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

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

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

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

The Sextant

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

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other uses for a sextant as well, such as calculating the distance of an object like a lighthouse, but all have been superseded by the miraculously accurate GPS, with which we once navigated into the port of Oporto in Portugal in a dense fog and never hit anything either.

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

Depth Gauges

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

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

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

Bilge Pumps

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

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

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

Steering

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

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

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

Autopilots

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

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

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

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

Lighting

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

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

Charts

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

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

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

Fresh Water

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

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

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

It’s a simple and worry-proof solution.

Parting Shot

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

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

Explore More of Cruising World‘s 2026 Boat of the Year Competition

It was the concluding day of the Annapolis Sailboat Show in Maryland. Along with longtime sailing mates and colleagues Tim Murphy and Ralph Naranjo, I was the third member of the judging panel for Cruising World’s 2026 Boat of the Year contest, with sea trials scheduled to commence on Chesapeake Bay the next day. And yet, all I could think of was the early Bob Dylan classic A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.

Unbeknownst to Dylan, he’d nailed the short-term forecast. An early autumn nor’easter was spinning up the mid-Atlantic coastline, accompanied by serious breeze and heavy precipitation to match. Cruising World Editor-in-Chief Andrew Parkinson had already called off the next day’s full sailing schedule for the contest’s 14 current nominees, and was scrambling to assemble a workable plan B for the rest of the week. (We did manage a windy, truncated test sail aboard the intriguing Leopard 52 hybrid-power catamaran in the pelting rain, but will hope to line up another spin in better conditions at a later date.)

As it turned out, though, good things—and for our purposes, exceedingly sweet sailing conditions—come to those who wait. A ridge of high pressure filled in across the bay after the storm, pumping in ideal northwesterly winds under sunny skies for the remainder of the week. We put the entire slate of entrants through their paces in the sort of steady breeze they were intended to sail. And once underway, we were in for one treat after another. The official sea trials of the 2026 competition may not have featured the largest Annapolis contingent ever, with just 14 of the nominees present, but it was an incredibly diverse, intriguing and well-rounded roster of yachts.

Personally, I’ve had a long and intimate history with the Boat of the Year contest. Indeed, I organized, established the rules for, and conducted the testing for the very first competition in the early 1990s. Since then, with the exception of a few years near the turn of this century when I was off on my own sailing adventures, I’ve participated in every contest as the director or a judge. I’ve sailed, inspected and reviewed hundreds of boats, nearly every production sailboat introduced in the United States the past several decades.

As a cruising and racing sailor, being part of this contest has been a huge privilege and significant opportunity to review and sail the latest offerings consistently, often in the company of their builders and designers. It has also given me the chance to witness firsthand the latest trends in designs, building practices, evolving systems and emerging technology.

With all of that perspective, I can tell you that weather isn’t the only thing changing on Chesapeake Bay. So, too, are the locations where U.S. imports are being built, how their systems are evolving, and what sailors prioritize when shopping for new vessels. 

Crunching Numbers

The fleet of new boats for 2026 was manufactured in China, Denmark, France, Germany, Slovenia, South Africa and Thailand. The rather glaring, obvious omission? For the first time in the long history of the contest, there was not a single production boat from the United States. (To add insult to injury, during the boat show, longtime industry stalwart Catalina Yachts announced that it was ceasing production, at least temporarily, at its Florida facility.)

The reasons behind the collapse in American boatbuilding are worthy of an entire article, but if you’d told me as recently as a year ago that Slovenia (with an interesting pair of Boat of the Year nominees) would surpass the United States in creating production sailboats, I wouldn’t have believed it.

The cost of new boats also made me blink twice. At $200,000, the sweet-sailing Beneteau First 30 was the least-expensive boat in the fleet; at the opposite side of the ledger was the Balance 580, with a price tag of $3.6 million. But the Balance had plenty of company up in the stratosphere, with the asking price of a half dozen nominees cresting the million-dollar mark. In fact, the average price of new boats for 2026 is close to a rather remarkable $1.3 million.

