It was one of those times when our world shrank to a dot, a little speck of green, impossible to find in the endless blue of the Pacific Ocean. You should know, there are moments we question our life choices. That’s when we go back and think of such times. This one, in particular, found us on a remote Fijian beach with a lone inhabitant: a man who belonged to the land and sea. The beach was pure—perfect, almost—like something that occasionally appears in dreams.

Waves slapped against the sand in their usual rhythm, timeless and familiar, yet extraordinary in the context of today’s memories. The only footprints were our own. The only sounds, save for the sea, were the lowing of cows hidden in the hills and Yoda’s frantic chase of every living critter.

He was standing at the far end of the beach, waiting. Tall and lean, brown as rich mahogany. The early sunlight highlighted his wiry muscles with sharp shadows. His hands spoke of a lifetime of work.

We later learned his name: Mua. The son of the island’s chief, he was there to tend the family’s herd of cattle. His eyes were deep-set and sharp, his demeanor that of someone who listens more than he speaks. He raised one hand in greeting. We knew then we were about to meet a notable soul.

The Ceremony of Welcome

Hospitality here is not casual. It’s carved in centuries of practiced rituals, sacred to the people. To us, they became meaningful on this beach. Mua unveiled the essence. He invited us to sit, beneath a shade made with palm fronds, and atop a plastic tarp he meticulously swept clean of sand and leaves. This was understood only after he prepared a traditional ceremony called sevusevu.

We placed a bundle of kava root before him—a gnarled shape of tangled roots wrapped in newspaper and tied with a blue ribbon. A plastic basin sat in front of his crossed legs and bony knees. Fresh rainwater filled it. He dropped in the dust of ground root, mixing the potion like he was washing his calloused hands in the murky grog. Again and again, he cupped and rubbed his palms, creating mesmerizing swirls in the brew. A small sea in its own tempest.

He spoke in words foreign to us, clapped his hands unexpectedly. The whole ritual was a mystery, yet the meaning was clear: welcome, respect, belonging.

His quiet strength and unspoken wisdom, his beautiful simplicity, his connection with nature, and his belonging to the place made the experience unforgettable. 

We drank kava—bitter and tingly on the tongue, expansive in the brain. It lifted a fog we hadn’t realized was there. We chose a “low tide,” half a cup. During the rest of our enlightened conversation, he enjoyed the entire bowl: a faded blue, plastic wash basin filled with half a gallon of the earthy liquid.

The son of the chief clapped once, twice, three times. He nodded. He smiled. We had been accepted, not merely visitors, but part of the island’s fabric, if only for a time.

Lessons from Land

Mua was a teacher in the truest sense, the island his classroom, the rhythm of his daily chores his curriculum. We floated offshore in our dinghy, watching him dig bait for sand crabs. He held a line in his hand, nylon wrapped on a gnarled and bent index finger. The reefs are depleted here, and I’m pretty sure he was speaking to someone above, asking for dinner.

We caught small reef fish. What we might have thrown back, he didn’t. In that exchange between fisherman and prey was a lesson in patience, humility and gratitude for what is given.

He showed us his gardens. Cassava and taro grew in orderly rows, their broad green leaves stark against the dark soil. He had just planted those crops. His wish: that we return in one year and enjoy the harvest with him. “The earth gives what you ask of it,” he said.

And then there were the coconuts. To Mua, they were life: tools, building material, fire, utensils. He showed us how to husk them on a sharp stick planted in the dirt, how to split them with the spine of his machete. He pressed the creamy white meat in his palms. Pure milk squirted between his bony knuckles. We drank it straight from the shell, the taste sweet and clean. A first for us. Nothing like what comes from a can. Humble sustenance.

A Feast Under the Stars

After the sun went to the other side of the globe to visit my Italian people, we shared a meal that will linger in memory. Mua had cooked some of the fish caught that morning. Not all of it, he confessed. During a moment of distraction, feral cats had gotten their sharp claws on a few. His deep laughter reflected the universal fight for survival.

We, aboard our boat, had prepared a goat curry. The fire crackled as we sat around it. The scent of coconut and spices, the salty breeze, full bellies. Mua told us of his life, of the cows he tends, of his extended family on the other side of the island, his home. He spoke of his welcome solitude and, with eyes reflecting the flames, of precious reunions with his wife and daughter, who work at a resort across the bay.

The food was shared in stories and silence, in the sound of waves and bursts of laughter. Firelight played on our faces. I wondered: How many nights like this does fortune allow us?

The Climb

Before dawn, we woke. He was already on shore when we landed the dinghy. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward a hidden path in the thick brush, to the hill that rose behind the beach. It was black against the starlit sky.

We followed. The path was steep and rough, our cruising legs aching with every step. At the summit, the backdrop was still dark, a deep indigo that hinted at the coming day. Then light came, and the world opened up. The sea stretched to the horizon. As the first rays touched its surface, the shimmering became glorious. We witnessed an eruption of color—pink, gold, violet. All we could do was hold our breath and watch.

Looking at Mua, seated on a bare rock, we saw immense pride. We stood there, breathless, as the sun rose higher, its warmth pushing away the night’s chill. We said nothing. We were part of this place, just like the small bushes around us, clinging to the volcanic rock.

He had taken us here, into the heart of the island, into its beauty, its blessings and its burdens.

What We Left Behind

When the time came to weigh anchor, Mua was standing on the tallest hill, on his way to his father’s village. It was early, still dark. We flashed our torch. He flashed his. We saw his silhouette against the sky, hand raised in farewell, as we pulled away.

The island grew smaller in the distance. Once again, it was a green dot, impossible to find in the endless Pacific. But now vivid in our minds.

