Inspecting the condition of your rigging is an important step in safe-passage preparation, so going aloft is—or should be—on the maintenance shortlist of many cruisers. Does that sound like a glorious opportunity to gaze at your boat from an eagle’s-eye view or a nerve-racking ascent to avoid (or get over with as quickly as possible)? Maybe the reaction is, “Hell no, that’s a job for a rigger!” However you feel about going aloft, cruisers should be familiar with safe practices for ascending their boat’s mast(s). Here are some tips for doing it well.

Safety first

Going up the mast is serious business that requires good, proven equipment, safe practices, and an eye to knowing when not to defy gravity. If you question any of the safety checks described here, make a plan and go aloft only after addressing them.

Overview

Because humans are clever, there are a surprising number of ways to ascend toward the stars on a sailboat, such as sitting in a bosun’s chair, dangling in a harness, or climbing mast steps, whether solo or with a winch buddy. There is no best approach, just the one that works for you.

Make a plan

If doing a solo ascent, anticipate the necessary tools so you don’t have add a trip for that missing screwdriver. When assisted, discuss if you will inspect things on the way up or down, communication protocol, and line-handling technique.

What tools will you need, and how will you carry them? Items should be accessible and safely stowed. Jamie has a canvas bucket that slings onto the side of the bosun’s chair; it holds enough without being too deep to reach items easily. If you don’t usually put keepers on your sunglasses or eyeglasses, this is a good time to do so. Remember that even a small item dropped from aloft can have a much greater impact below. Crew on deck should stay away from the mast base when not actively raising or lowering the aloft person.

Unambiguous communication

Does stop mean soonish or, “My knee jammed between shrouds, and I will bleed if hoisted 1 millimeter farther”? Talk through the steps you plan to take. Will you stop at spreaders on the way up, the way down, or both? 

Assume you will not be able to hear each other without aid. If you have wireless headsets (called “marriage savers”) for anchoring, such as Bluetooth Sena headsets or 1.9 GHz Eartec headsets, this is a perfect additional use. A clipped-on handheld VHF on an unused channel is another option. Or simple earbuds or a headset and a phone are an easy hands-free alternative. There are even apps you can use to connect 1-to-1 without internet, such as by using NFC or your boat’s network. 

Good gear

Start with the device between the human and hoist mechanism. If using a harness, is it in good condition and at least reasonably comfortable? Same if it’s a bosun’s chair. Check that the mast steps aren’t corroded, the halyard isn’t chafed or UV-damaged, the winch is working well, and the rope clutch securely holds the line under load. Note that a winch self-tailing mechanism alone is not enough to secure a person aloft. We know of a fatality when the halyard slipped from a self-tailer and the rope clutch did not engage.

Lift mechanism

Use halyards or a boom topping lift, but not a spinnaker halyard (or other external halyards) as the primary hoist; it’s OK to use these as backup safety lines. Spinnaker halyards run through hanging external blocks, adding greater risk for failure. 

When Totem was in the Seychelles, new cruising friends asked for help after discovering a couple of broken wire strands on their 55-foot monohull and hired Jamie to inspect the rigging.  He was inclined to go up the mast—barely inclined, thanks to a sloppy anchorage and gusty trade winds. As Jamie started rigging the bosun’s chair, the owner grabbed the spinnaker halyard as the primary hoist for the ride up. Jamie said, “No, I don’t go up on spinnaker halyards.” The owner pleaded, and the wind blew too much to drop the furled main and headsail, so Jamie acquiesced. Upon reaching the masthead, the first thing Jamie checked was the external spinnaker halyard block—and he found a crack in the shackle. Next was the fastest controlled descent possible.

Make sure the halyard(s) are in good condition. If the halyard does not pass through a rope clutch, you must secure the tail to a cleat after the winch. A second halyard (with an additional person to tail it) acts as a safety line, just in case. 

Don’t use halyard shackles; they can fail, leading to catastrophe. Instead, tie halyards with a bow line. Consider bringing up a safety tether to clip to the mast if working at one spot for a while.

Test!

Before ascending, do a shock-load test. It’s free, easy and really good piece of mind. If going up in a chair or harness, hoist your ride a few feet above the deck, then bounce. Really throw your weight down into it. You want to check the shock load from a safe height, not one that can break bones or do neurological damage.

Electric winch?

No. Well, it’s hard to make this choice when push-button power is an option, as it turns out to be a lot of work to haul someone up the mast. But electric winches are powerful, and very bad things can happen very quickly. Power-winch accidents in hoisting scenarios have resulted in the loss of fingers and limbs. There is also the risk of not stopping at the masthead in time, so the trusty bow line jams or gets pulled into the halyard sheave. That can cause the line to fail, which is easier than you might think because electric winches work so quickly and powerfully. Clear, unambiguous communication with your partner becomes even more important. If you do go up with the power winch, the winch operator must use extreme caution.

Going up!

Take pictures while you’re up there. No, it’s not just to show how cool you look at the masthead. Get a lot of photos of the rig, both zoomed in (in focus) and panned for context. You might also find something unexpected to capture and examine later. Reviewing photos offers another opportunity to rig-check after the climb and spot things you might have missed.

Descend safely

Gravity is your friend—and your foe. It will make lowering you easier, but the ride down can feel uncomfortably jerky. To reduce jerkiness, the deck support crew should ease the line smoothly in 3-  to  4-inch sections rather than small increments. Be sure the eased halyard has a fair lead to the winch so there is no chance the line can jump over the end of the winch. 

The other contributing element for a smoother ride is being mindful of the number of wraps around a winch—too many, and it won’t ease smoothly. Usually, two wraps provide enough friction to hold the person’s weight while still letting the line slide around the winch as needed. If the weight feels like too much to hold easily, then add another wrap.

Remember that returning to deck level is more dangerous because the self-tailer and rope clutch are not used when easing.

The easiest inspection

Does it need to be said? It’s a lot safer and easier to inspect your rig components when they’re lying on sawhorses at ground level and not in the boat. This is the current state of Totem’s equipment, although we hope to have it back up again soon. We’re counting down to the boat’s splash…and sailing to Puerto Vallarta in December!

The post Sailing Totem: Safely Going Up the Mast appeared first on Cruising World.

Steve Brown knows a thing or two about heavy weather. Throughout his sailing career, Brown and his wife, Trish, took on a four-year circumnavigation aboard their Oyster 56, Curious, sailed a 30,000-mile circumnavigation of the Americas—sailing north from Camden, Maine, and then an east-to-west transit of the Northwest Passage—and spent more than his fair share of time in the Southern Ocean. 

Brown is up for debating the superlatively inhospitable places on Earth. 

“Southern Georgia, in the South Atlantic, is the most unforgiving place I’ve ever sailed,” he says. “Although there was this one time, coming up the Le Mer Strait between Staten Island and Tierra Del Fuego.” 

The sailing was the fault of his ­mountaineering interests, he claims, and he originally took to the sea for adventure. He followed in the footsteps of mountaineer-sailor Bill Tilman, and decided he needed to learn how to sail in order to “fill in the blanks on the map.”

A starter dinghy was followed by a Furia 44, and then by the circumnavigation in the Oyster 56. When he bought the AeroRig Bestevaer 60C Novara, an aluminum-hull schooner designed as a research vessel, the expeditions stepped up a notch. 

Along the way, there’s been brash ice and icebergs, rogue waves and drogues, penguins and polar bears. He’s a sailor who’s had the real-life experience of switching from gale-force storm management to survival tactics after conditions transcend control. 

His current role is as mentor and ice ­pilot as Novara pursues a multiyear mission in the Caribbean working with coastal communities to educate and ­combat climate change, followed by a planned 2025 Northwest Passage.

Know Your Boat

Brown’s first piece of advice on heavy-weather management, offered during the Cruising Club of America’s 2022 seminar in Newport, Rhode Island, was: “Don’t go out in it,” but there were a few more lessons shared.

“Take your boat apart from stem to stern and know every inch of it,” Brown told me during a recent call. “If you’re going to be far from marinas and chandleries, ask yourself: If it breaks, can I live without it? Can I fix it? If you can’t live without or fix it, then you need a spare.

“When I prepared the boat in Camden for the 2014 Northwest Passage, I spent two and a half months for 15 hours a day on Novara getting to understand it and stripping it from stem to stern,” he says.

If you look at what Randal Reeves did, Brown said, in Reeves’ preparation for the Figure 8 Voyage of the Americas, he took that boat to pieces. “If you’re going to do something that demanding,” Brown says, “then you really have got to have gone through everything. If something goes wrong, then you’re not thinking, Oh, what can it be? You know, because you’ve taken the boat to pieces.”

