Here’s a hopeful cruiser sentiment: “I don’t want a project boat; I want one that’s ready to go.” 

It’s a fair wish. Who wouldn’t want to skip the difficult refit and head off over the horizon? But a truly turnkey used cruising boat is more myth than reality. 

We’ve seen dreamers who buy budget-­friendly project boats get overwhelmed with the unexpected effort or cost and ­never leave the dock. Similarly doomed are the Pollyannas who buy that “ready to go” boat, only to borrow from their cruising kitty to correct myriad problems.

These are not cautionary tales. They’re more typical than not. Buying a cruising boat can be one of the biggest purchases in a lifetime, but unlike buying a house or a car, the search can be slower, messier and more emotional. Getting it wrong can cost thousands of dollars and multiple cruising seasons. 

Let’s talk about how to get this purchase right.

The Right Boat

Spoiler: There is no “best” boat for cruising. There isn’t even a “correct” set of features. It’s easy to get trapped by dogma, and much conventional wisdom is dated when it comes to what makes a bluewater boat. Just ask an AI bot, which feeds on outdated content and parrots a misleading response. Eventually, it will learn that a full or modified keel and heavy displacement hulls are not essential features for an offshore cruising vessel. 

Retaining old-school biases limits the inventory of candidate boats. Modern build techniques and design innovations give better sailing performance, more living and cockpit space, and an easier path to insurance. Helping people release biases around legacy bluewater design is a theme that we visit repeatedly in our coaching service.

What’s real is the boat that’s right for a particular buyer. To find that sweet spot of features, real feel and budget, start by envisioning cruising goals. Is the plan coastal or regional, such as the Caribbean, the Mediterranean or Mexico? Or are you thinking about crossing oceans and doing some multiregional cruising? Safety offshore has more to do with the sailor’s choices while cruising than with the make of boat.

Bob and Kim Stephens, currently cruising in the South Pacific aboard their Stevens 47, Meraviglia, say there are often mismatches between boats and sailors. They underscore that not all buyers are created equal: A buyer who knows boats, has owned boats, and has experience with boats is a significantly different buyer than one who is new to boating. Knowing yourself, including your skillset and risk tolerance, is as important as knowing your boat in determining the outcome.

The All-In Budget

To work out whether a boat fits in your budget, start with a purchase figure, then add a general rule to estimate the additional refit budget. 

Oh, wait—there is no general rule for refit cost. Every boat is different, and oversimplification will gloss over the likely budget necessary to make a cruising boat safe, reliable and comfortable. 

Instead, consider the total cost to purchase and equip a boat for your intentions. We call this the all-in budget: the total investment needed to purchase andprepare the boat for use. It includes purchasing costs beyond the negotiated price, such as survey and haulout, along with transaction fees, taxes, maybe delivery to another location, and the first year’s insurance. 

The refit is fixing known and surprise faults, adding missing gear, and replacing unsuitable or aged-out gear. Costs can add up, and new cruisers can hemorrhage money to reach departure day. Before committing to any boat, thoroughly assess its condition and gear to estimate refit costs. We use a spreadsheet template with fields for available budget, all purchase costs, and refit cost estimates broken down in categories, such as anchor gear, energy systems and rigging.

There is no “best” boat for cruising. It’s easy to get trapped by dogma, and much conventional wisdom is dated when it comes to what makes a bluewater boat.

If the all-in costs exceed the budget ceiling, then it’s time to negotiate a lower price, recalibrate to a different boat, or plant a money tree. 

Going through this process to vet a boat can be liberating or frustrating. Make sure the heartstrings tugging over the quality workmanship don’t overshadow the voice mumbling about the rigging age, lack of safety, and energy systems meant for being tied to a dock rather than off the grid.

Finding a Boat

Buyers often ask us where they should look. Online listings are a typical choice, and there are dozens of sites to browse. We track around 30 in our lists. A few sites list only brokered boats; others focus on private sales or specific regions, such as North America, Australia or Europe. 

A boat search doesn’t have to be limited to where you want to start cruising. Identical boats are likely to be priced differently depending on whether they’re in Florida, Maryland or Connecticut. It might make sense to cast a wider net and factor in the cost of relocation after purchase, especially if you’re not finding candidate boats in your local search area. 

Consider starting where the better-fit boat is, even if it’s not your originally planned location. Many buyers feel more comfortable purchasing a boat they can drive to. One common use case is the North American ­buyer who dreams of cruising the Caribbean. Purchasing to start on the East Coast feels easier and safer than buying a boat in Grenada. But to reach Grenada, the Florida sailor will go more than 1,000 nautical miles against prevailing conditions on the ­so-called Thorny Path. 

One Seattle-area couple we supported as coaches, Matt and Colette Rabdau, began their search focused on Leopard 44 catamarans. Colette made several trips to Florida, where, despite having watched video walk-throughs, she found gaps that drove up refit costs. They scaled back to smaller models with lower price points to allow more buffer in their funds. Ultimately, they acquired a Leopard 38.  

“We were glad that we ­shifted from a 44-foot boat to a 38-foot boat, as the money we did not spend was available to make other repairs, including replacing both fuel tanks, the front windows, all four cabin windows and portlights,” they told us via email. They also did some upgrades, adding Starlink, a higher-output alternator, a LiFePo4 bank and a watermaker.

Now two years into cruising the United States and Bahamas aboard Chinook, they say it was the right call to recalibrate. “If we had purchased the 44 [dream boat],” they write, “we would not have had the necessary funds for the upgrades and repairs that would likely have come up for other boats as well.”

Digging Into ­Listings

It’s tempting to treat a boat’s equipment list in binary fashion: Gear is either there or it isn’t. To avoid surprise expenses after a transaction, buyers should get a deeper understanding of each item’s condition. 

Many listings have checkbox lists instead of details. “Depth sounder” seems great, but what kind is it? How old? Similarly, an “autopilot” might be a bungee cord and a centered wheel. Maybe the listing says: “new batteries, 2019.” Well, are they lead acid or lithium? If they’re lead acid, they’re likely near their end of life—not exactly new or a selling point. 

Look carefully at photographs. Do the pictures show a pristinely painted engine? Overspray on parts not meant to be painted, such as formed hoses, suggests new paint on a not-new engine. Is this paint covering rust and corrosion from poor maintenance? And is the mainsail fully covered in those dockside images, or is the leech exposed and baking in the sun? How rusty is the anchor chain? 

Everything on a boat has a lifespan. As the buyer, you want to know where each item is on that timeline. This depends on the original quality of the item, how well it was installed, and how well it was maintained. 

Lifespan applies to nearly everything, not just the electronics. Our boat, the Stevens 47 Totem, is 43 years old. It’s been under our ownership since 2007, and we’re on the third standing rigging, the second engine, the third life raft, the third watermaker—not to mention bulkhead repairs, tank replacements and more.

Many listings have checkbox lists instead of details. “Depth sounder” seems great, but what kind is it? How old? Similarly, an “autopilot” might be a bungee cord and a centered wheel.

Buyers need detailed knowledge, or solid guidance, to assess each component’s stage of life. When a listing is thin, seek information from the seller or their representative. Sometimes, lifespan will be called out for them, such as when an insurance underwriter refuses to bind a policy until an aging rig is replaced. 

Digging into listings also means researching online history. One of our coaching clients went through social media posts by the seller of a boat they were considering. It turned out that the boat had been through a hurricane and sustained meaningful damage—so much so that the insurance company had totaled the boat. This information was not disclosed in the listing. They asked pointed questions of the broker. Screenshots supported their case after the seller deleted the content online. The state in which the boat was listed may not have required disclosure, but the code of ethics for professional yacht-­broker associations does—as does a basic moral compass.

Again, the goal is to understand the boat’s all-in cost. This cannot be done by applying a general figure or a percentage calculation. It is unique to every boat.

Working With a Broker

A good broker is a valuable asset during the purchase process. The broker provides market insight and access to the back-end data for some online listings to help inform your offer. 

The broker also acts as a buffer in negotiations with the seller and their broker. Owners are often emotionally attached to their boats. Explaining why your lower offer for their lovely vessel is fair can be difficult to do directly. After the survey and sea trial, brokers can again save you thousands by negotiating for adjustments to the accepted offer. 

Why doesn’t every buyer have a broker? It requires a reasonable budget to make the commission. This is often around the $150,000 mark. Not all brokers want to be a buyer’s representative. It’s not as lucrative. Their commission is paid by the seller. 

It’s also important to know what brokers don’tdo. Don’t expect them to scour listings to find that dream boat for you. That responsibility lies with the buyer, although a good broker will assist the process. And, of course, they will know what their own brokerage has available. 

Working with a buyer’s broker isn’t always a slam dunk. The Chinook crew’s Seattle-based broker did not advise them effectively about Florida taxation, an omission that cost them a considerable sum.

Resale Value

Avoid problems later by keeping resale in mind before you purchase. Consider demand: Is the make or model a name that people will type into search engines? Does the boat have an owners group? Resale value has geographic implications too. Designs revered in one region are undesirable in others.

An unusual boat—your “unicorn”—might be harder to sell later. The cost to carry a boat for sale, from dock fees to insurance, can get expensive. Boats often sit on the market for months. 

Also important: Refit expenditure does not add dollar-­for-dollar to resale value. A given make and model tends to have a market value. It will have some regional variation. It will sell faster or slower based on how well it is equipped or maintained. But $150,000 put into a $100,000 boat does not make it worth $250,000. 

Newer cruisers aboard their Beneteau, Paradise II, Chris and Shiela say that physically getting onto as many boats as they could was an invaluable part of the process. “Any boat,” Chris says. “Boats I could afford with change from the couch, and boats I couldn’t afford even if I sold both kidneys. Shiela suspected that she would not have been happy with a linear galley, and I knew I wouldn’t be happy with anything in the way from the forward cabin to the companionway stairs.” 