The man had shown us a way of being. Through the parables of fishing, farming and opening coconuts, he had spoken of balance, of respect for the world around us. That solitude can be a kind of richness. The island was beautiful, but its lone dweller made the experience unforgettable. His quiet strength and unspoken wisdom. His beautiful simplicity. His connection with nature. His belonging to the place.

We are on board and cruising to chase harbors unknown, our gaze on the horizon, our hearts seeking the next adventure, the next port. We haven’t learned much. But one thing we know: Some places stay with you, not because of their beauty, but because of the people who inhabit them.

The post The Man on the Beach: Lessons in Fijian Wisdom appeared first on Cruising World.

In October 2022, my husband, Carl, and I were exploring the island of Vanua Balavu in the Lau Group of Fiji. We had anchored our 38-foot Seawind, Sky Pond, in Nabavatu Harbor and were climbing the steep staircase leading to Nabavatu Plantation, where we’d hoped to meet the local villagers.

Our only goal that day was to wander the plantation’s ­rolling fields, edged with perfectly built rock walls. Small herds of cows, sheep and horses roamed freely over the lush green grass. As we climbed the stairs, the turquoise-painted cabins with fresh white trim flashed in the sunlight, and the lively chatter of voices grew louder. At the top, several people relaxing on their stoops waved us over.

In keeping with Fijian custom, we sought out the chief, or head man, to introduce ourselves and request permission to be their guests. Several women greeted us warmly and directed us to Sautia, the plantation’s foreman. He introduced us to his wife, Maria, and his daughter, Tanai, then offered us fruit, carefully weaving a palm leaf basket to carry the gift.

Like all Fijians we’ve met, Sautia was extraordinarily friendly and generous. But he also had something special to share—and a request for help. Disappearing briefly into his home, he returned with a piece of paper preserved inside a plastic sleeve. It was a letter dated June 16, 2017.

Sautia explained that in June 2018, he had found the letter inside a whiskey bottle on a beach just 4 miles from his home. The message read: “If you happen to find this message in a bottle, please contact us.” It also included handwritten lyrics to Andy Williams’ Moon River, the names of a boat’s crew, an email address, and the coordinates where the bottle had been dropped. Tucked inside the bottle was $20. Sautia recounted his excitement upon finding the bottle and the rare treat he allowed himself: a hamburger from McDonald’s the next time he visited Suva, a significant journey by boat and car.

More than four years after his discovery, Sautia still hoped to contact the letter’s sender. Unfortunately, at the time he found the bottle, he didn’t have access to email, and when cell towers were finally installed near the plantation, the email address was no longer valid. His hope now rested with us. 

I took a photo of the letter with Sautia and Maria holding it, and I promised to do my best to track down the sender once we had reliable internet.

Back on the main islands of Fiji, I began my search. The email address was indeed outdated. I scoured Facebook sailing groups and finally got a lead. One of the crewmembers’ names matched a profile. I reached out. Soon, I was able to connect with the sender: Charlene Graeber Green.

She had a story of her own, one that began long before June 16, 2017.

An accomplished sailor by age 18, she had raced dinghies as a university student. In 1981, she’d purchased her first sailboat, beginning a lifelong journey of ocean exploration. Her husband, Larry, who grew up in New England, also had a natural love of boating. He’d bought his first boat in 1972, long before he realized that his passion for sailing would one day bring him lasting love.

Charlene and Larry ­married in 2012 during a blue moon. After their wedding, they dreamed of sharing a life on the ocean. In 2017, while preparing to cross the Pacific aboard their 52-foot Tayana, Cailin Lomhara, they welcomed a new crewmember: 19-year-old Stine Bastiansen. Stine, a Danish backpacker on a yearlong break from her studies, was inspired to travel by her parents, who had met while sailing around the world. The trio quickly bonded and set off together.

More than four years after his discovery, Sautia still hoped to contact the letter’s sender. His hope now rested with us.

On June 16, 2017, west of the Galapagos Islands, the crew penned their message. For Charlene, Larry and Stine, the bottle was a simple but ­meaningful gesture—a ­connection that extended beyond that moment in time. They’d hoped, though weren’t certain, that it would be found.

Four years later, when I told Charlene that the bottle had traveled over 4,400 miles to the shores of Vanua Balavu, she was astonished. She and Larry now maintain correspondence with Sautia’s family, including Tanai, who is married and with a child of her own. 

Stories like these remind us why we venture out. As Charlene says, “The journey is better than the end of the rainbow.” From the middle of the Pacific Ocean to the shores of Fiji, the simple act of dropping a bottle into the sea created an unlikely bond that transcends time and distance.  

The post From Bottle to Bond: A 4,400-Mile Message Connects Sailors and a Fijian Family appeared first on Cruising World.

Watch out for that branch!”

Christian hurried to the starboard side, boat hook in hand. He fended off the threatening greenery while I slowly steered us through a 20-foot-wide entrance fringed by limestone cliffs. Our 41 Sparkman & Stephens, Pitufa, is narrow, just 12 feet, 7 inches wide, but the rocks felt close enough to touch as I made a U-turn. Finally the basin opened up, and we anchored in 23 feet on a sandy bottom. 

Next came taking the ­dinghy around the basin, looking for a place to attach chain and wire loops around rocks to secure our boat in a spiderweb of lines. Fortunately this was a dress rehearsal—no cyclone was forecast—but we at least knew where we would hide in a worst-case scenario as we enjoyed our summer cruising in Fiji.