Kirsten Neuschäfer, during her preparations for the 2022 Golden Globe Race, took apart her Cape George, Minnehaha, starting forward and finishing aft. 

“You’ve got to strip down everything and know it’s in good condition,” Brown said. “When you know every inch of your boat, you know the strengths and weaknesses of your rig, hull, and systems. You’re able to assess problems quickly and are prepared to come up with solutions. The one thing that I didn’t strip down on Novara was the steering system. It’s an incredibly complex system, and when we sought advice, we decided that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Unfortunately, moisture had built up on top of an exposed bearing. We got up as far as Newfoundland when the bearing broke.”

Be Prepared

Weather forecasts, man-overboard drills, storm sail management, a hot meal ready to go—each step you take in preparation gives you a greater chance of weathering a storm. Practice until you know what works for you, your boat and your crew. Make sure everyone knows the MOB drill and can perform each role.

Get regular weather forecasts that extend five to seven days out, of wind and seas. Remember, GRIB files have winds but not gusts or waves. Study the areas you plan to sail to familiarize yourself with the depths, sea bottom, landmasses and winds. All of these can play a role in wave size, windspeeds and wind directions.

If a low-pressure system is forecast in your area, study the wind directions and speeds. Try to avoid a blow by charting a safe course that minimizes your time in the path. If you can’t avoid the system, check equipment and chafe points, and remove solar panels before conditions deteriorate. As much as possible, attend to self-care: Get some sleep. Shower and clean up. Prepare meals and coffee. 

“Get the main down, and get it out of the way,” says Randall Reeves, one of Brown’s fellow CCA heavy-weather panelists. Reeves completed his record-breaking 2019 Figure 8 sail of the Americas aboard Moli, his 45-foot aluminum sloop, becoming the first person to sail solo and nonstop around the Americas. “I have two drogues on board, which I flake out and lash down on deck if a gale is in the forecast. I run what-if scenarios in my head and ask myself, What will I do?” 

Stormy Weather

What’s your plan if you are overwhelmed by wind or seas? 

As the wind builds, reef down, Brown says. Know beforehand what your sail plan is, and have your canvas ready. Know how to heave-to, and practice. And know how to manage your boat under hove-to conditions. 

Heaving-to is a fantastic survival tactic, and it’s the go-to method for high-latitude experts such as Skip Novak, Brown says, but it’s absolutely essential to test it out. His boat, Novara, is an AeroRig and can’t heave-to. “I experimented with possible methods, but with little success,” he says, “so we researched other ways to ride out a storm.” 

If the boat can no longer handle even the smallest of storm sails, take it down to bare poles. “We’ve had to do this only once, in 65 knots of wind off South Georgia,” Brown says. 

Heavy Weather Sailing, Eighth Edition, by Martin Thomas and Peter Bruce, has an excellent section on storm tactics, ­including shortening sail, heaving-to, ­running before the wind, and drogue devices. Brown’s advice is included in the book, and he has written several reports on the Jordan series drogue based on his experience and the experiences of other sailors who have deployed the JSD.

“If there’s one piece of kit you need to put on your boat, it’s a Jordan series drogue,” Brown says. During Novara’s 2017 passage from South Georgia to the Falklands, while the boat was running under bare poles, wind and seas built to unmanageable levels. The boat carried too much speed running down the waves and was susceptible to a knockdown if it turned up into the face of a wave, or a pitchpole. 

The drogue was ready on deck, lashed down, with the bridle in place, as wind and seas built. “We put it out off the stern, into 35 knots of wind,” Brown says. “Conditions worsened to 65 knots, with higher gusts and monstrous seas. The drogue slowed our speed, and we went below, and slept, ate and played cards for 48 hours. You need sea room to do this.”

His exchange with Neuschäfer before the 2022 Golden Globe Race focused on sizing her Jordan series drogue for her Cape George. Neuschäfer deployed the drogue during storm conditions off Cape Horn and held on for 12 hours.

While competing in the 2008 edition of the GGR, Susie Goodall deployed a Jordan series drogue off her Rustler 36 during a storm 2,000 nautical miles west of Cape Horn. The drogue’s rope gave way at the bridle as she battled 60 knots of wind and massive seas. Goodall pitchpoled, was dismasted, and was knocked unconscious. 

Although she survived and was ­rescued, her boat was a total loss. The JSD ­manufacturers, along with heavy-weather-­sailing experts, used her experience to update recommendations for drogue sizing, based on boat tonnage. The key is to research and know which drag devices are appropriate for your boat, and know how to use them.

There’s a fantastic database on drag devices that offers an exhaustive list of options, Brown says. “If you look closely at the list, you can see my favorite, the ‘Milk Churn.’ Who among us doesn’t have one milk churn you could lob?

The great thing about this is that there are firsthand narratives of sailors using all of these techniques. You can actually read about some guy who chucked a milk churn. It’s worth taking the time to read. People who have been through this have shared their experiences, or at least those who survived did.”

A Curry on the Shore of Antarctica

During a January 2018 passage from the Falkland Islands to the South Shetlands, after making 685 miles south in five days, Steve Brown and Novara’s crew studied the GRIB files showing winds building above 30 knots and the sea state worsening. 

“We changed course with the intention of running before the wind to Deception Island,” Brown says. Novara made a fast passage, but conditions rapidly deteriorated, with 45-knot winds, driving snow, and poor visibility. Ice and snow built on the rig, sails and deck. 

Using radar and charts, Novara was able to enter Neptune’s Bellows, the pass into Deception Island’s caldera, but AIS showed multiple boats already in the intended ­anchorage of Telefon Bay. In Brown’s words:

We went into sort of a second choice: Pendulum Cove. We needed to get into the lee and out of the wind. We came around a bend and, as we prepared to lower the anchor, we were hit by a 100-knot gust.

Novara was knocked down literally as we were preparing to drop the anchor. The blow washed the aft mainsheet over the side, and it wrapped around the prop. The boat popped right back up, which is amazing since we had the centerboard up and the rig was heavy with ice. But once the mainsheet wrapped the prop, all I could do was steer straight up the beach.

Fortunately, with volcanic soil, there’s almost no rocks inside Deception Island, and we just plowed a big furrow. Novara is very round with a big keelson, and the ­centerboard is inside the keelson, so we plowed up the beach and sat there. The wind was raging, it was snowing like crazy, and we’d blown the jib. We tried to tame it—the aft jib—which had broken free and shredded itself, but we couldn’t. So I just said to the boys, “OK, everybody down below.” And they asked, “Well, what happens now?”

“I’ll put the kettle on and make a chicken curry for tea,” I replied. And that’s exactly what I did. We were inside. We were sort of safe. We weren’t going anywhere. 

I made a big curry with all the trimmings, Naan bread, and everything, and we waited until conditions eased. Then we went out and had a look. 

Novara has a big cable, three big anchors and a lot of chain. I told the crew that we would drag ourselves off on the high tide. We’d gone aground almost at high tide, but there was another 20 centimeters of tide over the next three days, and Novara’s got lots of ground tackle. We have two big bow anchors, with 200 meters (656 feet) of bow chain, a stern anchor with another 60 meters (196 feet), and four shorelines with 100 meters (328 feet) each. The plan was to put out three anchors, connect them to our winches and, at the highest tide, pull ourselves off.

We had a plan. Everyone has a role. We know what we’re going to do. Everybody’s fine, and there’s confidence and optimism in the event. 

When you sail with a crew, you have to be aware of the strengths and weaknesses of the team you put together. When you’ve got a diverse team, you have to understand how best to keep them happy, how best to keep them fit, make sure they look after themselves. This starts before you leave the dock. That’s the biggie for me—understanding the boat, and if you’re sailing with crew, understanding the team that you’re working with. 

You need to make sure you have the trust of your crew. You don’t want a skipper running around like a chicken with his head cut off. You tell them not to worry. I’ll start cooking dinner and it will be all right. Cool heads will prevail in these situations.

You have to put the pieces of the jigsaw together, when it comes to crew, and if you’ve got one piece that doesn’t fit, then it makes life difficult. The thing is, by and large, you look for people who have that third dimension, who can cope in that extreme situation. The Antarctica crew were, without exception, experienced sailors.

On Deception Island, we were up on the beach. When anything like that happens, within the terms of the permit you receive to explore these places, you have to notify the authorities. I notified the UK coast guard, and they picked up the phone to the Chilean n­avy, and it was out of my hands. We could have gotten ourselves off the beach, absolutely no question. But the next thing you know, there was a Chilean navy ship coming down to rescue us. They sent the RIB over, and I went to see the captain on the ship, and he said: “We’ve come to rescue you. We’ll take the crew off, and we’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

I told him that I was not leaving my boat. I needed to get Novara off the beach. And he said, “I don’t have permission to do that.” Following approval, he agreed to pull us off the beach.