As judges, one of our standard questions to builders is: “Who do you see in the marketplace as your main competition?” This year, one of the marine-industry veterans we’ve sailed with over the course of many contests took a long moment before answering: “Used boats.” It was the first time I’d heard that one, and it turns out part of the reason why is that many of the brokerage boats sold during the pandemic are now back on the market. More than a few first-time owners have come to the realization that when you buy a boat, that first check you write will be far from the last. Discerning buyers, as always, will consider all their options, perhaps now more than ever.

On the docks of Annapolis this year, we also heard a new word being bandied about: “tariffs.” A sign prominently posted on one of the imports we inspected stated: “This vessel is not for sale. It is under temporary import bond and is on display only as a sample of the builder’s prospect.” (It was, of course, for sale, but the transaction could be a relatively complicated one.) Similar signs, with slightly different language, appeared on other Boat of the Year entrants.

The tariff situation is obviously a moving target, and many overseas builders expressed their cross-fingered hope that it’s a temporary obstacle. In the meantime, everyone affected is approaching it steadfastly and in different ways. For European imports, at press time, the tariffs add 15 percent to the cost of a new boat. For the many catamarans now being built in South Africa, that figure rises to 30 percent. Some builders have folded that tariff number into the bottom-line cost of the boat with the duty included and paid; others are delivering yachts ultimately destined for U.S. ports to offshore locations to work around the tariffs. Everyone is being creative. In challenging economic times, it’s one more challenge.

Last, my fellow judge Tim Murphy’s “day job” is serving as education director at the American Boat & Yacht Council. His technical expertise and insights are always enlightening. One of the design vectors he applies when evaluating new boats on his detailed spreadsheets is what he labels “$/Disp.” It’s is quite simply the cost per pound to produce any given boat.

By that metric, the most expensive yachts in the 2026 contest were the Dragonfly 36 trimaran ($89.71 per pound), the HH52 catamaran ($97.70 per pound) and the aforementioned Balance 580 ($97.95 per pound). These are all produced in relatively limited numbers.

At the opposite end of the scale, the Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 415 ($28.38 per pound) and Beneteau First 30 ($29.85 per pound) were the least-costly boats to produce. That makes sense. They will have significantly higher production runs and benefit from operations that purchase materials, engines, hardware and equipment in much higher numbers.

Still, Murphy cautions that these figures should be viewed in their proper perspectives, and with a close look at the boats themselves. “Those $/Disp figures accurately depict the quality of construction,” he said. “The three boats in the $90 $/lb category are unquestionably the best-built boats in the fleet on a strength/weight basis: lots of carbon, and post-cured epoxy or vinylester resin. Still, that $/Disp figure has long been a controversial one. The key is to hold each boat’s respective D/L ratio in your mind at the same time. Together, they tell you a lot about how to compare boats in the fleet.”

Between 2000 and 2008, production boats came in between $12 and $15 per pound. After 2010, boats from high-production builders were in the low $20s per pound. Since the pandemic, they’re near $30 per pound.

A Hybrid Revolution?

The rapid advancement of lithium-ion battery technology has led to its widespread use in everyday life, including marine applications. Compared to lead-acid batteries, deep-cycle 12- and 24-volt lithium-ion batteries offer significant benefits: They can be deeply discharged to a 10-percent state of charge (compared to 50 percent with lead-acid batteries) and they take charging current much faster than lead-acid counterparts. In real life at anchor, that means much less engine run-time to charge batteries. It’s your basic win-win proposition with a true quality-of-life improvement.

This has prompted more and more builders to explore hybrid solutions to address auxiliary propulsion and battery-charging options, including parallel diesel engine/electric drive tandems; and electric motors in concert with a standard diesel genset. Each of these options is almost always supplemented by solar arrays, and sometimes wind and water generators. These hybrid approaches are rapidly gaining traction and popularity, and were on display aboard several 2026 Boat of the Year contestants.

These systems are inherently complex, but the percentage of yachts with dedicated or optional hybrid approaches increases every year. For 2026, nearly half the nominees offered varying approaches to electric-drive systems: the Balance 580, Dufour 48 Smart Electric, HH52, Island Spirit 525e, Leopard 52 Hybrid and Royal Cape Majestic 530 Hybrid.