When we arrived in the South Pacific in 2013, we’d planned to visit the island groups in one season and be in the safe harbors of New Zealand before cyclone season, as most cruising boats do. But after talking to fellow cruisers and locals in French Polynesia, we realized that the risk of a cyclone there is extremely low. We then spent nine years of gorgeous summers in French Polynesia, ­thinking that the island nations farther west would pose an unreasonably high risk during cyclone season. Then we got to Fiji, learned more about the ­options, and ended up staying for two years.

The Pacific Ocean takes up almost half the globe. It’s hard to grasp its size when you’re sitting on the sofa planning a cruise.

The Pacific Ocean takes up almost half the globe. It’s hard to grasp its size when you’re sitting on the sofa planning a cruise. We used Jimmy Cornell’s World Cruising Routes as our main reference from French Polynesia to the Cooks, Tonga and New Zealand, but it wasn’t until our first seriously long passage—23 days from Galapagos to French Polynesia—that we ­understood the vast ­dimensions of this ocean.

We met many French cruisers who had spent years, or even decades, sailing unscathed by cyclones among the many islands of the Societies, Marquesas, Australs and Tuamotus. Our own research showed that the whole area of French Polynesia has a very low risk—but that can change during strong El Niño events.

The 1982-83 season was one of the most active and longest South Pacific tropical cyclone seasons on record, with 14 tropical cyclones. Five hit French Polynesia, with Orama devastating the low-lying atolls of the Tuamotus, which had not seen a severe cyclone since 1906. The next strong El Niño season, in 1997-98, brought two severe tropical storms. Osea destroyed 95 percent of the infrastructure on Maupiti in the Society Islands. During El Niño of 2009-10, Oli badly damaged the Societies and Australs.

We decided to cruise throughout the five archipelagos during neutral seasons, or with La Niña dominating the weather patterns. In the Society Islands, we avoided November to May and the rainy season, instead cruising in the breezy, dry Gambier and Australs. The strongest winds we experienced were around 60 knots—bumpy but no problem, with good holding in a sheltered bay. We did not dare to linger in the Tuamotus because low-lying atolls would give no shelter during a cyclone. The surge can enter a lagoon unhindered. Friends in Maupiha’a told us how they climbed up coconut trees, cut off the leaves to reduce windage, and tied themselves to the stems, hoping not to be swept away. No thank you.

In 2015, we were still enjoying French Polynesia, but we were on high alert with an extra-strong El Niño building. We started early for the Marquesas—the only area that has never been affected by a cyclone, because while storms might form near there, they move away before picking up strength. Our passage was relatively easy from the Tuamotus in the southeasterly trade winds that dominate until October, but if you wait too long, the winds shift to the northeast, from November or December onward. Most other crews had the same idea, so the anchorages were full. The 2015-16 South Pacific cyclone season was one of the most disastrous on record, but no cyclones came close to French Polynesia.

During our nine years in French Polynesia, we sailed to the Cook Islands and Tonga, but we always returned to our base for summer. We did not check weather forecasts for only our immediate surroundings; we looked across this vast ocean to get a feeling for patterns. Watching cyclones leaving a trail of destruction over Fiji, we ruled out spending a summer, but we were surprised to meet quite a few old salts who had sat out numerous cyclone seasons there. Many crews leave their yachts in Vuda Marina on the west side of Viti Levu, the main island of Fiji.

Adam Wade, manager and CEO of the marina, told us that Winston was the worst cyclone they had endured. “In fact,” he said, “this was the strongest storm to ever make landfall in the Southern Hemisphere since records began. There are estimates that the windspeed at the marina was around 160 knots. The last recorded windspeed on a yacht was 130 knots, and then their wind instruments blew off, but it got even stronger after that.”

Wade hunkered down in his house up the road from the marina during that storm. There were about 50 yachts in cyclone pits, and about 100 more in the water and on the hard.

“Most boats fared very well,” he said. He figured that the boats in the cyclone pits together had about $7,000 in damage; two boats in the water failed to deploy fenders properly and had about $12,000 in damage each; while four boats on the hard fell over. The wooden ones were written off, but the steel ones had only minor scratches.

Boats that go into a cyclone pit have to stay there for the whole season, which is a great option for crews who want to fly out anyway. We met a female sailor who spends ­summers as a liveaboard in a pit. We didn’t want to stay close to the marina all the time; another option would have been to sign up with Denarau Marina, which takes boats up the mangroves and secures them there, but we found the western side of Viti Levu too touristy.

We instead sailed east to the remote Lau group of Fiji—with beautiful nature, authentic villages and hardly any tourism—but during July and August, it was uncomfortably cold and windy. We met Tony Philp, owner of the Tradewinds Marine Group that includes Vuda Marina, the Coprashed Marina and the Yacht Shop in Vanua Balavu, a northern island in the Lau group. The septuagenarian has spent most of his life in Fiji, is a three-time Olympic sailor, is a boatbuilder, and has ­circumnavigated the globe.

He laughed when we suggested staying in this area during the summer months: “Of course,” he said. “Summer’s the best time to cruise in Fiji. Calm seas, beautiful weather—you just need a cyclone hole you can run to if severe weather is forecast.”

He recommended the anchorage in Lami Bay within Suva harbor and pointed out a list of bays he deems safe enough to sit out a cyclone, so we stocked up on additional lines and chain and started scouting.

Some of these cyclone holes were too shallow for our 7-foot draft, while others seemed too wide to tie up to trees and mangroves, or the holding wasn’t good enough, or we found potentially dangerous rocks and reefs on the fringe. Finally, we found one that seemed perfect: a narrow entrance to a wide basin. It was basically a private marina made by Mother Nature.

Thus reassured, we explored the many islands of the Lau group, with the picturesque anchorages all to ourselves. We anchored out on exposed reefs and spent several hours a day snorkeling, sometimes just to escape the January and February heat. We studied forecasts twice daily and were prepared to run to safety, never more than 24 hours from our hidey-holes. A few times we got nervous, but in the end, the storms stayed away. The next summer posed a considerably higher risk—conditions had switched to El Niño—but again, we got lucky.

