The outgoing tide shot us through the narrow pass at 10 knots, spitting our C&C 43 into the beatific blue of the South Pacific. We’d just spent a few days anchored inside the tiny atoll of Kauehi, 100 miles northeast of Tahiti in French Polynesia’s Tuamotus archipelago, to recover from a five-day passage from the Marquesas Islands. We were heading to a bigger atoll to replenish provisions.

But first, my husband, Rob, and I had a request of our captain: Let us jump overboard.

He thought we were nuts. There were no boats in sight. No people for miles. Just the endless expanse of the Pacific ahead and 3,000 feet of water under our keel.

Plus, one of the biggest feeding frenzies on Earth was about to begin.

Hundreds of sharks congregate each June in the Tuamotus’ passes to prey on the thousands of grouper that arrive to spawn on the reefs. Under a full moon near the winter solstice, these coral-dwelling fish release a terrific cloud of sperm and eggs in unison. The sharks swoop in to pick off the distracted grouper.

Rob wanted to witness the frenzy. He loved sharks, along with wild places full of animals wilder than himself. I, on the other hand, was terrified of sharing space with sharp-toothed predators.

Every sailor I know has one fear that outweighs all the others (because, let’s be ­honest, there are plenty of rational fears that go hand in hand with setting out across large oceans on small boats). One friend is petrified of running aground. Another refuses to anchor anywhere that sea snakes slither. One loses sleep over how to handle storms at sea.

When we set out to cross the Pacific, I wasn’t really worried about rogue waves or lightning. I wasn’t overly concerned about doldrums or underwater reefs. But my stomach twisted into gnarly knots when I thought about seeing a shark while snorkeling.

Let me back up: Crossing the ocean had been my idea. It took root when I was a little girl listening to my dad tell stories about delivering a yacht from Hawaii to California. He told me about pilot whales that nearly rammed the boat. About swinging out over the sea with a line tangled around his ankle, a gust shaking him like a rag doll over the deck. About diving deep beneath Maui’s waves to retrieve a silver pendant to gift my mom. About the endless hours on night watch, searching for mermaids and spaceships. About the blues and greens, too many to name, too vivid for words.

There were no boats in sight. No people for miles. Just the endless expanse of the Pacific ahead and 3,000 feet of water under our keel.

I wanted to see all those colors too. So in 2013, Rob and I quit our jobs, rented out our house, sold most of our belongings, and hitchhiked west as volunteer crew. We considered buying our own boat to cruise the South Pacific but ran up against two cold hard facts: Boats are expensive, and neither of us had sailed overnight, much less had enough experience to cross the largest ocean on Earth. 

What we did have going for us was ­flexibility, a high risk tolerance, an appetite for adrenaline, and a willingness to hang out in small spaces with strangers for days on end. So we stuck out our thumbs (­figuratively, at least) by posting a “crew available” ad in an online forum.

By the time we reached the Tuamotus, we were crewing on our second boat, Kyanos, captained by Ben, a 26-year-old from Alaska. Although we’d been sailing and snorkeling for nearly four months by this point, I’d so far managed to avoid swimming next to any sharks. 

And maybe I could’ve kept it that way. But the one thing I hate more than being scared is missing out on cool stuff. Plus, I knew that the best way for me to overcome my fears was to face them head-on.

So, I decided to jump overboard into the deep with Rob, feeding frenzy and all.

Ben agreed to sail a loop while we ­snorkeled, confident that he could pick up two tiny specks in an enormous sea. We were all young enough not to second-guess stupid decisions.

I stripped down to my bathing suit and then clambered to the rail, mask in hand, to put on my fins. 

“On the count of three?” Rob asked. I nodded, and we catapulted overboard. Warm water closed overhead. It swallowed all sound. When I broke through the surface, Kyanos was already a dot in the distance. 

Panic rose like bile. In theory, I knew that Ben would come back for us. But my body revolted at the reality of being ­completely on our own.

I looked to my right and saw Rob flash a thumbs-up before duck-diving. Treading water, I struggled to secure my mask. The water was so clear, I could see the green polish on my toenails. Sunbeams slanted into the abyss, stirring up a nervous weightlessness in my belly. It would be less scary once I could actually see what was swimming around me, I told myself. At least in theory. 

But then Rob reappeared, yelling: “Hurry! There’s a shark right here!” 

He meant “hurry” so that I didn’t miss seeing the shark, not hurry to get away from it. Not that there was a safe place to swim to. I girded my wits, held my breath, and looked underwater. 

I saw not one shark but a dozen, all swimming steadily toward us. Nothing like trial by fire.

I floundered backward with a garbled shriek. My heart jackhammered against my ribs as I kicked frantically away from the menacing snouts. Rob’s hand encircled my arm and he put his face an inch from mine, looking into my eyes. He made the diving signal for OK, then started leisurely swimming toward the narrow strip of Kauehi’s coral 100 yards away. 

His lack of concern about our impending evisceration calmed me slightly. But I kept looking over my shoulder as we kicked toward the reef, my breath sounding like Darth Vader through my snorkel. Our entourage of reef sharks followed, a few of them longer than me. They cruised a couple of body lengths behind us, as if they were curious why we were in the middle of the deep blue sea. I was wondering that myself. 

Abruptly, the bottom came into view, sloping sharply upward. I immediately felt safer. Sure, sharks could just as easily eat us in 20 feet of water as they could in 2,000 feet. But seeing shore—even a barely there, sharp-as-hell shore—gave me back a sense of control.

Panic rose like bile. I knew that Ben would come back for us. But my body revolted at the reality of being completely on our own.

My dread dwindled further as the sharks dispersed, suddenly more interested in the fish swarming along the reef. I was too. It was the most vibrant, colorful scene I’d ever seen. Fish that embodied their names: snapper, parrot, butterfly, trigger, squirrel, unicorn. Over here was a courtship display, there a fight. Drama, tragedy and comedy all played out in Technicolor as I watched, fear forgotten. 

Until something bumped my shoulder.

I spun around, adrenaline spiking ­sky-high in a nanosecond. But it was just a tattoo-faced Maori wrasse, as big as a Labrador and about as friendly. Rob appeared in my periphery, gesturing me to follow him around the corner. He pointed out a patch of reef where the grouper were so dense, it looked like a carpet of fish laid over the coral. I watched him dive down to prod a female, her belly swollen with eggs. 

Then Rob pointed out into the deep water from which we’d swam. I followed his gaze.

And saw hundreds of sharks. 