“We’re seeing a trend toward high-capacity 24- and 48-volt DC power systems with the goal of eliminating or at least mitigating genset usage,” Murphy says, drawing on his work at the ABYC. “This includes the 400- and 480-volt DC management systems like the Joool OneBox system with a charger and controller that we’re seeing from Dufour and Leopard. The outermost example we reviewed was on the RC Majestic, an approach largely conceived by its owner, a former Microsoft software engineer. It generates or consumes 25 to 30 kW-hours per day and stores 90 kW-hours. Just for comparison, my marginally insulated, 1850 farmhouse in Massachusetts consumes 17.3 kW-hours per day, and that includes an EV car charger. Seeing the new consumption rate on today’s boats is stunning. But today’s lithium-ion technology makes it possible to live on the water as you would at home.”

For me, at least, all this comes with a steep learning curve, as I suspect it will for many owners. And it comes with some growing pains. In a recent Boat of the Year contest, we inspected the first HH44 all-hybrid cat, and at the end of our test sail, Murphy predicted there would be some blips along the way as the tech came online. That proved to be a prescient observation.

“In some of these instances,” Murphy says now, “I’d boil down the question to prospective owners to this: Are you willing to be part of the builder’s experiment? Some owners are. But you need to go in knowing that’s what’s happening.”

It all begs the question: Is the growing hybrid-power approach revolutionary? It remains to be seen. The late, great Gil Scott-Heron once proclaimed that “the revolution will not be televised.” But if the builders advancing this emerging technology have a say, it will be marinized.

Performance and Perspectives

At the end of the day, at least for me, the best part of the Boat of the Year experience inevitably happens when the sails are raised, and we all get the chance to take the helm. I always get a completely different perspective when testing a yacht once we’re untethered from the dock, free from the boat-show mobs, and happily underway. For 2026, as always, the real insights and excitement came from the simple act of going sailing.

And this year, there were a series of standout moments. The sheer variety of this latest collection of new boats was notable and outstanding.

It’s always a thrill sailing the latest offering from Balance Catamarans, and driving the 580 as the breeze crested into the high teens and we trucked along at nearly 13 knots was not something I’ll soon forget. It was also the perfect opportunity to really check out the company’s dual Versa-Helm arrangement, which provides two driving options. A raised wheel accesses the heightened steering station; when it’s lowered, you drive at cockpit-deck level and have excellent sightlines forward, which was a welcome arrangement once the spray started to fly. And I always learn something when sailing with Balance’s Phil Berman. For instance, I never knew that raising the leeward daggerboard on a cat in breezy conditions equates to tucking a reef in the mainsail.

It’s also always educational when I’m testing one of the latest Dragonfly trimarans from Denmark’s Quorning Boats, because builder and designer Jens Quorning is the sailor putting the boat (and us) through its paces. The Dragonfly 36 is exquisitely rendered and crafted, and it hauls the mail under sail. In about 12 to 14 knots of true wind, we sliced to weather at 8 and 9 knots. But the real fun came when we swapped the jib for a code zero and went into power-reach mode, zipping along in the low teens. The best part was Quorning’s infectious, joyous response to it all: “You feel alive on this boat!” he shouted, with a huge smile. “You feel like you’re really sailing!” Yes, I did.

The smallest boat in the fleet, the Beneteau First 30 (one of those two Slovenian-built craft, the other being the Pegasus 50) punched way above its weight with performance chops, and justified its nickname as a “planing cruiser.” I’ve always been a sucker for a tiller-steered boat, where I’m more or less linked directly to the rudder, and every small adjustment elicits an immediate response. This is a minimalistic boat, something I really relate to, and is an absolute blast to sail. Once we cracked off and unfurled the screecher, the “joy of planing” wasn’t just a slogan, but a reality.

The Slovenian cousin, the 50-foot Pegasus, is the polar opposite of the Beneteau, and there’s nothing minimal about it: The yacht is a true all-oceans cruiser with a “tandem keel” that is basically a pair of deep fins connected by a substantial lead bulb. I loved just about everything on this boat, from the triple-headsail rig and twin rudders to the innovative, spacious, protected cockpit to the well-thought-out technical locker below. The fact that the boat sailed like a witch—8.5 knots to weather under jib, nearly 10 knots on a tight reach with the code zero deployed—was icing on the cake. This was my first exposure to the Pegasus brand, and I sincerely hope it wasn’t the last.