We’ll spend this summer in the Solomon Islands and Papua New Guinea, which rarely see cyclones—but due to climate change, the weather has become less predictable, so it’s good to be prepared for strong winds even outside the official cyclone belt.

Birgit Hackl and Christian Feldbauer have sailed year-round on Pitufa since 2011. Visit pitufa.at or check out their books, Sailing Towards the Horizon and Cruising Know-How.

The post Cyclone-Ready Cruising: Lessons from the Pacific Islands appeared first on Cruising World.

I’m seconds from slipping over the side of the dinghy into the turquoise waters of Tahanea Atoll in the Tuamotu Archipelago of French Polynesia. Manta rays, easily 8 feet across, swoop below. My pale white feet frame their dark velvety backs. This is always a moment of high anxiety, plunging my whole body into an ecosystem full of creatures I can’t see from above. 

I slide in and slam my face underwater so that I can see what is coming at me. My heart thuds in my ears. Within minutes, I’ve got a tight grip on my husband’s forearm. We kick slowly into the ray fray. I can hear him laughing through his snorkel. At me? Unclear.

Harry has talked about long-distance cruising for so long that I can’t remember a time when he didn’t. I always knew that it was his (somewhat vague) dream to sail around the world, but in the early years of our marriage, we were building a business and raising our children. The cruising fantasy remained that—
a fantasy.

This is where it ends for many people. Cruising is logistically more complex than anything you’ll ever do. It requires a lot of self-motivation and long-term focus. If your partner has a dream to sail long distance and you’re just not into it, then waiting it out isn’t a bad strategy. For many people, the dream evaporates under the weight of one partner’s noncooperation.

But then, we must be honest with ourselves. Could you live with the death of your partner’s dream? Knowing you killed it? Could you accept responsibility for that heartbreak? 

Going along with it might sound like an awful lot of give and very little take. Like personal sacrifice. Like being intolerably unhappy and resentful. That’s OK. Cruising isn’t for everyone. 

But maybe you’re tired of resisting, even though you’re still scared. Maybe you recognize that gifts come back to you when you advocate for your partner’s joy. 

Could you live with the death of your partner’s dream? Knowing you killed it? Could you accept responsibility for that heartbreak?

If this is the line you’re walking, I can share what worked for me. Here’s how I got on board with my partner’s dream to sail the world.

Take an Interest

This was hard at first because I couldn’t see a lot of value in trading my time with a good book to learn about port and starboard, tacking, sails, and inboard engines. My partner’s enthusiasm for all these things made it easier. I wanted to be able to talk to him about the things that interested him.

I imagined that I was learning a new language, and a new country. Sailboats have their own vocabulary. The words—clew, tumblehome, freeboard, baggywrinkles—appealed to me. I took small steps at first. Tiny steps. Just sailboat vocabulary. 

Then, the weirdest thing started happening: Learning the words led to questions. I connected the names for boat parts and the functions they served. Freeboard is the part of the hull above the waterline. Is it better to have more freeboard or less? 

After that, I was imagining myself on a sailboat with lots of freeboard versus one with not much freeboard. My mind led me there.

Find Ways To Learn More

Before I gave myself permission to accept the cruising dream, I was reluctant to talk to my partner about it. I didn’t want him to be encouraged if I was eventually going to decide it wasn’t my jam. 

Even so, I still wanted to learn more so I’d at least be informed when I told him it was too dangerous and there’s no way I’d do it. I found books and articles on sailing and cruising topics that interested me. I joined a Facebook group called Women Who Sail. It’s a supportive, inclusive group of women sailors all over the world. Every question—even the ones I feel nervous to ask
—is respectfully answered. 

I also attended a women’s sailing seminar for a weekend. And even though I’d been on sailboats for 20 years at this point, I signed up for a learn-to-sail course. 

Getting distance from my partner while I investigated this world was critical. I needed space to explore without the weight of his delight.

Own the Dream

A lot of cruisers singlehand. We’ve met many, and all but one were men. I tried to imagine my partner alone on an adventure like this, and I simply didn’t want that for him. I understood that he would likely go without me. I thought about how it would feel to maintain my land life while he learned incredible things every day on the water. 

I thought about what that would do to our marriage in the short and long term. I imagined the gulf that would grow between us. I didn’t want that for either of us.

So I accepted that I would participate in this dream. This was an important step.

After that, I sat for a long time in the place where I thought I’d made peace, but I still felt like I didn’t have a choice. I was willing, but—and this was the ticking time bomb—only for his sake. Over time, I realized this wasn’t good enough. I needed to be just as passionate about the adventure. 

I identified parts of the adventure that excited me. Crossing the ocean on a sailboat? Terrifying. Swimming in the tropics with manta rays? Exciting! I latched onto specific things that made me genuinely enthusiastic about sailing away from the safety of our home. 

For starters, I decided I would swim everywhere we anchored. I then decided I would write weekly stories about our adventure for friends and family to read. I got all sauced up learning how to provision for passages, how to buy food in Mexico, French Polynesia and Fiji. 

Maybe you love reading. That’s great: Stack your nightstand with books about cruising or about the places you’ll be cruising. Maybe you like napping. Terrific: Get yourself the best hammock you can find, and plan to get a selfie at every anchorage. 

Taking ownership of the dream puts you in a good place. Be open to ways this dream can become your own.

Work Through Phases

No part of this process is fast. You have deeply ingrained ideas and expectations about  “normal life.” You’re looking down the road less traveled. 

