are good for exploring shallow creeks, visiting other cruisers, and running out to set a second anchor in the middle of the night when the wind pipes up. A dinghy can even save the day if the engine fails and you need to tow your big boat out of danger.

My first dinghy was a plywood pram, 6 feet long, powered by two oars. I towed that thing behind my 34-foot Alden Barnacle sloop, Quinta, for 10 years. I had to tow it because there was no room on deck to stow it. That dinghy came by its naughty name, Little Bastard, for its pesky behavior of always getting in the way when docking.

The next dinghy, for my 41-foot sloop Fare-thee-Well, was an 8-foot aluminum skiff. It was also manually powered, but it had chocks on the cabin top for stowage. It was a pain to hoist aboard, invert and lash down. It also obscured visibility.

A string of inflatables came next, and I found them much easier to deal with. The first was a blue Achillies 8-foot roll-up. Its sole was three pieces of marine plywood that I’d remove after deflating the pontoons. The whole thing rolled and stowed in a bag, secured to the deck forward on the mast. I had that dinghy for 10 years. It was fitted with a 10-hp, two-stroke outboard that was enough to push my Lord Nelson 41 sloop, Afaran, 5 miles up Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island to a marina to replace the seawater pump on the BMW diesel engine.

Two more RIB dinghies followed, both made by AB, each one 10.5 feet long, and each one fitted with a 15-hp Yamaha. This arrangement was sufficient to tow my kids on a wakeboard and push my Bowman 57-foot ketch when the diesel engine was, well, not working.

Options on the Market

There are many types of dinghies available: lapstrake wooden peapods, traditional gigs, a plastic Portland Pudgy, an all-aluminum design, and a whole line of RIBs. They will all work, but the inflatables have advantages. They are more practical and are easier on the topside of the big boat. They can carry more gear and supplies, and they can go faster with a good-size outboard. They also are more stable, and if they’re swamped, they can still float.

I was at the Miami International Boat Show in February and spent an hour in the inflatables section. There were multiple manufacturers to choose among, including Achilles, AB, Highfield and Zodiac. One model was a newer version of the 10.5-foot AB dinghies I’ve owned for 30 years, but with the option of an aluminum hull and a larger bow locker to accommodate the gas tank, with the hose run through the double hull to the stern. Nice and neat.

True Kit USA showcased roll-up inflatable boats from 7 to 11.5 feet long, each with a catamaran hull design. The boat rides on the pontoons, and the sole is above the water. The weight of these dinghies impressed me. The Discovery 330—at 10 feet, 10 inches long with a 5.5-foot beam—weighs in at 88 pounds and has a price tag of $2,100. It can accommodate a 1-hp engine and carry four adults. With an aluminum transom, the entire boat, including the bottom, can be deflated, rolled up and stowed on or below deck.

EZRaft, a Netherlands company, has a 10.5-foot inflatable roll-up model that weighs just 34 pounds and lists for $1,690. Availability right now is outside the United States.

GoDu has a line of inflatable-type boats made of aluminum with no fabric pontoons. The 10.5-foot model weighs in at 168 pounds with a $9,000 price tag. It’s another $1,400 for shipping within the United States.

Many of the RIBs I saw came with center consoles. Sure, it may be more fun to sit behind a steering wheel than on a pontoon, but a dinghy is for practical use—ferrying people, groceries, duffels, fuel and water tanks, and diving gear. I think these center-console dinghies are best for people doing things other than long-distance cruising.

Outboard Engines

No matter which dinghy you buy, my big advice about the outboard engine is to get one large enough to push your big boat out of trouble, into an anchorage or up to a dock.

Towing is not as efficient as a “hip tow,” which is when you lash the RIB to the starboard quarter of your big boat, with fore and aft lines, and secure the outboard’s tiller amidships. The outboard then provides the power, and you steer with the big boat’s helm. A RIB is also handy when you need help maneuvering your big boat into a narrow slip.

A 15-hp outboard was all we ever needed to get on a plane with four of us aboard. It was also sufficient power to tow the kids on a wakeboard or water skis. The 15-hp outboard also got us around harbors at a good clip, allowing the four of us to go off on long expeditions to distant beaches and hiking trails.

Dinghy Maintenance

RIB fabrics wear out as much from the sun’s ultraviolet rays as they do from use, so fitting fabric “chaps” may extend the useful life of a new dinghy. These chaps also look nice. West Marine sells them for around $900.