They were hovering about 30 feet below the surface, a line of ominous gray shapes stacked on top of one another as far as I could see. 

My muscles wound tight again, ancient instincts telling me to flee. But, somehow, I held still. Breathed my slow, Darth Vader breaths. Told myself that humans weren’t on their menu, not with their bellies full of grouper. 

I relaxed in micro-increments, keeping tight to the shallows. Their tails moved in slow arcs as they hovered in place. I grew mesmerized by the slow flare of their gills. It was so graceful. Peaceful, even. 

Rob broke my trance, motioning me to the surface. Disoriented by the bright sun, I spit out my snorkel. The wind felt loud and chaotic, as foreign as the water had felt a half-hour before. 

“Current’s picking up,” Rob yelled. “We should swim back out to meet Ben.” 

He was right. While I’d been making peace with sharks, the tide had changed. We were starting to get sucked back ­toward the pass. 

I kicked hard, trying to make progress against the current. Panic rose again. What if we couldn’t make it back to Kyanos? Maybe we should’ve made a better plan than “come get us eventually.” 

Our boat was still a dot in the distance. I waved my arms overhead, then gave up as I lost ground. I stroked fast again to catch up with Rob, air whooshing in and out of my snorkel. My lungs burned. My legs started to cramp.

The next time I chanced a look, relief flooded through me. Kyanos was close. This time, we both waved our arms, and Ben saw us, tacking to adjust course. 

Relief was short-lived: Kyanos was trucking through the waves at 8 knots, proving her racing chops. Now I was terrified that we might get run over. 

But Ben hove-to expertly a few dozen yards away from us. He threw out a coil of floating yellow line, which jerked taut in the boat’s wake. I latched on, and then promptly began plowing through the ­water face-first. Even hove-to, Kyanos was still moving faster than I’d anticipated. My bathing-suit bottoms sluiced down around my ankles as I held on for dear life. 

“Pull yourself up the line, Bri! Hand over hand!” Rob yelled, holding on behind me. 

It was slow going, but I eventually made it back to the boat. I grabbed a stanchion and heaved while Rob shoved my bare butt up from below. I collapsed in the cockpit.

“Good time?” Ben asked, averting his gaze as he passed me a towel.

“So good,” Rob exclaimed, tossing my wet shorts into the cockpit. “God, I love sharks.”

Flying high on endorphins now that I was finally safe from a near-death ­experience, I laughed. “You know,” I said, “I just might love them too.”

The post Liquid Courage: Staring Down Sharks in the South Pacific appeared first on Cruising World.

The squall came out of nowhere. One moment, we were carving gentle S curves through azure waters off the South of France, enjoying an evening of sea trials during the Cannes Yachting Festival. The next, the wind built fast, dark clouds rolled in, and the temperate chop turned into a sporty, confused sea. Boats lurched as gusts whipped across the decks, sending hats flying and soaking everyone on board with spray. By the time we made it back to the dock, we were drenched, humbled, and reminded of just how quickly a sea state can turn. At least there was a glass of crisp rosé waiting at the end.

Experiences like this reinforce an ­undeniable truth: When it comes to us mortals messing about in boats on Poseidon’s playing field, sea smarts are everything. Preparation and knowledge are what separate a confident sailor from a nervous one—and, in some cases, a safe passage from a dangerous one. That’s why programs available to cruisers, such as Sailing Totem’s TRU Coaching and Steve and Doris Colgate’s Offshore Sailing School, are so valuable. 

Behan and Jamie Gifford, seasoned circumnavigators and regular Cruising World contributors, lead TRU Coaching, offering personalized mentoring to help aspiring cruisers navigate the complexities of life afloat. Their guidance covers everything from passage planning and troubleshooting systems to the less tangible, but equally important, mindset shifts needed for a successful cruising life. As you’ll find in our feature story on page 66, such support is a way to replace uncertainty with confidence, turning big dreams into achievable realities—even if you’re already halfway across an ocean. 

Similarly, Steve and Doris Colgate’s Offshore Sailing School has been at the forefront of structured sailing education for more than 60 years. Their Fast Track programs provide intensive training that builds a strong foundation for sailors at every level. Whether you’re a beginner seeking ASA or US Sailing certifications or an experienced cruiser looking to sharpen your skills, Offshore’s instruction helps sailors become confident skippers, ready to handle whatever the sea throws their way. We had the opportunity to sit down with Steve and Doris while recording an Ahoy! podcast episode at the Annapolis Sailboat Show this past fall, and it didn’t take long for safety to become a central theme of our conversation—and with good reason. The school’s approach to sailing education prioritizes real-world preparedness, ensuring that students leave their courses with the skills to handle tough conditions, not just the ability to pass a test. You can listen to our full conversation by following the QR code in the Hands-On Sailor section of this issue. 

Education, of course, doesn’t stop once you’ve earned a certification or completed a course. It’s a lifelong pursuit, and that educational platform, Hands-On Sailor, is designed to keep the learning going. Recently relaunched as a more complete resource for boat owners, it now covers everything from safety and seamanship to DIY projects, maintenance and the latest in marine technology. With expert-backed advice tailored for real-world sailing, and a new weekly newsletter delivering actionable knowledge straight to your inbox, it’s an invaluable tool for cruisers at every level. Scan the QR code below to subscribe.

Also, with our parent company’s recent acquisition of AIM Marine, we’re excited to partner with Boaters University, offering online courses in navigation, seamanship, maintenance and more. Explore the full array of courses at boatersuniversity.com.

Beyond seamanship, modern sailing is evolving with rapid advancements in marine technology, from AI-assisted autopilots to satellite communications. Cool, but with one caveat: Technology is only as useful as our ability to operate it. Just in the past year, readers have shared real-­world lessons reinforcing this balance. One cruiser misread an improperly tuned radar and sailed into a storm. Another, relying on a lithium-battery system, found himself dead in the water because of a misunderstanding about charging requirements. These stories aren’t warnings against innovation, but they are reminders that education bridges the gap between tools and true seamanship. 

Ultimately, the best sailors aren’t those with the most expensive gear or the latest gadgets. They seek knowledge, continue learning, and understand the balance between embracing new tools and mastering fundamental skills. My two cents? As you prepare for your next voyage, invest as much in learning as in equipment, because the most powerful tool aboard is an informed sailor.

The post Knowledge Is the Best Life Raft: Why Smart Sailors Stay Safe appeared first on Cruising World.

