Since their advent in the early 20th century, diesel engines have been refined to a state of near perfection. Most are robust, reliable and long-lived, provided they receive preventive maintenance, clean fuel, cooling water, and air for combustion. 

When they do fail, the problem can usually be traced to a handful of culprits: deferred maintenance (a deteriorated impeller or broken belt, for instance) or contaminated or interrupted fuel, with the latter including air ingestion, an electrical fault, or a design or manufacturing defect. 

This column focuses on fuel plumbing. Fuel is usually conveyed from the tank to the engine via flexible hose; in some cases, it’s via copper tubing. Any hose that’s used must be rated for marine fuel applications, including the ability to resist exposure to flame for a minimum of 2.5 minutes. Hose that meets this requirement is typically marked USCG A1. It should also include the name of the manufacturer, as well as the date it was manufactured. If any of this information is absent, particularly the A1 rating, then the hose is disqualified for use in a marine fuel application.

A section of flexible hose must be used between the tubing and the engine, and the tubing must be immobilized against engine vibration and gear shifting. For this transition location from metallic tube to hose, the interface cannot be direct. Put another way, the hose cannot simply be clamped over the tube. The tube must instead be flared, and a flare-to-hose fitting should be used. 

Termination of fuel hoses is most often achieved by using common pipe-to-hose adapters and hose clamps. While welcomed, double clamps are not required, at least where American Boat and Yacht Council compliance is concerned. 

In fuel-supply applications, double clamps should be used only if the adapter is long enough to support both clamps with room to spare. If the adapter is not long enough to support dual clamps, then a single (preferably solid rather than perforated) band clamp should be used.

One caveat where this practice is concerned: Some adapters are designed to be used without clamps. They are often differentiated from conventional adapters by a plastic collar. The barbs on these adapters are especially aggressive; if clamped, they can pierce the hose’s inner liner, leading to leaks and delamination, and interrupting the fuel supply. And these adapters can be used only with hose designed and labeled for the application. 

The other form of hose termination utilizes a clamped or swaged in-place fitting. Clamped or field-assembled fittings are available in brass and plated mild steel. Brass fittings are reasonably priced and corrosion-resistant. Mild-steel fittings are cost-effective but should be corrosion-inhibited after they are installed. When installing these fittings, a proprietary installation mandrel must be used to prevent damage to the hose liner, which could ultimately create a blockage. 

Swaged fittings require the use of a swaging tool, and thus are poorly suited for do-it-yourself projects. If you know the lengths you need and the end-fitting types, you can have a batch of hoses swaged by a commercial hose shop.

Fuel-fill hose must also be rated and marked for the application. It calls for an A2 rating. In this case, double clamps are not only recommended, but they are required for ABYC compliance. This is one of only two applications where double clamps are mandated, with the other being exhaust hose.

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

The post Monthly Maintenance: The Importance of Proper Fuel Plumbing for Diesel Engines appeared first on Cruising World.

I know nothing about hauling in the good ol’ US of A. The last time I did so was in the early ’80s. However, during the past 20 or so haulouts in foreign waters, I’ve learned a thing or two about being on the hard along distant shores. 

Of course, my perspective might not be yours. I have little money, do all my own work, and continue to live aboard while out of the water. Plus, I’m prejudiced. I’d rather haul at a family-run yard managed by boaters than at a corporate-owned yard run impersonally for the benefit of landlubber stockholders.

Is that wrong to admit in print?

I don’t think so. The quality of our lives—my wife, myself and our vessel—is important to us. Hauling is stressful. I’m always on a mission to get my boat back into the water ASAP, and my wonderful cruising life back on track as well.

Obviously, I prefer being surrounded by like-minded people in the shipyard. That means workers and managers who admire determined sailors working on their own vessels and who don’t view us as cheapskates attempting to wreck the yard’s bottom line.

My favorite place to haul is New Zealand. Most of the yards are family-run. Dozens allow you to work on your own boat. In Whangarei, anything you need is within a short bicycle ride of Dockland 5 Marine Ltd. and other wonderful yards. Even better, any marine item you need custom-made, from a small padeye to an entire rig, can be fabricated locally. And it is cheap. And there’s trust. Admiration, even.

I once had an expensive, custom, stainless-steel exhaust flange made to my specs. The fabricator sent it to me for a test fit—not only before I’d paid for it, but also before I even had a chance to send him a deposit. That’s how the farmers and boaters of New Zealand treat one another every day.

South Africa is another great place to haul. While we never have anyone work on our boat, the labor is cheap there, as are the yards. We’ve had great luck in the Caribbean, Trinidad, Australia and Malaysia—even the Med as well.

The oddest, and one of the best, yards we’ve ever hauled at is Rebak Island Resort & Marina on Langkawi, in Southeast Asia. It was so clean that I had to visit the office to ask: “Are you sure you’re OK with me painting my boat here? I mean, I don’t see a drop of antifouling anywhere. I’ve been in doctor’s offices, in hospitals, even, that are dirtier.”

It was like hauling at the Ritz. White-coated Burmese waiters scurried around the yard wearing silk slippers that curled into a circle at the toe. They carried silver serving trays of lobsters, crabs and who knows what else. (Caviar, perhaps?)

“This is the finest resort I’ve ever been to,” my open-mouthed wife, Carolyn, said while wearing her grinding goggles around her neck. The yard was managed by Taj Hotels of India, and they literally treated us like rajas. See how much fun hauling can be in a nurturing environment?

Of course, language can be a problem. In Indonesia, many of the numbers sound the same—just like eight and 18 and 80 do in English—and one yard intentionally verbally quotes in the lower number but then bills in the higher. Buyer beware, and get the quote in writing.

There’s also sometimes shoddy work. I watched a yard in St. Maarten epoxy over a small, flush through-hull. Who needs a siphon break for the engine, anyway?

In Thailand, a bunch of house painters were gobsmacked when they learned how much an Awlgrip job cost in the West. Thus, they spray-painted three yachts for half that figure. 

The yacht on the portside with the red hull and the one on the starboard side with blue hull came out white as well. “Yep,” one of the distraught owners said. “Southeast Asia has the world’s most expensive cheap labor.”

On the other hand, you can get some amazing deals if you are careful. In that same area of Phuket, I went to a machine shop to have an item fabricated. The quote was for $125—far, far too cheap. I questioned it. No, the quote was firm. Two days later, the piece was finished and constructed in a more labor-intensive manner than requested. It was utterly lovely, a work of art.

“Estimate no good,” the grease-smeared machinist said. “It go fast. Ninety-eight dollars please.”

Which reminds me of the time in Malaysia when I had some work done on our chainplates. No one in the shop spoke a single word of English. Large, overhead leather straps powered some of the pre-World War II equipment. Not only didn’t they take credit cards, but they may never have seen a credit card. 

When it came time to pay for the work—which kept expanding as the project progressed—I reached into my pocket and pulled out $300 and change. They took the change. Just the coins. Try as I might, I couldn’t get them to accept any folding money. One man even held his hand over his heart as a sign of respect.

Once in the Kerala district of India, I didn’t want to carry my gallons of antifouling three blocks to the boat, so I grabbed a taxi. Distracted while loading the paint amid the trucks, snake charmers, limbless beggars and rickshaw carts, I failed to ask the price.

A minute later at our destination, the driver concentrated hard, then announced loudly, “One hundred dollars US.” This was probably the highest number the driver knew in English, given that the maximum fare within the city limits of Cochin at the time was something like 50 cents.

“You take American currency?” I asked.

From my murse (male purse), I took out a George Washington and handed it to him. His eyes got wide. I pointed to the number at the corner of the greenback, “One,” I said. “One hundred cents.” 

Cruel? Perhaps. Satisfying? Somewhat. 

Oh, India is a laugh a minute. I walked into a chandlery and was greeted with a low bow from a clerk with a wide smile who asked, “And where is our esteemed visitor from?”

“America,” I said.