Those preferences knocked out lots of designs, but they helped to identify which boats they could afford and which of those retained market value. 

When To Pull the Trigger

Analysis paralysis is real. How do you break that cycle and commit to a boat? 

Internalize the idea that there is no ready-to-go boat, and then move ahead with due diligence and support. A mentor can help you ask the right questions, and can sometimes answer them too. 

Most important, make sure you buy with your head as much as your heart. A particular boat might pull your heartstrings, but do the math on the probable cost to make it ready for your dreams, and learn as much as possible about what you’re getting into. 

Then, the day you step aboard your magic carpet really will be one of the best days of your life.

The post Buyers Beware: Navigating the Boat Purchase Process appeared first on Cruising World.

It was shaping up to be ­another postcard-perfect day at anchor in Thailand. My husband, Jamie, was working on deck aboard our Stevens 47, Totem, when he let out a shout that made everyone’s spine snap straight.

“Hey! Hey! Look out!”

A bareboat charter catamaran was bearing down on us—fast—and the people aboard were too busy laughing and posing for selfies to notice. The skipper finally looked up from his phone just in time to veer away, clearing our anchor chain by maybe 10 feet. 

“I saw ya, mate,” he called out. 

Sure you did.

For anyone who dreams of cruising, chartering can be a brilliant first step. But the gap between dream and disaster can be alarmingly narrow. Done right, bareboating is a confidence-building adventure. Done wrong, it can be a deal-breaker.

If you’re thinking of chartering as a stepping stone to life afloat, here’s how to get it right, from the skills you’ll need to the surprises you’ll want to avoid.

Build the Right Skills 

A successful charter doesn’t just depend on your spirit of adventure. It also relies on your ability to handle the fundamentals. 

Even seasoned sailors can get tripped up when stepping aboard a vessel that’s significantly different from what they’re used to handling. Twin engines, catamaran maneuvering, electric winches, a ­heavier displacement hull—all these variables affect everything from docking to anchoring to systems management.

“If you’ve been off the water for a while, or if your experience has all been in smaller or simpler boats, consider brushing up before your trip,” says Tracy Sarich, owner of Voyage Makers Coastal Adventures in British Columbia, Canada. “One of the most common issues we see is a gap in skills that becomes clear only once a client is already at the dock. That’s hard on everyone.”

To avoid that last-minute scramble, consider taking a refresher or liveaboard course with American Sailing or the Royal Yachting Association, or through the charter base. Many companies offer training designed to mirror real-world charter conditions, often using the same types of boats you’ll be renting. Not only does this kind of refresher course sharpen your skills, but it also builds confidence and reduces anxiety for you and your crew.

“Research your charter company’s requirements early,” Sarich says. “Then plan your prep accordingly. We tailor training to match both the boat and the cruising area, so charterers feel ready when it’s time to go.”

The more solid your foundation, the more fun you’ll have—and the more likely you’ll be planning the next adventure before this one’s even over.

Be Honest 

It’s important to recognize that while your sailing skills might be top-notch in your home waters and familiar conditions, those skills might not translate seamlessly to a new charter-base location. Charter bases often vet those skills carefully—especially in areas with more-complex navigation dynamics.

Charter guests can get frustrated when required to sail with a checkout skipper. “Do they think I’m not experienced?” “Did they not believe my sailing résumé?” In reality, it’s not about mistrust—it’s about setting you up for a safe and enjoyable trip.

“Charter companies want your experience to be a positive one,” says Capt. Margaret Pommert, a veteran sailing instructor who conducts checkout orientations for charters in Puget Sound. “They know their boats and waters better than anyone, and they’ve seen what can go wrong.”

A checkout skipper’s role is to familiarize guests with the vessel and local conditions, ensuring comfort with handling, docking and onboard systems. At the end of the process, the skipper must determine whether the guest can safely manage the boat—and their crew.

Even seasoned sailors can be caught off guard by unfamiliar waters. Deepwater Puget Sound sailors might run aground in Florida’s shallows. A salty Southern California sailor might struggle when the “wind machine” kicks in on a summer afternoon in San Francisco Bay.

Pommert remembers a Chesapeake Bay sailor—and hopeful family cruiser—who was planning a Puget Sound charter with his anxious wife and young children. He ­proudly explained that he had interpreted the local tide tables and intended to sail through Deception Pass on a max ebb current. Recognizing this as a recipe for disaster, Pommert gently explained the danger of his plan and introduced the concept of a tidal gate. Together, they reworked the itinerary.

A month later, the family bought a sailboat. Six months after that, his wife enrolled in one of Pommert’s courses.

A good checkout skipper is a mentor and partner. They help you build on your strengths, identify knowledge gaps, and ensure that your charter is a success. It’s a rare ­opportunity to grow; embrace it.

Know the Systems

Even experienced sailors can find themselves flustered on a charter boat. The systems might be unfamiliar, the layout unexpected and the interface—bonjour, French chart plotter—less than intuitive. What you think of as basic sailing knowledge might not prepare you for the living ­systems that make a boat feel like a functioning home, even for a week.

On a charter, you might be managing a watermaker, monitoring battery-charge levels, or operating a macerator pump for the heads. These are things you might never touch on a daysailer or even your own coastal cruiser. Mismanaging these systems can lead to discomfort, stress and safety issues.

“In-mast furling systems, for example, are very common on charter sailboats,” says Tracy Sarich of The Voyage Makers. “Clients who say they know how to use them—because they’ve watched a YouTube video—are often the ones calling on day one when something goes wrong. These issues could be avoided if they gave themselves a little more time for discussion at the dock.”

Before you board, ask for a list of the boat’s equipment. Familiarize yourself with anything unfamiliar. Charter ­companies might be able to provide videos or manuals. If not, a little digging online—­especially on YouTube—can go a long way. Make a checklist of key systems that you want to understand: How do you monitor tank levels? Where are the breaker panels? How does the autopilot engage? And, yes, how do you flush the toilet?

Even details such as PFD comfort, dinghy operation and stove ignition can feel like small wins if you take the time to get familiar up front. The orientation provided by the charter base is valuable, but it’s not always enough, especially if you arrive rushed or distracted. A little homework before you go can make your entire week more enjoyable. 

Research and ­Prepare

Sailing in a new place can be thrilling—but also deceptive. It’s easy to assume that your sailing skills will transfer ­seamlessly. In reality, every destination has its quirks, risks and local ­knowledge. Maybe it’s the swift tidal currents and narrow passes of the San Juans, or the sharp katabatic winds that come screaming down Greek hillsides in the Med. Even the most seasoned sailors can be caught off guard when they underestimate the local conditions.

Nothing beats advanced planning and asking questions of your charter company ahead of time so that you can discuss your plan with a local expert upon arrival.

“Most accidents occur on charter boats because clients have overestimated their ability to read the conditions in a new area,” Sarich says.

She appreciates when guests take time before their trip—and during that first day of orientation with The Voyage Makers—to plan and prepare, making their vacation more relaxing. It can also save money, especially when security ­deposits are at stake.

Lara Ortiz runs Ocean Adventure Cat charters with her husband, Jason Decker, and has seen both sides of the coin when it comes to research.

“We met some nonmariners on a dive trip in Borneo who were super-interested in sharing a bareboat with us one day,” she says. “They joined us in St. Lucia, loved it, and went home to Germany to earn their sailing certifications. A year and a half later, they invited us on a sailing trip in Croatia, with Jason as the backup skipper.”

On that trip, their friend—the first-time charter skipper with an engineer’s mindset—brought along a 3-inch binder with divider tabs. It included detailed information on the cruising grounds, potential itineraries, summaries of each destination and port, anchorage and marina chart screenshots, explanations of local weather patterns, guidance on areas to avoid and how to identify risk factors, and diagrams of line and rudder configurations for different docking conditions.

Ortiz and Decker were the only experienced sailors aboard, but each day, their friend—the new skipper—would review ­relevant maneuvers with the crew and assign clear roles.

“He maintained great communication during sailing, docking and anchoring,” Ortiz says. “Preparation paid off, and the trip was a rousing success.”

Be Realistic

One of the most common causes of charter disappointment is an overstuffed itinerary. It’s tempting, especially on your first trip, to try to check off every beach, bar and snorkeling spot that you flagged in the guidebook. But cramming too many destinations into too few days almost always backfires. You spend your week rushing between anchorages, eyes on the clock, powering through squalls or skipping swims—all just to stay on schedule. 

The problem is mindset: We come from lives governed by fixed calendars and concrete deadlines, where a change in the weather just means packing an umbrella. But sailing doesn’t work like that. Weather shifts, boats need attention, and sometimes the best-laid plans give way to the perfect cove you didn’t expect to fall in love with.

Give yourself time, especially on day one. Settle in, get to know the boat, and slow your roll. Marla Hedman, a captain with The Voyage Makers, recalls a charter crew who arrived late, eager to cast off and make their first anchorage before sunset. In their haste, groceries were hurried aboard, the boat briefing was rushed, and they motored out without properly checking systems. 

Later, when they went to raise the main, the electric winch jammed—and they kept pressing the button. Pop. Pop. Pop. The halyard, still routed through the lifelines, ripped stanchions from the deck one by one. Their charter ended ­before it really began.

The lesson? Prioritize ease over ambition. Aim for fewer destinations, with more time at each. Let the weather and your mood guide your course. Savor the unplanned layover, the lingering lunch or the unexpected sunset in a bay you didn’t even mean to stop in. 

When you make room for spontaneity, that’s when magic tends to happen.

Bring Perspective

Your mindset is one of the most important pieces of charter prep—more than any checklist or chart-plotter app. 

Charter boats get used hard. Systems wear, cushions fade, things break. The air conditioning might groan in protest, the dinghy might have a sticky outboard, and the watermaker might be out of commission entirely. None of these situations is ideal, but none of them need to ruin your trip.