After a month or two in the Caribbean, a dinghy’s bottom may need a good cleaning. Yes, there is antifouling paint for inflatables, but it will wear off.

Another option is to take the dinghy ashore to a vacant beach, remove the engine and all the gear, drag the RIB up on the beach, and flip it over. Spray the bottom’s slime and growth with a mixture of bleach and water, and then scrape and scrub, rinsing frequently with buckets of seawater. The process usually takes less than an hour to complete.

Dinghy Stowage

We always towed our dinghy if we were motoring down the lee of bigger islands. But for scooting between islands, it’s better to haul the dinghy on deck. The trade winds and seas in the open ocean can play havoc with a towed dinghy.

My advice is to hoist the dinghy on deck and secure it, engine and all, forward of the mast. On long offshore voyages, stow it upside down with the engine removed.

Our Bowman 57, Searcher, had deck space abaft the mizzen mast to stow our 10.5 AB dinghy upright and covered. If your big boat is actually too small to accommodate a dinghy on deck, then a roll-up model is the answer. Another good option to consider in that category is the 3D Tender, which has models available in the islands of the French West Indies.

Dinghy Security

It’s important to haul your dinghy out of the water at night, even if it’s just up along the topsides, hoisted with a masthead halyard.

Ashore, usee a stout chain and keyed paddle lock to secure your dinghy to the dock. Don’t use a combination lock, which is impossible to see at night. At a beach, carry a small anchor, chain and rode to secure your dinghy’s stern.

Also, fit your dinghy with a tracker in case it goes adrift or is stolen. I recommend the LandAirSea 54 GPS Tracker. It’s the size of a hockey puck, costs $10 and will update its location every three minutes if you get a $20 monthly subscription. It does need to be within range of a cellphone tower, though, so it is unable to upload its location from far out at sea.

Last but not least, have  backup plans. In addition to our well-used RIB, we also carried two kayaks and a windsurfing board. With these, the kids could go off exploring on their own—and we had another means to go ashore if we needed it.

The post Dinghy Shopping for Caribbean Cruising: What To Look For appeared first on Cruising World.

Richard Thomas and I were off Pigeon Beach in Falmouth Bay, Antigua, when we dropped the hook from his Reliance 44, Strider. I climbed into the dinghy with my sea bag and camera gear, and headed ashore to English Harbour, at the east end of the bay. We had arrived in time to join the final chapter in the 2024 Caribbean yacht racing season: the Antigua Classic Yacht Regatta and Antigua Sailing Week.

Richard was looking for a crew position on one of the classics. I was moving ashore to cover the two events. As usual, I’d be staying at Pineapple House, a cottage colony overlooking the superyacht docks at the Antigua Yacht Club. It’s a B&B in the heart of the action with the second B standing for booze.

Pineapple House’s hostess, Libby Nicholson, was whipping up a batch of punch for her late-afternoon soirée when we arrived. Libby grew up on this island, the granddaughter of Commander Vernon Edward Barling Nicholson, the chap who launched the concept of yacht chartering in 1950. Twenty years ago, Libby built a cottage for herself on a hillside overlooking Falmouth Bay. When a sailor asked to rent a room, she built more cottages. There are nine now, including the Great House and the Crew’s Quarter.

The front porch of the Great House was abuzz with guests, locals and a dozen sailors sitting on couches, on the railing, on the floor and in one another’s laps, sipping rum and chatting away. Capt. Colin Horton was there. He’s the skipper on Eros, a 115-foot classic schooner that would be racing in the regatta. Within minutes, Richard had procured himself a spot as foresail sheet trimmer on Eros. Colin signed up three additional sailors as crew, too.

This is one reason why people stay at the Crew’s Quarters at Pineapple House, with co-ed communal living for a half dozen people in twin and queen-size beds on the porch and in various alcoves. There are two shared bathrooms, an outdoor shower and a kitchen. The cottage sits on a hillside surrounded by a tropical garden where guests can pick mangoes off the trees. Larger and more private rooms increase the nightly rate from $65 to as much as $125.

Over at Nelson’s Dockyard, a restored 1700s British naval base, things were hopping. This is where all the classic yachts were docked. Crews were assembling, sails were bent on, and extra gear was being offloaded to lighten the 80-odd sloops, ketches and schooners. There were even some West Indian wooden workboats, which sail in their own class. 