They had a massive winch on the ship. I mean it was huge, with a big reel of 4-inch-wide polypropylene line. We made a bridle, and they connected it to the back of the boat. The weight of the line alone pulled the boat off the beach. It wasn’t even tight. Novara was once again safely afloat. —TN

More Info

For information on the Novara One Planet mission, led by Nigel Jollands and Veronica Lysaght, and the multiyear, worldwide climate awareness project,
visit novara.world.

The post Wicked Weather: High Latitude Sailing Strategies appeared first on Cruising World.

When Jimmy Cornell set off with his young family in the 1970s on his first world voyage, there were no reference books for world cruisers. World Cruising Routes—which Cornell first published in 1987—was the type of book he wished he’d had. The only electronic navigation device he carried on board was a ­battery-operated depth sounder. Offshore cruising was done by celestial navigation, with time signals obtained by shortwave radio. GPS was decades in coming. 

But pilot charts have been an essential planning tool for sailors since the middle of the 19th century. Cornell’s Ocean Atlas, by Jimmy and Ivan Cornell, was first published in 2011 as a way to provide hundreds of pages of information drawn and updated from traditional pilot charts, and to illustrate the voyages that Cornell described in his 2012 World Voyage Planner. Changes in global weather patterns—some of which are extreme—made it necessary to publish an updated third edition this year.

Cornell has sailed 200,000 miles in all oceans of the world, including three circumnavigations, and voyages to Antarctica and the Northwest Passage. In the past 35 years, he founded the ARC trans-Atlantic rally, organized 36 trans-Atlantic, two trans-Pacific and five round-the-world rallies, and organized one round-the-world race. He is the author of 20 books, some of which have been translated into seven languages. 

When I set off from Florida to sail the world in 1989, World Cruising Routes was the most referenced book on board. We paired that with pilot charts to determine our sailing seasons and routes for more than 10 years. Cornell’s books have sold more than 200,000 copies and have helped thousands of sailors fulfill their bluewater dreams. 

I caught up with Cornell in mid-September as he was on his way to the Cannes Yachting Festival, where he planned to introduce the Exploration 60.

Q: What can we expect to find in the third edition of Cornell’s Ocean Atlas?

In the 12 years since the first edition of this atlas was published, there has been a marked intensification of the effects of global warming on weather conditions throughout the world. In this fully revised and updated edition, the main focus is on all changes that may affect offshore voyages. Its purpose is to provide the necessary practical data to plan a safe voyage in these changing times. 

The most significant and visible change has been the increased intensity and extent of tropical cyclones, both in the duration of the critical seasons and the areas affected. Because this phenomenon has such a major impact on voyage planning, in order to provide a full perspective on the current situation, this new edition contains all relevant facts for every area of the world that is affected by tropical cyclones.  

Because the main safety threats in any of the world’s oceans are tropical storms, the latest edition of the Atlas contains detailed information on tropical storms for the past 10 years, such as critical seasons and areas, and the earliest and latest cyclones in every ocean.

To present an accurate picture of the actual weather conditions that prevail in the world’s oceans, the pilot charts featured in this atlas are based on the data collected by a network of meteorological satellites, augmented by
observations obtained from meteorological buoys and other sources, during the past 25 years. The most detailed information is displayed in wind roses, with every single wind rose being based on a total of 218,000 samples of data. 

Q: You spend a lot of time talking about trade winds. Why?

One of the most noticeable phenomena is the decrease in the regularity and reliability of trade winds, as witnessed by sailors on some of the frequently traveled ocean routes. As the polar regions are getting warmer at a faster rate than the lower latitudes due to global warming, the poleward temperature gradient is weakening, and affecting the strength and consistency of trade winds. 

The most traveled ocean route in the world is the trans-Atlantic passage from the Canary Islands to the Eastern Caribbean, which is sailed every year by well over 1,000 boats. Once regarded as one of the most reliable trade-wind routes in the world, as the winds on the direct trans-Atlantic route have become increasingly unreliable, the majority of sailors now prefer to sail a more roundabout route by attempting to reach, as soon as possible, the lower latitudes, where there is a better chance of finding favorable winds before setting course for their destination. I’ve included information on the routes in the Atlas.

Similar tactics also apply to one of the longest transocean routes, from the Galapagos Islands to the Marquesas. As steady southeast winds can be counted on only well to the south of the Galapagos Islands, the accepted ­tactic now is to sail an initial ­southwest or west-southwest course until the area of ­prevailing southeast trade winds is reached. 

Q: To what basic safety measures should boaters adhere when planning a voyage?

Arriving in the tropics too close to the start of the cyclone-free season should be avoided, and a safe margin should be allowed by leaving a critical area before the end of the safe period.

Cruising during the critical period in an area affected by tropical storms should be avoided. Those who plan to do so should monitor the weather carefully and make sure to be close to a place where shelter could be sought in an emergency.

Q: I read recently that we might see large-scale changes in the Gulf Stream. Did you find any evidence pointing to this?

I’m dealing with this matter in some detail in the new edition of the Atlas, but it is a very complex issue, and I wouldn’t like to summarize it in a couple of short sentences.  

Q: How do the Atlas and paper charts fit in with today’s ­available GRIB files and offshore weather forecasts? 

GRIB files are of only limited use because they cover only the initial stages of a long passage. The entire purpose of the Atlas and its pilot charts is to assist in planning a voyage or a passage in any of the world’s oceans.

Q: Do you use pilot charts for planning or passages on your own voyages? 

Of course. All the time.

Q: Did you find any positive changes compared with prior editions of the Atlas?

There is no doubt that global weather conditions are changing: slower in some parts of the world, faster than expected in others. All I can say is that with careful planning, it is still possible to set off on a long voyage, even in these changing times. But I must advise anyone who is seriously planning to leave on such a voyage: The sooner you do it, the better. 

Visit cornellsailing.com for information on Cornell’s Ocean Atlas and Jimmy Cornell.

The post Talking Trade Winds With Jimmy Cornell appeared first on Cruising World.

What do I need to charter a sailboat? 

That’s one of the most common questions that ­prospective sailing-school students ask, says Jonathan Payne, executive director of the American Sailing Association.

“If someone wants to charter, they need to feel confident,” he says. “They should have confidence in their sailing skills, docking skills, and know how to troubleshoot an engine. They should have navigational skills to manage unfamiliar waters. And they should have minimal anxiety.”

Although some sailors may already have the chops needed to bareboat charter, many look to the ASA and US Sailing to gain the skills—and the paperwork—that charter companies around the world often require.

Basic Keelboat Sailing (ASA 101), Basic Coastal Cruising (ASA 103), and Bareboat Cruising (ASA 104) are the foundational courses for learning to sail and charter a sailboat. The ASA has over 400 schools around the world. Local and weekend classes are spread across six-week courses, while destination schools in Caribbean hotspots offer seven-day liveaboard training.

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

“Our students are often people who want to explore the world under sail and visit destinations you can get to only by boat,” says Beth Oliver, vice president and director of sales and marketing at Offshore Sailing School, which offers one-week training courses in Florida and the British Virgin Islands where students earn US Sailing certifications for boats up to 50 feet.

While many US-based charter companies do not require a ­specific license and will look at training along with a sailing résumé, most charter firms in European waters require an International Certificate of Competence, or ICC. US sailors can apply for the similar International Proficiency Certificate once they have completed bareboat-cruising classes. Many international charter companies accept the IPC, but sailors should check ahead of time. Understanding the process, selecting a course, and choosing where to train can be confusing. Companies that offer classes can help narrow the options. 

“When someone interested in a charter calls, we discuss options and steer them in the direction we think is right for them,” says Amanda Kurland, charter sales representative for Sunsail and The Moorings. These sister companies offer numerous choices. “The Moorings offers Royal Yachting Association courses in the Med and Offshore Sailing School courses in the BVI,” Kurland says. Sunsail has destination sailing schools in the United Kingdom, Croatia, Greece, Australia and Grenada. These are destination schools where a week of sail training is often part of a long-planned vacation.

Blue Water Sailing School, an ASA-certified company based in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, offers destination charters closer to home. All levels of classes are available in Florida, Rhode Island, the Virgin Islands and the Bahamas. The (relatively) close offerings might appeal to sailors who aren’t ready to commit to a week in Dubrovnik.

“We try to get people to the point where they are confident enough to take their family out for a daysail or, more advanced, maybe take a boat and live aboard for a week,” says Blue Water owner David Pyle.