One of our coaching clients, fresh back from a weeklong charter in the BVI, told us: “It wasn’t exactly as advertised. Our boat was supposed to have a watermaker, but it wasn’t working. Yet for one week in the BVI, it was easy enough for us to manage on board.” 

His takeaway? A little flexibility and problem-solving made the trip feel more like an adventure and less like a resort stay. That’s actually pretty close to real cruising, where “something always needs fixing” is less a complaint than a mantra. If you treat minor hiccups as part of the story, then you’re already thinking like a cruiser.

There’s also another way to bring perspective: If you’re chartering and curious about the liveaboard lifestyle, look around the anchorage. Cruisers are easy to spot. They typically have laundry flapping from the lifelines, an array of solar panels, jerries lashed to the rail, and someone in the ­cockpit elbow-deep in an electrical panel or a winch servicing. Go say hi. Most of us remember exactly what it was like to be cruiser-curious, and we’re ­often more than happy to swap stories or offer a quick tour.

Just maybe don’t drop your anchor right on top of theirs.

Pregame Like a Cruiser 

If you’re treating your charter as a trial run for future cruising life, don’t wait until you’re aboard to start thinking like a full-time ­sailor. Use the planning phase to build real-world skills and gain confidence with the tools that cruisers rely on daily. Try this ­four-step checklist before you even book your flight.

Practice With Charting Software: Install a navigation app such as Navionics or Aqua Map on a tablet. Practice route planning manually to get familiar with chart overlays, depth contours, and hazard markers. No auto-routing.

Track Weather: Download a robust marine forecasting app such as PredictWind. Ask your charter base which forecast models they trust most for the local area, then begin following them days or weeks in advance. You’ll get a sense of how patterns evolve in your  destination.

Scout Anchorages With Cruiser Intel: Platforms such as Noforeignland let you explore anchorage reviews and track real cruisers’ movements. Study the footprints of others to get a sense of practical, comfortable routes, as well as ones to avoid.

Understand Local Phenomena: GRIB files don’t tell the full story. Learn about region-specific weather quirks such as katabatic winds in the Med, chubascos in the Sea of Cortez, and squalls that funnel between islands. Knowing what’s likely to catch you off guard helps you stay ahead of the curve.

The post How to Bareboat Charter Like a Cruiser appeared first on Cruising World.

In the very first episode of Ahoy!, the Cruising World podcast, longtime voyagers Behan and Jamie Gifford of Sailing Totem share how they went from dreamers with a “someday” plan to full-time cruisers raising three kids afloat. Their story is one of patience, planning, and a shared love for the sailing life—and it offers inspiration for anyone wondering what it really takes to go all in.

The journey started well before Totem, their Stevens 47, carried them out of Puget Sound in 2008. It began with a shared sense of wanderlust, a love of the water, and a pivotal moment of clarity following the birth of their second child and the loss of a parent. “We realized we didn’t want to wait for some vague retirement window,” Behan says. “We needed to set a date.”

So they did. With three young children in tow—aged 4, 6, and 9 at the time—they stepped away from traditional careers, sold their house, and committed fully to a life afloat.

In this episode, host Andrew Parkinson talks with the Giffords about the realities of cruising as a family, the intentional lifestyle choices they made along the way, and the emotional and logistical preparations that made it possible. From the early influences that planted the seed to the decisions that shaped their route and rhythms aboard, the conversation offers both practical insight and heartfelt storytelling.

Now, nearly two decades and tens of thousands of sea miles later, the Giffords continue to inspire through SailingTotem.com, their mentorship work, and their honest reflections on what it means to live a life under sail.

Listen now on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.

Explore more from their journey at cruisingworld.com/sailing-totem and sailingtotem.com.

The post PODCAST | How Sailing <i>Totem</i> Made “Someday” Happen appeared first on Cruising World.

Come to our canoe house, and we’ll have kapetalwa.

We’re being invited, but in Micronesia, kapetalwa can also be an expectation. It describes the ritual practiced by traditional voyagers upon landfall: to bring news of their voyages and gifts for goodwill to the island chief. 

Gifts in hand, my husband, Jamie, and I wiggle our toes in the sand in the shade of a palm-thatched, open-air canoe house. We reflect on the journey that brought us here.

Micronesia was distantly on our radar as the kind of region we’d like to explore. What little we knew seemed appealing: ­tropical islands, turquoise water, vibrant marine life, interesting culture and minimal tourism. Like most sailors traversing the Pacific, our first crossing was a route from the Americas to French Polynesia, and then west through the islands. Landfalls are entirely in the Southern Hemisphere. Micronesia, north of the equator, is a detour. But that detour had the rewards we’d dreamed about, even if getting there would involve intricate routing, weather complexity and resource scarcity.

Our path to Micronesia started in Mexico, where Jamie and I lingered for several years after completing a circumnavigation. A trifecta of the pandemic, eldercare and the launching of our boat-raised kids postponed offshore voyaging for a while. Sailing away from Baja in 2024 was the beginning of a new chapter. Our Stevens 47, Totem, felt nearly new after our refit. The makeup of our crew was new—just a couple of empty-nest cruisers instead of a family of five. Might as well carve a new path too. 

And Micronesia offered an additional appeal: We’d never been there before. As a family aboard, we had prioritized the company of other boats with kids. This time, we’re keen for more ­off-the-track cruising grounds.

One reason fewer cruisers reach the region could be that it’s hard to place geographically. Until Jamie and I developed concrete plans to sail there, Micronesia was a fuzzy shape on our mental map. It looks like a limp kidney bean in the western North Pacific, yet it includes the Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas, the Federated States of Micronesia, Guam, Kiribati, Nauru, Palau and the Republic of the Marshall Islands. This region has an east-west span of nearly 2,500 nautical miles, with millions of square miles of ocean to cruise.

There are two main reasons that cruisers route through Micronesia: to escape cyclone season in the South Pacific and to find a route back to North America via Japan. The region is dominated by easterly trade winds, favorable for sailing a mostly north-south route from Fiji to the Marshall Islands and back, or north and then west toward Japan.

For cyclone-season escapees, that means arriving in Micronesia near the end of the calendar year. For boats heading to North America, a good time to arrive in Japan and track north to the Aleutians is around March. Both scenarios let cruisers pass through Micronesia during the Northern Hemisphere’s winter, a period of moderate volatility as the Intertropical Convergence Zone creates squally conditions during its seasonal migration north. Although it’s not cyclone season, it also is not, in fact, the better time of year to be there.

Traditional navigators that we connected with in Micronesia said they recognize two primary seasons, each starting at an equinox. The favorable sailing season aligns with spring through fall in North America, encompassing hurricane season. It begins when they see the star Altair rise above the horizon near dawn. Systems do percolate here, but comparably few storms track through the islands. It is a time of generally gentler winds and seas, a much kinder time for outrigger canoes. And, unfortunately, it is the opposite timing for cruisers on those typical itineraries described.

Our route was neither of those two typical scenarios, coming west across the Pacific entirely in the Northern Hemisphere. Determined to take a different path through the Pacific than we had 15 years ago, Jamie and I arrived in Majuro, Marshall Islands, after spending the summer in Hawaii. Arriving at the eastern end of Micronesia sounded like a great way to ride easterly trade winds west through the islands. What we hadn’t counted on was how much of our time would be influenced by the Intertropical Convergence Zone.

Our late-September arrival meant that weather windows for moving between atolls were limited by volatility as the ITCZ rose and lingered. No wonder sailors heading north from Fiji during cyclone season tend to stay put in the archipelagoes. Cruising is possible, but squally conditions add risk and discomfort. In addition to volatile conditions, the currents that funnel near atolls can create steep, rough seas. The combination of these features, especially if wind and current are in opposition, can create dangerous conditions. Instead of ample opportunities to move about the archipelago, we found ourselves waiting weeks for weather to clear.

For boats returning south to Fiji at the end of the season, it’s an upwind battle to check out of the Marshall Islands from Majuro. We were glad to be continuing west instead, with clearance ­possible at the western atoll of Kwajalein. The ITCZ raised up its dragon breath again; we still waited several weeks for weather to continue west.

Visas offered in Micronesian countries are generous by most standards. For US nationals, there’s a distinct advantage: All countries but Kiribati are independent republics in special relationships with the United States, or are overseas territories of the United States. US nationals can stay indefinitely without visa requirements. Suddenly, the seasonal timing constraints are simplified for many cruisers: It’s easy to stay longer and enjoy stunning cruising grounds when conditions are best. 

Inside individual countries or territories, formalities can be more complicated. Much of the draw for Kiribati, the Marshall Islands and the Federated States of Micronesia is in visiting the outer atolls. Some are entirely uninhabited. Others have a settlement on just one or two islands, and then a string of islands that host birds and palms around the fringing reef.

In these remote atolls, beaches offer uninterrupted miles to ­explore, pristine coral reefs, thriving traditional island cultures—all of which you must obtain permission from the capital to visit. In the Marshall Islands, this is a formal process where the elected official and the hereditary chief must sign off on your application. A fee is levied, sometimes paid in Majuro and at other times paid upon arrival in the atolls. In the Federated States of Micronesia, the application to visit outer atolls is made at the capital for the state you’re in (there are four: Kosrae, Pohnpei, Chuuk and Yap) and are relatively informal. In some cases, there’s no form at all, just finding the right person to ask.

Navigating these atolls can complicate routing. In the Marshall Islands especially, sailors might need to beat into trade winds to reach a port where clearing out of the country is possible. There are nuances between countries and island groups. For some cruisers, this is a real deterrent.

We waited six weeks in Majuro while officials processed our applications, regularly visiting the ministry office, and we still did not have sign-offs for all the atolls we’d hoped to visit. We trimmed our plans based on permissions that we were able to acquire. 

Minimal tourism is a hallmark for many of our favorite ­places. Visit Micronesia, and you’ll be in some of the least-visited ­countries in the world. Want to have a beach all to yourself? Take your pick. 