These boats are the grand old ladies of bygone days, along with newer versions built in the tradition. Crews are an eclectic group of classic-boat lovers. “It not how fast you sail,” one owner told me. “It’s in what style.”

What constitutes a classic yacht for this event is a full keel with moderate to heavy displacement, built of wood or steel, and of traditional rig and appearance. Modern classics are monohulls built of any material with a modern underwater profile, such as fin keel and skeg rudder, and designed before 1988. Owners of one-off designs can also lobby the committee to join. Each of the 80- to 110-foot schooners need 10 to 20 savvy sailors to raise and trim the sails.

Owners of these yachts often return again and again for this event. One told me: “It’s the sun, the steady trade winds, the blue sky and warm, blue water that bring me back each year. This is my 12th Classic. Just being here, experiencing these elegant, well-maintained yachts, watching them power through the swells, the warm spray over the bow—what more could you ask for?”

Jane Combs, who, with her husband, Kenny, were instrumental in starting the Classic, told me a few years ago that “it’s more the boats than the race. The race is just an excuse to bring us and the boats together.” Some of the boats that people know on sight include Eros, along with the 65-foot Juno, the 72-foot Cassiopeia II, the 72-foot Ticonderga, the 74-foot Bolaro and the grand old lady, the 70-foot Galatea, built in 1899.

“The Classic is more laid-back, a bit more genteel,” one skipper told me. “The crews are not your gung-ho, team-bonding racer types.”

The first day of the four-day Classic includes the Concours d’Elegance. Judges step aboard each yacht to inspect the quality of the brightwork and the polish of brass, along with the marlinspike, seamanship, coiled lines and interior furnishings. Yachts that pass muster are rewarded with recognition and praise.

Most years, the first race is single-handed. Even the 100-foot-plus yachts get into the action. Crews are allowed aboard to raise the sails, and then they depart, leaving the skipper to steer, trim, tack, jibe and round the marks alone. One non-participant is allowed along for safety.

The waters off Falmouth and English Harbours are famous for predictable trade winds, blowing 15 to 20 under sunny skies with temperatures in the 80s. A few years ago, the trades were a bit boisterous, blowing closer to 30 and gusting to 35. Seas were 10 to 15 feet. No one came ashore dry. Last year, the first day of regular racing was more a drifting contest than a race, as there was little to no wind at all. But things returned to normal for the rest of the three days.

Action ashore at the end of each day’s race brings the crews together. Buckets of cold Red Stripe beer are plentiful, and English Harbour Rum, straight or with a splash of punch mix, livens up the retelling of the day’s stories and lies.

This year’s Antigua Classic begins April 16. The last day of racing and the Parade of Classics before the crowds at the Dockyard is scheduled for April 20. The following Monday is devoted to fun and games: a gig race in the inner harbor, a traditional English cream tea lawn party, prize-giving, dinner, music and dancing. Then, the classic fleet will pack up and head north, while the fleet of go-fast racing sleds begins to arrive.

Antigua Sailing Week

Antigua Sailing Week got started in the 1960s. It began as an informal competition among the charter schooners based in English Harbour. At first, it was a race down to Deshaies, on Guadeloupe, a beach party that night, and a race back to English Harbour the next day. These days, boats and crew come from around the world to join this six-day regatta.

There are five days of flat-out racing with a midweek lay day when crews compete in beach games and chill. There are a dozen divisions, all under Caribbean Sailing Association rules. Some people charter a standard bareboat and join in alongside the kitted-out boats with carbon sails and spinnakers.

This year, there will also be a Cruising Rally for liveaboards and bareboat charterers who want to have fun without the demands of competition. Each day will bring a different beach, cove or anchorage where cruisers can gather for a raft-up, shoreside activities and a potluck on the beach.

This year’s regatta begins on April 26 and runs for six days, wrapping on May 2 after five days of racing in a dozen classes over two different courses.

I can hardly wait.

The post Action in Antigua: Caribbean Racing Season Finale appeared first on Cruising World.