Unless you’re lucky, you won’t find a lot of friends and family who have done this before who can guide you. From the time I realized that my husband was sincere about pursuing his cruising dream to the time I was completely on board was about 10 years. Your timeline will be your own.

I identified parts of the adventure that excited me. I latched onto things that made me enthusiastic about sailing away from the safety of our home.

My husband isn’t drawn to get in the water. He rarely swims when we drop the anchor, though he’ll happily put down the swim ladder for me, and then watch over me while I stroke from our boat to that one and then that one. But when the snorkeling is good, he joins me in my dreamscape. 

He knows it’s important to me to share my passion for the water, and he’s interested in seeing the undersea life. He likes to look up the species in our fish books, poring over the colorful pictures. Swimming alongside magnificent manta rays excites him too. 

He still gets some of the snorkeling vocabulary wrong (they’re fins, not flippers), but he’s learning.

Joy Archer sails with her husband, Harry Pattison, aboard a 44-foot Mason launched in 1988. Tune in next month for Harry’s side of the story.  

The post Couples Cruising: Making His Dream <i>Ours</i> appeared first on Cruising World.

Caribbean

Windward Islands

Tropical rainforests, barrier reefs, secluded anchorages: In the Windward Islands, you’ll get a taste of all that the Caribbean has to offer, and plenty of fine trade-wind sailing to boot. For sailors, there are multiple choices for your Windward Islands adventures, and from any of them, you can choose to make your sailing vacation as laid-back or as challenging as you’d like.

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Leeward Islands

The Leeward Islands are full of cruising hot spots, with much to offer to sailors, making passing through the Caribbean. lush scenery, vibrant reefs and a laid-back vibe make for the ultimate sailing destination.

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Lesser Antilles

The Lesser Antilles, in the Eastern Caribbean, are among the best charter destinations on the planet. Why? Diversity and conditions. The winds, seas and harbors in the Lesser Antilles are nearly ideal 99 percent of the time, and landfalls are perfectly spaced. In many of the most popular chartering waters, destinations are 30 to 40 miles apart — or less. This means you can get up at a reasonable hour, have a thrilling sail, and still manage to clear customs by happy hour.

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Cuba

Cuba is one of those mysterious destinations for US-based cruisers: close, intriguing, but seemingly out of reach. In 2017, when regulations were a bit more relaxed for cruisers, Cruising World hosted a rally to the island nation. The verdict? Cuba is everything we expected, and so much more.

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USA, Canada and Atlantic

Bahamas

The islands of the Bahamas are a cruiser’s playground — clear water, colorful communities and great sailing. The Bahamas offer endless islands to sail between and explore; from the Abacos to the Exumas, each island is unique.

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Intracoastal Waterway

Those with a mast height under 64 feet can also take advantage of the beauty and convenience of the Intracoastal Waterway on their trip north or south through the East Coast. While navigating the ICW requires lots of motoring, when conditions are good, the sailing is spectacular.

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Southern New England

Cruising through Long Island Sound, anchoring in the Great Salt Pond of Block Island, exploring the coast of Cape Cod – there are endless opportunities to enjoy a romp through Southern New England.

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The Great Lakes

Some of the best freshwater cruising in the world, the Great Lakes offer endless opportunities for exploration. Each lake offers unique cruising grounds, ports and conditions, from uncharted rocky inlets on the Canadian shores, to bustling cities.

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Bermuda

For as long as ocean-going sailors have been sailing the North Atlantic, Bermuda has been the crossroads and a popular race destination. But Bermuda is so much more than just a waypoint—it’s also a wonderful cruising destination.

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Nova Scotia

Packed with geologic and cultural history, the beautifully quiet coast of Nova Scotia is a nature lovers dream. Spruce trees, granite, grasses, sea, seals and terns, there is no shortage of excitement here.

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Europe

Greece Isles

The sailing can be challenging, but the landfalls — full of history, diverse towns and tasty cuisine — are worth it. Greece boasts thousands of islands, spread across an enormous geographical area stretching from the Aegean to the Ionian sea. Four of Greece’s five island groups are prime cruising areas: the Cyclades, the Saronic Islands, the Ionian Islands and the Dodecanese. Each group has its own unique character and charm, making each one worth exploring.

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South Pacific

Fiji

Cruising yachts from all over the world come to Fiji to anchor in the crystal-clear waters of the South Pacific. This Pacific crossroads is a refreshing break, with world-class snorkeling, beach combing and hiking.

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Marquesas

Smack dab in the middle of the South Pacific, the remote and untamed Marquesas are an unforgettable sailing stop – if you can get there. The topography of these young islands ­reflects the dawn of time; the exquisite drama of the islands’ violent, volcanic origins has not yet been smoothed and worn, with towering peaks rising above anchorages.

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Tasmania

Tasmania offers world class cruising, friendly, welcoming people, and a rich sailing history. The beautiful anchorages are uncrowded and private, and the sailing is world class. Just ask anyone who has ever sailed a Sydney Hobart Race.

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Whitsunday Islands

Pristine white sand beaches begging for footprints; the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park just waiting to be snorkeled; and our charter catamaran tugging on her mooring lines, ready to set sail. Who could resist such a tempting welcome from the Whitsunday Islands? Not us.

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Southeast Asia

Phang Nga Bay

Towering rock sculptures rise out of the water in Thailand’s Phang Nga Bay, providing a surreal backdrop for cruising. Anchor among the hongs and hope into a dinghy for an unforgettable experience exploring hidden caves and uncovering secrets from the 10,000 year history of the bay.