Raw natural beauty aside, destinations with less tourism foster opportunities for connecting one-on-one with people. Encounters ashore are based on mutual interest instead of the transactional relationship that characterizes popular destinations. People are more likely to be curious here. Conversations have depth: about war history, about depopulation as islanders migrate in search of opportunities, or about the impacts of climate change for future generations. The world has plenty of beautiful places, but few come as unpretentiously as Micronesia or leave as lasting a mark on the memory.

The connection sneaks up on you, because the cultural ­differences, at first, are stark. Hereditary kings are considered to be gods. These king-chiefs are male, but the heredity lines are matrilineal. Society has a caste system, with chiefs, nobles and workers. It can be easy to miss, then hard to forget, once the slices of humanity become apparent.

The remote nature of the atoll also presents some practical challenges for basic needs. In Majuro, the capital of the Marshall Islands, we wanted to refill an empty propane tank. But upon visiting the depot (there’s only one), we learned that they were out of propane. A fresh supply was not expected for at least a couple of weeks. One cruiser in our company switched to butane canisters and purchased a cooktop to use them because the first island group in the next country apparently would not have propane either.

Provisioning was also trickier than anticipated. Food is flown in to the capitals, and then sent to outer atolls in a supply ship. The selection of shelf-stable goods, from rice to soy sauce, was better than expected, but the availability of fresh produce was extremely limited. One low point: staring at a bag of romaine lettuce, already rotting inside its plastic wrap, and contemplating paying $10 for the privilege of purchasing slimy greens. 

Medical care is basic too. Even in most of the capitals, patients with complex cases are usually flown to Hawaii for care. Life expectancy here is in the mid-60s, with 75 percent of Marshallese older than 50 suffering from diet-induced Type 2 diabetes, and no access to insulin unless they live in a capital.

While we were in the Marshall Islands, I was diagnosed with ­hypertension. Overnight, I went from being smug about my ­excellent health to having a prescription to take for the rest of my life. The care provided was good, but my new prescription could be sourced in only two of the 29 atolls.

Scarcity shapes daily life in many ways. Although remote ­islanders are well-adapted to subsistence fishing and farming of coconut, bananas, seasonal breadfruit and taro, they rely on the supply ship for rice and meat—and the supply ship might come through only every few months.

Totem became a floating Santa’s sleigh for these people, arriving on December 23 laden with around 1,000 pounds of cargo. Our load was mainly frozen meat in a refrigerator case strapped to our aft deck, plus around 400 pounds of rice and another 200 pounds of flour, in bags stashed belowdecks. It was deeply gratifying to help meet local needs and then enjoy the meals with them during a community feast for Christmas.

For all the scarcity, there is wealth of another kind. In Micronesia, despite centuries of colonial influence from faraway countries, traditional practices and knowledge are proudly retained. It was from here that, in the 1970s, the Polynesian Voyaging Society in Hawaii found navigators skilled in the art that they had long since lost. Bringing them to Hawaii was key to the successful launch of the Hōkūle’a voyaging canoe and fueling a resurgence of native pride. We met islanders who had left small atolls for education and employment but then returned to choose the traditional existence. One islander related leaving his home country for training and working as a tour guide. It left him wanting, and he returned instead to swing a hammock on an atoll, forage from the island and sea, and cook on a coconut-­husk fire.

Near our anchorage in Guam’s Apra harbor, there’s a canoe house that the ­outrigger carved, at Lamotrek. Bringing supplies for the canoe engendered a welcome with tones of a homecoming from our newfound family, our brothers of the sea. They invited us for kapetalwa, and I offer it here for you—the news from our voyage through Micronesia.

Know Before You Go

Currency: US dollar (with the exception of Nauru and Kiribati, which use the Australian dollar). Language: English is the official language, or one of two official languages. Guides: Pacific Crossing Guide, published by Adlard Coles, covers Micronesia. The website Noforeignland is increasingly populated with useful waypoints. There are WhatsApp groups for each country. Clearance fees: They’re inconsistent but nominal, each less than $100, with the exception of Palau. There are additional fees for outer atolls.

A Complicated History 

Austronesian seafarers settled Micronesia beginning around the second millennia B.C.E. The modern history is more convoluted. Colonial interest began with Spain, including Ferdinand Magellan’s arrivals in 1521. Missionaries followed. In the 19th century, Germany expanded in the region, seeking copra exports. In the aftermath of World War I, Germany lost its authority. Japan stepped in, setting the stage for the Pacific theater in World War II. At the end of that war, all of what today is Micronesia, except Kiribati, shifted to be administered by the United States as a trust territory. Independence followed for Palau, the Federated States of Micronesia and the Marshall Islands. Guam and the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands remain US holdings.

The legacy of World War II is plain to see. Many of the islands we visited had crumbling battlements, the rusty hulks of gun fortifications, broken remains of tanks and airplanes, and other detritus from the war. For some visitors, it’s a draw. The array of famous underwater wrecks is especially attractive for divers. There’s the USS Saratoga aircraft carrier in Bikini Atoll, as well as more than 60 ships at the bottom of Chuuk Lagoon.

One heartbreaking inheritance is the history of nuclear testing in the region. Beginning in the 1940s and extending into the 1950s, 67 nuclear tests were conducted here, to devastating effects. Atolls are uninhabited ­because the United States made them toxic, and populations were forcibly removed. Other islands are overcrowded to slum-level circumstances because they are crammed with the dispossessed.

One islander related to us how his home atoll was first carpeted with bombs during World War II, and then taken over by the US military to create a relaxation spot for American troops. Warships lined the harbor. Those who called it home were forced out.

These stories are told as simple facts. As a visitor, I felt like it was an opportunity to learn the painful parts of this history, to grow our empathy and understanding for people there today, and to remember why war is never the answer.

The post <i>Kapetalwa</i>: A Cruiser’s Journey Through the Blue Frontier appeared first on Cruising World.

Back when tech-savvy kids could easily program a VCR clock while their parents were stymied by the blinking 12:00 display, sailors also slipped ­into a digital divide that remains today. 

Shelving the lead line because the electronic depth sounder is a better tool upset no one. The progression of improving navigation electronics from radio direction finder to loran, and then satellite navigation was welcome. These tools gave us fast and accurate positions that we plotted on paper charts with a parallel ruler and dividers. If the magic box failed, we could revert to how we navigated before.

The slip really came when GPS and chart plotters became common. Press the “on” button and watch the screen light up, handshake with distant satellites, compute a position, and then plot it on an electronic chart. Each generation of new electronics became easier to use. Paper charts got musty, crammed into a locker. 

But behind this apparent digital simplicity is complexity. There are circuit boards, processors, diodes, LEDs, network wiring standards, voltage drops, and a multitude of thin wires directing electrons to perform magic. 

And when the magic box stops working, all kinds of challenges can result.

Trials and ­Tribulations

On approach to another beautiful, unpronounceable Maldivian atoll, we came in second place racing a nasty squall to the anchorage. We waited in the coral-studded lagoon with more maneuvering room for when the gust wall hit. Moments later, the air turned frothy white just about the same time our chart plotter displayed this message: GPS device not found.  

“Not good,” I said, blinking rapidly, hoping that somehow my eyes would fix the empty display. 

Our latitude, longitude, boatspeed, course and boat icon were all missing. The wind from the upper atmosphere was chilled, but I was sweating and tense. The magic-box fail felt, well, consequential.

In 45 knots of wind, a sailboat without sails up moves surprisingly fast. I was coming up empty on how to troubleshoot the GPS when a blinking sign in my brain reminded me to hold station. Point into the wind, and try to stay in this deepwater spot. 

Without visual references, maintaining the correct rpm was a guess. I then realized that all the other electronics were working normally. On a whim, I dashed below, passing the helm to my wife, Behan. I disconnected the GPS antenna drop cable from the NMEA 2000 network, paused for two long seconds, and plugged it back in. 

 “It’s back!” were the ­sweetest words my wife could say in that moment. 

After a minute of acquiring satellites, the boat icon appeared, and we remained clear of the reefs. The tense situation faded to just another squall waiting-for-the-rain phase, followed by calm so that we could aim for the anchorage again.

The Big Question

Paper-chart aficionados vigorously nod their heads when asked if we all rely too much on electronics. But paper-­chart navigation offshore is still a complicated solution requiring a GPS (let’s be real: no cruiser relies on a sextant today) position to plot. We had spare GPS units, but not at the ready. Our glitch fix was to add a tablet with built-in GPS and chart-plotting software for redundancy. 

Regardless, the digital divide is not in the tiresome debate between tradition and tech. Rather, it is owning the electronics so that they don’t own you when inevitable failures occur.

While in Cape Town, South Africa, our refrigerator stopped. It was as dead as an outboard drawing from a tankful of water. The breaker was on and the compressor wasn’t, so I checked voltage at the device. It was fine. I was stumped except to assume that the compressor motor had expired.

We found a marine fridge tech who figured out, in about two minutes, that the electronic controller had died. The what? I hadn’t really been aware of this magic box, that it could fail and be easily replaced. Lesson learned.

What electronics do you have on board? It could be more than you realize. Beyond navigation systems, electronics are commonly alternator and solar-charge controllers; monitors for batteries, tanks and engines; inverters and transformers; communication devices; computers; controllers that manage watermakers, refrigeration, outboard- and diesel-engine fuel systems; medical devices such as a defibrillator and blood-­pressure monitors; EPIRBs and other safety gear; photography gear, drones, water toys, galley appliances, and a collection of little batteries charged with an electronic controller, ­preventing overcharge. 

Ask yourself how inconvenient life would be if any or all of the above failed. Can you live without it, or should you have a spare? Is it field-­repairable—by you and your anchorage buddies?

A coaching client of ours recently messaged to say that they couldn’t cross over to the Bahamas as planned because their autopilot was acting up. It drifted off course and gave incorrect headings. 