When it comes to finding teal-colored waters teeming with marine life, the Caribbean excels. The tri-island state of Grenada, Carriacou, and Petite Martinique might just have the edge over its neighbors, thanks to a flourishing marine protected area, strong local conservation efforts, and not one but two underwater art museums—not to mention more than 30 shipwrecks scattered around its shores. Over the years, these vessels have morphed into lush coral reefs, attracting eclectic marine life and earning Grenada the title of “Wreck Capital of the Caribbean.”

So whether you’re an experienced scuba diver or a keen snorkeler, be sure to check out these underwater sites next time you drop anchor here.

1. The Bianca C Shipwreck

To compare a wreck to the Titanic is a bold move, but this 600-foot-long cruise liner more than earns its “Titanic of the Caribbean” moniker. Not only is it the largest shipwreck in Grenada, but it has actually sunk twice—first near France in 1944 when German bombers struck, and again while docked in Grenada in 1961. An explosion in the boiler room set fire to the vessel, and while being towed away from the dock by a British frigate, the towline snapped, and the Bianca C sank to the seabed, coming to rest upright just a few miles offshore. Since then, it has transformed into a huge artificial reef, attracting nurse and reef sharks, groupers, and even barracuda. Though not penetrable, the vast remnants of this enormous wreck are fascinating enough; diving through its top-deck swimming pool is a truly surreal experience.

2. Underwater Sculpture Parks

The first of its kind in the world, the Molinere Underwater Sculpture Park is the brainchild of British sculptor Jason de Caires Taylor, who crafted 75 concrete statues in the likeness of local Grenadian community members. Opened in 2006, it is now one of the most popular snorkel and dive sites on the islands. Statues dot the seabed in various poses between 16 and 26 feet deep—a favorite is “The Lost Correspondent,” which depicts a man sitting at a desk with a typewriter, reading newspapers from the 1970s. Expect to see a variety of endemic fish in and around the statues, as well as a slipper lobster or two. Consider also heading to Carriacou, where a second underwater sculpture park, titled “A World Adrift,” opened last year. Thirty stainless steel, pH-neutral cement boats sit in the shallows, helmed by replicas of Grenadian schoolchildren, highlighting the nation’s prominent boat-building history.

3. Happy Valley

Ten minutes north of St. George’s, this beautiful reef wall is ideal for snorkelers and divers alike. Undulating between 20 and 90 feet deep, the reef begins with clusters of brown coral that stagger downward toward giant gorgonians. Swimmers will spot all kinds of tropical fish here, including yellowtail snappers, banded jawfish, and even shoals of baitfish—some lucky divers might even see a seahorse or two. A variety of corals, including elkhorn and staghorn, and sponges hide plenty of other macro life, as well as an encrusted Admiralty anchor, a relic from Grenada’s extensive maritime history.

4. HV Hema

Sunk during rough seas on a crossing to Trinidad, this 170-foot freighter met its fate three miles off Grenada’s south coast, where it found its final resting place 110 feet down. Since then, the vessel has been broken up by a series of hurricanes, but it’s still a must-visit site for wreck lovers. Its position offshore means that currents can be strong, attracting all manner of large pelagic life such as nurse sharks, which enjoy taking a nap in and around the wreck’s remains. Eagle rays and reef sharks also often make an appearance. Due to the currents and depth, this site is best suited to advanced divers.

5. Flamingo Bay

Well within Grenada’s Marine Protected Area, this flourishing reef is bursting with fish life. Depths here max out at 60 feet, but there’s plenty to see in the shallows, making it particularly popular with snorkelers. Expect to swim among creole wrasse, parrotfish, grouper, and squirrelfish, all of which dart between vibrant sponges and intricate corals. It’s also home to the flamingo tongue snail, a beautifully bright yellow and white-spotted sea snail whose shell is actually hidden beneath its colorful mantle. Once incredibly common, they’ve become rarer, so always look but don’t touch.

6. Face of the Devil

This scuba diving site has seriously cool credentials—after all, who doesn’t want to dive alongside an active underwater volcano? Kick ‘em Jenny is a striking seamount rising up from the seafloor five miles north of Grenada. It last erupted in 2017, but there’s no need to worry—the majority of its previous eruptions were only detectable by seismograph, meaning they were relatively small. Aside from the extra adrenaline rush of diving alongside a submerged volcanic mountain, this site is sure to thrill. A sheer rock wall stretches down to 100 feet, often offering up turtles and sharks alongside a plethora of gorgonians and golden sea sprays.