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Africa

Cape Town

From the blustery southeaster that can blow 45-60 knots for days on end, the “table cloth” on Table Mountain, to the waterfront with all its great seafaring tales and bars and the beaches of the suburb of Clifton, Cape Town has it all. The weather is like Southern California; you can stay active in the great outdoors year round.

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Madagascar

Madagascar is a true cruising gem. Its culture is a delightful convergence of Europe, Africa and the Middle East, as evidenced by the gourmet French meals, baked goods, mélange of rum drinks, vibrant materials for both traditional and modern dress, and the combination of French and local Malagasy language.

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South America

Chile

The Cape Horn archipelago conjures images of heroic voyages through inhospitable landscapes and harsh, raw conditions, the true beauty Chile is that it’s remote enough to be pristine, but not isolated enough that you feel completely cut off from the rest of the world.

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Antarctica

Antarctica

Cold, unforgiving and a challenge for even the most seasoned sailor, there isn’t quite any place on earth like Antarctica. Just ask anyone who has been, though, and you’ll find that the journey to the bottom of the world was unforgettable.

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Musket Cove Fiji Regatta Week, held September 15-19 on Malolo Island in the Mamanuca archipelago, welcomed 96 boats and 400 people for three regattas. Some 64 teams raced in the Hobie Cat event, another 30 yachties paddled in the standup paddleboard challenge, 30 sailors competed in the Fun Run, and more than 40 eco-aware cruisers helped with a beach cleanup. 

The five days and nights continued an event that has been going for 38 years. Yachties from around the world flock to this event in the turquoise lagoon west of Viti Levu. Some Kiwi yachts are regulars here on their Pacific Circuit, and a growing number of American and international yachts participate too, before heading westward.

“It started out as a warm-up for the Fiji-Vanuatu regatta, has grown every year, and by now it’s one of the biggest events in the South Pacific,” says Will Moffat, owner of Musket Cove Island Resort and Marina. “It’s all about the fun, really, and everybody’s welcome.”

When this year’s first regatta started on day two at 10 a.m., only a light breeze rippled the sea. We watched flabbergasted as the participating boats simply revved up their engines and motored over the starting line.

How was that possible? Well, it turned out that it was Beach Comber Pirate’s Day, and the rules for this regatta state that “there are no rules for pirates.” The skipper of the Stealth 14GT lightweight catamaran Wow lowered his 50-hp outboards and managed to win the race, reaching 11 knots at times. 

Fortunately, the weather gods played along on the third day and sent a stiff, southeasterly breeze for the main event: the Round Malolo Classic. With full sails up, the 24 participating boats bashed into 15 to 20 knots of southeasterly trade winds. At first, the biggest cats rushed ahead, chased by huge monohulls and a fleet of cruising yachts. But then, three little, local racing multihulls charged through the field, leaving the bigger yachts in their wake. Burt, a 33-foot Reynolds cat, won the 15-nautical-mile race in one hour, 26 minutes, followed by Kaia, a Seacart 26, and 8.5 metres box cat, Miss Minnie. The first cruising catamaran over the finish line was 60-foot Marcato, and the first monohull was Fenice, a 62-foot Beneteau.

On day five, the participants in the 6-nautical-mile Sandbar Race merely drifted over the starting line with flapping sails. All crews rushed on deck to hoist their light-wind sails as quickly as possible, and went chasing the cat’s paws on the otherwise calm seas.

As the race went on in slow motion, we had plenty of time to admire the aesthetics: The boats looked like pretty butterflies with all the canvas they could carry. Colorful spinnakers, gennakers and other light-wind sails reflected on the sea under a deep-blue sky.

Big, heavy boats had no chance in these conditions, and for a while Burt, the winner of the Round Malolo Race, and Wow, the winner of the Pirate race, were neck and neck. Wow won in one hour, 17 minutes, with Burt in the second place.

If you’re heading toward the South Pacific in 2023, stopover in Musket Cove in September. The entry fee for regatta week includes an opening and closing dinner, and free drinks. Prizes range from free haul-outs at sponsoring marinas to gift baskets. https://www.musketcovefiji.com/yacht-club-marina/sailing-regatta

Birgit and Christian have been cruising on their Sparkman & Stephens design Pitufa for 11 years. See their blog www.pitufa.at or follow Pitufa on Facebook.

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We’re setting our digital sails for Fiji next week for a weeklong adventure to one of our favorite cruising destinations. Cruising World will pair up on social media with Cruising World contributor and world circumnavigator Amy Alton from @outchasingstars for a cruise through the islands. Join us for the highlights on Facebook and Instagram. Amy and her husband, David, completed a 6-year circumnavigation in 2020 aboard their Fountaine Pajot Helia 44 Starry Horizons. They are currently cruising the Bahamas, where they have their sights set on Great Inagua.

“We adored the Lau group,” Amy said of their time cruising Fiji. The Altons spent more than four months cruising Fiji aboard Starry Horizons, including a month exploring their favorite part, the remote islands of Vanua Balavu, the Lau Group. 

The nation of Fiji is composed of approximately 333 islands, ideal for sailors seeking sunshine and adventure. There are several ports of entry where sailboats can provision, including Suva, Lautoka, Levuka and Savusavu. “Savusavu (located on the south shore of Vanua Levu, one of the two main islands) is one of my favorite cruising ports in the South Pacific,” Amy said. Nearby Namena reef offers world-renowned scuba diving and Savasavu’s location on the southwest coast makes it a popular jumping off point for the Mamanucas and Yasawas islands.

Follow Cruising World stories on Fiji and enjoy Amy’s Fijian stories here. For more adventure, follow these links to Amy’s Cruising World articles:

Chasing Whales in Tonga

Making Friends in Huahine

The Magic of Cruising Madagascar

outchasingstars.com

And if you’re a cruiser out there with photos to share, throw us a line and let us know you’d love to be featured on our social media sites. Email Theresa.Nicholson@Bonniercorp.com, or message us on our social media sites Facebook Cruising World Magazine, and Instagram @cruisingworldmag.