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

For all types of sailors, once the foundational training and courses are complete, the world really is your oyster. US Sailing and the ASA offer auxiliary certifications on navigation and safety at sea, and advanced courses such as Offshore Passage Making. Barefoot Offshore Sailing School in St. Vincent and the Grenadines offered three trans-Atlantic courses in 2022 on board a Bali 4.1 catamaran. ASA and Sail Canada certifications were available on all three passages.

See the following pages for special charter education resources offering more information on sailing schools.

The post Start Your Bareboat Charter Dream by Earning Sailing Certifications appeared first on Cruising World.

Quetzal had recently glided into Lunenburg Harbour under spinnaker, five days outbound from Bermuda. It was great to be back in one of my favorite Nova Scotia haunts, and time to get ­serious. Polar Sun, my friend Mark Synnott’s Stevens 47 cutter, was also in Lunenburg. Mark is a ­climber, professional adventurer and bestselling author. We had most recently sailed together in Grenada, and now he was also bound north, leading a National Geographic expedition through the Northwest Passage, hoping to find new evidence about the fate of British explorer Sir John Franklin. We gathered in Quetzal’s salon and chatted long into the night, discussing our preparations and aspirations for our upcoming voyages.

On June 15, Quetzal slipped her mooring and steamed into the fog. It was reassuring to have Alan, a dear friend from Lunenburg, back aboard. Ron, a Quetzal glutton who has crossed the Atlantic with me twice before, and Mark, a terrific shipmate from Montana, completed the crew. Our job was to sail to Newfoundland, where our Viking voyage would commence. However, our first landfall was fabled Sable Island, a crescent of shifting sands 90 miles south of eastern Nova Scotia. It’s notorious as the “graveyard of the Atlantic,” and more than 350 wrecks form a necklace of tragedy. It’s also home to an unlikely herd of 500 wild horses. It’s also not easy to visit, so when Alan arranged a coveted landing permit, we had to stop.  

After a two-day sail from Lunenburg, we dropped the hook just off Sable’s northern shore. We hailed the park authorities, launched the dinghy, and prepared for a beach landing. There are no harbors on Sable, and landings often go badly because of stealthy wave breaks. We were the first boat to arrive in 2022 and had been warned not to attempt to get ashore unless the conditions were favorable. It was calm and clear as I searched for a stretch of beach with a minimal break and then gunned our 6 hp Tohatsu. In my mind, we were marines storming a beach. As the dinghy plowed into soft sand, a modest wave plopped aboard. We struggled to jump out and haul the dink up the beach. Reality hit with the second, soaking wave. We were four post-middle-aged guys in an overloaded dinghy, but we were ashore on Sable Island.

The park rangers helped drag the dinghy to a spot beyond the reach of the tide. Trekking through sand and marram grass, we encountered the horses. Perched on a low dune near a freshwater pond, we observed an injured stallion fend off unwanted inquiries from a pair of frisky colts interested in his harem of mares. The once-proud stallion was limping badly, and Mark, a veterinarian, assured us his days were numbered. Parks Canada has a hands-off policy concerning all wildlife on Sable, where the horses, introduced in the 1700s, have thrived. Originally from Acadian stock, they have developed into a unique breed to withstand the harsh climate of the North Atlantic. As we made our way back to the beach, we encountered a plump of gray seals, and a few curious harbor seals, a mere fraction of the thousands of seals that breed on Sable.

With strong winds forecast by late the next day, we decided to cut short our visit and head for Newfoundland. After a breezy passage across the Grand Banks, we made landfall in St. John’s. We secured every fender we had and eased alongside an unfriendly wharf. Alan’s friend Mike Riley delivered two beefy 12-foot spruce sections that we later fashioned into ice poles. In the spirit of Viking plundering, we enjoyed great food, drinks and Irish music along George Street, whose claim to fame is having the most bars per square foot of any street in North America. Continuing north, we made landfalls in Trinity, Fogo and Twillingate before arriving in Lewisporte, a small town with the nicest marina in the Canadian north. 

The crew for the next leg, the challenging 1,800-mile, 18-day passage to Iceland by way of Labrador and Greenland, turned up on July 7. Scott, Antonio, Levi, Brian and Jeff had all sailed aboard Quetzal before, some many times and most across an ocean. After a dry run of stuffing ourselves into survival suits and a sobering safety briefing—falling overboard was a very bad idea—we shoved off for an overnight passage to L’Anse aux Meadows, the only documented Viking settlement in North America and a national historic site administered by Parks Canada.

We had icebergs on our minds. Environment Canada provides ice updates online, and I studied them daily. I also downloaded the app Iceberg Alley, which documents icebergs and whale sightings. There were reports of a few stray bergs along our route, and we kept a sharp lookout through the night. We didn’t see any icebergs, but a pod of minke whales escorted us around Cape Bauld at the tip of Newfoundland’s Great Northern Peninsula.

As the dinghy plowed into soft sand, a modest wave plopped aboard. Reality hit with the second, soaking wave. We were four post-middle-aged guys in an overloaded dinghy, but we were ashore on sable island.

We came alongside a new wharf at Garden Cove. Two local fishermen took our lines. They didn’t seem to mind the driving rain and near-freezing temperatures. When I told them that we were headed to the nearby park, one informed me, “You can’t walk there from here.” I was surprised because it was just over a mile away and I’d made the walk before. “Nope, can’t walk there. It’s too wet. But you can take Rabbit’s truck. Keys are on the dash.” 

The visitor center at L’Anse aux Meadows, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, details the Vinland voyages of the Vikings, who reached this faraway shore sometime around 1000 A.D., nearly 500 years before Columbus. Sagas, originally oral histories, tell the story of Leif Erikson’s voyage to Vinland. With a crew of 35, they departed Greenland and made their way north and west. Their first landfall, which Erikson dubbed Helluland, or place of stone, was likely somewhere on Baffin Island. It was a forbidding land, and they sailed on. Their next landfall, Markland, meaning wooded land, was probably along the Labrador coast, but they didn’t tarry and rode a favorable northeast wind farther south. Finally, they came to the shallow, rocky anchorage near today’s L’Anse aux Meadows and decided to make the grassy knoll overlooking the harbor the first European settlement in the New World.  

The term Vinland, or place of grapes, has historically been problematic. The ­sagas are clear that when Erikson sailed for Greenland the following spring, his cargo included grapes and vines. While it is unlikely that wild grapes have ever grown in Newfoundland, the Norse ­artifacts at L’Anse aux Meadows are indisputable evidence of a settlement dating from around 1000 A.D. First discovered by Norwegian archaeologists Helge and Anne Ingstad in 1960, these remains are of Norse-style sod buildings, including a forge and small shipyard. Artifacts include slag from forging, numerous iron nails used for shipbuilding, and more than 50 wrought-iron pieces. It is possible, or even probable, that Erikson’s landfall was farther south, and many historians now believe L’Anse aux Meadows may have been where his brother-in-law, Thorfinn Karlsefni, tried to establish a permanent settlement a few years later. Hiking around the respectfully restored site in a bone-chilling rain, I had deep respect for the men and women who sailed from Greenland in a low-slung boat, probably less than 60 feet long, with a single square sail and only their natural instincts to guide them.

That night, one of the local fishermen provided the crew with lobsters for a feast. Before we shoved off the next morning, Scott took a swim, an invigorating ritual he undertook at every landfall, even when we were surrounded by ice. We made our way across the Strait of Belle Isle and approached mainland Labrador. Fog closed in as we neared Battle Harbor, but, undeterred, we threaded our way through a maze of rocks, racing darkness to the wharf. 

Battle Harbor occupies a rocky outcropping that is steeped in history. A Marconi wireless tower was raised in 1904. Five years later, Robert Peary used the tower to telegraph news that he had reached the North Pole. Reporters from all over the world were dispatched to Battle Harbor, though today, significant historic and scientific research has concluded that he most likely did not reach the pole.  

I had deep respect for the men and women who sailed from greenland in a low-slung boat, probably less than 60 feet long, with a single square sail and only their natural instincts to guide them.

Continuing up the Labrador coast, we finally encountered an iceberg. It was a classic wedge berg, and we cautiously sailed toward it. I used my sextant to measure its altitude and the radar for a distance off reading. A quick calculation put the iceberg at more than 160 feet high and about 250 feet wide. We were in awe and shot photos from every angle, paying homage to the giant castaway from a distant glacier. Little did we know that a week later, we’d be routinely punching through ice-choked waters, casually dismissing isolated bergs like this one while searching for passages through sea ice. 

We anchored in Eagle Cove, a ­fishhook-­shaped harbor carved out of Hawk Island. This was genuine wilderness. We had been warned by veterans of Arctic travel to be on guard for polar bears, and some suggested that we carry a gun for protection. Instead, we carried bear banger cartridges and a pen launcher, which travels about 100 feet and then explodes with a mighty blast. It would certainly get a bear’s attention.