7. Purple Rain

Often cited as one of the most untouched reefs in Grenada, Purple Rain is a thrilling dive for a variety of reasons. First, its environment: The site gets its name from the abundance of creole wrasse that live above the coral garden, which engulf divers in bright blue and purple clouds as they explore the reef. Second, it’s a drift dive, meaning visitors are often swept along by the current, which is always an exhilarating experience. Lastly, the reef itself is supremely picturesque. Barrel sponges of every color dot the underwater terrain, attracting plentiful fish, including queen triggerfish and trunkfish, as well as rays and sometimes schooling barracuda.

Keen to start exploring? Become a certified scuba diver with PADI.

The post 7 Best Snorkeling and Scuba Diving Spots in Grenada appeared first on Cruising World.

“Fish On! Fish On!” 

It was a delightful early November morning. We were a few hours south of the Gulf Stream, 400 miles and two days out of Newport, Rhode Island, delivering Schatz Sea, a 54-foot Southerly cutter, south to St. Martin. Bermuda was still 250 miles and 36 hours ahead. We’d outrun the northerly gale, and now the wind was light with flat seas and blue skies. We were motoring.

At daybreak, the professional skipper aboard Schatz Sea and I had set out our fishing rigs. He was using a yo-yo, with the line attached to the leader and a plug. I’d set up a rod and reel with a day-glow squid on a 10-foot wire leader. Mid-morning, I was in the cockpit alone. The skipper and the boat’s owners were below having brunch. Off to port, my eye caught a splash. Black tails flashed above the surface. It could be only one thing on this flat sea: a school of tuna working a bait ball on the surface.

Bluefin tuna can be more than 300 pounds, far too big for our gear, and way too big to land on a small sailboat.

“A school of fish is out here!” I shouted down the companionway. Everybody raced up.

Then, it happened. The reel on the rod on the aft pushpit began to sing. I dashed aft, flipped off the clicker, tightened the drag, and began to reel in the line.

This was a big fish. I lifted the pole out of the bracket and placed the butt in my groin—delicately. Now, I could pump, lower the pole and wind in slack. Pump, reel, pump, reel. The crew gathered around. The skipper hauled his line on the yo-yo. No sense dealing with two fish. This one would be enough.

“Will someone put the boat in neutral?” I asked. “We’ll never get this fish aboard going at this speed.”

I was having a ball, pumping and reeling, the fish taking off on a run, stripping line. Then I realized this should be the boat owner’s opportunity. It was his pole.

“Here,” I told him. “Take this. It’s your fish.”

My first paid job at sea was as the mate on a sport-fishing boat out of Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts. I was 24 and had just left college. My job was to keep the boat clean. Each morning, as we sped south to the Dumping Ground seeking swordfish, I made up the trawls: a string of three squid on a 10-foot stainless steel wire leader, with a hook embedded in each squid. We deployed four lines: two off the stern, port and starboard, with two more from the outriggers.

Men paid a lot of money to spend the day aboard Gladiator, our 36-foot sport-fishing yacht. If a fish hit a line attached to one of the outriggers, you could hear the clip snap. That gave me enough time to set up the reel and get one of the paying guests into the fighting chair. I’d set the butt of the pole in a cup in the chair between his legs, the reel squealing as the fish stripped off line. I would also strap a harness around the guest’s back and clip it to the reel.

The guy was always in for a fight of a lifetime. Pump, reel, pump, reel, tighten the brake. We could fight that fish all afternoon, or so it seemed, but it was rarely more than 20 minutes. The fish would leap 5 or 10 feet into the air, trying to shake the hook. The fight would wear out both fish and man. 

Back on Schatz Sea, similar drama was getting intense. After 15 minutes of fighting that fish, the boat’s owner managed to bring the line and the fish up to the stern. It was a yellowfin tuna, 20 pounds or more and still full of fight.

The skipper got hold of the leader, and I passed him a length of cord to create a lasso around the wire, which he slipped down over the fish to take up as a tail rope. The boat’s owner could relax now; the fish wasn’t getting away.

We hauled it onto the aft deck, and a drizzle of rum in the gills quieted it down immediately. Now, we could get on with the job of dressing our fish for dinner. We were still dining on that tuna four days later in Bermuda.