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Long before Cruising World magazine, before production fiberglass boats or even square-rigged tall ships, there were a variety of different canoe designs sailing the trade-wind-kissed waters of the Pacific Ocean. Widely recognized as one of the first bluewater fleets in the history of the world, the multihull canoes of the Pacific covered vast expanses of water as pioneering voyagers and nomadic islanders settled everything from volcanic island chains to tiny, geographically disparate coral atolls. Of these many different canoe designs that sailed the Pacific, few were as grand as the mighty Fijian drua.

The drua were revered throughout the Pacific for their ­incredible size and performance, along with their huge ­cargo-carrying ability. The largest of them were more than 120 feet long and capable of carrying up to 200 warriors to ­windward, at speeds of 15 knots.

Around the world, the boats of our ancestors have been replaced by modern craft with engines and composite ­construction. The boats of Fiji are no different, and the introduction of the combustion engine signaled the death of the drua. Drua were originally built in the Lau group of islands in eastern Fiji—islands revered for their legendary boatbuilders and high-quality timber. The drua left the islands one by one and disappeared over the years. While there are records of when each drua left the Lau group, there’s not a single record of a drua returning to those islands in modern times.

Meet i Vola Sigavou, which translates to “the new rising star.” A drua built using fiberglass and modern building methods, i Vola Sigavou is a reproduction of the lines of Ratu Finau, the last known drua built in the traditional sense back in 1913. Launched in 2016, the 40-foot i Vola Sigavou is based in western Fiji and is part of a nonprofit organization called the Drua Experience. The drua takes tourists and locals sailing as part of an effort to ­revitalize drua sailing culture and traditional navigation.

RELATED: Canoe Kids in the Solomon Islands

“Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, there are no tourists in Fiji, and we are not expecting any tourists in the foreseeable future,” said i Vola Sigavou skipper Setareki Corvus Ledua, in August 2020. “We thought to ourselves, this could be the perfect time to go out to the Lau group and do more research and collect all of the evidence that still exists.” The ambitious voyage saw the drua sail around most of the main island of Viti Levu before crossing eastward toward the Lau group. The voyage was dubbed na lesu tale voyage, which translates to “the homecoming,” and it marked the first time in modern history that a drua sailed into its ancestral home of the Lau group.

The two-month journey from September to November 2020 saw the drua and its crew of six Fijians sail more than 500 nautical miles around much of the country. Beginning in Fiji’s touristy western division, the crew sailed i Vola Sigavou north and east over the top of Viti Levu, and then waited for proper weather before sailing across the Koro Sea and crossing to the remote Lau group. With more than a dozen stops along the way, the drua’s ultimate destination was Fulaga Island, the captain’s native home and the beating heart of drua culture.

The voyage was part of the Drua Experience’s larger goal of establishing a traditional navigation and canoe-building school in Fiji to reconnect youth with traditional sailing culture, navigation and the ocean itself. The voyage was conceived as a way to revitalize ancient customs and traditions while collecting knowledge from living elders before that knowledge dies out forever.

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Family News

We got to see Niall! Our crew converged at my father’s home on Bainbridge Island for a few precious days. Then Niall was off to Alaska to finish work with UnCruise Adventures. It’s a boat kids dream job. In a few days, he’ll be flying to Germany for a (senior year of college!) fall semester program.

Our family reunion is a card tournament. Or is the card tournament a family reunion? Every July, save last year, we meet in Bellingham to play vicious games of Chicago Rummy. Cash is involved. So are margaritas!

The event was fun as always, but too short, and left me sad that we didn’t have more time with extended family. Not complaining though, because it sure beat the heck out of not seeing them. And my father now has his name inscribed on one of the perpetual trophies! Alas, it is the Turkey prize for last place. But many inscribed here are later on the perpetual winner’s trophy.

We played many rounds of cards (sense a theme?) at my dad’s kitchen table. There was time to catch up with old friends, the kind where you can pick up again without skipping a beat. And I got to see my mother smile, even when I didn’t hear my name.

Bonus visits touched every sense with the glorious Pacific Northwest summer: the looks and smells and tastes. My aunties in the San Juan islands welcomed us with Dungeness crab fresh from their traps. Paddling near their home, inhaling the briny low tide, I felt nostalgic for our years here. Jamie reminds me I like warm climates. It was strange wearing trousers.

On the way north, we routed via cousins in Salt Lake City, and cruising friends in Idaho.

The road back was via my Aunt & Uncle (and more cousins) in Bend. I am grateful for the time and the hugs and the reconnecting. It’s hard to get enough. Uncle Niall – yes, Niall’s namesake – is 98, and served in D-Day. If I make it to 96, I hope I’m as sharp as my Auntie Mum.

Most of the trip back to Mexico was in smog from wildfires. Reaching Las Vegas, we could finally see more than a short distance – buildings on the Strip fading near sunset.

Near Term Plans

Work continues on Totem. Priming complete: We’ll look to move to the Cabrales paint shed for final painting once Jamie’s awesome swim step project on the transom is done. And so, we slide back into shipyard life. Yesterday, that involved bringing the yard’s security dog, Bonita, to the vet for a checkup.

Annapolis! In October, we are booked for the Annapolis Boat Show: It’s on! Jamie and I plan to teach in Cruisers University. All Cruisers U participants must be vaccinated and remain masked on site. I’m looking forward to it, although social distancing will pain me as a natural hugger! The show is a great time to see friends, old and new, and we love the TRU crew meetup.