Finally, I’d be remiss without a shout-out to a quartet of boats that also left me with positive and lasting impressions.

When it comes to production-sailboat performance, I’ve always been especially fond of the Jeanneau line, and we had a wonderful sail on the Sun Odyssey 415. It was so good, in fact, that I couldn’t help myself and tacked right under the Severn River Bridge, much to the dismay of the company’s reps. (Sorry, guys!)

The Sirius 35 DS was a remarkable little yacht in every way, an innovative testament to German engineering with true bluewater capability.

It’s always fun testing the latest Excess offering with the builder’s enthusiastic French team, and the 42-foot Excess 13 continues their legacy: a sailboat by and for sailors.

And taking command of the tiller of the fast, light HH52 cat in the aft, outboard bucket seat—creaming along at double-digit speeds with the water ripping past—is an experience I wish every true sailor could enjoy.

The prizes for the 2026 Boat of the Year contest are yet to be determined, but I came away from the latest competition with one surefire impression. After several days of sailing on this gleaming collection of new boats, I was a bona fide winner.

The post Boat of the Year 2026 Preview: Changes in the Weather appeared first on Cruising World.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diving Gear

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

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

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

Day Tank

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

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

Mast Steps

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shallow Draft and Centerboard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fixed Pole

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

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

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

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

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

Parasailor

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

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

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

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

Boom Brake

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Essential Backups

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A huge crowd gathers at the breakwater in Gran Canaria to bid farewell to the yachts. One by one, boats from 26 nationalities file out of Las Palmas marina toward the start line at the north of the Spanish island. Crews dance and cheer, and the music changes from Queen to ABBA as Swedish yacht Dawnbreaker docks out to the blare of an Alpine horn. The two white-haired children at the bow seem awed by the fanfare, but their brother, Alfred, waves furiously from the top of a Jacob’s ladder, looking more than ready to take on the Atlantic.

The Chuck Paine–custom-designed yacht is one of 83 vessels (six of them American) taking part in the 2,700-mile rally to Grenada, which has a stopover in Cape Verde. The direct ARC, which sails to St. Lucia, departs two weeks later.

It’s been 40 years since Jimmy Cornell launched the ARC, an event aimed at cruising enthusiasts, not “racing’s elite,” with a focus on safety. Back then, Dawnbreaker skipper Lars Alfredson was navigating with a radio direction finder. Even during his first ARC, in 2003, he was reliant on an SSB radio and a modem to stay in contact.

“You’d spend hours and hours trying to connect, but you got through sometimes,” he recalls. “You see the boats the first day and the last day, and in between it’s just empty sea.”

Now, sailing with his son, daughter-in-law and three grandchildren, Lars has Starlink, enabling the family to run their online retail business at sea.

“I wouldn’t say things are better now, but for the young people who need to be connected all the time and have to report everything that happens, they like it,” says Lars.

At 64 feet, Dawnbreaker is one of the bigger entries in the fleet, with the average yacht being 48 feet. These days, over a third of participants are multihulls, and most are equipped with satcomms, autopilots, solar, lithium batteries and MFDs. But how would the crews feel if they were zapped back in time, Marty McFly–style, to 1986? Would they still do it? This is the question we put to them as they made their final preparations for their big adventure.

Almond angst

“Yes, I’d still go, because I wouldn’t know any different,” says Richard Cropper, skipper of Beneteau 60 Salty Rascal. “You’d just get by with the tools you’ve got.”

The British dad’s decision to embark on a yearlong adventure with wife Louise and sons Jake (9) and Harry (11) was inspired by a Secret Santa gift, a book entitled Sail Away: How to Escape the Rat Race and Live the Dream. Though the idea took hold on Christmas morning 2014, it would be over a decade before that dream became a reality, and only recently did they learn that the gift was from Louise’s sister.

“I think she wanted to get rid of us,” laughs Louise, a primary care physician. “For years afterward, Richard kept saying, ‘Would you do it? Would you do it?’ I only said yes because I never thought we’d go through with it. But I wouldn’t have done it 40 years ago, not without the technology. Everyone back home thinks we’re mad, but they can follow us using the YB tracker, and knowing we’re doing it in an organized group and can send pictures back home normalizes what we’re doing.”