Offshore, from the Gulf Stream south to the islands, I always drag a fishing line or two astern. The voyage can take a couple weeks. Fishing passes the time and lands fresh food for the table. Sailing along at less than 8 knots, there’s a good chance we’ll catch something: yellowfin tuna, mahi-mahi, wahoo.

Rod and reel or a yo-yo makes little difference. While a yo-yo is a great deal cheaper to acquire, a good offshore rod and reel make for a lot more fun as you fight a fish. Sailors on an offshore delivery are fishing for dinner, so keep it as simple as possible.

An offshore rod-and-reel combo can set you back $1,000, but $400 or even a used rig at $200 will do just fine. You could spend more at the store buying fish.

A simple yo-yo reel is all you need to get started, and a pair of leather gloves. You’ll be hauling in your dinner, hand over hand. Buy a reel of 80-pound test monofilament line. To that, add 20 feet of 100-pound test stainless steel leader wire, a package of colorful squid-looking lures, a package of 11/0 hooks, a half dozen 2-ounce lead barrel weights, a handful of swivel clips and a 6-foot length of shock cord.

You’ll need wire cutters and pliers, but a standard multitool should do. Oh, and buy extra line, hooks, wire and lures, as you’ll be losing a few underway.

To make up a trawl, snip off 10 feet of wire, enough to reach from the deck to the water when standing at the stern. You’ll need this because if you attempt to lift a 15-pound fish out of the water by the leader, the hook is likely to break free, and you’ll lose your fish. Keep the fish in the water and bring it aboard with a net or gaff. Better yet, lift the fish out with a tail rope.

At one end of the wire, create an eye or loop. Bending and tying a loop or eye in the end of a wire takes some skill, but you’ll get the hang of it. After creating an eye, twist the bitter end of the wire around the stranding end a half dozen times, and then bend the loose end back and forth with pliers until it snaps off. This creates a smooth finish so the eye won’t snag your hand. This eye will be attached to a swivel clip at the end of the monofilament line.

Feed the other end of the wire through the head of the lure, through one of the weights, and tuck the weight into the head of the lure. Attach the bitter end to the hook with a similar eye as before. This system is adequate for most of the fish you’ll want to catch when underway: 10 to 20 pounds of fish.

To troll, run out enough line so the lure rides far enough aft to be out of the boat’s wake turbulence. If you are using a rod and reel, secure the setup to the yacht with a safety line. Set the rod in a pole bracket on the aft rail. Adjust the drag on the reel so it strips line with a 5-pound pull. Make sure the clicker is on so you’ll hear the reel when a fish hits.

If you’re using a yo-yo, let out adequate line, tie the reel of the aft rail, make a loop knot in the line, and secure it to one end of the shock cord. Tie the other end to the rail. Let out enough slack line so the shock cord takes up the strain on the fishing line astern. This gives the line enough slack so the hook has time to set. 

Gloves will be handy. So will a net, a gaff or a tail rope that can be clipped around the leader and worked down and around the fish to snug up around its tail.

If the fish is still full of life, drag it by the tail for a while. If you get a fish aboard and it’s flopping around, pour a dram of rum into its gills, and it’ll quiet down. A sharp fillet knife will come in handy for dressing out your catch. This is a bloody operation, so buckets of seawater will be needed to sluice off the deck.

The post Rod, Reel and Rum: The Pillars of Fishing Underway appeared first on Cruising World.

Dinghies vanish in the night, leaving sailors stranded and furious. Whether it’s ransom demands or an engine gone missing, dinghy theft has become a costly headache in the Islands. But what if there were a way to outsmart the thieves? After some research and a quick test run, I found a simple, effective solution—and it works.

The obvious way to protect a dinghy from being stolen is to haul it out of the water on a halyard. When ashore, secure it to the dinghy dock with a stout chain and a robust lock—but then the thieves may just make off with the engine or the gas tank.

Another solution is to fit your dinghy with a tracker—one that will show you, on a map on your smartphone, where your dinghy has gone.

The Apple AirTag is one such device, but it has its shortcomings. It requires a Bluetooth connection to relay its location to your iPhone. If there are no smartphones nearby, there’s no signal and no tracking. If the thieves have a phone with Bluetooth enabled, they can detect the tracker, locate it, and throw it overboard—that is, if they’re smart enough.