Cruising Plans

Cruising plans are fuzzier. Is it possible to make cruising plans given all the uncertainty? It is. When I scroll through Noonsite’s awesome mega-list of country status, most now say open. Yes–Open! On their curated list for cruisers, 44 are currently closed, but 109 are open. Here’s another way to put it in perspective: in the 48 countries encompassing our circumnavigation, only eight are currently closed.

Future gazing is dangerous lately, but here’s a view for setting out in North America currently.

Caribbean Cruising This Winter

Juggling a changeable series of restrictions and entry fees/testing requirements takes some planning. But mostly, the Caribbean is open, even holdouts like BVIs. But even this past year, friends had a great season in the western Caribbean. A number of our TRU crew had a blast in the eastern Caribbean islands. They just moved less, or sucked up the cost of moving.

The simplest way this plays out, for those with restriction/regulation fatigue? Fewer clearances and longer stays, which is what seems to organically occur to most cruisers anyway. And for those that need to be on the move, then maybe skewing plans towards countries where a single entry means more coastline/islands/bays to explore, like St Vincent & Grenadines assuages the wanderlust while mitigating the hassles and expense.

South Pacific Sailing In 2022

Among all popular world cruising grounds, the South Pacific is the only one which remains overwhelmingly shut. Thanks to Delta, it seems just as unlikely to re-open now as it did in January: small, vulnerable countries have no incentive to tempt variants. Only Fiji is open. Fiji, where COVID cases are higher than ever.

In the current situation, there are no easy options after Fiji. How much will this change in the next year?

Don’t boats arrive in French Polynesia? A few; not many. French Poly has remained officially closed for sea arrivals since March 2020. At times, DPAM (maritime authority) has accepted applications to allow transit arrivals. Since February 3, 2021, applicants must demonstrate an imperative need, a “motif imperieux,” to be approved.

This imperative need is fulfilled in three ways: 1) overriding personal or family reasons; 2) an emergency health reason; 3) a professional reason which cannot be postponed.

It’s a high bar, and one which touring cruisers overwhelmingly don’t meet. Unfortunately, “Experiencing the annual marbled grouper spawning in Fakarava” or “Taking surfing lessons on a perfect Society Islands wave” will not be interpreted as professional reasons which cannot be postponed, much as I wish them to be. Hopefully the bar lowers!

When Caribbean boats chatter about planning to go, I wonder if planning actually means spit balling over Kaliks in the cockpit vs. actually doing the work of researching the route. Unfortunately, it also means some straight-up intentions to deceive, such as a fake emergency “forcing” arrival. You can guess what I think about those folks.

I’m grieving the probable loss of our South Pac plans. Jamie and I have time, and could go next year or five years from now! But at ages 19 and 17, we feel the clock ticking with Mairen and Siobhan aboard.

While we hope things will change for the better in the South Pac, but we’re pragmatists, so are looking more at where we can go than where we can’t. I still daydream about big passages to Hawaii, Guam, and then the Western Pacific and Asia. Who knows what will happen!

Dreamscape routes

Hawaii/Guam are open to us now… and with hopes for a southern route to follow. But another Plan B is exploring more of Central America. We’d need to get cracking on shipyard projects for that seasonal timing to work in ‘22, though! We’re not interested in spending lightning season in Costa Rica or Panama. Maybe El Salvador?

And if all this means I get more family hugs in?

#Winning!

Grateful to love and be loved by these wonderful humans: the hardest part of the trip was wanting more time with them.

Should Cruising Plans Be Postponed?

Heck no! The qualities that make cruising a fulfilling way of life haven’t changed. We can have amazing experiences, meet interesting people, try delicious new food, and build great memories – even if it’s not our Plan A (or even Plan B) route. Even if it means fewer border crossings due to cost/hassle.

There are always reasons not to go cruising: to postpone it a year here, a few years there. People who probably weren’t ever going to go anyway can latch onto the pandemic for the current excuse.

Still wondering. Check out the Salty Dawg Cruising Association’s Cruising in the Time of COVID webinar on Sept. 22. I’m hopeful they will have useful information to guide individual decisions.

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Fiji set a glowing example for other Pacific countries this past sailing season by successfully opening its borders to cruisers. The country consequently welcomed over 90 foreign boats, over 300 crew and an estimated $10 million to its shores.

The Blue Lane initiative, launched in June, set strict guidelines for pleasure craft to follow in order to enter Fiji. This protocol involved sailors having to activate their AIS for their entire trip so that the Fijian navy could confirm uninterrupted sailing, along with quarantining crew on board their vessels for a total of 14 days, including passage time. Additionally, all crew had to take a COVID-19 test and obtain a negative result within 72 hours of leaving their original country and again two days before their 14-day quarantine was up.

While Port Denarau is currently the only port of clearance in Fiji, once finished with their quarantine, boats are free to cruise the different island groups as usual.

Though small in number compared with the usual 750 boats that visit Fiji every year, the cruisers that arrived have helped contribute toward Fiji’s suffering tourism industry. They’ve provided the sailmakers, mechanics, electricians, taxi drivers and dive operators with a much-needed income, without which they might not have been able to survive the past few months. Due to a lack of onward destinations, the majority of these boats remained in Fiji during the 2020-21 cyclone season, providing further income for the industry.

United States Ambassador to Fiji, Joseph Cella, invited cruisers who’d participated in this initiative to a buffet brunch to celebrate its success, and there he highly commended the Fijian government for the way it has contained COVID-19. With only 35 cases in total, and no community cases for nearly 6 months, Fiji has handled this pandemic extremely well, with its Blue Lane initiative being a testament to its success. Let’s hope more countries follow suit next season.

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