When French businessman and sailor Olivier Kauffmann decided that it was time to buy a multihull and sail around the world with his family, his search for the right boat came up empty. Instead, he founded ­catamaran company Windelo and opened a shipyard in Canet-en-Roussillon, France, in 2018 with his son, Gautier, now the company’s operations manager. Their goals were to take advantage of the latest building techniques and materials, and to create an eco-friendlier sailboat with a premium on performance.

The Windelo 54 that the Cruising World Boat of the Year jury got to inspect and sail at this past fall’s Annapolis Sailboat Show met those design criteria square-on. The big luxurious cat has a livable and uncommon interior layout. It sails well. And it’s built using composite materials made from recyclable basalt fibers rather than fiberglass, as well as PET foam made from recycled plastic bottles. Adding to its green credentials, the 54 has a hybrid electrical system that relies heavily on carbon-free power sources, such as wind, solar and hydroregeneration, to cover house loads and provide propulsion via two electric motors. But the power system is practical too. Its lithium battery bank is backed up by a diesel generator, providing long-range cruising capability, though company representatives said that it’s rarely needed.

Out sailing on the Chesapeake after the show, the Windelo was well-mannered and quick. Under gennaker, we reached along at 8 knots and better in just 11 knots of true wind. At that speed, the feathering Gori props were spinning and putting power back into the battery bank, which we could monitor on a display screen in the cockpit. And beating upwind, with the self-tacking jib set and the daggerboards down, the 54 was able to sail at close to 35 degrees off the breeze, which is fairly close-winded compared with many other cruising catamarans. 

In the end, the judges were impressed enough by all the features that we awarded the Windelo a Special Recognition Award for innovation. Truly, we’d not seen ­anything quite like this boat before.

Windelo builds about 10 boats a year at its yard on the Mediterranean. Models range from 50 to 55 feet. For design work, the yard uses naval architects Christophe Barreau and Fréderick Neuman, both of whom have experience designing high-end production catamarans for builders such as Catana and Outremer. Hence the slippery hulls and a versatile sail plan that includes a square-top full-batten main along with the two aforementioned headsails.

The kitted-out boat we sailed, with a price tag just south of $2 million, was a Yachting model, which has a number of options in terms of woodwork (all certified as being ­sustainably grown) and upholstery, Incidence sails, and amenities such as a customized hull wrap, a painted aluminum mast and boom, a composite gangway, electric toilets, Corian galley counters, a convection stove and oven…the list goes on. The boat is also available in a more basic Adventure package, with a more limited choice of wood and fabrics, as well as a Sport model that includes Incidence DFi sails (or optional North 3Di sails), a ­carbon-fiber mast with Kevlar shrouds, oversize daggerboards and ­rudders, and other ­performance enhancers.

The standout feature of the 54 is its ­dual-helm forward cockpit, located indoors at the forward end of the salon. In boisterous conditions, this area can be shut off from the rest of the interior by closing a waterproof sliding door. There are openings with canvas covers forward in the ­salon to either side of the mast, with steps and clear overhead panels that can be opened for access to the foredeck, and winches on the spar that are used when reefing.

All other sail-control lines are led ­indoors to three large electric Harken winches between the wheels. The center winch tames the main; the ones to either side are for headsail sheets, and they’re located next to the steering wheels for easy access by the helmsman.

We reached along at 8 knots and better in just 11 knots of true wind. At that speed, the feathering Gori props were spinning and putting power back into the ­battery bank, which we could monitor on a display screen in the cockpit.

The boat’s anchor windlass is also located inside; chain is led out through a hole to the anchor and anchor roller located under the trampoline on the foredeck. During our anchoring drill (on every boat we test, we lower and raise the anchor to see if things go smoothly), I sensed that it might be difficult in certain conditions to keep track of the direction of the chain when hauling it in, though crew giving hand signals on the foredeck would take care of that problem.

Under sail, I appreciated the twin wheels. It was easy to move between them in order to watch the telltales on the headsails, and visibility forward was excellent. Besides allowing the helmsman to enjoy the company of the crew, the location of the cockpit will also allow the person on watch to step over to the nav station or walk aft to the galley to grab a warm cup of something on a dark, chilly night. 

Speaking of the galley, the one on the 54 is terrific. It’s laid out to starboard, in a long U-shape that gives the cook plenty of places to brace when cooking underway. In good weather, windows on either side of the cabin slide open, as do the doors that lead to the aft cockpit, which really opens up the interior to the world outside. 

Opposite the galley, the table can be set to accommodate 10 guests. Just outboard of it, there’s a pilot berth—another fine nod to utility and safety. An off-watch crewmember could rest there but be readily available if needed. Forward of it there’s a desk-style nav station with a flat-screen display for charts or to monitor systems, including the battery bank.

The 54’s two hulls can be laid out in a ­number of ways. The boat we sailed had the owner’s stateroom to port. From the athwartship aft berth, there’s a commanding view of the water through a port in the side of the hull that also curves across the transom. Amidships, there’s a desk/vanity surrounded by lockers; a head and a shower with a bench seat are forward.

Two guest staterooms, each with fore-and-aft bunks, take up the starboard hull, with a head and shower compartment and a washer and dryer between them. Though the hulls are relatively narrow at the waterline, they flare out to provide plenty of living space. Layout options include bunk beds, home office or workshop in the guest staterooms, a skipper’s berth in the forepeak, or four guest staterooms, which would be popular if the boat were to be put into charter.

In recent years, many of the ­more-popular cruising catamarans we’ve encountered during our Boat of the Year trials have tended to have similar features. Not the Windelo. The 54 comes loaded with fresh ideas about how sailors can roam the seas and leave a little less carbon in their wakes. 

Mark Pillsbury is a CW editor-at-large and was a 2025 Boat of the Year judge.

Advanced Construction, Cleaner Cruising

In Windelo’s marketing material, the phrase “Ocean Future” is prominently displayed to highlight the company’s intent to build ­performance multihulls that are more sustainable to own and sail.

To do so, they turned to materials researchers at French school Mines d’Alès to develop a composite sandwich that consists of basalt fibers made from volcanic rock and a foam core made from recycled plastic bottles.

Making fibers from basalt is a process that was ­pioneered in the United States by Paul Dhe in the 1920s, and was further developed after World War II, primarily for military and aerospace use by the US and the Soviet Union. Today it’s used in a wide variety of ­applications, from automotive to construction to wind-turbine blades to heat ­protection.