So, the AirTag isn’t the answer. What’s needed is a GPS tracker. I found the LandAirSea 54 online. Since it only cost $10 on Amazon, I bought one. The LandAirSea.com website has plenty of useful information and subscription options. A month-to-month subscription is $20 for an upload ping every three minutes, or just $10 per month on a two-year contract.

The device itself is about the size of a hockey puck—small enough to hold in your hand. It came with a USB charging cable and a small tool for turning it on and off. It has a built-in magnet for attaching to cars and trucks. The 54 is waterproof and primarily designed for commercial vehicle fleets so businesses can track their trucks and cabs. If you want real-time tracking, you can upgrade to a subscription with more frequent updates, down to every few seconds.

I downloaded the app onto my iPhone, registered my tracker, and signed up for the one-month plan. To test it out, I stuck it on a friend’s dinghy and found it a day later. It hadn’t been stolen—the owner had simply moved it to another dock. But it worked, and it was more accurate than the Find My app on my iPhone.

There’s also a “fence” option on the app. You can draw a box around an area on the map, and the 54 will alert you if the tracker moves outside that boundary.

As for mounting it on your dinghy, don’t put it on top of the engine where it can be seen. Don’t mount it inside the engine cover, as the tracker needs to stay cool. Hide it under the seat or in the bow locker. I tried attaching it to the engine mounting bracket, but the tracker’s magnet didn’t find a good spot, so I stashed it in the PFD bag.

This tracker is secure—no one will be able to track your tracker. It doesn’t rely on WiFi or Bluetooth; it uses a GPS link, which works anywhere. The battery lasts up to six months on the three-minute uplink mode, and an accessory wiring harness is available to power the tracker via the dinghy’s battery.

There may be other GPS trackers out there, but for $10 upfront and $20 per month for the few months I’d need it, this seems like a cost-effective alternative to paying thieves a $500 ransom to get my dinghy back.

Now, if only we could get the local constabulary to accompany us when we confront the thieves, we might help reduce the number of dinghy thefts altogether.

Postscript: The author has never had a dinghy stolen but has had one or two go adrift—from improper cleating.

The post Dinghy Defense 101 appeared first on Cruising World.

Antigua Sailing Week is expanding its offerings with the launch of the Antigua Cruising Rally, a new event designed for sailors who prefer a relaxed, scenic sailing experience over high-intensity racing. Running alongside the renowned regatta, this inaugural rally invites participants to explore Antigua’s breathtaking coastline at a leisurely pace.

Tailored for cruising enthusiasts, the rally features a curated seven-day itinerary, highlighting the island’s pristine beaches, secluded anchorages, and vibrant sailing culture. The route begins and ends in Falmouth and English Harbors, with three scheduled beach stopovers along the way. To ensure participants can still enjoy Antigua Sailing Week’s signature festivities, the rally will return to Falmouth Harbour midweek for Reggae in the Park and Lay Day celebrations.

Unlike a traditional race, the Antigua Cruising Rally encourages seasoned sailors to bring along family and friends who may not typically compete. Later start times, daily challenges, and optional time trials will add an element of fun while maintaining the relaxed atmosphere. Crews can choose to unwind onboard or join organized activities ashore each evening. A dedicated rally team will provide logistical support, safety guidance, and local expertise throughout the event.

With this new addition, Antigua Sailing Week continues its legacy of world-class sailing while embracing the simplicity of point-to-point cruising and laid-back beachside celebrations.

Registration for the Antigua Cruising Rally is now open, with a final entry deadline of 6 p.m. on Wednesday, April 23, 2025.

For more information or to enter, visit www.sailingweek.com. For inquiries, email cd@sailingweek.com.

About Antigua Sailing Week

One of the Caribbean’s longest-running regattas, Antigua Sailing Week takes place annually at the end of April. The 56th edition will kick off with the Peters & May Round Antigua Race on Saturday, April 26, 2025, followed by five days of competitive racing along Antigua’s rugged south coast, concluding on Friday, May 2, 2025. Known for its thrilling on-water action and lively social scene, the event also offers parties, concerts, and spectator-friendly experiences.

“We are excited to welcome cruisers into the Antigua Sailing Week family through this new rally,” said Alison Sly-Adams, President of Antigua Sailing Week. “This event is about embracing the joy of sailing, creating unforgettable memories, and celebrating the incredible beauty of the island.”

For more details, news, photos, videos, and race results, visit www.sailingweek.com.