“American No. 1!” the clerk cheered with a grin.

I purchased seven items. While checking out, I noticed eight items on the slip.

“Good eyes, sir, good eyes,” he said as he dramatically crossed out the overcharge.

“And that’s a pint of varnish, not a quart.”

“We use liters. Confusion understandable.”

“And that’s a single generic block, not Harken double.”

“Only one digit off,” he said, smugly.

“You’re trying to cheat me,” I said, my eyes narrowing.

“Cheat!” he screamed. “How dare you! I no cheat esteemed visitors. On the graves of my honorable ancestors, no!”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I said, getting right into it.

“You insult the honor of India, sir!” 

He tossed the bag and my change at me. I was smug now that the sales slip and the items in my bag matched, so I went away happy—until, a block away, I stopped to count my change. Dammit.

That evening at the Cochin University of Science and Technology, I told my tale of woe at a cocktail party. Expecting commiseration, I was shocked to discover all the listeners grinning.

“Ah,” a professor said pridefully, “an Indian never gives up.”

Of course, none of this compares with Madagascar, where they populated an entire abandoned World War II hospital with invalids to scam me out of $25. After I forked over the cash, they all picked up their crutches and dashed into the bush at Usain Bolt speeds, high-fiving each other as they jumped for joy.

But back to shipyards in the tropics. Monkeys are a real problem. Not only do they wait to get into your boat and make a mess while you’re at lunch, but they also steal your washing soap and eat it, or drink it if it’s dish soap, and then blow rainbow-hued bubbles from the wrong end all day long as you work.

Another common trick is the “­jack-stand shuffle.” One yard changed our poppets every time the workers ­trotted by. It took some real wrestling to bring that yard bill back down to earth.

And then there’s the “110 shocker,” where they not only charge Americans twice what they should for half the voltage, but they also tack on an additional $30 a day for the converter.

Monkeys are a real problem. Not only do they wait to get into your boat and make a mess while you’re at lunch, but they also steal your soap and eat it.

One yard in Polynesia charges a fortune for the small sheets of plastic to protect your topsides from the rough, dirty slings. “Otherwise,” noted the chic, beret-topped travel-lift driver, “your barely dried boot top might end up smeared midtopsides.”

On the plus side, they toss in a croissant each time you pass their “No cash, no splash” signage.

Don’t get me started on scaffolding. Half the fistfights in my life have been over scaffolding planks and rusty, ­teetering 55-gallon drums to balance them on.

And we haven’t even considered the bait-and-switch horrors of having the crew in Sri Lanka charge for Awlgrip but then spray your entire vessel with exterior latex.

But of all the places in the world, our worst haulout was on the Delmarva Peninsula in Maryland, where four extremely interested yard workers watched Carolyn and me take down our mizzen. Their main travel lift was on the blink. The quartet gleefully watched us for four hours, and then shamelessly billed us for an additional 16 hours of yard labor while saying, in appreciation, “Gee, we’ve never seen a couple lower their mizzen via the main halyard before.”

Some days, foreign or domestic, you just can’t win.

The post On Watch: The Headaches of Haulouts appeared first on Cruising World.

This would really be a lot easier with stone counters,” I said to my husband as my fingers clawed at the stubborn dough adhered to our galley’s Formica countertops. Chris responded with a wink and a smile, jotting notes for our upcoming galley remodel. 

We’d been living aboard Avocet, our 1979 Cheoy Lee 41, in Southern California for three years, planning to head to Mexico and beyond in the near future. We’d always had an issue with the fridge failing to stay cold, causing the compressor to run nonstop. Ironically, the fridge had been a huge selling point for me because it’s large in comparison to those on other 41-footers. “It fits eight large pizzas” is how Chris describes it. Although we loved the space, we couldn’t ignore the inefficiency, and finally got around to planning a remodel centered on reinsulating the fridge and freezer.

I’m a dedicated baker, so space in the galley is important to me. I grew up watching my mom bake—family recipes that were then handed down to me. In my family, cooking and baking are a love language. Treats are gifted as love letters of sorts, so it’s only natural that I inherited this sentiment. Now I regularly bake for friends and family every chance I get. 

During our remodel, I had the opportunity to make some other key galley upgrades, from simple sink hardware to a new Force 10 oven, but the shining star is the real quartzite stone countertops. Although stone countertops are heavier than Formica, our boat is able to carry the ­additional 150 pounds well because our galley is near the centerline, parallel to our head and above our ­below-cabin-sole diesel. The added weight doesn’t cause us to list (unless one of the water tanks is empty), and the boat sails just as the designers intended—gracefully and relatively quickly.

Stone countertops are a dream surface for bakers. Quartzite is heat-resistant and generally holds an even, consistent temperature, which is important; if the countertop is too warm or too cold, dough will stick to it like glue. Stone also doesn’t need to be treated with chemical sealants, so you can work with dough (or anything) directly on the countertop without worrying about exposing food to toxins. 

When Chris finally packed up his tools and deemed the project complete, the first thing he asked was, “What are you going to bake?” I answered without hesitating, ­simultaneously pulling out the necessary ingredients: “Foolproof Focaccia!”

This recipe is one of my favorites because of how versatile it is. I’ve made it for years aboard Avocet in varying climates, with differing measurements, and even different rest times for the dough. I’m always pleasantly surprised by how tasty the bread is. You can dress it up or down, leave it plain, or add whatever toppings you’d fancy in addition to the standard salt and oil. 

As the dough magically transformed into focaccia in our new oven, the cabin was infused with the tantalizing aroma of fresh, baking bread. Chris and I patiently waited, mouths watering, while we tried our best to stay busy with other tasks until we could dive into the fluffy goodness. Finally, the timer went off. 

The focaccia had a beautiful brown crust, the sign that it’s been baked fully. Carefully, I removed it from the oven and placed the pan directly on our new, scar-proof quartzite counter before transferring it to a cutting board for serving. It was a divine reward for a day spent doing unending boatwork.

Even though I bake this bread for just the two of us, it’s also a surefire crowd-pleaser. Friends often ask me to bring it to potluck raft-ups, dinners and other casual get-togethers. 

Living on a boat and moving around so much means there can be a lot of trial and error with baking, but that also means I have the opportunity to pass down what I’ve learned to other cruisers who find themselves wondering where to start.

Sharing this recipe is my own love letter to my fellow cruising bakers, or wishful bakers, wherever you cruise. I hope you enjoy the warmth and comfort that this classic bread will bring you and yours, wherever you find ­yourself sailing.

Foolproof Focaccia

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1 ⅛ tsp. active dry yeast 
• 1 cup warm water
• 2 Tbsp. olive oil, plus 1-2 Tbsp. additional

Combine flour, salt and yeast in a large bowl, then add warm water. Add 2 Tbsp. olive oil. Stir with a wooden spoon until all the flour is incorporated.

For best results, cover bowl and refrigerate overnight. If you’re impatient (like me) or in a time pinch, let the dough sit out while you clean the galley (20 minutes, but it yields flatter bread) or for 3 to 4 hours or more (for fluffier bread).

Lightly butter a round, 9-inch cake pan, line with parchment paper, and add a tablespoon of olive oil into the center. Form dough into a ball, and coat in the oil. Place dough ball in the center of the pan, cover, and let rest and rise for about 1 hour more.  

Heat the oven to 450 degrees ­Fahrenheit with a rack in the middle. (If your oven doesn’t have a reliable temperature ­setting, get it as hot as you can.)

Drizzle a bit more olive oil on top of the dough, and press down with your ­fingertips to create deep dimples.

Transfer to the oven and bake for 24 to 28 minutes, or until it turns golden brown on top (check periodically). Remove the bread, and let it rest for as long as you can resist it before cutting into it and indulging.

Prep time: 2 hours to overnight
Difficulty: easy
Can be made: at anchor

COOK’S NOTES

Our favorite toppings are cherry ­tomatoes, feta and basil, or tapenade. To keep it ­simple, use an infused olive oil and ­sea-salt flakes. If you do add toppings, first drizzle the dough with olive oil, then add the toppings and press them down lightly into the dough so that they are more incorporated into the bread. 