Basalt fibers are made by melting down naturally occurring volcanic basalt. According to Windelo, no additives are needed in its production, which reduces carbon emissions by a factor of 10 when compared with fiberglass. At the end of its life cycle, it can be remelted in a furnace and rewoven.

The polyethylene terephthalate core material in the boat’s ­composite-sandwich construction is made from recycled plastic bottles that get crushed into small pieces and are then melted down to create foam. During our visit to the Windelo 54, a canister of PET pellets sat on the salon table and looked like a jar of jelly beans. Company literature reveals that producing the foam creates almost half the carbon dioxide generated when ­making the PVC foam that is more typically used in boat construction. In high-load ­areas, PVC is added to the core for greater strength.

More-sustainable building materials are just part of the story, though. By design, the Windelo’s hulls are easily driven, so owners will do more sailing and less motoring. Meanwhile, the builder employs a hybrid-drive system that relies heavily on renewable energy sources, including 5,880 watts’ worth of solar-power panels mounted on the cabin top and Bimini top, wind turbines that can generate 400 watts of power, and hydroregeneration that kicks in anytime the boat is sailing at 8 knots or faster. For the record, we saw 8 knots of speed when reaching in just 11 knots of breeze.

All this power is fed into a bank of lithium batteries that powers a pair of 48-volt 20-kilowatt shaft-drive electric motors. With the throttle wide open, we motored at 8.2 knots; cruising speed was around 6 knots.

The battery bank also powers the 24-volt house electrical system that includes lights, instruments, windlass, induction stovetop, electric oven, watermaker and air conditioner. In a typical setting described by the company, during the day at anchor, making more than 50 gallons of water and using equipment such as the washing machine, dishwasher, stove, oven and lights, the power draw would be about 10 kilowatt-hours. Solar power alone can generate 18 kWh worth of power, providing an 8 kWh surplus. § In addition to the renewables, the Windelo is also equipped with an 18-kilowatt Fischer-Panda diesel generator as a backup. Motoring at 6 knots for four hours, the generator can top off the battery bank in just over an hour. Motoring range using the generator to repower the batteries would be about 1,100 miles.

On a coastal cruise, where you might motor for a couple of hours in the morning and then sail for three or four hours while the spinning props put power back into the batteries, you would arrive for the night at an anchorage with a topped-up battery bank. On a long-range cruise, say in the trades, the batteries would stay charged from solar and hydroregeneration alone. —MP

The post A Greener Machine: Windelo 54 Boat Review appeared first on Cruising World.

The Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 350 had a tough act to follow. In 2014, the French boatbuilder launched its Sun Odyssey 349, which was a commercial and critical success. It was Cruising World’s Overall Boat of the Year and ultimately sold more than 2,200 units—a remarkable production run by any measure. A decade later, the company commissioned the Marc Lombard design collective—Lombard had crafted the lines of the 349—and basically said, “Make it better.” Remarkably, at least in the opinion of our current Boat of the Year judging team, of which I was a member, that’s exactly what they did. The model has evolved significantly, so much so that it bas again been named a winner: the Best Midsize Cruiser for 2025.

How, exactly, did Jeanneau accomplish such a feat? Let us count the ways.

We’ll begin with the 350’s signature ­feature, the so-called walk-around side deck: the sloping walkway that permits safe and easy egress from the cockpit to the foredeck. It debuted in 2018 on the Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 440 and has since become a brand trademark. I was curious if it would work well on a smaller platform, and it absolutely does. An added benefit is that it allows the driver to lean into the coaming and stretch his legs forward when steering to leeward from either of the boat’s twin wheels. It’s completely comfy. 

During our sea trial, which was conducted this past autumn on Chesapeake Bay in sweet breezes of 12 to 14 knots, our test boat had the Performance ­package: a traditional, square-topped fully battened mainsail; a dedicated sprit for the code zero and the ground tackle; a double-ended mainsheet that does double duty as the traveler; and floating “friction rings” for jib leads that allow countless variations of headsail trim. All of the attendant hardware and fittings are top-shelf: Harken winches, Spinlock clutches, Carbonautica wheels, a 29 hp Yanmar diesel, Facnor FlatDeck furling gear, a Quick windlass, and Selden spars with a solid Rodkicker vang (the mast is ­deck-stepped, which opens up a lot of space in the ­belowdecks floor plan).

In addition to the Performance ­layout, a dedicated cruising setup, the Voyager package, is also available. It includes a spray hood/dodger, a removable inner forestay and a coachroof solar panel with charging relay, among other features. 

Upwind, the 350 was locked in at 5-plus knots with occasional bursts into the 6s in the puffs. The twin rudders had a lot of bite, and the steering was sharp and precise. Cracking off to a beam reach, the boat lit up, tracking along at better than 7 knots—impressive speeds for a 35-­footer. Like its predecessor, the 349, it’s an ­excellent sailboat and a lot fun to drive.

Aesthetically, the look is clean and ­contemporary, with a raked “negative” bow entry, a prominent chine that runs ­almost the length of the waterline, an open transom, a slightly reversed ­sheerline, a pair of hull windows, and a low coachroof with a single long window. It’s one of those boats that looks like it’s moving when it’s hanging off a mooring. Our test boat had the deep, 6-foot-5-inch fin keel, but a shoal-draft version is an option, as is a lifting keel.

While a three-stateroom layout is available, our model had the twin-­stateroom layout with a V-berth forward (accessed through a pair of swinging double doors that can be closed for ­privacy), a large double berth in the stateroom aft to starboard, and a generous stowage locker to port that can be accessed from the cockpit or via a hatch in the head. To me, this is an ideal setup. I reckon, for the most part, that this will be a couple’s boat, with just enough extra room for occasional guests.

For furniture and joiner work, owners can choose teak or gray cedar; floorboards come in light or dark oak. The central salon drop-leaf table is flanked by a pair of long settees. The portside head/shower compartment would not be out of place on a 45- or 50-foot yacht. A compact chart table is also to port, opposite a workable L-shaped galley to starboard. The efficient use of space throughout the layout—coupled with 6-plus-foot headroom—is impressive. 

All in all, the 350 is an extremely versatile boat that, like the 349, will work equally well for performance and coastal cruising, as well as for club racing. Pretty, simple and quick, it’s a worthy successor to a success story in its own right. 

CW editor-at-large Herb McCormick was a 2025 Boat of the Year judge.

Take the next step

Price: $285,000
Contact: jeanneau.com

For full specs and photos, scan the QR code with any smart device.