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Searcher, our Bowman 57 ketch, was anchored off the Hermitage Resort in Five Island Bay, Antigua—a perfect day for a swim, some boat work, and a nap. But my wife had other plans. Her authoritative voice announced, “It’s laundry day.”

“Didn’t we just have one of those a few days ago?” I asked. My wife, however, paid no heed. “You’ll wear out the clothes faster from washing them than from wearing them,” I tried, hoping to avoid what had become an all-morning exercise. She’s English—and a compulsive clothes washer.

Living full-time on a boat in the tropics with two pre-teen kids means there’s a lot of laundry. Towels, sheets, t-shirts, shorts, and bits of cloth I never knew existed fill a sail bag.

There are several ways to tackle laundry down here in the islands:

1. Do it yourself in a boat bucket.
2. Drop it off with one of the nice ladies ashore who will wash, dry, and fold it for you.
3. Find a DIY laundry where you do it yourself.
4. Use your onboard laundry if you have one. Many newer, plush yachts come with built-in washer-dryers.
   

Searcher, already 30 years old, didn’t come with a built-in laundry. Before we left Maine on this Caribbean sabbatical, Julie, the laundry queen, discovered we could bring one along. Through RV magazines and websites, she learned how people in camper-vans handle their laundry

On Laundry Day, the cockpit becomes a DIY laundromat. Out came a small, manually operated washing machine, two large rinse tubs, and an electric spin dryer. The washer is a small, white plastic drum about the size of a 5-gallon gas can, sitting within a frame. It looks like R2-D2. The drum accommodates a sheet and two pillowcases, two towels, or three pairs of shorts—one batch at a time. Add a quarter cup of laundry soap, a gallon of fresh water, screw on the top, and set our son to spinning the drum for five minutes.

Drain the wash water, wring out the soaking wet laundry, and drop it into the first rinse tub. While our son Havana gets ready for the next load, our daughter Ren is busy sloshing the first batch in fresh water. We had two plastic rinse tubs, each the size of a bushel basket.

After a few minutes of sloshing, Ren hands the wrung clothes to Julie, who puts them into the spinner. This electric device does a great job of spinning the wet clothes nearly dry. But since it uses 110V AC power, I fire up the generator. Once spun, the clothes go into a second rinse tub and back into the spinner for a final whirl.

The science behind this is simple: salt from the sea and perspiration must be thoroughly washed and rinsed out. With Havana handling the R2D2 washer, Ren in charge of the rinse cycles, and Julie manning the spinner, there’s little for me to do except observe. As a journalist, I’m trained to observe, record, and not interfere.

When the morning’s pile of damp laundry is done, we pin it to the lifelines to dry. The sun and breeze take care of the rest, drying everything in under an hour, thanks to the spinner’s hard work. Air-drying is preferred over machine drying; the sun and breeze do a better job of purifying the clothes.

Laundry Ashore

Finding a laundry ashore in the Caribbean can be a hit or miss. Marinas or boatyards might have one, or they may point you to a local laundress. You can use the Doyle Guide App to search for “laundry,” but the “nice ladies down the road” aren’t always listed. For example, Sam and Dave’s Laundry in English Harbour, which has been doing yacht laundry for 20 years, wasn’t listed until I added them to the app.

On Bequia, Daffodils on the northwest side of the harbor offers laundry service with pickup and delivery to your boat.

For advice, I turn to local knowledge. My friend Larry Tyler, skipper of The Dove, has been chartering in the Caribbean for over 30 years, so I asked him. He recommended the following:

“While dropping off and picking up guests on St. Vincent, we use Charlie Tango, who also rents moorings at Young Island Cut. In Grenada, we use Henry Safari. There’s a DIY laundry in Le Marine on Martinique, and in Marigot on St. Martin, there are several DIY laundries.”

Years ago, while spending Christmas anchored in Deshaies, a small harbor on the northwest tip of Guadeloupe, we needed to do laundry. Ashore, the village offered many restaurants, two markets, a farmer’s stand, and a pâtisserie—but no yacht services or laundromats. After consulting with local shop owners, Julie discovered the closest laundromat was miles away, in a village down the coast.

In a rental car, we set off in search of this DIY laundry, spending the afternoon in a modern, coin-operated laundromat—doing what cruising sailors love to do—laundry.

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