I had them check around the autopilot’s electronic compass for tools, canned food, and other ferrous metals that might be creating electromagnetic interference. Tucked next to the compass was a work light with powerful neodymium magnets in the base. They didn’t realize that was a no-no, but they do now, and they were underway soon after.

The Art of ­Troubleshooting

Faulty electronics can be unrepairable, like our fridge controller. In Indonesia, we had an indirect lightning strike that fried our radar screen. But often, electronic glitches are field-repairable. 

A must-have tool for the modern cruiser is a multimeter. It’s used to measure voltage and continuity, indicating if a circuit is open (no electrical flow) or closed. A DC clamp meter is also helpful. It’s much like a multimeter, but it measures current (amps) without having to touch the wire conductor. Another relatively new tool is a thermal imaging camera. As a smartphone attachment, these cost around $200 and easily show electrical hotspots.

Troubleshooting involves handling wires and connections, mostly of low-voltage DC electrical devices. This doesn’t pose an electrocution risk, but faulty components can become hot enough to cause burns. AC circuits do post electrocution risk. Always use extra caution when working around them.

When a device doesn’t turn on, or it turns on but has intermittent problems, start by questioning the power source. Is the power cord plugged in all the way, or does it have a loose connection? Is the circuit protection, breaker or fuse open? 

The next step is using a multimeter to measure the voltage at the device. Does this show no voltage, open circuit, good voltage about the same as the house batteries, or something in between? Voltage more than 10 percent below the power source (batteries) indicates a physical wiring issue.

When the symptoms of a faulty device are intermittent, the root cause is almost always a loose, corroded or damaged connection or wire. An energized circuit with damage usually gets hot because of the resistance in electrical flow. A hotspot like that will show nicely on a thermal camera. This is especially useful because connection problems are often hidden under shrink tubing, buried in a wire bundle or inside a multiwire connector.

If the electricity reaching the device is good and the device still isn’t functioning right, check the settings for error codes and firmware updates. Many electronic devices have controlling software that can become outdated or corrupted. Last year, I found a calibration setting bug in our ultrasonic wind transducer. Tech support had a firmware update, but uploading it to the device failed. Customer support promptly sent out a replacement unit. Some devices don’t have easy updating procedures, but keeping the firmware current can eliminate problems down the road.

A final troubleshooting technique is to change the variables. If the device is on a network, then replace the network cables, network connectors and ­adapters. Try temporarily moving the device to a different place on the network or replacing it with a device known to work correctly. If a VHF radio has poor range and you don’t have a VSWR meter to test it, then connect a spare or emergency antenna to the radio and test again. If range improves, the problem is the coax cable, connections or antenna. 

Success Is an Option

Magic boxes do fail. Cruising on our Stevens 47, Totem, since 2008 with a moderate level of electronic devices, our failures were mostly repairable, sometimes preventable and occasionally, albeit temporarily, a total loss. Provisioning to be remote for nine months during our recent North Pacific crossing required creative storage locations. I found the perfect place in which to stash box wine, but I didn’t recall placing an NMEA 2000 backbone cable connection there 17 years prior. The newly replaced ultrasonic wind transducer stopped working some months later. Tracing the cable led me to the vino stash, one bag leaking, a smell like a sommelier’s laundry hamper, and one rotten cable connection. 

I thought it was a fixable problem as I cut off the cable ends, peeled back the covering insulation, spliced five thin wires, wrapped it in electrical tape, and secured it away from the ship’s stores. The wind instrument blinked to life. 

A challenge of provisioning for so long is that it’s easy to lose track of where everything is. On that day, I had the wine wired, and it was about blinking time to get a bag of it chilling.

Starter kit for electronics troubleshooting

• Thermal imaging camera (smartphone attachment type)
• Multimeter (inexpensive end of the range is fine)
• DC clamp meter (for measuring amps by clamping around the wire)
• Wire cutter, stripper, crimper 
• Soldering iron and solder
• AC receptacle tester
• VSWR meter

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The cruising life thrives on a simple but powerful truth: Sharing knowledge strengthens the entire community. Out on the water, where self-reliance is key but no one succeeds alone, passing along hard-earned wisdom isn’t just helpful, but it’s also essential.

Whether it’s fixing an autopilot, plotting a tricky passage or simply pointing out the best local market, the acts of teaching and learning bind us together. It’s a cycle of giving and receiving that elevates the experience for everyone, turning a collection of independent sailors into something greater: a floating, ever-shifting village built on trust, generosity and shared adventure.

We learned this truth early on in our cruising journey. Anchored off Punta de Mita, Mexico, we watched our three young children splash in the surf, their laughter carrying on the breeze. Our 9-year-old son, Niall, scrambled up a rocky breakwall, eyes wide with excitement.

“I saw a seahorse!” he shouted. 

Skeptical but amused, we nodded along—sure, kid, if you say so. But the next day, as we swam together, Niall transformed before my eyes. 

“Look, there’s another one!” he declared, pointing beneath the surface. 

And there it was, curled amid the rocks, just as he had said. In that moment, he became my teacher, and I, his eager student. His enthusiasm was contagious, shifting our roles and opening my eyes to the endless ways we learn from each other out here—young or old, novice or expert.

Compared with the relatively disconnected modern world, cruising facilitates connectedness. It lends itself to share from our particular skillset to benefit another, and to find fulfillment through a combination of continuous learning and giving from what we know. 

RawsonVision

Tweens and teens kick back on a doughnut-shaped floatie in the turquoise-clear Bahamian water, tossing comments across the gap while one person gesticulates enthusiastically. Would you believe this is a school classroom? 

High school physics teacher turned cruising dad Alex Rawson brought a tool from his alternative-education kit to share with more than a dozen boats in the Bahamas. Back in Vermont, colleagues dubbed his engaging method RawsonVision, and the Georgetown fleet was about to learn about it too. Boats with kids on board were invited to participate in analyzing themes in a film, then participate in Socratic dialogue about the questions those themes raised. Choosing Jurassic Park as the subject
ensured interest across a span of kids.

Movie viewing was set for a Friday night. Distributed across several vessels, groups of kids would watch the film alongside material prepared by Rawson that called out characters, their development, themes, key lines, foreshadowing and more. 

Thanks to synchronized start times across multiple host boats, any interested child could participate. The next day, lively conversations shifted from dispersed chats among boats at anchorage to in-person gatherings on floaties, where kids dangled their legs in the water as Alex facilitated. 

“Mr. Rawson’s teaching passion on full display made me teary,” parent Amber Morse said. “What if school could be like this?” she posted in their Instagram
channel, Everyday Saturday. “I’d go! Would you?” 

The goal of this setting, known in educational circles as a Harkness discussion, is to help students grow by learning from one another. It’s rooted in advancing knowledge through group discussion among peers, as opposed to receiving materials from an omniscient teacher. In this way, more than two dozen kids learned about Socratic debate while pondering questions raised from the film such as: Just because you could do something, should you? 

Whether it’s fixing an autopilot, plotting a tricky passage or simply pointing out the best local market, the acts of teaching and learning bind us together, elevating the experience for everyone.

These boat kids are advancing their rhetoric skills, making priceless memories and, possibly best of all, keeping learning fun. Mirroring the greater good of
learning in the cruising community, where givers can benefit as much as recipients, the appreciation has prompted Alex to expand RawsonVision with further sessions for the kids in their radius.

A Sense of Purpose

The VHF radio speaker crackles on the morning net in La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, Mexico. 

“Attention the fleet, attention the fleet! This is Marina Riviera Nayarit. Kat here reminding you that volunteers for beach cleanup will meet me in front of the deli at 9:30 a.m. tomorrow. The Kids Club trash boat regatta is this week. I’ll make a more detailed announcement on the kids’ net, on Channel 71, after this net concludes. Also coming up this week, we have cruisers leading seminars on Tuesday and Friday in the yacht-club lounge: Tuesday is a Panama Canal transit session from S/V Apsaras, and Friday M/V Noeta leads the Women Who Sail gathering about how to cruise and stay married. Wine for the women! Don’t forget, Wednesday is propane-refill day: Bring your tanks to Dock 9 before noon, pick up after 4 p.m.”

Echoing over VHF radios aboard boats scattered around Banderas Bay, Kat Liana makes announcements during the morning cruiser net. This West Coast cruiser arrived on her own boat more than 15 years ago, liked it so much that she stayed, and eventually became an integral part of the community. Her announcement indicates a few of the many hats Kat wears as a community organizer. Perhaps the most important, and entirely unofficial, role is helping cruisers find purpose.

Banderas Bay is a cruising hub for sailors who have done the miles and surmounted the hurdles to cut the docklines and sail away. After exhaling with the relief of arrival, it’s easy to sag into complacency. This happens often enough: After dreaming of retirement to the tropics on a sailboat during the daily commute, the reality of one beautiful Groundhog Day after another is less appealing in reality than it was from afar. Mission accomplished? It can leave a vacuum where purpose used to reside.

Needing purpose is an often unanticipated challenge for early cruisers. Back in 2008, I was excited to quit my job and embark on an exciting life cruising with Jamie and our children. It was surprising to feel gaping holes as I sought fulfillment in everyday life. The rewards my job provided had evaporated, and I wasn’t getting high-fives for another awesome pancake breakfast from the kids. It took time to find new sources for fulfillment, new ways to find meaning away from a “normal” working career. 

Kat’s a champion for cruisers and the community that’s become her home. She helps cruisers find purpose and cruising kids to bond through shared experiences. The free seminar series she sets up (two or three weekly during cruising season) are led by her recruits from the fleet. One boat brings medical skills. Another can give a celestial nav session. Saltier cruisers who have made the passage to the Pacific help the newer sailors prepare. Cruising kids do everything from beach-trash cleanup to taking over the service side of a local restaurant to helping at a nearby orphanage—all because Kat makes this happen.

“I want to volunteer along the way” is an aspiration we’ve heard from many hopeful cruisers. But there’s no app for that, and many cruisers are sometimes overwhelmed enough adjusting to their new life. In La Cruz, Kat can help them find their balance and purpose.