Scott and Brian were a long time ashore before I noticed them in a distant corner of the cove. When I retrieved them in the dinghy, there were shivering in their underpants. They had discovered a bed of mussels and braved frigid water to stuff their pants with hundreds of them for dinner. 

After a swift passage through a steep-sided strait intriguingly called Squasho Run, we made our way offshore. We timed our departure to catch strong but favorable winds on the back side of a deep low-pressure system, and to have as much daylight as possible to get beyond the numerous icebergs that Environment Canada’s weather and climate-change website assured me were hovering near the coast. The first 24 hours were rough as Quetzal ran before near-gale-force westerlies while being rocked by seas from every direction. Not for the first time, we came to appreciate the hard dodger and full enclosure that kept us dry and warm. A day later, conditions moderated, and soon we were under power gliding over quiet seas with a squadron of fulmars tracking our every course correction. On Day Four, 60 miles from land, we encountered many large icebergs. Then, through a clearing in the low clouds, Brian spotted the towering, snowcapped mountains of southwest Greenland. We were entering another world.

Icebergs come in different shapes and sizes. The big ones, which are masses of frozen fresh water, are generally easy to pick up on radar. Bergy bits, usually fragments of larger bergs, are 3 to 12 feet high and more worrisome to sailors, ­especially in bad visibility. Growlers, which occasionally hiss or growl as trapped air escapes, are 3 feet or less above the surface but can be deadly. They’re typically around 200 square feet in size but can weigh up to 1,000 tons. Imagine smashing into a growler at 6 knots.

With the sun shining, Levi launched his drone. He managed to land it on deck while we sailed between bergs. In addition to beautiful photos, it was also nice to get a view of what lay ahead. The wind freshened as we made our approach. We tried to stay upwind of the larger bergs, knowing that bergy bits and growlers were likely to be on the lee side. We slipped around several growlers, and one small berg that tried to block the entrance to the town of Qaqortoq. Its harbor was crowded with local boats, so we tied up alongside the commercial dock. Later, we moved across the harbor to an open fishing dock. Finding secure dockage in Greenland requires that you be ready to move when a commercial ship arrives and that you have long lines with chafe gear and heavy-duty fenders.  

Qaqortoq, the largest town in ­southwest Greenland, is also close to the site of the Vikings’ original Eastern Settlement. Founded by Erik the Red, Leif’s father, around 980 A.D., the ­settlement remained vital into the 14th century. Several Norse remains are visible in nearby fjords. We took on provisions, topped off our fuel and, surprisingly, had a delicious Thai meal in a small restaurant in the port.  

In Greenland, I shifted my attention to the excellent daily ice reports provided by polarportal.dk, a Danish ice- and climate-­monitoring institute. Our intended route was to follow an inside passage south to Nanortalik, then enter Prince Christian Sound. This spectacular 70-mile passage north of storm-ridden Cape Farewell provides a protected channel to the Irminger Sea and the east coast of Greenland. Protected, that is, if you can get through the ice. We were now worried about sea ice, or storis, which is frozen seawater that forms quickly and disappears just as quickly. Driven by wind, current and bathymetry, storis can completely block a passage. Looking ahead a week, our planned exit would likely be blocked by ice.  

High-latitude sailing and planning don’t mix. You take things a day, or even an hour, at a time, then react to drastic changes in weather and ice conditions. We had a hard upwind slog from Qaqortoq, tacking and motorsailing to stay clear of hundreds of large icebergs and countless smaller ones before finding an open spot along the wharf in Nanortalik. It’s a quiet village whose name translates to “place of polar bears.” The protected harbor ­provided a respite from the strong winds. 

The following day, July 19, we picked our way through minimal sea ice and entered the Ikerasassuaq Strait. Gale-force north winds were forecast, so we made our way to a landlocked bay, Paakitsuarssuaq, and conned our way past rocks and ice into the stunning anchorage.

The passage here is, simply, ­magnificent. Sheer-sided 6,000-foot mountains explode from the water’s edge, and several ­glaciers reach down to the sea, calving off bergs and bergy bits. It was calm, and we motored most of the way. Several times we slowed to a crawl, usually just downstream of a glacier, as the channel became choked with ice. Brian and Jeff manned the bow all day long, guiding us through narrow openings and using the poles to shove growlers out of our way. We nosed up to Kangerdluk Glacier and let Quetzal drift. Levi and I stayed aboard, and once again the drone was aloft. The crew took the dinghy to the foot of the glacier and snagged a few nice chunks of ice for captain’s hour.  

Luckily, the strong winds of the night before had pushed the storis south, leaving a clear path out. That night was the most stressful of the summer as Quetzal sailed toward Iceland in fog, gusty winds and ice-strewn waters. Jeff was a champion, manning the bow for hours in the dark despite the cold, wet conditions. We monitored the radar and became adept at picking up even very small bergs. It was an incredible relief to finally gain sea room, and the five-day 600-mile passage to Hafnarfjordur, Iceland, was surprisingly smooth. 

Quetzal and I took a well-earned break in Iceland. My wife, Tadji, my daughter, Narianna, and her fiance, Steven, flew in, and we toured the island by car. Iceland is a rugged land of fire and ice. The Fagradasfjall volcanic eruption was ­greeted with nonchalance by locals and intrigue by visitors. Nari, Steven and I hiked 6 miles each way on a rough trail to get a firsthand look at molten lava. Quetzal was treated well by the Icelandic Keelboat Association, and I gave a talk in Reykjavik in appreciation. We toured the Settlement Exhibition at the City Museum. The first humans in Iceland were Viking settlers who arrived around 870 A.D. In just over 100 years, these bold mariners had made their way to Greenland and Canada.  

The new crew turned up on August 7, and we were underway the next day. Fridrik, a photographer and dauntless sailor who circumnavigated Iceland solo in his 33-foot X Yacht, filmed our departure. Jim, Chris, Sean and Denise, all Quetzal veterans and good friends, had a lumpy first sail as we pushed north through a leftover swell opposed by strong winds. We decided to take the long way to Norway, along the north shore of Iceland, which would also take us just above the Arctic Circle. We skirted the dramatic headlands of the Vestfirdir (west fjords) and made landfall at Isafjordur, where several sailboats were holed up. They were waiting for the ice conditions in East Greenland to improve before carrying on. In what had become a pleasant ritual, we made our way to the pool for a soak. Every town in Iceland has a pool that usually includes a hot and (really) cold tub. You alternate from one to the other. 

We had fair winds as we headed east, rounding the headland of Horn at latitude 66 degrees, 30 minutes. I had a reminder of the many miles Quetzal has before her. In December of next year, we hope to be rounding the other horn, the infamous cape perched at the tip of South America, nearly 7,500 miles of latitude away. 

We made landfall at the small island of Grimsey. Known as the “island on the Arctic Circle,” it’s home to 30 permanent residents, thousands of puffins, and seemingly millions of pissed-off Arctic terns that dive-bombed us as we hiked to the monument that denotes the actual position of the Arctic Circle. It’s a massive round block of concrete. It’s round because the circle keeps moving a few feet each year, and it’s easier to relocate a round monument than a square one. That night, Magnus—the busiest man on the island who runs the fuel dock, airport and his own fishing boat—came aboard for a drink. He informed us that the puffins were getting ready to depart. Apparently, a memo goes out, and within a day or two, all the puffins head offshore and don’t return until the following spring. The terns were also getting ready to start their epic migration from the Arctic Circle to the Antarctic Circle and back. 

From Grimsey, we made a nonstop passage to the brooding and beautiful Faroe Islands, the next waypoint on the Viking route across the Atlantic. We were never alone; doughty fulmars and soaring gannets kept us company. We hove-to just west of the island of Kalsoy to wait for a 5-knot tidal current to change our way. It’s critical to time the tides right, and the Rak app was incredibly helpful. Riding the current, we zipped through the starkly beautiful Leirvik Fjordur channel and made landfall in the capital of Torshavn. The Faroe Islands need time to explore properly, and the few days we had were not enough. We departed for the Shetland Islands, our final stop before Norway, at 0300.

The morning was clear and the wind crisp. Chris and Jim are devoted celestial navigators, but opportunities are rare in the often cloudy north. This was the perfect morning. Chris skillfully measured the angular distance between the silvery crescent moon and Jupiter, a process called lunar distance, and a challenging sight to take. He then patiently worked Jim and me through the process, and, many calculations later, we were able to check the accuracy of our ship’s chronometer. This technique was used by Joshua Slocum and other early voyagers, which liberated them from the need for accurate timepieces. 