Richard adds: “But the danger of being part of a huge rally is you can’t stop buying stuff. It’s like when you’re at school waiting to do your exams, and everyone’s talking about what they revised, and you’re thinking, ‘God, I didn’t do that.’ You start asking if you’ve got enough equipment. Did you buy enough toilet rolls? We had a panic about almonds, and Louise is like, ‘How many almonds have you actually eaten in the last year?’”

To ease the stress of the passage, the Croppers have hired Brazilian skipper Juan Manuel Ballestero, who made headlines during the pandemic when he sailed three months from Portugal to Argentina in order to see his sick father.

“I was in Porto Santo, and the borders closed. There were no flights, no ferries. I just decided right away, I’m going,” he says. “It was more than a sailing trip, it was an inner trip. I’m still trying to shape it, after all these years, asking myself what really happened. We love our families; that is what COVID taught us. I was going home, and I didn’t care how long it would take.”

Then it was a trip of solitude: a 29-foot yacht packed with 160 cans of food and a bottle of whiskey. This time, Juan’s looking forward to an altogether different experience, as was clear the night of his arrival in Las Palmas, when he was whisked to an ’80s party by a giddy Louise in luminous leggings.

“This family is lots of fun,” he says. “I’m pretty stoked about doing the voyage with the little ones. It will be unique.”

MOB rescue

Hoisting eight flags onto the forestay—an act counted excitedly by a group of boys fishing off the pontoon—is Swan 51 Eira. The monohull is doing the main ARC, and Finnish delivery crew Markus Leppanen and Vilhelm Sjöström are preparing her for the paying passengers.

“Sailing Eira wouldn’t have been much different 40 years ago,” says Vilhelm, tapping the elk-skin-covered wheel. “We have an autopilot now but hand-steer 95% of the time. We have a big racing rudder, which is really responsive, and people participate because they want to steer and sail. They want to learn something new.”

Markus and Vilhelm have tens of thousands of sea miles under their belts. Markus recalls that in the 1993 ARC, they didn’t have a sat phone—just GPS and a plotter. Instead of weather apps, they had a guy navigating onshore, giving instructions over SSB.

Back then they were “just a bunch of friends with the smallest, fastest Swan.” Now, Eira has 85,000 nautical miles on the clock and 15 crossings. She’s a veteran in every sense of the word.

“We use a traditional spinnaker,” says Vilhelm. “At first only in light airs until we know how experienced the crew are. Running it at night requires a bit of practice. The biggest risk is something happens, and the thing that should never happen is a man overboard.”

They reflect on the tragedy in last year’s ARC, where Swedish sailor Dag Eresund, 33, fell overboard from Volvo 70 Ocean Breeze.

“I was routing from Finland,” says Vilhelm. “I noticed all the fastest boats changing course and I knew, hours before it became news, that there was an MOB. It was around 0230, 20–25 knots. When it’s pitch black and a swell of about 6 meters, you know it’s really hard to get someone out of there. These old Whitbread boats don’t turn on a sixpence.”

Eresund was wearing a personal AIS beacon, a safety device that transmits your position to the mothership and nearby vessels, yet sadly he could not be located, reinforcing the fact that even the latest satellite technology is no substitute for lashing yourself to the deck, which people have done since the beginnings of sailing.

Markus recalls an MOB on his 1999 ARC, though happily that had a positive outcome.

“It was a Norwegian racing boat, sponsored by Jägermeister,” he says. “The spinnaker came down in a squall, and they gybed, knocking a crewmember into the water. Even when it’s warm, you’ll only last 24 hours, but here is this guy in a Hawaiian shirt—he takes off his life jacket and places it under his butt to stay out of the water. After 28 hours, a German boat passes and picks him up!”

It’s not the first time a sailor has been rescued by chance during a cruising rally. In ARC+ 2021, British catamaran Coco happened upon a dismasted yacht 140 miles from Grenada and towed it into port, to the relief of the distressed French skipper.

For crews’ safety, it’s a requirement of the ARC that all skippers have the ability to send and receive emails at sea, whether via SSB radio (via a free messaging program called Airmail) or a satcom device such as Iridium Certus 100 or Inmarsat Fleet One.