Splicing Lessons

There’s a warm late-afternoon glow over tables in front of the Cruiseport marina where Curtis Denmark is sharing knowledge. The focus of today’s gathering: splicing Dyneema and making soft shackles. Curtis has worked with Dyneema for years, and soft shackles are used extensively aboard his 48-foot Tayana, Manna, when they can replace traditional hardware. 

After four years making a lap of the Pacific on Manna, Curtis and his wife, Julie, looped back to Alaska and down the North American coast. While paused in Ensenada, Mexico, for a refit to prepare for further adventures, they lent a hand to the newer cruisers on their first leg beyond the US border. There’s another golden hour lesson: modeling the cruising community’s unspoken code of mutual support.  

Curtis and Julie were introduced to that code as part of the Coho Ho Ho. While this Puget Sound-based organization describes itself as a rally, it doesn’t have a shotgun start or staggered parties down the coast. Instead, the heart of the organization is in preparing crews who plan to sail from Puget Sound to California and beyond. They accomplish this through months of seminars and community meetups—in person and online—where experienced sailors guide and uplift hopeful newcomers. They emphasize individual preparedness with a strong underpinning of mutual support to help each crew reach their goal of sailing in warmer waters to the south.

It might seem like a small example, but it’s an important one. It’s setting the tone for the rest of their cruising lives—for newer cruisers who might not yet be introduced to the code, the value of paying it forward and being mindful for when it’s their turn. 

Building Community

It’s 1996. We’re guests on a sailboat in the Sea of Cortez, hosted by cruisers and friends that Jamie made in Yugoslavia while backpacking a decade earlier. We have just spent an entire day clustered in a cockpit with their anchorage neighbor. The neighboring boat was a trawler, and the engine wasn’t working because a widget wasn’t working. They had the replacement part, except it didn’t fit. As a burning sun sank below saguaro-spiked sierras, the assembled brain trust of a half-dozen cruisers finally cobbled together a working widget. Icy Pacificos to toast victory never tasted so good.

Jamie hadn’t sold me on cruising yet, but seeing the way a community came together for mutual support was a tipping point.

Exactly two decades later, in July 2016, Jamie and I began our coaching business to decode cruising and make it easier for others to enjoy. Building a service based on work we find deeply gratifying felt almost too good to be true, but it came with an ironic barrier. We feel that pay-it-forward cruising code keenly, yet now we were asking to be paid.

For years prior, we answered questions sent to us, often investing hours of our time and sometimes never hearing back. We still do. But charging a modest fee for it gave us a vehicle to focus that energy, give our best, and keep cruising.

Choosing to sail away might seem like disregarding the security of a good life. For many cruisers, the choice is rooted in the opposite: We’re running toward greater fulfillment.

As our business grew, so did the connections among people we worked with. At first, it was incidental: introducing crews who we knew were in similar locations to share notes and routing plans or planning a meetup at an Annapolis boat show. But as our business gained momentum, our community grew beyond us with a genuine culture of sharing knowledge.

Today, we actively foster this shared village of sailors following their cruising dreams. It happens in group sessions based on whatever the zeitgeist is, be it steering-system inspection or South Pacific routing. It happens in forums we have on WhatsApp, Noforeignland and Facebook. It also happens everywhere cruisers are. A more experienced couple currently in St. Augustine, Florida, has organized meetups for first-year cruisers as they pass through on their way to the Bahamas, providing orientation and camaraderie. They’ve even created a moniker and a demonym: the TRU Crew, derived from Totem Raft Up, our community forum, also known as TRUmans.

Few things make Jamie and me happier than seeing the successes of crews we’ve aided along the way, and I like to think we’ve helped extend the culture for providing mutual support in our coaching community, cementing this code before they have to feel the pointy end of that shared vulnerability. It can come fast and hard: Ask the boat struck by lightning and suddenly disabled but comforted by the immediate aid from a rush of support by boats around them. 

Sharing what we know to help others has given us refreshed purpose too. It’s not a stretch to say that the community feels like family, as we celebrate their successes and support their harder days. Seeing how they—we, really—come together and take pride in being part of the community has filled our cups too. 

Choosing to sail away might seem like disregarding the security of a good life. For many cruisers, the choice is rooted in the opposite: We’re running toward greater fulfillment than the mainstream delivered, actualized in ways that the lifestyle enables. It’s like our friend, delivery skipper John Herlig, says at his seminars for hopeful cruisers: “What you will see happen out there—and a lot of people are quite unprepared for this—is people with more knowledge than you offering to help you, not to show off what they know, and not to impress you, but simply because you are there and you need help. Which is, after all, the best reason.”

The post Cruising to a Greater Good: Sailors Find Purpose by Sharing Knowledge appeared first on Cruising World.

Our arrival into the Marshall Islands went as smoothly as any, and marked our 50th country and territory since we started cruising. Official clearance wasn’t complete until the following day. Not a big deal; the morning we dropped our anchor in 80 feet at Majuro, the nation’s capital, it was bucketing rain. We were happy for a reprieve to clean our 47-foot Stevens Totem, and ourselves, and put the boat together after the 21 days at sea from Hawaii.

We had a reasonable idea of what to expect for clearance, thanks to a range of sources. Friends who had sailed here a year ago provided intel. More came from friends who’ve been living aboard in the Marshalls for a few years. Noonsite is a first stop in any research for arrival details. Noforeignland provided additional insight (and pins in the map to help find officials, if needed).

The key lesson: You can prepare all you want, but every clearance here is a unique experience. We might be cleared shortly after arrival. It might take a few days. We may have all formalities conducted aboard Totem. We may be asked to go ashore and visit offices. The burden is on us to provide what’s needed, wait and follow directions. The intangible requirement for clearance here (or anywhere, really) is patience. Anyone who has been cruising for long, or through a range of countries, is nodding their head in agreement right now.

What should be consistent is advance research and best effort. For the Marshalls, that means providing notice of arrival (at least 72 hours ahead) by email. We are to call customs and immigration on VHF radio channel 16 upon entry to the atoll, and then call again once anchored or moored off town. The fact that we received no response to this outreach was not relevant.

It was almost exactly 24 hours after arrival that a pilot boat bearing officials showed up alongside Totem. The sun was shining, but there’s another intangible: Cultural standards dictate conservative dress. It might have been 90 degrees, but every one of the male officials wore trousers and a collared shirt. My husband, Jamie,  and I had seconds to get more presentable before they stepped on board.

The clearance process commenced in our cockpit. Officials brought a list of paperwork they wished us to produce, and we either had it prepared already, such as last port clearance, or we created it (it’s handy to have a printer aboard). A boat stamp makes everything official.

With clearance done, Jamie and I scrambled to be ready to travel to Annapolis for the boat show and teaching at Cruisers University a few days later.

This week, cruising friends arrived after sailing north from Fiji to base in the Marshall Islands for the southern hemisphere cyclone season. They did get a response after hailing on the VHF radio once the boat was tied to a mooring off town. And then, crickets. The day went by. Rain was intermittent. Another day passed. The third day, possibly with the nudge of another email, they were able to complete clearance (visiting shoreside offices, unlike our happily simple all-aboard experience) before offices shut down for the weekend.

After a significant passage, shore leave is welcome.

Cultural Norms, Part II

We’ve been ashore a number of times in the past week, in a bid to get our applications to visit other atolls approved. Each one requires pre-approval, including sign-off from the chief, to visit. There’s an unspoken dress code: collared shirts and trousers for men, and most appropriate for women is a dress. Even in the town of Majuro, where “modern” standards mean some women aren’t in below-the-knee skirts or dresses, it seems around 90 percent of them are. They’re also not showing their shoulders.

Did I mention how humid and hot it is here, 7 degrees from the equator? In the intertropical convergence zone. It’s not comfortable, but the burden is for us to respect local norms.

It’s especially important when visiting officials or their representatives, as we were for our permits. Yes, Jamie detests wearing trousers, and I’d be more comfortable in a sleeveless top and something cut above the knee, but we’re guests in this country, and it’s on us to be respectful.

Not Just the Marshall Islands

This week, we held a seminar and online meetup for folks in our coaching community with plans to cruise the Pacific side of Mexico this winter. Most of them are still in California and preparing to head south, so much of the session was dedicated to setting expectations around arriving in Mexico.

In addition to unsurprising topics like port clearance practices, getting fuel and insurance quirks, we talked about the importance of One Nice Thing. By that, we mean an outfit in which you don’t look like a “grotty yachtie” but instead mirror local standards. It shows respect. It garners that in return. Showing up at the capitania de puerto wearing shorts and a tank top shows disrespect for the officials you need to process your clearance. It might complicate that process.

We had the same discussion in prepping folks who were going to the South Pacific. It surprised some people that there’s a need to have at least One Nice Thing there, too. If you go to church (an appealing experience even for the non-religious, since the music at a service is mind-blowingly beautiful) it’s essential to reflect standards. Going to a “feast” on an island in Tonga? Same standards. Blame the missionaries, if you will—I do—but being covered up (men: pants, nice shirt; women: no shoulders, no cleavage, cover up to below the knee) matters.

When thinking about the steps for clearing into other countries, it’s easy to focus on the needs for paperwork and reporting. It’s important to remember these intangibles, too, and to be sure your locker of sarongs and tanks includes at least One Nice Thing.

The post Sailing <i>Totem</i>: One Nice Thing appeared first on Cruising World.

This year marked our seventeenth Thanksgiving since we started sailing around the world. The view through the porthole has varied wildly over the years, from a desert range backing Baja’s Bahía Tortugas; to Papua New Guinea’s lush Hermit islands tucked behind a fringing reef; or here in the lightly urban Micronesian town of Majuro, the capital of the Marshall Islands. Whatever the view, three markers for the holiday remain the same: We gather with our community, we bask in shared gratitude and we eat maybe just a little too much from the dishes that echo traditional fare.