The post A Worthy Successor: Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 350 Raises the Bar appeared first on Cruising World.

The ferry pulled out of Circular Quay in downtown Sydney in ­early January, bound for the ­nearby coastal enclave of Manly, one of my favorite beach towns in all of Australia. Fittingly, as the vessel made its way into Sydney Harbour, it passed close abeam to the iconic Sydney Opera House, with its celebrated curved white roof that has often been compared to the billowing sails of ships at sea. It had been almost 20 years since I was last on these waters, but I was suddenly awash in a gusher of memories. Through the years, Sydney and sailboats have played powerful roles in charting my own course through life.

My sister’s ex-husband was an Aussie America’s Cup sailor named Peter Shipway, which is how I found myself hoisting a spinnaker on the foredeck of a famous race boat called Love & War as it led a fleet of 150 boats into the harbor in 1988 to reenact the arrival of the first fleet of British convict ships for the country’s bicentennial celebration. It not only gave me a fresh appreciation for the history of a wild land that I’d come to love, but it was also my first sail in Sydney. It wouldn’t be my last. 

A few years later, I was back, this time as the media manager for the BOC Challenge solo round-the-world race. My job entailed crashing out through the prominent Sydney Heads on a RIB with race director Mark Schrader to greet the incoming racers, lead them into port, and get the first interviews for my race reports. Schrader and I became great sailing mates, but that wasn’t the only important connection I made. It’s also how I met a lovely Aussie gal working for the event, Carole, who became my wife.

The next time I was in Sydney was to sail out through those heads myself, on an ex-BOC race boat called Spirit of Sydney, bound for the Tasmanian capital of Hobart, and then on to Antarctica on an expedition to Commonwealth Bay in support of a crazy Aussie pal named Don McIntyre, who’d spent a year there at the old camp of legendary Aussie explorer Douglas Mawson. After covering the BOC, I was desperate to witness the tempestuous seas of the Southern Ocean with my own eyes. Before all was said and done, we’d weathered 60-knot gales and the steepest waves I’d ever seen. I got a big taste. And then some. 

Finally, I had one more Aussie line item on my personal bucket list—to sail one of the world’s greatest ocean races: the Sydney Hobart. In 2007, I finagled a ride on one of the smallest boats in the fleet, a 35-footer called Morna. We had a bit of everything: the classic spinnaker run down the coast of New South Wales, a thrash across Bass Strait, the final stretch down the jaw-dropping beauty of the Tasmanian shoreline. It was everything I’d hoped for. Even more.

Alas, Carole and I are no longer together, but the wonderful result of that union was alongside me on that Manly Ferry: my daughter, Maggie. After I voyaged around North and South America with my old mate Schrader, in 2011, Maggie was waiting for me on the docks in Seattle at the tender age of 11 when we finished the trip. I raised her as a single dad until she returned to Oz after the pandemic. Without Sydney, there’d be no Maggie. I can’t imagine. 

We’ve done a bit of sailing together, including a memorable charter up the coast through the Whitsunday Islands. This was a trip of a different sort—a holiday excursion—and it was my last day. We hopped off the ferry and strolled down the beach, which gave me one final, welcome opportunity to drive her batty. 

I’d forgotten to pack baggies, but there was no way I wasn’t taking one farewell Aussie dip, so I peeled off my jeans to my boxers and dived into the waves. With raised eyebrows, Maggie cast me a look of hopeless disdain, with just a trace of a smirk. I’d seen it a thousand times before; once again, it slayed me. With that, I had one more Sydney memory in my bank. The best one of all. 

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large.

The post A Sydney Story: Sailing, Family, and a Life Well Traveled appeared first on Cruising World.

In the not-so-distant past, the top of the Catalina Yachts’ organizational chart listed two driving forces: owner Frank Butler and chief designer Gerry Douglas. Sadly, Butler died several years ago; Douglas is now enjoying a well-­deserved retirement. As a brand, Catalina is still producing fine cruising boats. It’s one of the last of the major American ­production-boat builders to do so.

For the 2025 Boat of the Year competition, from the new 6 Series line, the company entered a pair of nominees: the Catalina 356 and the Catalina 426 (formerly the Douglas-designed 355 and 425, respectively). The 6 Series collection includes a quintet of revamped and reimagined yachts—a collaborative result of in-house R&D with input from previous owners—ranging from 33 to 45 feet. The 446 is now the company’s flagship. 

These boats share a host of features from dependable marine suppliers, including an entire new spar and standing rigging package from Selden that reduces weight aloft and promotes tighter sheeting angles; a custom, slippery, shoal-draft MarsKeel bulb keel that replaces the previous wing keel (a fin-keel option is also available); an Edson steering pedestal that promotes better control and ergonomics; and a standard Sensar Marine boat-monitor system. 

Other across-the-board ­improvements include an upgraded construction laminate employing multiaxial fiberglass and reinforced carbon fiber in high-load areas (a balsa core is still utilized in the hull’s topsides, with a solid laminate below the waterline), an overhauled mainsheet arrangement for ease of trimming, and a larger Group 31 starting battery as well as new diesel-heater options.

Let’s start with the larger of the duo: the 426, a fully found ocean cruiser. A 42-footer has always been a sweet spot for Catalina. An earlier Catalina 42, launched in 1988, was wildly successful, with a production run of more than 1,000 vessels. Douglas took another swing at the segment in 2015 with the 425, a rather wholesome design that eschewed popular trends such as hull chines, plumb bows and drop-down transoms. To my eye, the profile remains quite fetching, with a series of hull windows and a pretty, understated sheerline that matches well with the slightly sloping, low-slung cabin top. The cockpit is spacious, with a central table and twin wheels that have space between them to access the swim platform aft.

Down below, the layout is traditional, with an en suite forward stateroom, a roomy salon with a fixed settee to port facing a set of chairs with a central table to starboard, a nice galley and navigation station flanking the companionway, and a double-berth stateroom aft.

The 356, on the other hand, has a single Lewmar folding wheel in the cockpit, and a similar layout to its larger sibling, just conducted on a smaller scale. The furniture and joiner work in both boats is a handsome blend of teak and maple, and equally inviting. 