The North Sea was determined to keep us from calling at the Shetland Islands. A hard east wind accompanied by 8-to-10-foot seas with an annoyingly short period between persuaded us to carry on for Norway. Denise and Sean took long stints at the helm, conning Quetzal to weather. 

The last three days of the crossing proved to be the toughest as we pounded our way east. Conditions finally eased as we approached the coast. We sighted the red-and-white lighthouse on the tip of Fedje Island in the late afternoon of August 19. It was a bittersweet moment for me. Quetzal had completed her ninth Atlantic crossing, successfully retracing the Viking route, the result of two years of planning and three months of challenging sailing. It was hard to believe that we had pulled it together. But as we made our way into the quaint harbor, the only sailboat in sight, I realized that plenty of adventures lay ahead. 

The post In the Wake of Vikings: Sailing Nova Scotia, Greenland, Iceland and Norway appeared first on Cruising World.

No question about it: Bareboat charters and hamburgers go together. Most bareboats have a barbecue grill in the cockpit (they’re scarce in Europe, so check first), and grilling is perfect for no-fuss dinners that keep galley time to a minimum and let you to enjoy the sunset outdoors.

But the grill is a system like any others on a boat. It needs to be used and maintained safely.  

For starters, spend as much time having the check-out crew show you how to operate the grill as they do showing you the engine. Nearly every charter company has done away with charcoal (oh, the horror of live coals!) in favor of propane. Before you leave the check-out dock, have them light the grill to make sure it heats properly, and be sure you have enough propane for the duration of your adventure. Make sure the grill is bolted solidly to the rail so that you don’t feed dinner to the fishies. Also ask if any marinas in your planned cruising area prohibit grill usage; some have safety rules at the dock.

Barbecuing aboard is far different from grilling at home. Your backyard isn’t rolling with passing wakes, and you likely have no stray lines near the home grill, let alone a Bimini top. Safety for the crew and boat is your first concern, followed by perfect burgers, steaks or fish. Never—ever—try to grill while the boat is underway. That’s just asking for trouble. And if you have a flare-up (did you remember to trim all the excess fat from the meat?), a spray bottle with water can knock down the flame. On many grills, simply closing the lid will put out any flares.

Every grill has its own personality, with hot spots, cold spots, being fast or slow to heat, or just plain being cantankerous. Unless you bring a mitt, potholders, a meat thermometer and tongs, you should not expect to find them on board. 

While many propane grills have temperature gauges, trust me on this: You can’t trust them. Better to use the “Mississippi test.” Hold your hand 3 to 4 inches above the hot grill and count one Mississippi… two Mississippi…. Two to three Mississippis before you have to remove your hand is high temp for burgers. Medium is three to four Mississippis, and low heat is six to 10. Propane barbecues should be heated long enough so that the meat sears when it’s placed on the grill.

Want to start a fight? Ask people whether meat should be flipped during cooking. Some chefs say you should flip meat at least twice so that the sear will keep the juices inside and the food won’t end up welded to the grill. But flipping continually is also the easiest way to create a dry burger or steak. If you think something is cooking too fast, just move it to the outside of the grill, where the heat is lower. 

Burgers have a tendency to grow upward as they cook, and some chefs try to smash them flat with a spatula. No! Goodbye, juices. Instead, pat them gently. Don’t make them too thin. Make a little dent in the center of each patty before you start grilling, and the problem is solved. That dent also gives you a spot to add some zip with a splash of Worcestershire sauce, which soaks in quickly and gives a distinctive flavor.  

After placing food on the grill, close the lid to circulate the heat evenly—but never leave the grill unattended. Don’t get sucked into watching another boat trying to anchor, or go to fix yourself something rummy and cold.  

And with burgers, don’t forget the bun. It’s hard to beat fresh-from-a-Bahamas-bakery buns. Lightly coat them with butter on the grill side, and watch them like a hawk so that they don’t turn to charcoal. French brioche buns with high egg/butter content are delish, as are toasted onion rolls.

Want to start another fight? Ask someone about seasonings. For burgers, we’ve been successful with a little Kosher or sea salt, ground black pepper, perhaps a dash of garlic powder, all rubbed gently into the meat before grilling. My wife swears by Cavender’s Greek seasoning, which is a good substitute for salt and pepper. Bring it with you because it’s not available everywhere.  

Don’t stop at grilling burgers or steaks. Throw some veggies on the barbie too. Grilled fruit is the new dessert. Grilled watermelon or pineapple is a delight. Brush slices lightly with olive oil, grill for five to six minutes, and turn once. Yum. The same goes for grilled onions or peppers (seasoned with herbs). Or brush peach slices with amaretto, grill two minutes a side, and serve with whipped cream. Mmm. 

As for how long to keep all these things on the grill, the correct answer is: not too long. Grill heat, burger thickness, a breeze blowing—these all affect the cooking time. Instead of using a stopwatch, look for the burger to get juicy or “sweat” on top. At that point, flip the patty, check the time, and cook one or two minutes less than the first side. Cheeseburgers? Add the cheese with about two minutes to go, and close the lid to melt the cheese. 

One last warning: A barbecue takes surprisingly long to cool off, so keep fingers, kids and canvas items far away until it is truly cold. Pay attention to your barbecue and grill safety, and you’ll find yourself humming Jimmy Buffett’s “Cheeseburger in Paradise.”

The post Tips For Barbecue Cooking While on Charter appeared first on Cruising World.

“Rammed by a whale!” That was a recent clickbait title in an email newsletter, after a sailboat headed to French Polynesia from the Galápagos sank (the humans are all OK).  Yes, it was whale versus boat, but who really benefits from hyperbole suggesting the whale attacked? How do we know the real story? 

The incident prompted my husband, Jamie, and me to reflect on some of the many encounters with cetaceans we’ve had over the years on our Stevens 47 Totem. Although our Pacific Northwest home waters of the Salish Sea are home to many whales, we didn’t spot a single one in our thousands of miles of pre-cruising sailing and our years logged commuting by ferry. But as cruisers, our experiences with these massive creatures have been numerous and magical. They’re a reminder that our lives include leviathan encounters we can never take for granted.

Whale-spotting 

Mexico has provided whale encounters more numerous than I can remember. The migration of cruising boats down the west coast aligns pretty well with the migration of humpback whales. Bahía de Banderas is a destination for an estimated 500 humpbacks annually, and a hub for cruisers in wintertime. At anchor there, we were treated to routine afternoon breaching sessions that Jamie dubbed “The Whale Show.” We never tired of stopping whatever we were doing to enjoy it. These displays became so routine that the kids couldn’t always be coaxed to join us in the cockpit. In the mornings, we’d wake to the sound of whale song, which we could hear through the hull.

During our first hurricane season in the Sea of Cortez, fin whales—the second-longest species, after blue whales—fed in the channel aptly named Canal de Ballenas (“whale channel”) between Baja and Isla Coronado. We logged many nights there at anchor. The whale calls could be heard through the hull there, too. In a magical twist, the kids’ quiet time one afternoon turned into “press your ears to the cabin sole” to listen to the whales singing.

We had one slightly shocking encounter when a fin whale gently surfaced next to our dinghy during an evening drift. No drama, but an unforgettable close-up.

Another time, we completed a starboard-to-starboard pass with a whale roughly double Totem’s 47-foot length overall. We were sailing south in the Sea of Cortez late one fall, when we saw the blue whale, the largest creature on the planet. Oh, and Jamie was treated to a spectacular breach from what we think was a Bryde’s whale near Loreto that year.

We were out looking for the fishy kind of whale—whale sharks—around Bahía de los Ángeles one summer when a tall, narrow fin in the distance tipped us off to migrating orcas. Finally, thousands of miles from our home waters, we were treated to a small pod passing nearby. One passed directly under the dinghy in a move that some people might have interpreted as threatening, but that we felt was pretty playful. That whale departed with a tail slap that splashed us all.

Those examples are cherry-picked from many others, most beyond Mexico’s borders, like the time we saw the distinctive, blocky profile of sperm whales between Thailand and Sri Lanka. A pod of pilot whales danced in front of us in the Maldives. We saw humpbacks that skirted around basalt pillars in Madagascar.

Extra-close encounters

A few cetacean encounters were extra close. In Papua New Guinea’s Hermit islands, during a remarkable series of days, we helped residents assess why a pod of false killer whales had taken up residence in their lagoon. Ferrying leaders out to take notes, and to hang off our dinghy in the water as the magnificent creature hurtled by a few feet away, we felt keenly observed (and very small).

Similarly memorable: the day we spent floating among gray-whale mothers and calves, near their nursery. With a mother parked immediately below us, her curious calf first spyhopped, then rode up her back for an even closer view. Magical.