Prior to our cruising years, we would gather for a feast in the home of relatives or found family, or we’d host it ourselves. Around the table, we’d reflect on the year and the things we were thankful for. Of course, there was always a parade of familiar dishes. In Jamie’s family, it was an indulgent potato bake known simply as GPC (golden potato casserole)—we have the recipe card from his late mother’s hand. In my family, it was a tart/sweet cranberry relish and a pumpkin pie, and impossibly delicious variations on stuffing my father would create. Possibly also my grandmother’s candied yams—her memory sits with me anytime I stir gravy, striving for her glossy perfection. We’d share memories, those we pulled to the present to extend to the next generation, and those we hoped to make for the future, binding traditions with our children. Also, we can’t be the only family for whom listening to Alice’s Restaurant Massacree a few times is essential, right?

A Focus On What Matters

This year, Jamie and I broke with a lifetime of tradition and went to a restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner* (gasp!). Dining out feels anathema to the way we’ve celebrated in the past, but the three key themes of gathering, gratitude and good food came together. Gathered were crews from six boats, plus an American expat couple living in Kwaj—the travelers who are found-family. Gratitude was shared around the table, individuals expressing what they were thankful for here in the wild west of the Pacific Ocean. Good food… well, of course there was just a little too much food!

It’s perfectly in keeping with the cruising life to be presented with change and to adapt. When I saw the menu for the Thanksgiving buffet (I usually don’t go for the buffet thing), my first thought was, this is a great way to actually have turkey for Thanksgiving. Have you seen the size of a boat oven? Even when we can find a turkey, it’s usually not an option.

My second thought was, wow, I see exactly none of my essential dishes here. (Really, how could anyone leave cranberries and pumpkin pie out of Thanksgiving dinner?)

But the last, biggest and unequivocally enthusiastic reaction I had was: “Cool!” What a fantastic opportunity to sample a range of Marshallese specialties. It was exciting to see multiple dishes I didn’t recognize, foods that we may not otherwise have the chance to try during our months in the Marshall Islands.

We sampled Bob Beru, a pandanus-flavored gelatin cake. Jamie went back for seconds of the banana jukjuk, sweet bananas rolled into balls and covered with fresh grated coconut—which is nothing like the sweetened coconut sold in US grocery stores. My favorite was Lukwoj, a fritter made from the sponge that forms inside a sprouting coconut. We washed it all down with jakaro, a lightly fermented brew from coconut palm sap.

Although it really is the gathering and gratitude that matter most, Thanksgiving is still 100 percent a food-centric holiday for us. Cruising chef Sarah Powell interviewed me for Conversations In The Galley to talk about how we plan for holiday meals as world travelers. My hack is to stash cans of cranberries and pumpkin puree. It’s always easy to make stuffing, too—as the kids remind me, we are an ingredient household. No regrets about the very different Thanksgiving dinner at the resort—I dove for the prime rib; let’s face it, that’s a rare treat—but I was also seriously considering also making our own Thanksgiving dinner for two on Totem to indulge our traditional requirement for the season—yes, including cranberries and pumpkin pie.

Whether near home or far away, memories of Thanksgivings past always circle back. Those from land, like touch football with my cousins on a leafy lawn in Kirkland, or beach walks with our found-family on Bainbridge Island. There are others from more recent years, like the gift of proximity to “the Carlsbad Cousins,” and road trips between there and Mexico to share the day and Gifford clan traditions. And we’ll try not to be a little wistful or homesick, missing the kids, who are together in Washington surrounded by relatives, traditions and gratitude imbued from their childhood—and cranberries, stuffing, pumpkin pie… What, me? Jealous?

We really have so much to be thankful for. In this moment, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude that our ill ship’s cat, Panchita, is improving. As folks who followed on our social media know, our boat cat Panchita has been very sick. Her illness is still resolving, but the good news is that she seems to have turned a corner and is finally acting like herself again, interested in food and us. I’m grateful beyond words for this, as well as the outpouring of support from our friends and community to get to this better place.

Wishing you and yours a Thanksgiving of gratitude, family, and perhaps just a little too much food.

* I was later reminded that we have had one other restaurant-based Thanksgiving. It was in the landlocked southern African nation of Lesotho. Since that completely-untraditional meal began with a pub crawl aboard a donkey, I think I can be forgiven for the lapse in memory.

The post Sailing <i>Totem</i>: A Cruiser’s Thanksgiving appeared first on Cruising World.

Wondering what to get the cruising sailor (or liveaboard) in your life this holiday season? Most of us boat folk are minimalists, which makes us notoriously difficult for gifting. There’s no room for excess on board!

We took a break from publishing a gift guide last year, sending it only to blog subscribers—which generated some email so we’re back, baby! We hope this guide with our handpicked recommendations helps relieve a little holiday stress. Remember, Amazon’s Black Friday begins early.

Disclosure: This post includes affiliate links. No cost to you, and super helpful for us. Learn more at our values statement; we only make recommendations that we support 100 percent. And if we know of a small business you can support instead, you’ll find that linked here, too. If we miss one, don’t hesitate to let us know!

Clever Cameras

Night vision security camera

Motion-activated cameras with sound and alarms. Notifications gave us peace of mind during travel for Annapolis and the low-light image capture was amazing. Bonus: microphone and speaker let you talk (to your cat, even) through the camera!

Thermal infrared camera

Troubleshoot a diesel engine or wiring issue by identifying hotspots with Flir’s One Gen 3 camera. (Also fun for cat pics!) Caveat: Our friend and surveyor Marga Pretorius points out that this model is not strong enough to see into laminates and detect moisture in the hull of a boat.

Insta360 GO 3S

Great cruising vlog features: Level the horizon (for that sunset time-lapse from the cockpit). IPX8 rating means you can take it snorkeling. Way easier to mount with magnetic attachments, and more! Leveling up POV video with this on Totem.

Low-light, weatherproof camera

Security and a nav aid. Spend $2k (or $20k) on a fancy-schmancy marine version, or about $60 for this copycat and use your MFD as the display.

Quality of Life

Nordic Icebreaker

Perfect cubes even if it’s tossed around the freezer. Our friend Susan says “We’ve gone through a lot of ice cube trays with lids but none have worked until this.” Count us in!

No Eggs, No Worries

Easy methods to substitute for eggs, plus a selection of classic egg recipes re-interpreted to be eggless. Why cruisers need this: It may not be possible to buy eggs in remote locations. The eggs you can buy might be bad (the last dozen eggs I got in the Marshall Islands were moldy inside the shell) and are probably costly. It’s at least a month before I may find eggs for sale. And why not be healthy and compassionate? You don’t need to be vegan to appreciate this cruiser-created cookbook.

Malizia sunglasses

By sailors, for sailors, perfect for this sailor! I was gifted a pair earlier this year, and they now live on my face whenever I’m outside. Polarization lets me see into the coral-strewn water here, optical clarity is #chef’s kiss, coverage is excellent (super sensitive eyes here), and grey tint is perfectly dark in the tropics. Bonus: The frame is 85 percent recycled fishing nets. The Vallon store has a pre-holiday 25% off sale, sitewide, until December 3.

Stick-on bifocals

Hydrotac means I can wear Malizias and read a book at the same time. Less than $20 for a pair, they adhere inside lenses with a drop of water. A second pair converted my snorkeling mask. Way easier and cheaper than prescription lenses.

Water Time!

Prescription mask

Vision more complicated than my stick-ons? SeaVision masks are made in St Petersburg, Florida, and get rave reviews. Built to last, they can adapt lenses to your fave mask, too.

Dive clacker

Needed this a few days ago to get Jamie’s attention underwater about a shark swimming nearby (because sharks are gorgeous, and I didn’t want him to miss it). This makes either a rattle (for snorkelers) or clang (divers tap on the tank). Thumbs up on this and the mask from the dive aficionados aboard SV Motu.

Go Green

UNPaper Towels

Washable, reusable replacements for paper towels, these do exactly what they are supposed to, plus they come in fun colors and prints. I haven’t used paper towels in over a year and don’t miss them a bit! We’re linking to the maker site, Marley’s Monsters, so you can peruse the other goodness they have.

Compressed air fan

Koonie makes another product better! “I got tired of looking for compressed air cans,” said our friend Travis. We’re tired, too: Ditch those refrigerant/propellant cans for good.

On-Board Toolkit

Mini soldering iron

The size of a pencil, this charges via USB. Fortuna crew connects it to a power bank for portability.

Universal funnel

May not sound sexy but it’s incredibly useful. Our workaround in the past has been a thin, flexible cutting board held in place. This is much better!

Digital electronic level

Make your installs look pro-level! This clever device from Klein Tools is a level, an angle finder, a relative angle reference. Its magnetic bottom keeps it in place.

Better cable stripper

Jonard’s wire stripper has an adjustable wire depth. Get it right the first time when stripping small-gauge (large-size) wires for, say, battery bank wiring. This and level (above) tips from the current refit underway on Atargatis.

What’s Jamie getting?

I’ve fallen in the habit of sharing Jamie’s gift in this annual post. This paragraph was mysteriously missing in the copy he proofreads for me. (No spoilers, friends!)

Endoscope camera

16-foot cable reaches into deep dark corners to inspect tanks, the hull behind your generator, and other inaccessible dark corners on board. LED lights at the camera, that connects with Wi-Fi to your smartphone. (I nearly spilled the beans recently for a project where he might have used it!)

Timeless Favorites

These gift ideas never go out of style:

Marmara towels

All Turkish towels are not created the same! We’ve used Marmara bath towels for nearly a decade. The standard size makes great hand or dish towels. Currently 25% off on their site (linked).

Bone conduction headphones retain ambient noise sounds while listening to that audiobook on night watch. SHOKZ became instant favorites on Totem.

Solar powered string lights

MPOWERD’s 44-foot length is great for casting a gentle glow in the cockpit.