Do you have a favorite boat recipe? Send it to us for possible inclusion in Sailor & Galley. Tell us why it’s a favorite, and add a short description of your boat and where you cruise. Send it, along with high-resolution digital photos of you aboard your boat, to sailorandgalley@cruisingworld.com.

The post Sailor & Galley: For the Love of Baking appeared first on Cruising World.

My wife, Kati, and I are among the million boaters who helped to make Florida the state with more registered boaters than any other in America. We’ve lived in Orlando for three decades, cruising our 50-foot schooner, Britannia, all around the sailing haven and beyond to the Bahamas. Florida really is a paradise for those of us who love to take to the water. For so many boaters, it can be hard to imagine living anywhere else.

But last year, Kati and I reached a pivotal moment: We needed a fresh start in a new place, even if it meant bidding adieu to all we held dear. 

So, we looked to the north. Yes, there were drawbacks to this idea. Venturing north would elongate the return trip to the enchanting Bahamas, a paradise we longed to frequent. We didn’t want the biting chill of winter to necessitate an entire wardrobe overhaul. Nor did we care to wrestle with the tedious task of winterizing our boat’s engine and generator each fall. We weren’t seeking wholesale change, but instead an adjustment; we still wanted to live in a haven that would allow us to sail Britannia year-round.

A nautical map of the Eastern Seaboard drew our attention to a vast expanse of water on the eastern shores of North Carolina—Pamlico Sound, accompanied by its slightly smaller northern sibling, Albemarle Sound. Intrigued by these alluring destinations, we embarked on a weeklong exploration.

The picturesque town of New Bern greeted us, its charming streets steeped in British and Colonial history, adorned with an array of delightful restaurants and three adjacent marinas. Nestled at the convergence of the Neuse and Trent rivers, the town would give us easy access to Pamlico Sound, which sprawls 60 miles in length and 20 miles in width—a vast playground for sailors, replete with winding rivers, meandering creeks and quaint waterfront towns. The mighty Pamlico River also beckons sailors, enabling navigation for 40 miles up to the town of Washington—­affectionately dubbed “Little Washington” by the locals.

Among the renowned destinations on the Outer Banks—guardians of Pamlico and Albemarle sounds—is the legendary Kittyhawk, where the Wright brothers took their first flight. Sailors too are familiar with the treacherous Diamond Shoals off Cape Hatteras. This entire part of the Atlantic coastline has earned the moniker “Graveyard of the Atlantic.”

Between the splendid realms of Pamlico and Albemarle sounds, Roanoke Island emerges. It’s where the first British settlers planted their feet in 1587, predating the Mayflower’s storied voyage by 32 years. Being natives of the United Kingdom, as we strolled through towns with stores called Ye Olde British Tea Shoppe, we felt an instant kinship with these once-­British colonies. Moreover, adorning the 150-mile stretch of the Outer Banks are some of America’s most pristine, untouched beaches—a true testament to nature’s majesty.

We also discovered a delightful oasis from Florida’s high marina fees in the form of city docks, which this part of the country generously offers to visiting boaters for a few blissful days. Aboard Britannia, we were saved from shelling out nightly sums ranging from $60 to $100. 

Then again, if we wanted marinas, Pamlico and Albemarle sounds had them: a dozen marinas within Pamlico Sound alone, each conveniently located a mere fraction of the 70-mile journey we used to undertake from Orlando to Cape Canaveral in Florida, sometimes just for a fleeting day of maritime pleasure. And marina prices here were a mere third of what we paid in Florida. 

We also chanced upon Fairfield Harbour on the Neuse River. It’s just south of New Bern, evoking images of a miniaturized Fort Lauderdale. Canal-style branches sprawl across the main lagoon, with an array of homes that have private docks and picturesque gardens. 

The allure proved ­irresistible for Kati and me. As self-­employed individuals—me freelancing as a boating writer, Kati operating her real estate company—we found ourselves with minimal hindrances to relocating to North Carolina. And this location would bring us 400 miles closer to our daughter and grandchildren near Charlotte.

Within Fairfield Harbour’s confines, two yacht clubs awaited our arrival, including Blackbeard Sailing Club and its marina. The warm embrace of the yachting community enveloped Britannia. In our short time exploring, we forged friendships with more fellow yachties than we ever did in Florida. 

In addition, the specter of falling prey to a catastrophic hurricane weighed far less heavily on our minds here. Hurricane Florence brushed the region in September 2018, causing severe flooding, but unlike in Florida, such occurrences were rare. We had gotten Britannia out of Florida before the devastating hit from Hurricane Ian in 2022, but even being unscathed, we thanked our lucky stars and considered the idea of a home base where such devastation is less likely to occur. North Carolina’s Pamlico Sound dances to the tune of ­prevailing winds, ebbing and flowing in response to their whims. During strong gusts, a surge of 3 feet might materialize—a mere trifle when compared with the dramatic tides of the Atlantic and the kind of storm surge that wipes out whole waterfronts along the Florida coast.

Our minds were made up. We listed our Florida house for sale, and a buyer materialized within a fortnight, sealing the deal in just five weeks. Our new abode is at Fairfield Harbour, nestled amid verdant woods—albeit without waterfront access or a private dock. The truth is, we couldn’t afford to be picky. But we can still dream and keep an eye on the local market.

After sailing Britannia northward to her new haven, I secured a sizable dock rental from the homeowners’ association. Our boat’s new home port is conveniently located within walking distance of our abode. The cost is a mere fraction of what we paid in Florida.

We’ve been here for a while now. During the winter, snowfall greeted us, a rare occurrence after years spent in Florida’s warm embrace. I relished the opportunity to join our grandchildren in building a snowman in our front yard—an experience that had been absent from our lives for far too long. Such simple pleasures only add to the wonderful feelings we have in our newfound coastal haven.

As of yet, we have embarked on only preliminary ventures into the sound, cautiously exploring the places we discovered during our earlier visits. Of course, we intend to explore more as we further settle into our new locale. From secluded anchorages to quaint waterfront towns, our journey through the Southern seas will undoubtedly be one for the annals—a tale of discovery, rejuvenation and the serendipitous sojourns of a Southern sailor.

If you too find yourself yearning for a respite from the unpredictable climes of the tropics and the frigid North, let the winds carry you to the pristine beaches of the Outer Banks, the enchanting shores of the Pamlico and Albemarle sounds, and the warmth of Southern hospitality.

We’ll be among the boaters waiting to greet you with a warm smile and local ­knowledge.

The post New Cruising Grounds: Switching Home Ports From Florida to North Carolina appeared first on Cruising World.

After owning the same sailboat for a good long spell, I naturally became quite familiar with the ­electronic navigation kit, including our modest (by today’s standards, anyway) Garmin chart plotter. That is to say, when I needed to, I knew where to find most of its features without pushing too many buttons or resorting to the dreaded user manual.

That’s not the case, though, when I step aboard friends’ boats and encounter less-familiar brands of plotters, often set up in peculiarly whimsical ways, or when I take the occasional charter and try to reset the previous skipper’s preference for, say, chart soundings in fathoms or meters instead of feet. 

And then there are those sea trials aboard newly launched sailboats that may or may not have calibrated instruments or even a cartography chip in the plotter, as was the case aboard a large cruising cat I found myself on in an unexpectedly shallow corner of Florida’s Biscayne Bay. 

Here’s my take on Situational Awareness 101: Having ­easy-to-use, familiar nav equipment isn’t just a convenience; it’s a real safety issue when you suddenly find yourself tacking into unfamiliar territory or when sea ­conditions change unexpectedly. That’s not when you want to go scrolling through pages of unfamiliar menus ­looking for settings and information such as tides and current.