The time we hit a whale

Not all whale encounters have been storybook experiences. Outside southern Baja at 4 o’clock one morning, Totem shuddered to a near halt, lifted up and slid sideways. We did not get a visual on the whale, but we don’t doubt that’s what it was. The humpback highway runs off the coast of Baja, and we were entering peak migration season. I was shaken out of my off-watch berth. Jamie raced around with shaky knees, checking bilges for water incursion. 

A few months after that close call, we approached a tricky spot as light was fading. We wouldn’t get multiple chances to set the hook in the fair-weather anchorage at Isla Isabel, and as we were arriving, so were several groups of whales. Trying to steer clear of multiple mamas and calves in close proximity can be stressful. As a new cruiser, I may not have held in my stress very well that day.

Sailing past Cape Town, South Africa, gave us similarly jangling nerves as multiple pods moved in varying directions near Totem. What we believe was a southern right whale appeared on our port side and dove neatly underneath, passing under Totem’s rudder without breaking rhythm. It rolled to give Jamie a one-eyed glare as we held our collective breath.

During our last passage in that region, on watch under a moonless night sky, I heard and felt the impact of a whale breaching uncomfortably close by. The night was so inky, I couldn’t tell where the whale was. A boat length? Two? If there was any doubt, a loud, stinky exhale quelled it. My heart raced while listening to a series of additional breaches, staring breathlessly, looking out into the dark. 

There are themes here: having a healthy respect for whales, and using our senses as critical tools to avoid them. The latter can be difficult, even in the deprivation of darkness. But when proximity happens in daylight, one off-label use of a laser range finder is to track movement or ensure proper distance (800 feet is standard).

The sinking of Raindancer

On March 13, the Kelly Peterson 44 Raindancer collided with a whale between Galápagos and French Polynesia. There’s nothing to suggest the incident was anything but an unfortunate accident that humans and surely the whale would have preferred to avoid. But with words like “ramming” in the headlines, there’s handwringing in cruising forums about the personal risk of hitting a whale. 

There is one corner of the world where this is a legit risk (orcas snacking on rudders along the Atlantic coasts of France, Spain and Portugal), but there may be just enough media circulating to make it feel like a realistic possibility everywhere. It’s simply not. The news coverage irks me because Jamie and I land strongly on a bias to help folks realistically anticipate cruising, and the cheap headlines cast fear, uncertainty and doubt that would give some would-be cruisers pause.

Instead, what should be highlighted in the forums and articles on Raindancer is how the reaction to the collision and the sinking of the sailboat is a showcase of seamanship and technology coming together for a swift, safe rescue. The outcome here was exceptional in ways that are earned through proper preparation, with the backup of emergency systems. And that the crew successfully took a preparation approach similar to the one we took in redesigning our ditch kit (stream our seminar about what to put in your ditch kit): a focus on communications equipment and ease of disembarking. 

After the collision, the captain set off an EPIRB, which alerted officials in Peru, who contacted the USCG’s rescue coordination center in Alameda, California. From their life raft, Raindancer’s crew used an Iridium GO, a SPOT tracker, and a PLB which transmitted both GPS and AIS. A parachute flare, visible at night, was activated when the rescue vessel, sailboat Rolling Stone, was on approach. The incident also demonstrated how Starlink enabled swift triangulation of private vessels rendering assistance, allowing other boats to communicate in real time and facilitate updates. Raindancer’s crew were rescued in an incredibly brief 10 hours.

The post Sailing Totem: <em>Raindancer</em> and Other Whale Stories appeared first on Cruising World.

Sailors can thank recently adopted commercial-shipping regulations for a new generation of electronic emergency beacons. These devices are designed to connect vessels in distress via satellite to a global network of rescue centers, while also broadcasting Automatic Identification System alerts over marine radio channels to (potentially) summon help that much quicker. 

Florida-based ACR Electronics and its UK sister company, Ocean Signal, are the first to take advantage of the new rules. They are set to go with products expected to be approved by US regulators and made widely available this winter.

For mariners, this merging of satellite and VHF-radio-frequency technologies in a single device—either an emergency position indicating radio beacon or a personal locator beacon—is a game-changer. In a crisis, this tech will ensure that a request for assistance will be broadcast to as wide a net of potential rescuers as possible. 

McMurdo, which was first to develop an EPIRB with AIS capabilities, currently has its SmartFind G8 model on the market, though the device still needs modifications to meet some aspects of the new rules announced in July by the International Maritime Organization’s Maritime Safety Committee.

Since the 1980s, mariners have relied on a vessel’s EPIRB to broadcast emergency alerts to authorities via a network of satellites and ground stations. Though thousands of lives have been saved by the global COSPAS-SARSAT network, it can take time for distress calls to be processed and for help to arrive. And in a crisis, time is of the essence. 

In more recent years, as electronic components shrank in size and battery life increased, PLBs were introduced, allowing sailors to affix them to, say, a life jacket and take them along from boat to boat. These PLBs rely on the same emergency network as EPIRBs.

With the advent of AIS, electronics manufacturers also developed personal AIS beacons, whose signals can be picked up by AIS transponders on nearby vessels. The benefit here is that should you go overboard, your own crew will be alerted, and in coastal waters, other boats equipped with AIS may be able to respond quickly. The drawback, though, is that the range of the beacons is limited to just a few miles, so if there are no other vessels around, or if your crewmates are asleep or distracted, the signal could go unnoticed.

ACR’s GlobalFix V5 AIS EPIRB and its ResQLink AIS Personal Locator Beacon both contain satellite and local communication transponders. The dual-purpose EPIRB is a result of the IMO’s new rules for commercial vessels. Meanwhile, developers were able to take advantage of more-efficient electronics and better batteries to also produce the new lineup of ResQLink beacons. Similar products are sold under the Ocean Signal brand and include the rescueMe EPIRB3 and the rescueMe PLB3. (The latter, winner of the Metstrade 2022 Overall Dame Award, will be available only in Europe; the ResQLink, with identical technology in a different exterior case, will be sold in the Americas.)

Mikele D’Arcangelo, ACR’s vice president of global marketing and product management, says that the new AIS PLBs are compact enough to fit the majority of the inflatable PFDs on the market.

Both the ACR and Ocean Signal products offer a couple of other features that D’Arcangelo says improve upon existing technology. Previous models have included strobe lights, but the new beacons contain infrared strobes as well, making them more visible in daylight and low-visibility conditions, another IMO requirement.

The EPIRBs and PLBs also offer smartphone connectivity, using near-field communication technology. By placing a phone with the ACR or Ocean Signal app near the beacon, a user can capture data about battery life, beacon programming, the number and results of self-tests, and GPS test locations. Again, D’Arcangelo says, technology was key here. By using a chip similar to what’s imbedded in credit cards, data can be transferred without using power from the beacon’s battery; the phone provides the power instead.

The EPIRBs and beacons also have Return Link Service, which receives a signal from the satellite network and alerts the user that a call for help has successfully gone out and been received by authorities.

The street price for the ResQLink AIS PLB is just under $500; the price for an automatic GlobalFix V5 is around $930, and the manual version goes for less than $800. Online, you will find the McMurdo SmartFind 8, Category 2, for about $600. Category 1 EPIRBs automatically release from their bracket when submerged, while Category 2 devices need to be manually activated.

Let’s Set Sail

One result of the trend toward smaller, easier-to-handle headsails has been the adoption of bowsprits and furling off-the-wind sails for cruising sailboats. While continuous-line furlers have been in use for some time, Facnor is making the trimmer’s job all that much easier with its electric motorized flying sail furlers. 

The FXe Code Sail Electric Furler is compact and relatively simple to set up, with a power connection to a deck plug. A radio controller is an option, letting you move about while operating the furler. It can furl a 1,500-square-foot code zero in 45 seconds. 

And speaking of flying sails, North Sails has introduced an Easy Furling Gennaker that’s designed for downwind cruising. 

The gennaker is constructed of lightweight nylon spinnaker cloth and is built to be stowed and deployed using a top-down furler. Still, the sail is cut full, allowing it to be used for running off the wind. It is the deepest wind angle furling sail in the North cruising lineup. It’s available in a variety of colors and includes an internal luff cord for reliable furling. Prices vary by boat. 

Dinner, Anyone?

Just in time for barbecue season, Magma has introduced its Crossover Series grill. Want steak? There’s a grill top for that. Pizza? There’s a pizza top. There’s also a griddle top and a plancha top to suit various culinary needs. All are propane-powered. And, of course, there are accessories, carrying bags, mounting hardware and spare parts available to keep the various cooking platforms in top condition.