We had the opportunity to sail both of these boats on consecutive days this past fall on Chesapeake Bay in ideal conditions: 12 to 14 knots of fresh northerly winds. I’ve always considered Catalinas to be fine performers under sail, and the 6 Series boats did nothing to change that opinion. On the 426, the Doyle sail package includes an in-mast furling mainsail and a self-tacking jib—a simple and effective sail plan. There’s no traveler, but the double-ended ­mainsheet is a solid alternative that allows good control of the main, especially when jibing. There are good sight lines when driving, particularly when steering from leeward, with a nice view of the telltales. Upwind, the 426 was fast and weatherly, making a noteworthy 7.2 knots. At one point, I ducked below, where all was peaceful and quiet, with a cool vista of the sea rushing past the hull windows.

The 356 was also a blast to steer. By coincidence, the new Jeanneau 350 was also conducting sea trials at the time, and we briefly were able to line up with it while closehauled. Considering that the 350 was outfitted with its high-performance sail and rigging package, the Catalina acquitted itself quite well. Trucking along at just over 6 knots, the 356 was slightly lower but just as quick. You can’t ask much more from a versatile little cruiser. 

Douglas once told me that, as a ­designer, one of his goals was to create boats “without bad habits.” It’s safe to say that he achieved that ambition, with the sweet-sailing original lines of ­predecessors now transferred to the 356 and 426. And with the entire packages overhauled (with some significant weight savings in the ­process), for some past and future Catalina owners, the marriage of the old and the new might prove irresistible. Consider it the best of both worlds. 

CW editor-at-large Herb McCormick was a 2025 Boat of the Year judge.

Take the next step

Price: $284,000 (356); $483,000 (426)
Contact: catalinayachts.com

The post Categorically Catalinas: 6 Series Delivers Classic Cruising with a Modern Edge appeared first on Cruising World.

AC and DC electrical systems are an integral part of any cruising vessel. While you might be able to sail without a functioning electrical system, it’s difficult to do much else, including navigate, be seen at night, retrieve an anchor, and communicate.

So it should be a priority to make sure your electrical systems are in good working order. Spring is a good time to check if you want to have fewer problems once the summer boating season is in full swing.

DC Electrical

Begin with house and start batteries, and specifically with overcurrent protection, aka fuses and circuit breakers.  

With one exception, every wire connected to a battery’s positive terminal must have a fuse or circuit breaker within 7 inches of wire length, or within as much as 72 inches if the wire is supplementally sheathed or in a conduit. 

The one exception is the positive cable that provides power to the starter. Because it might not be overcurrent-protected, it is imperative that this wire be protected from damage—and especially from short circuits caused by chafe. Other than this wire’s connection to the starter, it must not touch the engine in any way whatsoever.

Next, check your system’s battery security. While ABYC standards allow for up to 1 inch of movement for an installed battery, my own rule calls for no movement at all. I believe that batteries, especially on bluewater vessels, should be completely immobilized. 

The best way to achieve this is with a clamp arrangement, and after that, a ratcheting strap with a stainless-steel buckle. Also check battery terminals, and adapter lugs if you have them, to make sure they are tight. If you can rotate any of these, they are too loose.

Then, turn off all the AC and DC power. If you have an inverter, you must turn off its DC-supply switch or remove its main DC fuse. Confirm that power is not present using a multimeter. Also unplug the shore-power cord from the dock pedestal.

Then, and only then, open the main electrical panel and check the security of every screw terminal (including AC). Tug on wires to make sure all crimps are tight.  

I conducted an inspection aboard a vessel a few days ago, and a quarter of the screw terminals and crimps were loose. These kinds of loose crimps and terminals lead to high resistance, and high resistance leads to heat production, which in turn can lead to a fire.

AC Power

With AC power, the primary issue is electrocution, followed by fire. All outlets located in the galley, head and machinery spaces, and on the weather deck, must be GFCI protected.  

In addition to that self-test feature, these and all outlets should be checked with an external test tool, one that includes a GFCI test button. These tools are available inexpensively at hardware and home-improvement stores.  

It is possible for one GFCI outlet to protect several conventional outlets that are located downstream. If you suspect that this is the case, be sure to test all of them. In addition to testing the GFCI function, the tool will also indicate reverse polarity and an open ground, both of which are potentially dangerous, among other faults.  

If you have a generator or an inverter, the same testing should be carried out on each one while operating on those power sources.

For both AC and DC wiring, one of the most common errors involves the order of ring terminals. The largest must be installed first, with successively smaller ones being stacked on top, to an overall limit of four.

With the shore power off and unplugged from the dock, inspect the inlet and both ends of the cord for signs of overheating, corrosion and ­discoloration. Ensure that the locking ring is present and usable on legacy-style ­twist-lock boatside cord ends.

If you are uncomfortable carrying out any of these tasks yourself, call an ABYC-certified marine electrician, which you can find in your area by visiting abycinc.org.

Steve D’Antonio offers services for boat owners and buyers through Steve D’Antonio Marine Consulting . 

The post Power Check: Prevent Onboard Electrical Failures Before They Strike appeared first on Cruising World.

The excitement was mounting as our plane closed in on our mid-Pacific holiday. We had little on the agenda but to dip our toes in crystal-­clear water and watch a dusky sun set on an aquatic horizon, rum punch in hand.

There was just one problem: Our destination was submerged under a foot of water. There would be no shimmering black tarmac to provide a safe landing for our pilot. There was only one way in and one way out, and that was by sea. 

Few patches of submerged land hold the reputation of Minerva Reef. For South Pacific cruisers, it is the perfect break in a 1,200-mile passage between New Zealand and Tonga. The novelty of setting anchor in the middle of the ocean and watching the seas roll by as your boat remains in a fixed position was something I wanted to experience. There wouldn’t be anything to do but rest and relax. A day or two would be all we would need before continuing the voyage onward—or so I believed.

Minerva Reef is the modern-day Atlantis, if you stretch the facts a little. In 1972, American millionaire Michael Oliver decided that Minerva was the perfect location to establish his own sovereign nation. There was, however, a small kink in his plan. Laws relating to disputed territories state that land cannot be claimed unless it is a foot above sea level at high tide; this was not the case for North or South Minerva. To claim it, he would have to build it.

The plan Oliver devised was bold. He would take the 6-mile-wide atoll, dredge its neighbor, and fill the inner lagoon until a flat pan of land arose from the sea. A flag was erected, a president elected, and money for the Republic of Minerva coined. King Taufa’ahau Tupou IV, Tonga’s monarch at the time, had no interest in forfeiting access to a territory that had been established fishing grounds for generations. The problem was, Tonga had never laid a claim to it and therefore had no legal rights. Until this point, Minerva was not on the main trade routes and the prevailing winds were unpredictable. The only traffic that the atolls received were the unfortunate ships that got blown off course by storms.