“We talked about getting Starlink,” says Vilhelm, “but the skipper doesn’t want it because the experience for the crew changes. We have satcomms and can make phone calls and emails, but we don’t want everybody hanging around the cockpit reading the news. You spoil the experience.”

It was during World ARC 2023 when Elon Musk’s low-cost, high-speed internet service took off among long-distance cruisers. While only two of the 20 boats leaving St. Lucia at the start of the rally had Starlink, by the time they’d completed a world circuit six months later, only two boats didn’t have it.

Medical backup

Onboard Frolic, a J/44, we find Rhode Island sailor HL DeVore opening the cava, having successfully Googled a fix for his B&G wind sensor, saving $3,000 in parts and labor. His ex–U.S. Coast Guard vessel is equipped with Starlink, a piece of kit HL wouldn’t sail without.

“I do love the romanticism of not being able to communicate other than with attempts at SSB,” he admits, “and I’m old enough to have sailed in those days, but being connected gives the family at home security, and means we can liaise with a medical team if needed—in fact, the same one used by round-the-world sailor Cole Brauer. We’ve got IV kits, medicines—everything you could possibly need—and with modern comms we have the comfort of knowing we can solve issues at sea.”

Meant to be?

Although Starlink draws a significant amount of power, the benefit of being able to make video calls and stream sports games or Netflix has made today’s cruising yacht a true home from home. It’s allowed Mexican family the Sidauys to sell their home and possessions and move onboard their Lagoon 52F catamaran Ruaj. This new wave of adventurous young families, who buy production catamarans and choose cruising as an alternative lifestyle, was rare in the ’70s, when the majority of ARC participants were older, wealthy couples.

For Gabriel Sidauy, the idea of taking on an Atlantic crossing was sparked during a chance meeting on a flight from Tijuana to Cancun.

“The man next to me was checking out boats and charts,” says Gabriel. “He was about to start this amazing adventure with his wife and three kids. I said to him, ‘That’s the best thing I heard in my life!’”

Gabriel’s children, Moises (now 14) and Natalie (10), loved the idea, but it took four years to persuade his wife, Victoria, to sell up and sail away. When finally she agreed and they shared their plans with neighbors, they were put in touch with a sailor who agreed to be their mentor.

It turned out to be none other than Emanuel—the guy Gabriel met on the plane.

“I told him he changed our lives, and he didn’t remember me,” laughs Gabriel. “But he was great. He told me about the ARC, what boat to look for, and he came several times to the house with his wife to tell us about his experience.”

The Sidauys bought Ruaj in Italy and spent a year sailing around the Mediterranean before making their way south to the Canaries. Thanks to Starlink, Gabriel can run his plastic recycling business at sea, while Natalie and Moises can be homeschooled, with regular calls to classmates and tutors.

“We have learned many things,” says Gabriel. “We used to live in a big house in Cancun with all the space we wanted, and now we learn to live with what is necessary.”

The bare(ish) necessities

One of the joys of the ARC is seeing what families deem “necessary” for their transatlantic, whether that’s a 50-inch TV, washing machine, coffee maker or, in the case of the Sidauys, “aerial silks,” which gymnast Natalie has tied to the forestay.

“Gymnastics is my passion,” she says breathlessly, while twirling and tumbling to the applause of neighboring boats. “I also love the night sky and can’t wait to see shooting stars, and play my ukulele with Moises on his guitar.”

So, a final question: Would they do this 40 years ago?

“No, it would not be possible,” confirms Gabriel, who has to cut short the interview to receive a video conference call.

Without modern tech, Gabriel would still be in Mexico dreaming of a long-ago conversation with a man on the plane. Most likely, the Croppers would be in drizzly Manchester, England, working long hours and doing school runs. Yet for experienced sailors such as Lars Alfredson, who has sailed to the Arctic and Antarctic, and HL DeVore, a navigator with 14 Newport-to-Bermuda races under his belt, waking up in 1986 in the middle of the ocean would pose no problem whatsoever.

The great thing about rallies such as the ARC+ is that these types of sailors can come together and cross the ocean in whatever way suits them, knowing that at the end of it all, in Port Louis Marina, Grenada, they’ll be sharing stories over a rum punch as the sun goes down over the Caribbean Sea.