As the Boy Scouts like to quip: Be ­prepared. And with relatively inexpensive prices for hardware and plenty of free or low-cost apps among which to choose, it’s pretty darned easy to put together a take-it-with-you navigation toolkit that can double as a backup should the primary system on your own boat fall prey to the electron demons.

I’ve used the free navigation app iNavX for a while now. I have it on my iPhone (it’s also available for Android) and use it mostly to check my surroundings underway, and to get an idea of what might lie between my location and the next waypoint. 

Call me old-fashioned, but I find ­planning longer routes much easier on a bigger screen such as what might be found on a tablet or multifunction display, or on paper charts. So, my first step was to contact customer support at iNavX to see what I should look for if I wanted to move up to an iPad. They promptly recommended any new iPad with cellular capabilities because it would have a ­built-in GPS receiver that works without a Wi-Fi signal; a used or ­refurbished device would need the same, I was told, plus it should have at least 64 GB of storage and be able to run iOS 13 or later software, or, even better, iOS 15 or newer software.

It took a little patience and hunting online, but I found an iPad Air 2 that met those specs on Amazon for just under $240. Had I searched longer, I probably could have found something suitable for even less, but with an upcoming trip, I was eager to get charts downloaded and sorted.

One of the things I love about iNavX is that it provides free access to charts from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. There’s also an in-app store with offerings such as iNavX Professional+ charts, Blue Latitude Charts for Mexico, Explorer Bahamas, Waterway Guide, AIS Live coverage and Theyr Premium Weather. iNavX is also adding inland waterway cartography.

In basic navigation mode, iNavX is easy to use. You can set waypoints with the tap of a finger, plan out routes, view bearings in either degrees true or magnetic, get speed over ground, and customize a long list of other chart settings. You can also pair it on your phone or tablet with a vessel’s networked chart plotter to monitor depth, wind, engine, batteries and the like.

If you already have an AIS receiver or transponder on board, the app can display targets in chart mode. If you don’t, iNavX AIS Live coverage is available in some areas for a fee. The AIS Live server provides AIS targets within 30 nautical miles of your boat.

The price is right, though I initially found juggling the free NOAA raster charts a bit daunting. They are listed by region, and each chart needs to be downloaded for use. The USA East, for instance, lists charts from the US Virgin Islands to Cuba and northward to the Canadian border. That’s a lot of unfamiliar place names to scroll through.

The Professional+ charts also need to be downloaded, but they are listed by state and are much easier to find. Regional sets, such as the USA and Canada, can be purchased for around $25, and updates are included in the subscription fee.

For fear of being perceived as a big spender, I also downloaded Navionics’ latest Boating app and purchased ­cartography for the US and Canada, also for just under $25. Navionics offers similar packages for just about anywhere in the world you’d care to sail, and the charts are the same as what’s available on Garmin (its parent company) chart plotters. Navionics recommends an Apple device running iOS 13 or later.

The newly launched iNavX Professional+ chart series offers premium vector charts delivering ­country-­specific coverage at a very reasonable price.­

The app lets you add a number of layers of information on its cartography and download daily chart updates. It also provides some serious navigation power, including Auto Guidance+, which will plot a route automatically. Basic ­navigation is fairly intuitive, and route planning is as simple as tapping the chart to set a waypoint or route, a feature that would be quite useful when planning a sailing vacation in some new, warm and sunny place.

A few precautionary words about auto routing, though: Before relying on it, carefully review where the route will be taking you. Setting a course from my home north of Boston into Boston Harbor, it would send me through a narrow piece of water called the Small Boat Channel, which is probably fine for a powerboat, but it can be a nightmare for a vessel under sail in certain wind and current conditions. And on any charter, remember that the software might not account for areas where the charter company doesn’t want you to go. Straying into the wrong place when following a machine-generated route might cost you your security deposit if the boat should be damaged.

Navionics provides a number of ways to customize charts, with overlays for satellite imagery, relief shading to show depths, and sonar contours. Weather, tide and buoy reports are all included, and the app can pair with onboard AIS receivers. 

C-Map cartography, which I also use on the iPad, has similar features, and the same caveat applies when using its route-planning capabilities. C-Map charts are free when connected to Wi-Fi; offline cartography access and extended weather are available only to premium subscribers. 

While all of these nav apps can provide AIS data when paired with an onboard ­receiver, another handy tool is the app from Marine Traffic, which displays near-real-time AIS information for vessels worldwide. The free version of the app provides interesting information about targets, including flag of registry, call sign, MMSI number, speed and size. You can use the app to search for ships and ­pleasure boats by name, or scan a harbor to see what’s anchored or underway nearby. Marine Traffic’s starter plan, which costs around $10 for a year, adds a number of other tidbits about vessels, ports, ship’s tracks and weather maps. It’s all pretty cool stuff to have at your fingertips.

Before relying on auto routing, carefully review where the route will be taking you. What may be fine for a powerboat could be a nightmare for a vessel under sail. 

I’ve also loaded up the iPad with a few of my favorite weather apps, such as Windy, Predict Wind, Storm Radar, WindAlert and SailFlow, and I’ve added links to regional NOAA text weather forecasts so that they are available as Wi-Fi allows. And I’ve downloaded PDF copies of a few other free NOAA ­publications, including Coast Pilot 1 and Coast Pilot 2, which give detailed coastal information about the waters from Eastport, Maine, to Sandy Hook, New Jersey. I also have the US Coast Guard’s Light List, Volume 1, covering the Atlantic coast.

With my new toolkit in hand, I’ll be ready to plan my next trip ahead of time and be able to change waypoints on the fly using apps that are quickly becoming old friends. 

Boat of the Year judge and CW editor-at-large Mark Pillsbury is a ­die-hard sailor who has owned a number of sailboats, including a Sabre 34, on which he lived for 15 years.

The post Gear Review: Navigation Apps Help You Get To Where You Want To Go appeared first on Cruising World.

Few boats would merit a glance from a savvy, experienced skipper looking to consolidate the best qualities of his performance cruiser and his motoryacht into just one boat.

Someone might even ask: “Are you kidding me? Can you do that?”

Enter the Oyster 495.

As the smallest yacht the company has developed from concept since 2005, the 495 is rigorously detailed. It is true to the heritage of a builder where a 50-footer has become the entry-level model. 

For this latest raised-salon offering, Oyster created a new facility in Hythe, on the Southampton shores of southern England. The aim is to build 12 boats a year, and sales to date suggest that this figure is not overly ambitious. 

I encountered Genevieve, the well-traveled Hull No. 1, in Southern California, where the boat had been delivered to the owner in Santa Barbara after being shown extensively in Europe. She was purchased to replace a performance cruiser and a powerboat. 

First impressions count, and the 495 makes a great one. If you’re switching over from a different brand, forget about bringing along your plates and glassware. All of that is provided, with subtle logos and fitted stowage. Mood lighting is available at the touch of a button. The TV raises and disappears with another button. In the guest stateroom forward, hatches overhead open in opposite directions. The queen berth in the owner’s stateroom could be a boat-show sales tool, but the cabin top is equipped for the lee cloths you will need when the boat is doing what it is meant to do: go places. 

To that end, an aluminum mast with electric furling is standard, but Genevieve is equipped with a Seldén carbon rig with in-mast electric furling and a hydraulics package including a mainsheet, vang, outhaul, backstay, and ­in-boom ram. In operation, it was whisper-quiet. 

The twin wheels offer clear sightlines from secure footing, along with command posts that have buttons to deploy and furl sails, and to adjust everything adjustable without straining a finger or risking a hangnail. Lewmar EVO primaries are handy, just outboard of the helm stations. Optional dual thrusters make everyone a hero going and coming to the dock, and smaller items such as pre-rigged preventers speak to that shadowy concierge who seems to have been everywhere. 

With four of us aboard, the cockpit was more than ­generous. I imagined many sociable scenes to come as the sails came out. The Yanmar saildrive was so quiet, it had to go off for me to even notice it had been on. Put that down to sandwich insulation glued, not screwed. 