In fact, it is only because of GPS that mariners have recently made Minerva a destination of choice rather than one of disaster. Scattered metal bones of deceased ships are reminders of the hazards of these submerged atolls. Prior to Oliver laying a claim, no one had interest in doing so. Within five months of Oliver’s ­creation, the king dispatched 90 prisoners to tear down all ­man-made structures and disperse the 42 inhabitants. The Republic was no more.

All efforts to raise the atoll from the sea resulted only in its ­ultimate return to the sea. Today, one peek below the surface makes evident that the fabled lost city exists. Thick walls of hard coral protect a soft limestone core, and the graceful, swaying arms of soft coral reach up toward the light. Swirling and dancing around these graceful, Technicolor tentacles is the seemingly endless gridlock of marine life.

When the opportunity came for us to sail to Minerva, we shared the reef with six other cruisers, all of us filling our days with aquatic activity and our nights with shared stories and laughter. Our options were plentiful. Should we stay in our current spot close to the pass so that we could dive at dawn and avoid a longer dinghy ride to the outer reef? Should we move across the lagoon to the navigation light erected by the Tongan navy to claim Minerva as their own, demolished by the Fijian navy, repaired by the Tongan navy, destroyed again by the Fiji navy, and replaced again by Tonga? Should we move to the northeast corner of the lagoon where the rusted wrecks of past ships provide a sanctuary for lobsters?

The entire lagoon is a relatively flat plateau of fine white sand at a depth of 30 to 65 feet, which provides good holding for yachts. We moved because of wind or desire, to suit the activities of the day. I hadn’t expected to be so exhilarated by all the splendor beneath. All I wanted of my time in Minerva was to slip below the surface and watch the throng of finned and gilled tenants race by me. This aquatic metropolis was more densely populated than Tokyo or Mumbai. Pacing the walls with us was a healthy population of sharks: gray, lemon, whitetip and even tiger. Turtles rose to the surface for air as we descended down the reef, a small shoal of squid performed synchronized movements an arm’s length away, and octopuses cautiously receded into their holes.

When we needed a rest from diving the outer reef, we’d pop off the tanks and snorkel around the inner lagoon. The wrecks provide hidey-holes for resting reef sharks, crammed nose-to-tail in their own mini sanctuary. When the tide pulled out, we could walk on the top of the reef—a two-hour window to put foot on land. We would send relaxed schools of brightly colored parrotfish lying side up in small pockets of inch-deep pools into a flurry of panic. The gaping mouths of giant clams would snap their hinged shells shut, sucking in their vibrant blue, green, purple and orange lips. In the distance, the small black tip of a fin would zip erratically through the surface of the water as a juvenile shark hunted in the tidal traps. Occasionally, we would see the tip of an olive-green flipper or the flip of a charcoal fin as a turtle or ray bolted from the lagoon to deep water.

The atoll is completely uninhabited, so entry to Minerva is as simple as showing up. There are no immigration or customs officials, so there is no one to issue a visa or dictate the number of days you can stay. You choose or the weather will choose for you. As the reef is submerged or exposed, depending on the tide, your comfort ebbs and flows. In calm weather, high tide becomes a ­gentle swaying roll. Sit inside Minerva, and you’re as likely to feel the lapping of water against your hull as if you were drifting at anchor in a calm, protected bay. But when the wind picks up, the lagoon turns to a washing machine. Every gust churns the surface into froth and confusion. Yachts that anchor deeper in the lagoon for safety’s sake might find their boats bobbing, with the crew unable to eat, sleep or read.

Still, Minerva’s allure is unforgettable. It’s a reminder of the natural beauty that thrives when human influence takes a step back and the ocean is allowed to reign. Minerva Reef is a living testament to the extraordinary diversity of life beneath the waves—a world of color, motion, and wonder that left me humbled and exhilarated.

The real beauty of the reef is not just in its untouched state, but also in the connection it fosters with those lucky enough to experience its magic.

The post Minerva Reef: An Underwater Oasis in the South Pacific appeared first on Cruising World.

It has been four years since my husband and I restepped the mast aboard our 1979 Cheoy Lee 41, Avocet, following weeks of DIY refit work. Our project list included upgrading the hardware, extensive sanding and, as the final touch, applying Nyalic as a protective coat.

My husband would have preferred to leave the mast bare, but I wasn’t on board with the idea of aluminum looking shabby over time. Aluminum is one of the most popular metals for marine use because it’s durable and lightweight, and it forms a natural oxide coating that prevents corrosion. However, exposure to salt water can leave it looking rough, prompting many boat owners to turn to paint, which can fail, lead to corrosion, and deteriorate the mast. Paint can also starve aluminum of oxygen, preventing it from maintaining its protective oxide layer. 

Another option—anodizing—is an electrochemical process that hardens aluminum’s oxide layer and offers excellent protection. Unfortunately, in California, there’s only one anodizing tank large enough for masts, and the cost for us would have been equivalent to buying a new mast.

We did consider leaving the aluminum bare, but I discovered Nyalic, a clear protective coat designed to seal aluminum against saltwater damage, oxidation and pitting. Used on spacecraft, Nyalic seemed promising. After hearing glowing reviews from industry professionals, as well as a trusted friend who had used it on his mast, we decided to give it a try.

Our initial testing came from Avocet sitting in its slip in Ventura, California, where it endured frequent sandblasting by prevailing winds. The Nyalic finish held up well, maintaining its shine.

In September 2022, we began cruising, starting with a sail up the coast to San Francisco Bay. Heavy rains and salty sea spray tested the mast’s protective coat, which continued to shine. During the next month, the bay’s salt-heavy environment and industrial soot put Nyalic through its paces. After washing down Avocet at the Berkeley Yacht Club, we found that the mast still showed no signs of wear.

Nyalic isn’t as hard as paint, and it is more susceptible to scuffs in high-wear areas, but touch-ups are simple, with no need for extensive prep.

We shared our experience online and heard from other sailors who’d tested Nyalic with similar success. Our friend Peter, who applied Nyalic to his 1978 38-foot Hans Christian, Kessel, reported no need for touch-ups after a year. “The spar is shiny and protected from corrosion,” he said. “The application process was straightforward, using aerosol cans to apply even coats. I’d absolutely use Nyalic again.”

Another couple, Ben and Allie, aboard their 1989 Sceptre 41, Kiana, used Nyalic after reading our blog. They’ve since sailed from Canada to Mexico and are preparing for a Pacific crossing. “With so many projects to tackle on an older boat, it’s nice to keep some things simple, and Nyalic totally fits the bill,” Ben said.