The post We Asked: Could You Survive the ARC Without Modern Tech? appeared first on Cruising World.

Beneteau has pulled the cover off the First 60 concept, marking the 50th anniversary of its First line with a bold new flagship that blends performance sailing with long-range comfort. Unveiled at Boot Düsseldorf, the 62-foot design is the largest First ever built and signals where one of sailing’s most storied performance brands is heading next.

Designed by Biscontini Yacht Design with Lorenzo Argento responsible for both the exterior and interior styling, the First 60 targets sailors who want speed and responsiveness at the helm without giving up the livability needed for extended cruising.

Beneteau describes the boat as “crafted for sailors who seek intensity, precision at the helm, and the satisfaction of fine-tuning every detail,” positioning the First 60 squarely in the crossover space between race-bred performance and true cruising capability.

A performance platform with offshore range

From the dock, the First 60 presents a clean and modern profile defined by long waterlines and minimal visual clutter. Argento’s exterior design pares the boat back to essential lines.

For sailors used to covering long distances, the deck plan reflects serious thought about how boats are actually sailed offshore. The Walk-Around Winch Island places running rigging in a centralized and protected location, keeping sail handling efficient and secure. A captive mainsheet winch and Park Avenue boom are intended to make sail handling more precise and less physically demanding, especially when short-handed.

Adaptive helm ergonomics are shaped around the sailor’s natural posture, an important detail for long watches behind the wheel. According to Beneteau, the goal was a cockpit that supports both high-intensity sailing and endurance cruising.

Beneteau says the First 60 is the only yacht in its size range to divide the cockpit into three distinct zones (Sailing, Dining and Relaxation), allowing crews to trim sails, share meals, or unwind without interfering with one another.

Interior designed for life underway

Belowdecks, the First 60 is laid out to support real life at sea. The main salon combines a forward-facing nav station with a dedicated seating area, allowing watchkeepers and off-watch crew to stay connected without crowding the workspace.

The full-beam galley is designed around long work surfaces and integrated storage, a layout that will matter to sailors who cook regularly underway and need secure footing and easy access to provisions.

Forward, the owner’s cabin is one of the standout features. A walk-around, forward-facing berth, abundant natural light, and broad sea views aim to make it a comfortable retreat after long days on passage.

Argento’s interior styling carries the same aesthetic found on deck, blending warmth with modern materials for a look that is meant to remain current well beyond the boat’s launch cycle.

Built for a connected owner community

Beneteau is also positioning the First 60 as a gateway into its broader First owner ecosystem. The builder says owners will receive personal guidance during configuration, support throughout construction, and long-term backing through its Premium Service program.

Final thoughts

With a 62-foot length overall, nearly 50,000 pounds of displacement, and CE Category A certification, the First 60 is designed for serious offshore work as well as fast coastal sailing.

The concept signals Beneteau’s intent to keep the First name relevant to sailors who want both exhilaration and endurance. For long-range cruisers who still care deeply about how a boat sails, the First 60 suggests that performance and passagemaking do not have to be separate paths.

The post Beneteau Unveils the First 60 appeared first on Cruising World.

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

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

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

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

A Proven Bluewater Platform

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

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

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

A World Class Skipper

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

A New Way to Sail With Purpose

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

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

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

I went to last year’s Annapolis Sailboat Show with a familiar mission: to hunt for new products worth writing about. Amid the rows of sleek hulls and glistening gear, one booth stopped me in my tracks. It was filled with miniature boats so finely crafted, they looked ready to set sail across the tabletop.

This booth belonged to Abordage, a company that’s been handcrafting exquisite model boats for 35 years. Denis and Cynthia Cartier welcomed me with warm smiles. Their display gleamed with full-hull models, half hulls and racing replicas, all executed with remarkable precision and artistry.

I’ve built a few scale ship models myself—four, to be exact—so I look closely at the details. These were clearly in another league. Before long, I’d decided I wanted a half-hull model of my own schooner, Britannia, a 50-foot brigantine that’s carried me through many a fine adventure.