The breeze was single digits, not enough to make the boat light up under a 105 percent jib, and we were dragging a wide transom and two rudders. Nevertheless, it was enjoyable sailing. I also appreciated seeing the cabin house square to the seating, to make a comfortable backrest looking aft, stretched out on passage. Rounding the forward backing the way some manufacturers do may work when you’re not going anywhere, but what is a boat for? 

The cockpit is laid out to walk on a single level back to a full-beam lazarette, which has ample stowage and access to the steering, backstay, exhaust and seacocks. Step back farther, and you are stepping down a reverse transom to a shower and an electronically operated swim platform. When the boat is stern-tied, that will be the boarding ladder. 

Belowdecks is bright, with close attention to ­ventilation. The opening coachroof windows in the salon will delight passengers in a tropical anchorage with the breeze wafting through. Batteries and tankage are centered under the salon sole, focusing the weight where it belongs. A U-shaped galley, two steps down to port, places most of the cook’s needs at hand in a space where it will be easy to brace underway, and the cook is not isolated from crew and guests. The twin sinks are on centerline for efficient drainage. 

The saloon table lowers to bed height for those who are overblessed with kids or grandkids, and the step-down nav station is separated but not isolated. A swing-out computer screen is here, along with CZone control and monitoring instead of fuse panels. A freezer is abaft the nav station, where it won’t see a lot of traffic unless it’s stocked with ice cream for those kids. 

Opposite the nav station, twin doors open wide to an engine compartment thoughtfully laid out to be serviced without provoking naughty words. Clear labeling matters, and I liked seeing the Panda generator within a sound-­insulated compartment.  

All the way aft, the owner’s stateroom has 6 feet, 4 inches of headroom, a sofa, cedar-lined lockers, escape hatches, and Oyster’s signature vertical portlights for a special view of the world. Forward of the salon is a cozy over/under double that shares a head and shower with the bright and airy forward stateroom. Nowhere above or belowdecks does the level of fit-and-finish fall short. 

Oyster describes the hull as an “overspecified laminate resin structure with a combination of stringers and frames for extreme strength and durability.” I believe it. Genevieve had the L-shaped standard keel and a draft of 7 feet, 5 inches. A shoal-draft keel is an option. 

Lunch waited ashore, ­creating an opportunity to ­observe how magically the sails disappeared and how comfortably the boat motored at 9-plus knots. It’s replacing a powerboat, remember. There was also a moment to ­demonstrate that, under power, the Oyster 495 will spin in its own length. That gave me a grin too.

Oyster 495 Specifications

The post Sailboat Review: Oyster 495 Combines Performance and Power In Under 50 Feet appeared first on Cruising World.

Aaron Maynard owns an electric-­bike shop in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, where a customer came in one day seeking a folding bike. 

“I asked him specifically why he wanted a folding bike because we sell many models,” Maynard says. “He said that he and his wife were going to sell their house and their belongings, and move onto a sailboat for a few years. After he left, I looked up ‘45-foot sailboat’ online. What I saw totally enthralled me. I began researching boats nonstop. I ordered a catalog from The Moorings and read it from cover to cover. In the back of the catalog, there was information about learning to sail.”

The next day, Maynard called Offshore Sailing School and signed up himself and his wife, Michele, for a certification class. They had never set foot on a sailboat when they attended the Offshore Sailing School at the South Seas Island Resort on Captiva Island, Florida, in 2018, joining the increasingly large ranks of people who are taking certification courses either to learn the basics or to gain advanced skills.

And make no mistake: It’s far from just newbies like the Maynards signing up for classes these days. For boat ­owners, some insurance companies require sailing certifications, and some charter companies have tightened up certification ­requirements for bareboat sailing as well. 

John Gaston was an experienced sailor and boat owner who had completed basic and intermediate cruising certification courses in Canada. He was looking for advanced cruising certification when he came across Barefoot Offshore Sailing School in St. Vincent and the Grenadines. He knew the school’s instructor, Rob McLean, who was associated with the courses in Ontario. Gaston signed up and completed his Sail Canada Advanced and Offshore courses in the southern Caribbean.

“I find that taking sailing courses provides excellent training to prepare for situations and response options,” he says. “I would rather learn from other people’s training and experience because you don’t know what you don’t know. A sailing course tends to be a safe and controlled environment.”

Taking the classes helped the Maynards and Gaston live their sailing dreams. The Maynards went on to complete multiple certifications, purchased a yacht and placed it in a BVI charter fleet, and have chartered 14 times over the years. They also bought a boat that they keep closer to home. Gaston recently completed an offshore sail-training trans-Atlantic crossing. 

Class Is In

No matter what sailing interests students have these days, there are classes available to help them achieve their goals. The American Sailing Association has certified close to 600,000 sailors at more than 400 sailing schools around the globe. 

Jonathan Payne, executive director of ASA, says that he sees two common paths in ASA sailing education. “One, someone takes in interest in local sailing courses. They make a long-term commitment to learn at a sailing school near where they live and attend weekend classes,” Payne says. This typically takes six weeks.

The second path, he says, is a ­weeklong destination school. “This is a full-­immersion, intensive course where students do a fair amount of study before arriving,” he says. “Once they are there, they are in class and running maneuvers sunup to sundown. The skill-building happens on the water.”

Of the two paths, the sailor who studies locally over a longer period might build a broader base of knowledge, while the other might be looking for a deep dive into the aspects of chartering. “A student in a course stretched out over six weeks might learn more about sail trim and sail theory, whereas someone on board a boat 24 hours a day might learn more about seamanship, bilges, and troubleshooting the engine,” he says. “There are certain things that happen on the water when you’re living on a boat. You have the opportunity to learn ­problem-solving in the moment.”

For the ASA local courses, Basic Keelboat Sailing (ASA 101) teaches skills inside a marina. Basic Coastal Cruising (ASA 103) takes the student outside the marina, and up and down the coast. Bareboat Cruising (ASA 104) is required to charter a boat.

“You can learn to sail in Colorado on your weekends, or sign up for a charter yacht in Greece,” Payne says. “There are a lot of options.”

US Sailing, the governing body for the sport of sailing in the United States, offers similar building-block tracks: Basic Keelboat, Basic Cruising and Bareboat Cruising.

Doris and Steve Colgate, founders of US Sailing-certified Offshore Sailing School, come from a racing background and have more than 160,000 graduates in over 60 years of teaching. Offshore offers one-week training courses in Florida and the British Virgin Islands, where students earn certifications for boats up to 50 feet. 

Students attend for a variety of reasons, according to Beth Oliver, vice president and director of sales and marketing. Some are new to sailing. Others are veteran sailors who want to experience the BVI. “These are people who either want to charter on their own, or who are considering purchasing a yacht and living aboard,” Oliver says. “They’re adventure-seekers with an active lifestyle, and want to share this enthusiasm with like-minded people. Many of our students are highly educated professionals, so continual learning is important to them. They like to share their skills with family and friends. Many want to pass on the sailing lifestyle to their children and grandchildren as a sort of legacy.”

 For those who want to charter, Offshore offers a combination course: Fast Track to Cruising. “We like to say that we can take you from your couch to the captain’s chair in one week,” Oliver says. Textbooks are sent in advance, and students arrive at class prepared to learn.

Offshore is the official sailing school of The Moorings, one of the world’s largest charter companies. The Moorings offers Offshore Sailing School courses in the BVI and Royal Yachting Association courses in the Mediterranean, according to Amanda Kurland, charter sales representative for The Moorings and Sunsail. These sister companies offer several levels of courses in multiple places. Sunsail has destination sailing schools in the United Kingdom, Croatia, Greece, Australia and Grenada.

Some people do the training because they want to purchase their own boat when they retire, Kurland says. Others are jumping from lake sailing to ocean ­sailing. Still others have the goal to ­charter a bareboat.