AND… A discount on our services!

Gift your friend, a loved one or yourself an hourlong consultation with me and Jamie! We are offering a limited number of our “try-us-out” coaching sessions at 50% off. We can do a lot in an hour. Learn more about how we get people happily cruising here, then get in touch for a custom gift certificate—until they run out!

Still struggling for inspiration? Our guide collection and gift ideas (16 posts) can be found at this link.

The post Our Favorite Things: Holiday Gift Guide for the Hands-On Sailor appeared first on Cruising World.

We’re currently at sea, with more than a thousand nautical miles from Hawai’i behind us, and more than a thousand ahead of us to our destination: Majuro, Marshall Islands. So far, this passage has reminded us how less-tangible skills can be as important to cruising as those you can learn in a seminar or class. Among the most useful of these skills is listening—not as in listening to your partner, co-captain or crew (although that’s important, too), rather, listening to your boat. It’s often trying to tell you something. For an explainer on this, jump to the video.

Years of learning Totem’s creaks and groans were put into practice this week. Jamie and I departed from Kona, Hawai’i on Monday, September 9, bound for the Marshall Islands. On our third day at sea, sailing downwind, wing-on-wing, in trade-wind conditions, we were bewildered by a mystery clunk from the rudder. We have always been aware of a “light” clunk, from the upper bearing at deck level, but this was a different sound. Different, in this situation, on a converging path with unsettling weather in the forecast, was not good.

Worst-Case Scenario

Rudder failure has the potential to be sudden and catastrophic. We imagined possibilities, thinking about “sound, bluewater boats” with capable crews who have had rapid, disastrous outcomes from rudder failure. Feeding our concern was that, some years ago, a sistership to Totem had a serious potential rudder problem. Heavy bronze bolts securing the bronze skeg to fiberglass began backing out. They were able to resolve it, but as we were underway gliding over the ocean floor 16,000 feet below, we couldn’t assess our clunk underway.

Anatomy of Totem’s Rudder

Totem‘s rudder has three bearings. The highest is at deck level. Below that, a second bearing lies where the rudder post passes through the hull at the bottom of the boat. These first two can be inspected to varying degrees from the lazarette while at sea. The third bearing is a gudgeon and pintle mechanism midway up the rudder securing it to the top of the bronze skeg. Halfway across the Pacific, this bearing could only be inspected with a swim.

The deck-level inspection we were able to conduct at sea gave us no cause for concern. The origin of the clunk must be coming from somewhere that we could only inspect by getting in the water, which wasn’t safe with 1.5-meter wind waves, plus a 2- to 3-meter (and occasionally 4- meter) swell from the north.

An Unplanned Pit Stop

As we considered our options, an interesting one emerged: a small, remote atoll that was 300 nm west of Totem at the time. With our onboard broadband from Starlink, we researched this option further, only to discover that “Johnston Atoll,” while a US territory, does not welcome visitors. It’s a military site, a former nuclear testing location, and a site used to incinerate and dump weapons. For the last couple of decades, it has also been a wildlife refuge managed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. 

Nonetheless, I sent an email with fingers crossed and a queasy stomach. To our astonishment, within a matter of hours, we had traded several emails with the F&WS management, while looping in the US Coast Guard’s Joint Rescue Coordination Center (JRCC) in Honolulu to document the situation.

Were we prepared to declare an emergency? While establishing our needs, yet making it clear that we did not want any resources to be expended on our behalf, permission was granted for us to anchor for our inspection and any repairs that might be necessary. We received the official green light around midnight, and we waited for the relative safety of dawn to alter course with a gybe toward the atoll.

Inspecting the Rudder

We arrived at dusk—a move made possible courtesy of the arrow-straight, 500-foot wide channel blasted through coral by the military. We anchored and waited for the next morning to inspect the rudder. Once in the water Jamie was able reproduce the clunk. The lower bearing has play enough that slight rudder flex was enabling the pintle to bang against the gudgeon/bearing. Closer inspection revealed nothing bad. The skeg was as stout as when it was new (42 years ago). Although the play is new, roughly 3/16”, the hardware looked perfect. We found no compromised rudder integrity, but would rely on a second inspection to be sure.

The Source of the Clunk

Nearly 5,000 nm have passed under Totem’s keel since splashing last December. This sound did not occur across that time period. So, why now? What changed?

Chief among Jamie’s concerns, despite the good initial inspection, was the construction of the rudder post. If the rudder post was one long rode section linking in the skeg at the bottom, then we had a problem. The excess play wouldn’t have been possible unless internal metal structure was coming apart. We spent hours poring over photos of the rudder and skeg, mainly from when they were removed in Thailand for inspection. That was a project, in Thailand, with somewhat dramatic fashion.

Photos showed what memory had forgotten: that the rudder post didn’t exit through the lower bearing. Instead a short stainless post, a pintle, meant the play was okay and not a sign of internal problems. We suspect Totem’s very DDW point of sail, which put multiple directional forces on the rudder compared to other points of sail, pushed and shoved the rudder around, making the clunk sound. We communicated findings back to the F&WS team and to the JRCC Honolulu, who at this time were looping in folks from the US Air Force and applying pressure for us move along as soon as possible.

Johnston Atoll: Wild, Mysterious

If we had to assign a single word to Johnston Atoll, it would be “creepy.” (Not how one typically describes a remote tropical island!) Reading the atoll’s history may be exciting for some, but the legacy is sobering. Bunkers scattered around islets, concrete bulkheads around all the land we could see, a concrete block of a building we assume is where chemical weapons were incinerated, and not a sign of living human presence. 

The cacophony of seabirds, which seemed to occupy every scrap of land, counterbalanced the darkly morbid shadows cast by the military legacy. The boobies, especially, provided some entertainment as they perched fearlessly near us around Totem. 

The terms of our stay were very clear: There was to be no exploring. We were prohibited from going ashore, and we could not swim—other than what was required immediately adjacent to Totem to inspect the rudder. No problem! Yet, while we did not go to the wildlife, the wildlife (or the birds, at least—marine life was minimal) came to us. At any moment, as many as a dozen boobies sat happily pooping away on our solar panels. (Another aerial assault at Johnston Atoll perhaps?) They gathered on our bow pulpit in groups of five, and even hung off the snubber line, watching our every move.

The sheer density of birds offered a reminder of just how important it was to restrict our movement, to prevent anything we might inadvertently bring to their delicate environment. The red-tailed tropicbird population was devastated here after ants (ants?) infested their nesting grounds. How easy is it for ships to introduce a pest? It was no problem for us to remain happily aboard our floating island, Totem, simply grateful to be here and find resolution. (For more about the crazy ants (yes, that’s what they’re called), check out this article from F&WS on the many years required to address their threat. Also, click over to this beautifully photographed article from the Audubon society).

Departing Johnston Atoll

Getting away was the next trick. (Ideally, we’d have departed immediately!) I was keen to arrive in Majuro for a multi-day festival the following week, during a public holiday, Manit Day, that celebrates Marshallese culture. If we carried on right away, we might still have made a day or two of the festivities.

Unfortunately, the weather for departing was, in a word, unsettled. After watching mostly benign conditions in this part of the Pacific for the month prior to leaving Hawai’i, volatile conditions from the ITCZ moved tropical waves toward our location and threatened to spin up into more severe weather.

We wanted to get away. We definitely didn’t want to be in a system turning cyclonic with 45 knot winds and potential stronger microbursts. We put this short video together to illustrate. Weather watchers might learn from how Jamie’s reviewing a combination of wind, rain and satellite imagery to determine when we could safely carry on. Friends and followers may understand the personal relating of this wild experience.

Next Stop: Majuro

We departed again the morning of September 19th, literally watching at anchor for the winds from a nearby system to move past our location and open up a safe window for us to carry on. We’ll miss the festival in Majuro, but we’ve regained confidence in our rudder.

Want to follow along?

Totem’s PredictWind tracking page includes data about current weather conditions. Noforeignland users can see our circumnav track here. 

Join us at the Annapolis Boat Show in October

We’ll be flying from Majuro to Annapolis for the annual sailboat show. Our departure will be only days after we make landfall. Hopefully, the 30ish hours of travel will feel like a cakewalk after this passage. Meanwhile, we’re excited to be teaching a range of courses, details below. Please join us if you’re coming to the show. Note: Pre-registration is required, and seats are limited. (At least one course is already sold out.)

American Sailing Association seminar, Oct. 11

How to Sail Around the World: No boat show ticket required to join our afternoon, half-day seminar with the ASA. Insights, inspiration, and the toolkit you need to plan your own successful, long-distance cruising adventures.

Cruisers University seminars, Oct. 7-10

• Becoming a Cruiser: Together, we break down the massive project which is “how to go cruising.” Think of this as the best of our coaching work condensed into a packed day to get you launched and comfortably on your way.
• Sail Inventory and Care: Jamie gets hands-on with sails! Practical information to care for (and save money with) your boat’s sails
• She’s a Cruiser (Master Class): Behan presents in collaboration with two other cruisers, Nica Waters and Liz Shaw, this program is just for women, with concrete actions and intangible essentials. Guest speakers lending their wisdom include Lin Pardey, Sheryl Shard, Mia Karlsson, Sophie Darsy, and Hilary Howes
• Basics of Fiberglass Repair: Jamie will detail materials, basics of fiberglass work every cruiser should know, demonstrate live, and let you get hands on to try the methods and mixing as well. (this class is now sold out)
• Route Planning: careful route planning leads to safe and comfortable passages: learn the tools and method from Jamie!
• Safety at Sea: Jamie uses examples and tools to help you avoid being an UNsafe boat

Take the Wheel, Oct 11-13

This flagship Annapolis Boat Show program is divided between a morning in the classroom and an afternoon on the water. We lead the classroom portion, and discuss sailboat design (features, tradeoffs, and bluewater myths), purchase process, how to maximize your boating pleasure, and budget planning for setting sail.

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