Abordage’s process blends digital precision with old-world craftsmanship. Working from an owner’s drawings and photos, this team builds incredibly accurate replicas, down to the winches, turnbuckles and pinrails. The hulls are created using stereolithography, a resin 3D-printing process cured by laser light. Sails are real Dacron cloth. Even the belaying pins on Britannia’s model are exactly where they should be.

The finished piece arrived this fall, after a journey as intricate as the model itself. It took a team of eight craftspeople and roughly 140 hours to complete, in their workshop in San Cristobal, Dominican Republic. It came packed in a reinforced crate so finely built that unboxing it felt like opening a nested set of treasures.

Today, the model sits within a mahogany-and-plexiglass display case. It’s light, elegant and easy to hang, like a painting. Mine measures 20 inches wide by 22 inches high, and graces the wall of my study.

Abordage has earned a reputation among serious yachtsmen, shipyards and yacht clubs around the world. The company has built models for Team New Zealand, American Magic and other America’s Cup campaigns. Larger self-standing models, like a 3-foot Fleming motoryacht or a 5-foot Uniesse Raptor, are museum-worthy pieces of marine art.

Prices vary depending on the boat and the level of customization. If your vessel is a production model, Abordage may already have the specs. For custom boats like Britannia, they start from scratch—and this year’s Annapolis showgoers could see the result, with my own completed model on display.

To me, this is a different kind of portrait than a painting. It holds the shape, soul and memories of a boat and its skipper. When the real Britannia and I have both moved on, I hope this little replica will endure, a perfect miniature of a life well sailed. 

Roger Hughes has been messing about on boats for a half century, as a professional captain, charterer, restorer, instructor and happy imbiber. He completed a full restoration and extensive modification of his 50-foot ketch, Britannia. 

Read more of his stories at: schooner-britannia.com

The post A Life at Sea, in Miniature appeared first on Cruising World.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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With bows pointed west and months of preparation behind them, the World ARC 2026-27 fleet officially got underway January 10, departing Saint Lucia to begin a 15-month circumnavigation of the globe.

The start came at midday local time in steady northeast trades of about 15 knots, ideal conditions for the opening leg to Panama. For many aboard, simply crossing the start line marked the fulfillment of a long-held dream years in the making.

“I’m so excited. I can’t wait to start the trip across the Pacific, and going through the Panama Canal is going to be a blast,” said Tommaso Amadori of Cashew ahead of the start. “The group is amazing, and the organization is fantastic.”

For long-range cruisers, the days and weeks leading up to departure are often as demanding as the miles at sea. In Saint Lucia, crews focused on final systems checks provisioning and mental preparation.

“You need to get the boat ship shape for what’s coming,” Amadori said. “It’s a big job mentally and physically, but the reward is amazing.”

That mix of hard work and shared anticipation defines the opening chapter of World ARC. While some crews are new to organized rallies, many have crossed oceans together before through World Cruising Club events. Regardless of background, the Saint Lucia start brought together a new fleet bound by a common goal.

Seminars, safety briefings and social events helped establish that sense of community, supported by World Cruising Club along with the Saint Lucia Tourism Authority and Events Saint Lucia. IGY Rodney Bay Marina served as the fleet’s base, offering a practical and welcoming launch point for the adventure ahead.

Over the course of the rally, boats will visit 19 countries. Many stops are places rarely reached by travelers arriving by air, a key draw for sailors seeking deeper engagement with the places they visit.

Flexibility is also built into the program. Some crews plan to pause midway, effectively taking a cruising gap year before rejoining a future edition of the rally. For many long-range sailors, that adaptability mirrors the reality of cruising life, where plans evolve with weather, family and opportunity.

The 2026-27 fleet reflects the diversity of today’s cruising community, including eight family crews and seven doublehanded teams. Different boats, different backgrounds and different sailing styles converge under the shared challenge of going all the way around.

“This has been a dream for decades,” said Will Lee of Sea Wisdom II. “I’m really looking forward to doing it with my wife Chloe and sharing this experience with everyone in the fleet.”

Later this month, the boats will transit the Panama Canal, a milestone that marks the beginning of the 10,000-nautical-mile Pacific crossing. For cruising sailors watching from home, the fleet’s departure is a reminder that big voyages are built on careful preparation, strong community and the willingness to finally cast off.

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