Blue Water Sailing School, an ­ASA-certified school in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, offers destination sail ­training charters closer to home. These are seven-day liveaboard courses where the vessels anchor out at night. Classes are available in Florida, Rhode Island, the Virgin Islands and the Bahamas. 

Blue Water owner David Pyle says that he also finds two basic groups of people looking for sail training: those who want to go cruising on their own boat someday and those who want to charter. “We try to get students to a point where they’re comfortable, confident and safe on a boat,” Pyle says. “It’s kind of like getting a pilot’s license to fly a small plane. You can get the training and certification, but of course you want to be safe and competent before you fly a plane on your own.”

Pyle says that approximately 15 to 20 percent of basic-level students return later for advanced courses. “We get a lot of people who have this goal to purchase their own boat,” he says. “They want to see if this is for them. I was just talking to a couple from Nebraska. They’ve never sailed, and they’re interested in finding out if this is for them. This is not uncommon.”

Pyle and Oliver agree that the most challenging aspect for students is often the amount of material they need to learn. Most students are also fairly anxious when it comes to docking. “Students who have been away from testing for a while might get nervous about the written-test ­component, but our instructors determine each student’s learning levels and preferences, and work with them individually, quizzing everyone each day on topics, so most are very comfortable by the time they take the written tests,” Oliver says.

There’s a lot of repetition and refreshing as the course goes along. Some students fear that they lack the physical strength for sailing work, but the sailboats have equipment such as winches to assist the student with maneuvers. Other students have a general fear of the water and ­seasickness, but most of that can be overcome with time on the boat.

Pyle says that it’s not uncommon to work with sailors who have had smaller boats, such as a 25-foot boat on a lake, but now want to go coastal sailing on a 40-foot monohull or offshore sailing on a 50-foot catamaran.

West Coast Multihulls in San Diego runs a sailing school with training on multihulls. Students who complete AS 101, 103 and 104 can take ASA 114: Cruising Catamaran Certification. It’s a five-day liveaboard class offered around Catalina Island and in the Sea of Cortez.

“We are catamaran experts with the largest sailing catamaran fleet on the West Coast,” says Guinevere King, general manager at West Coast Multihulls. “People come to our school to learn how to sail catamarans and experience the liveaboard cruising lifestyle in Southern California and in the Sea of Cortez.”

Most students want to get ASA 114 certifications while building their sailing resumes so that they can bareboat charter. “We also have a large percentage of our students who are looking to buy a catamaran and cruise the world with family and friends.”

 West Coast Multihulls also offers ASA 105 and 106 advanced courses for experienced sailors. The company recently added ASA 107 and 108, which cover celestial navigation and passagemaking.

“Our instructors share their knowledge and expertise with their students in a supportive environment,” Kurland says. “Our students gain confidence and invaluable real-world experience on board, which you can’t replicate by watching a YouTube video.” 

Barefoot Offshore Sailing School ­instructor McClean says that because there are so many levels and types of courses available, he doesn’t see a typical student but rather a thread that links them all. It’s people who want to sail, who want to live on a boat and learn for a week, who want to go offshore.

“Fifteen percent of our students are new to sailing,” he says. “Forty to 50 percent have already taken an initial course and are there to advance their skills.” The school welcomes all levels, he says, “but we do encourage people to take that first level at home. Someone can get far more out of their investment if they can learn the basics of tacking and jibing before coming to the Grenadines. It’s an ideal location for learning. You’re exposed to 8- to 15-knot winds, waves offshore off the islands, and a guaranteed variety of good winds.”

McClean says that the most important skill, in any context, is ensuring the safety of the crew and skipper. Other tough skills for students include navigating in ­unfamiliar waters, understanding weather, and anchoring at night. “Probably the most challenging [skill] we teach is crew-overboard drills,” he says, adding that students practice in multiple circumstances at multiple times. “If you’re not confident on all points of sail and you can’t manage a beam reach, then you need training and practice.”

After the introductory and ­intermediate courses, some students apply for advanced courses, including sailing at night. Some want to learn offshore sailing on a trans-Atlantic course. “We have a discussion with them to verify that this a good match for them,” McClean says. “The last thing they want is to wake up and find that this is the last place they want to be.” 

Award-winning journalist Theresa Nicholson is CW’s senior editor.

The post Back to School: Sailing Education Benefits Everyone From Beginners to Offshore Racers appeared first on Cruising World.

“willie, call me as soon as you can. i bought a boat. I haven’t seen it yet. It’s in the middle of Florida. We have to get it out of the boatyard by Monday.” 

When I received the voicemail, I was racing a Melges 24 regatta in Miami, and I knew adventure was brewing. My father-in-law, Chris, had started with casual boat browsing online and progressed to the sight-unseen purchase of La Reine, a 23-year-old Beneteau 381. In the process, he had set in motion a journey that would take my wife, Kim, and me on a 50-day, ­1,000-nautical-mile shotgun journey into the unknown. 

Starting with getting the boat off the hard for him within three days.

Two days later, I got my first sight of the boatyard where La Reine was waiting. Row upon row of deserted boats covered in various shades of mossy growth stretched as far as I could see. Imagination turned to panic as I drove past the first derelict hulls and pulled through the front gate.

As I entered the boatyard, heads popped out of companionways covered in fiberglass dust and paint. The boats in this part of the yard were notably more seaworthy, and a ragtag crowd was lovingly working on them.  

La Reine had a fresh coat of paint that made her shine, and a suite of new electronics gave her a modern feel. As a professional racer who has seen my share of collisions and repairs, I was very aware that the shiny new cosmetics might mask something far more daunting. I pushed the possibilities from my mind and set to work. 

The Caloosahatchee River makes up the western stretch of the Okeechobee Waterway, which connects the tranquil Gulf waters of Fort Myers to the Atlantic Seaboard at Port St. Lucie. We had not yet been able to secure a reservation in a marina on either coastline, so the plan was to take the boat a few miles downriver toward Fort Myers, and then leave her in Port LaBelle Marina to buy ourselves enough time to install safety gear and make a game plan.

That afternoon, one other boat was ceremoniously hoisted from its resting place in the yard in preparation for an adventure at sea. The excited young couple had spent the past two years on the hard fixing leaks, working on the engine, refitting plumbing, and everything in between. Briefly, the thought crossed my mind that La Reine should spend a few more months in the yard to go through all the systems, but it was too late for that. Whatever issues the new paint hid would be revealed soon enough.

After a three-hour round-trip drive to Fort Myers to acquire provisions for my first night on the boat, I returned to find that the stove wouldn’t light, so my quesadilla dinner became a cheese and tomato wrap. After dinner, I discovered that the toilet wouldn’t flush, thankfully in time to head up to the marina bathrooms.

Kim arrived early the next morning. After a pit stop to ­purchase parts, we started up the diesel on the first try. Our adventure was underway.

The first day was smooth motoring. Kim navigated the canal, and I watched YouTube videos to learn how to dissect the plumbing. As I wrapped up installation of a new pump and valve, we arrived at our first lock. The friendly lock operator walked us through the procedure, and the conditions were calm, making the process easy. When we were ready, the back gate closed, the front gate cracked open and dropped the water level 14 feet, and we were on to the next section of canal.

At Port LaBelle that evening, we were greeted by an alligator floating lazily past the entrance. We cut the drone of the diesel, so the only sounds left were nature: plentiful bird life and the distant moos of cows. It was the quintessential Southern evening. We still didn’t know where we were headed, but for the next few weeks, this would become our launch pad for the projects needed to make it to the ocean, and whatever lay beyond. 

We had only a few short days in Port LaBelle before I had to head back to work for a week, and Kim had a trip planned with friends. We crammed in as many projects as possible, with the expectation that we’d be headed to the ocean the next time we saw the boat.

When we returned to Port LaBelle, Chris had settled on a summer marina at Jekyll Island, Georgia. Meanwhile, Kim and I were plotting a one-month detour through the Bahamas. We would head east on the Okeechobee Waterway, then south to Miami and up through the Bahamas, then to Georgia. We didn’t have any marina reservations, but we felt that there was no better way to get to the top of the waiting list than to show up.