Four years in, we remain impressed by Nyalic’s performance. As we continue to add miles under our keel, we’ll keep testing its durability and share updates.

The post Shining Armor: 4 Years of Real-World Nyalic Mast Protection appeared first on Cruising World.

It was the end of October in San Carlos, Mexico. My husband, Jeff, and I were back aboard Outrider, our Westsail 42, after several months spent up north. During hurricane season each year, we leave the boat tucked safely at a sheltered marina while we explore the beautiful western United States, land-cruising in our camper van. Getting resettled after being away always involves some long work-filled days.

This day was particularly hot. We’d labored for hours to relocate all the equipment and sails we’d stored belowdecks. After much lifting, pushing and shoving, we’d finally got everything back in place. 

As dinnertime neared, we were too overheated and exhausted to even think about cooking. The boat’s interior was already steaming; we had no wish to add to the heat by using the stove or oven, which weren’t working anyway. The propane was not yet reconnected, a task that required more energy than we were willing to expend right then.  

The idea of going out to eat was equally unappealing. We were tired, hot, in need of showers, and getting hungrier by the minute. Then, I had a thought.

In our camper van, we have a micro galley: a small upright fridge with a freezer, a microwave/convection oven, and a two-burner propane stove. As in Mexico, sometimes-intense summer heat makes us reluctant to cook inside our already hot van.

One evening this past summer, we’d met up with friends who are former yacht cruisers, now land-cruising in their own camper. It was one of those times when it was too hot to cook. We’d been traveling together for a few days, taking turns making dinner for four, which can be challenging in a van. That night was their turn. They’d bought a shelf-stable “heat and eat” pizza crust at a large grocery store, so they decided to try making pizza on the grill, adding tomato sauce, garlic, cured sausage, olives and lots of soft, melty cheese. Lacking a pizza pan or baking sheet, unsurprisingly, these former boat cooks improvised: They plonked it on a sheet of heavy-duty aluminum foil, doubled over, and put it on a medium-hot grill for 10 minutes. It exceeded our ­expectations: lovely melted cheese, crisp dough and ­excellent flavor. 

Flatbread pizzas became a staple of ours from then on. We stocked prepared crusts, and we even grilled pizza using frozen crusts, with excellent results. At first it took a bit of finessing to determine the right temperature and cooking time, but we loved the convenience of being able to pull one out whenever it was too hot to cook inside, or when we felt like eating pizza miles from the nearest pizza joint.

Back aboard Outrider, I’d suddenly realized that our Magma propane grill was working. Why not grill pizza? We’d done basic provisioning after arriving, so I had tomato sauce and garlic aboard, and I’d bought olives, cheese and pepperoni for snacks. I’d also bought basics such as flour, eggs and olive oil. Alas, we had no premade crust.

In the US, it’s easy to purchase ready-made pizza dough, either shelf-stable crusts (such as Boboli) or frozen dough. In Mexico, where we were, none of these are available. Then I remembered that, years ago, I’d made a quick stovetop flatbread a few times. It required only 4 minutes of cooking time on the stovetop—not long enough to overheat the boat. It would be perfect.

Roughly 30 minutes and minimal effort later, we sat in Outrider’s cockpit in the cool shadow of Tetakawi Mountain, feasting on freshly made pizza, warm and gooey from the grill. It was delicious. As we munched pizza and sipped ice-cold beers, we agreed that this easy, speedy meal was the perfect way to end a long, hot day of boatwork.

Quick and Easy Grilled Pizza (Yields two 7- to 8-inch pizzas)

• 1 10-inch frozen pizza crust (or Quick Flatbread Crust, recipe below)
• Olive oil, for brushing
• 1 clove garlic, chopped finely (optional)
• ½ cup pizza or tomato sauce
• 1 cup mozzarella (or any soft cheese), shredded
• 12-14 pepperoni slices
• ¼ cup black olives, sliced 
• A few fresh basil or arugula leaves, if available

Lightly brush with oil a pizza pan, baking sheet, or heavy-duty aluminum foil, folded double. Lay dough or flatbread on top. Brush top of dough/flatbread with oil. With the back of a large spoon, spread sauce evenly over crust. Sprinkle garlic evenly over the sauce. Add ½ cup cheese. Place pepperoni at even intervals around pizza. Sprinkle with black olives. Add remaining ½ cup cheese. 

Heat propane grill to 350 to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Place the pizza or sheet pan on the grill, close the lid, and cook for 5 minutes. Check the crust bottom for browning. If more time is needed, close the lid and cook for another 3 to 5 minutes, or until the crust is browned and cheese is melted. (Grill temperatures vary widely; you might need to experiment to find the perfect cooking time and temperature on your own grill.) 

Slice and serve warm. Sprinkle with a few fresh basil or arugula leaves, if available.

Quick Flatbread Crust

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1½ tsp. baking powder
• 1 tsp. fine salt
• 2 Tbsp. olive oil 
• ½ cup plus 1 to 2 Tbsp. cold water
• Additional olive oil for cooking

Add flour, baking powder and salt to a large bowl. Whisk to combine. Make a dent in the center of the mix. Add olive oil and ½ cup of water. Mix with a wooden spoon until dough comes together in a shaggy ball. If it seems too dry, add more water, 1 tablespoon at a time. Transfer to a floured surface and knead until you have a smooth ball, about 1 minute. Let rest on the ­counter, covered with a clean dish towel, or wrap loosely in plastic, and chill for 10 minutes (or longer, up to overnight).

Divide dough in half. Sprinkle with flour, then press or roll out into 7- to 8-inch rounds about ¼-inch thick. (Shape might be irregular.) Using a fork, lightly poke holes in dough. Brush top with oil. 

Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a 10-inch ­skillet over medium heat. When oil is hot, add a flatbread crust, and cook for about ­­2 ­minutes. Flip and brown the other side for 2 minutes more; remove. Repeat for the other crust. 

Top the pizzas, and grill per recipe above. (Divide topping amounts in half.) Dough can also be frozen for up to 1 month.

Cook’s note: You can use your preferred toppings to create your own favorite grilled pizza. For grilling, go easy on the tomato sauce to avoid soggy pizza.

Prep time: 25 minutes
Difficulty: Easy
Can be made: At anchor

Editor’s note: Got a favorite boat meal you’d like to share? Email us at editor@cruisingworld.com.

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