As soon as Kim arrived, we transferred a mountain of boxes we’d ordered online from the marina office onto the boat, and we bid farewell to Port LaBelle. With a nice following wind, we unfurled the jib for the first time and retraced our tracks from only a week before.

After about an hour, we arrived back at the lock that we had previously dropped down and prepared to float back up. “Ready?” came the voice of the operator. We thought we were.

As the back gate closed, I noticed that the fenders were slightly too far apart. The freshly painted rail of La Reine came to rest just inches from the cement wall as the front gate opened and water rushed into the lock. The boat seesawed at the mercy of the floodwaters. 

With my gaze fixed on the tiny gap between the rail and the wall, I wrestled with the dock line, fighting to avoid grinding off the fresh coat of paint. Minutes seemed like hours, but eventually, the water calmed and the boat came to rest. Miraculously, the rail was unscratched. 

For the rest of that afternoon, we motored lazily up the canal, past Glades Boat Storage and up the river to Moore Haven, where we spent the night on the city dock.

The morning was full of beauty, with golden sunlight pouring down on swampy vegetation and animal life. Alligators, turtles, lizards, and birds of all varieties seemed to wake with the sun and escort us down the next stretch of the ditch. 

By late morning, we passed through Clewiston and reached the entrance to Lake Okeechobee, where we set a course through the narrow channel. By noon, land slipped from sight and the wind built to the midteens. Our jib was deployed, and our adventure seemed to be in full force.

Kim was at the helm when the steady, rhythmic knocking of the diesel began to fade. At first, I thought one of us had bumped the throttle, but power quickly faded to an idle thrust. I spend a lot of time around outboard engines in my job as an Olympic sailing coach, but the diesel was a new beast. This felt like a gas issue, but the gauge read three-quarters full.

Kim turned us head-to-wind while I hoisted the main and cut the engine. The wind was puffing at nearly 20 knots and, luckily, carried us downwind toward the far lakeshore, but we knew we would need the engine to get through the lock on the far side. Kim drove while I went below to put on my mechanic’s cap.

After about an hour, I had drained some sediment out of the fuel filters. I was cleaning out the air-intake manifold when Kim called down: “I can see the lock getting closer. The waves are getting bigger. What are we going to do?”

I poked my head back up. The channel markers for the lock were getting close. 

We cranked the engine, throttled up, and La Reine plowed forward. 

“Sails down and fingers crossed—all we can do now is hope that it doesn’t die again,” Kim said with a worried look. 

We hailed the lock operator. The wind was now blowing a steady 20 with a lumbering, lumpy chop. The lock operator came on the VHF radio: “Conditions are rough, but it’s not getting any better. Let’s get you through. When you get inside, let me close the gate before you go to the wall so that the chop can die down.”

If the engine died now, we’d have major problems. We carefully nosed into the lock, with the boat pitching wildly from the chop. 

“Be ready with a mobile fender in case I lose control,” I told Kim. 

As the gate swung closed behind us, the engine held, but even with full power, I was fighting hard to keep the boat under control. The bow swung left, then right, at the mercy of the wind, so I tried to keep the stern centered to buy enough time for the chop to subside. 

“That’s it,” came the voice of the lock operator. The chop was still big, but we were fully committed, so I took a deep breath, tried to relax, and waited patiently for the bow to swing. As the next puff took hold, the boat rotated 20 degrees, lining us up for a nice approach to the wall. I hit reverse, praying that the engine would hold just 60 seconds longer.

In the end, it was one of our smoothest lock passages. While the lock operator commented on our excellent boathandling, I told myself, Better lucky than good.

I started to relax as we exited the cement box into the ­tranquility of the canal on the other side, but no sooner had we passed the final gate than the bridge ahead stole my focus. This 49-foot railroad crossing controlled the navigational height east of Lake Okeechobee. 

We radioed the operator for a final check on water-level height. When we told him we were 48 feet tall, he replied, “Don’t quote me on this, but I think you’ll probably make it.”

The adrenaline took hold again.

Back at Port LaBelle, I had gone up the rig and measured that we should have a foot of clearance above our mast, but seeing the bridge in front of us, my imagination ran wild. I envisioned a westbound motorboat trying to squeeze through the bridge at the same time as us, with its wake bouncing us into the top of the bridge. We figured that every inch mattered, so, using a hammock, we rigged up a seat for Kim on the end of the boom. As I swung her out over the water, the boat heeled 5 degrees to starboard. I had calculated that this should buy us 6 extra inches of clearance.

We went as slowly as possible, with the hope that impact at these speeds might give us a chance to save the rig, but the ­approach was agonizing. Hanging over the water, Kim worried that she might have a date with an alligator if things went south. 

At the last moment, I threw the boat in neutral. As we glided smoothly through the crossing, I looked up. Was it just me, or was the antenna on top of the rig tickling the bottom of the bridge? No, just my imagination. Elation. We were through.

We laughed and smiled and felt like heroes. We had avoided the lengthy western route through the Keys, and the sun was shining.

We didn’t notice the first few raindrops. All afternoon, I had been tracking the cumulus development to the north, and while the fluffy white pillars had grown into thunderheads, the radar showed no sign of southern movement. While we’d been preoccupied with the lock and the bridge, though, the system had veered sharply. Within minutes, I found myself diving for my foul-weather gear in pelting rain.

No sooner was I dressed than the engine died again.

Kim rushed below to grab the windlass controller. The crackle of thunder and lightning in the distance was getting closer. I swung the bow head-to-wind in the lee of a thicket of trees and, with the last of our momentum, did my best to estimate the swing of the boat in the narrow canal. 

“Drop 20,” I called, glancing at the depth gauge. Kim put down 20 feet of chain as the boat started backward. 

With the anchor set, we scrambled below and closed the hatches to wait out the rest of the squall and continue working on the diesel. 

Later that evening, La Reine slipped down the glassy canal as the towering cumulus above the forest reflected golden oranges contrasting with ragged, dark grays. La Reine’s diesel, alive once again, buzzed gently under my feet. The air was still thick from the rain, but it was cool now that the storm had moved off into the distance, having washed away much of the sweat, grease and stress that marked our first big day of delivery.

As we pulled into a slip just before the final lock of the trip for the night, I was reminded that man plans and God laughs. Of all the scenarios I had run through in my head, the leeward shoreline lock with a dead engine had not been one of them.

The next day, we headed for the Atlantic. We geared up, ­tethered in, and headed out of Stuart in a beautiful 15-knot northerly for La Reine’s first true sailing test.

The first hour was all smiles. We surfed the waves, reaching and winging our way down the coast. Through the afternoon, the breeze built and more rolling waves began to make Kim feel sick, so we set a course for an inlet a few miles down the coast. Before we could make it to the calm water, however, we heard a popping noise, and looked up to find a large hole in the luff of the main. A seam of old stitching had given out, and rotten threads on either side looked ready to give way too.

The mainsail blowing out wasn’t something that we could have predicted, but as soon as it happened, we made the best of the situation. Kim took the helm and spun us into the wind while I reefed the main to the second reef point. This confined the hole in the sail to the folds of the reefed slab, allowing us to continue down the coast at a good pace as we motorsailed to Hillsboro Inlet at Pompano Beach.

For the next few days, the clear-blue Miami water replaced the murky green twists and turns of the Intracoastal Waterway, and we began to feel one step ahead. As we wound our way through the juxtaposition of wild nature and intensive urban ­development, we were able to secure a mooring ball, schedule a mechanic to service the engine, and book an appointment to have the boat sized for a Bimini top.

In the final stretch, we navigated intense Saturday traffic in Miami: lavish yachts, loud music, and crazy chop from ­reckless boaters. As we turned into the calm waters of Dinner Key Marina, sweet relief washed over us.

Champagne in hand, we video-chatted with Chris, telling him we’d made it and that La Reine was in one piece. We spent the rest of the evening reliving our endless snafus, laughing and smiling. It was amazing how much life we had lived in just four days.

What had we learned? No matter whether you order your boat new or find one online, plans will eventually fail. And when they do, the real adventure will begin. 

The post Sailing Across Florida: An Unexpected Adventure appeared first on Cruising World.

Tacking a sailboat through the wind is one of the great joys of sailing. For a few seconds, everyone aboard the boat is engaged, whether steering, trimming or moving across the deck. A racing crew will practice the routine of crisp tacking to avoid losing ground to the competition. The cruising sailor can make the most of this maneuver by tacking with preparation and care.   

The world’s top helmsmen turn the boat slowly to keep momentum. The faster you turn a boat, the more it will slow down. Crews don’t like being surprised by a boat that is suddenly turning without any warning—especially those working below, say, with a pot tumbling off a stove. 

A cadence should be followed leading up to, during and after any tack. The skipper should let the crew know well in advance that a tack is being contemplated. Everyone on board should prepare to perform a specific job. 

The sail trimmer needs to check that the jib sheet is ready to run. The new sheet should have two turns on the winch and be ready for trimming. The mainsail trimmer needs to make sure the traveler is cleated in its proper position so that it doesn’t go careening across the track. I recommend easing the jib sheet early. Backing a headsail slows a boat and makes it hard to trim in on the new tack. Let out the jib just before the sail starts to back. The turning boat will help move the sail across to the new side of the boat. As the jib starts to fill, add turns of the sheet onto the winch. 

There are three things to concentrate on when tacking: steering, sail trim and crew weight position. 

When you turn the rudder, a force is created that slows the boat before it starts turning. A slow action will reduce the forces slowing the boat. Prioritize trimming the sails for the new tack, which will help you accelerate. Ask your crew to stay low while moving across the boat. Crews should change sides during most tacks when the boat is directly upright. In light winds, the crew should delay crossing over to help the boat heel on the new tack. Dinghy sailors call this a “roll tack.” Heeling gives a boat a longer waterline and more speed, and helps the sails set better. The combination of coordinating smooth steering, efficient sail trim, and proper crew weight position will help the boat to accelerate. 

An announcement about an upcoming tack should be conversational. No yelling. One person should note what the new course will be after the tack and advise the helmsperson. Selecting a point on land or a compass course gives the helmsperson a helpful reference. The helmsperson should alert the crew by saying, “Tacking in three boat lengths.” Just before turning the wheel, the person steering should count down the time to the turn: “Three, two, one, tacking now.” Again, turn the wheel or tiller slowly. Let the boat coast into the wind.  

When the boat is heading directly into the wind, increase the turn rate to get the boat on the new course and get the sails to fill. You should sail a few degrees low, of course, and keep the sails eased to help the boat accelerate. When the boat attains full speed, head up to a closehauled course and trim the sail all the way in. Everyone on the boat will quickly settle in and appreciate a quiet sense of accomplishment. 

Be strategic when tacking. Look for a patch of water with smooth waves. Tacking into steep chop makes it difficult to regain full speed. Sometimes, I will wait 15 seconds or longer to find an easy set of waves to tack through. 

Sailboats are most efficient when maneuvering by sailing at full speed before making a turn. I like to tack in a good puff of wind, which also helps with acceleration. On a breezy day, tacking slowly gives the sail trimmer time to trim the sail in. If the boat turns too quickly, the jib will take a long time to be trimmed properly. The helmsperson should keep an eye on the jib and turn only as quickly as the trimmer can pull in the headsail. 

If the wind is particularly strong, the mainsail trimmer can reduce the pressure on the helm by easing the sail out as the tack is completed. If a boat is heeled over too far, it will be uncomfortable for the crew and make considerable leeway.  

In very light winds, avoid tacking frequently. It takes a long time to recover from a maneuver to regain full speed. Study the wind puffs on the water. Try to locate areas with more wind. Once you locate stronger wind, head in that direction to sail in it. 

Making good tacks gives a crew a sense of accomplishment and brings everyone together as a team. With a few practices, the crew will make the tack a thing of beauty.

 6 Tips for Better Tacking

1. Verbally prepare the crew for a tack.
2. Find an area of smooth water to tack in.
3. Start the tack when your boat is sailing at full speed.
4. Tack in a strong puff of wind.
5. Avoid turning too fast.
6. Coordinate steering, sail trim and crew weight position.

Hall of Fame sailor Gary Jobson is a CW editor-at-large.

The post Boathandling: Making the Turn appeared first on Cruising World.

Among the many ­revelations I’ve ­experienced since purchasing a 1970s-era classic-plastic cruising boat and setting up shop on the Gulf Coast of Florida for half the year is the fact that yachts don’t get hauled out annually here for a fresh coat of bottom paint. In New England over the years, I’ve owned a series of sailboats, all of which spent every winter on the hard in a boatyard safe from the ravages of endless nor’easters. Their bottoms were all prepped and repainted before getting launched again the following spring. It’s not a particularly pleasant task, but one I’d always tackled myself—yet another annoying yin to the rewarding yang of owning a sailboat. 

So, when I bought my Pearson 365, August West, a year ago, I was pretty psyched to learn that I wouldn’t have to undergo the labor (and cost) on a yearly basis. In fact, I thought that I might get a pass altogether for a season or two. Then, two things happened: First, the diver I hired for a monthly bottom scrub, when asked about the condition below the waterline, had a pithy answer (“poor”); and second, the previous owner, when queried about the last time he painted the bottom, was equally succinct (“um, good question”). There really was no alternative: It was time to haul the vessel for new paint.

In Rhode Island, if in possession of a pulse and a ­valid credit card, this had never been an issue; plenty of yards in or near Newport were more than willing to relieve me of cash. In Florida, at least in the greater Sarasota area, it was more of a challenge. The first couple of places that I called flat-out said that they didn’t work on sailboats. And it was quickly apparent that, if I did find a spot, doing the work myself was out of the question. Finally, on a tip from a local sailor, I learned of an outfit called N.E. Taylor Boat Works, just a few short miles up the Intracoastal Waterway from my slip on Longboat Key, in a place called Cortez Cove.

The tiny adjacent community of Cortez, measuring just 2 square miles of real estate, was an oasis from the strip malls. Cortez is a commercial-fishing village founded in the late 1800s that still retains its old-timey Florida vibe. Home to a great fish market, a big fish processing plant and a couple of seafood shacks, it seemed of a different time and place, and an extremely welcoming one at that. 

The cove, however, is not such a simple spot to get into. Peering in from the ICW, the fleet of rather large fishing boats would suggest otherwise, but the actual channel is narrow and marked by hand-painted signs, one of which I, of course, missed. In what’s becoming a disturbing new habit, I ran aground…directly in front of one of the busy waterfront restaurants right at dinner hour. Free entertainment for all. Luckily, I’m getting good at getting off the bottom, and I made it to the yard unscathed. 

Descendants of the Taylor family, part of the original group of Cortez settlers from North Carolina, still run the yard. It’s both friendly and funky, and I mean the latter as a high compliment. From the time I pulled in until the time I pulled out, nobody ever bothered asking me for, well, anything: my full name, an address, payment details, nada. Almost as an afterthought, it occurred to me that, since I was in a boatyard and all, and I’d purchased a pair of deck hatches that were sitting in my V-berth, I might as well get them installed (a task I’d originally planned to do myself but was not relishing). No muss, no fuss, just two hours of reasonable labor costs that would’ve taken me much longer. 

Getting out of the boatyard was a lot easier. Back in my slip a few days later, my diver returned (he does several boats in the marina), noted the paint job, and said I was good to go for a while. “That could last you a few years,” he said, which made me smile. Whenever that time does come again, though, I’ll know to return to Cortez Cove. 

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large. 

The post A Haul Out In Southwest Florida’s Cortez Cove Comes Packaged with a Few Surprises appeared first on Cruising World.