An owner starts with a single- (around $500) or double-burner firebox ($700) and adds from there. A grill top goes for around $400, the plancha is $100, and the pizza top is $400.

What else is there to say but, “Bon appetit, matey.”

Keep In Touch

If your sailing adventures take you out of cellular-phone range, you can still communicate with friends and family—and, in an emergency, rescue authorities—with Garmin’s inReach Mini Marine Bundle, which includes all the cables and mounting hardware you need to be on your way. The inReach Mini can network with other onboard instruments such as a Garmin smartwatch and chart plotter, and you can use it to update weather forecasts, send and receive texts, and let others track your voyage. If things go wrong, it will send SOS messages to authorities, all across the Iridium satellite network. The inReach Mini’s rechargeable battery can last up to 90 hours in tracking mode with 10-minute updates, and up to 24 days in 30-minute tracking power-save mode. It’s listed online for around $400. A service subscription is extra.

Also helping you to stay in touch with the world back home is Raymarine’s YachtSense Link, a marine router that will let you network onboard gear such as your Axiom chart plotter, phone, tablet and laptop. Combine the router with Raymarine’s mobile app, and you’ll be able to monitor onboard devices such as pumps, batteries and lighting, and you can monitor your sailboat by setting up a geofence. Online prices start at about $1,200.

How We Doin’, Coach?

Some sailors take a set-it-and-forget-it approach to sail trim. Others will endlessly fiddle with sheets, vang, backstay and traveler, with one eye on the speedo and the other watching for puffs that might add a little more speed over ground. If you fall in the latter camp, Sailmon has you covered with its Max Mini, an onboard tracker that records your every tack and jibe, and, back home, replays your voyage with lots of data to see just how sharp you were at the wheel. With the Mini paired to your phone, you can monitor your speed, heading and angle of heel, and later analyze what had you going fast so that next time, you can minimize what had you stuck in the slow lane. You can also share data with the larger Sailmon community in the spirit of friendly competition. Think of the Mini as your own personal performance coach, whose services will run you a one-time cost of right around $500.

Keep It Simple

One doesn’t have to own a boat very long to discover that mooring and dock lines left in salt water quickly become home to barnacles, slime, shells and a host of other messy creatures. Some ingenious thinker at Boatasy, a Slovenian company that focuses on mooring and dock equipment, looked the problem square in the eye and came up with a solution: the Ropecleaner. This simple device has a handle affixed to a stainless-steel spiral. To use it, you wind a mooring or dock line around the spiral, and then simply pull the tool along the rope, cleaning as you go. The Ropecleaner is available online for about $40.

Keep It Clean

Sailors keen on leaving disposable plastic water bottles behind and relying instead on their boat’s water tanks can keep the potable water system clean by using the water-treatment tablets developed by Aquamarine Water Solutions. One Aquatab treats 4 gallons of water. Drop the required number of tabs into the tank, wait 30 minutes, and you can be certain the water is safe to drink. The company says that Aquatabs protect against giardia cysts, bacteria and viruses, and the tablets have a shelf life of two years. A 100-tablet jar sells for right around $30.

Roll With It

Big boat, small boat, powerboat or sailboat: Look below or search the lockers, and one piece of kit that you’ll find in just about any vessel afloat is a boat hook. After all, they come in handy in so many ways, besides the obvious work of picking up a mooring or dock line. I’ve used them to pole out a jib, retrieve innumerable hats, fetch an escaped halyard, and, on several occasions, with a fishing net taped to the handle, to feebly try to pluck lost items from the depths.

As handy and ubiquitous as boat hooks are, though, whenever I’m at a boat show—and I go to a lot of them—I always marvel at the number of people walking around with one or more boat hooks in hand, or, later in the day, hanging out with their boat hook in a restaurant or bar. Even a telescoping boat hook looks awkward ashore. And then there’s the question of where to stow the thing at sea. No matter their size, boat hooks often seem to be in the way when they’re not in use.

For that dilemma, PYI offers a solution: the Revolve boat hook. When not in use, the boat hook rolls up into roughly a 4-inch cylinder that weighs just under a pound. Unrolled, it’s 75 inches long, and it has a push/pull pressure rating of 66 pounds. The boat hook is made from Rolatube structural composite material, technology that’s used in a variety of industries, from aerospace to nuclear power plants. 

Rolled up, the boat hook is easy to store, but better yet, at a boat show, you can buy one for about $120, stick it in a handbag or backpack, and then take it to the bar without looking like you just came from a boat show.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Products in this story were nominated for or received Innovation Awards or other notable awards during 2022 trade and boat shows, including Metstrade, the Miami International Boat Show, the International BoatBuilders’ Exhibition & Conference, and the Newport International Boat Show.

The post Gear Up for Sailing Season appeared first on Cruising World.

Just because you’re sailing in paradise doesn’t mean you can let down your guard. Wise skippers (and crews) should be prepared for any crisis that might occur. These are boats, after all, and stuff happens.  

First, it’s important that you make full use of your charter briefing. Pay ­attention and ask questions. Your charter company’s briefer can point out the location of fire extinguishers (and how to operate them), life jackets, the propane stove, fuel shut-offs, bilge pumps (electric and manual) and the emergency tiller. Ask to be shown all the seacocks for the engine and heads. Understand everything clearly, or ask more questions.  

During the briefing, be sure that at least one crewmember (besides the skipper) understands VHF radio procedures and how to reach the rescue/aid service in your charter area. Check to see what channel the charter company monitors too. Even if you manage to fix a problem, be sure to report it to the charter company at the end of your trip. Let’s look at some possible issues.

Engine failure

Arguably the most likely scare is when the engine doesn’t start or suddenly dies. I recommend (based on several such “adventures”) that you keep the mainsail up all the way into the anchorage, thus giving yourself backup propulsion in case of the Dreaded Silence. Check to see if the engine kill switch is in the right position, if the gearshift lever is in neutral, if the battery switches are all on, and if the engine is overheating. If the problem is that last one, then the cooling-water intake is probably clogged.

Anchor dragging

This can be dangerous or embarrassing, or both. My wife says that I sleep so lightly that a mouse couldn’t cross the deck without me jumping up and looking. You should be an alert skipper during the night too. If the water against the hull stops going slap–slap and instead goes splish–splish, it might mean your boat is drifting.  

Assuming that you ­anchored properly, you should have taken bearings just after sunset, so you could use them at oh-dark-thirty. You should have noted the water depth as well. If the depth has changed or the bearings aren’t right, you’re dragging.  

Your first move should be to make sure there are no lines in the water (the tender ­painter?), and then start the engine. If you’re not close to other boats, try paying out more rode. If all fails, re-anchor. You have no choice. Awaken other crewmembers, turn off interior lights to save night vision, and move the boat very slowly (with a bow lookout to spot tenders and buoys) to another spot that you hopefully chose during daylight hours as your Plan B.

Fire

Fire is likely to be human-made, usually with a cigarette, match, propane or other type of fuel. The absolute first thing to do is shout, “Fire!” Then, grab the fire extinguishers and aim them at the base of the fire, not flames. Stay away from using water, especially on gasoline or fuel fires because water will only spread them. If, in a few moments, the fire is still uncontrolled, have a crew member send a distress call on the VHF radio.  

A barbecue fire is often on the transom. Most rail-mounted grills can be turned to dump the burning coals into the drink. Check to make sure they didn’t land anywhere on board or, even worse, in the tender.

Flooding

Stepping into the cabin should be step-step-step, not step-step-splash. If you see or feel water, hit the electric bilge pumps manually because they might not have triggered automatically.  Then find the cause of the flooding.

Short of a collision, that cause is likely to be a seacock: The hose either came loose or is leaking. Work through the boat: sinks, heads, engine intakes. If you find a pulled-off hose, then you should shut off the seacock, reattach the hose, and watch it carefully. If the seacock failed or you found a hole, stuff it with anything you can, including beach towels or pillows. The next step is to head for the nearest port and alert the rescue services about your problem. If you don’t find the leak and you’re on an ocean charter, taste the bilge water (I know, yuck!). If it isn’t salty, your freshwater tank is leaking.

Collision

Before departing, remind your crew that if a collision is imminent, whether with another boat or a piling, you absolutely forbid them to try fending off with their hands or feet. Pushing off a moving 10-ton yacht is both impossible and simply stupid.  

After the Big Crunch, check to see if you have any injured crew or if anyone is overboard. If so, forget about the boat and deal with your crew instantly. Next, evaluate the damage. Hole in the hull? Fill it with towels, bedding, whatever you can. Get the name of the other boat, hailing port, charter company, and skipper. Notify your charter company via VHF radio or cellphone as soon as you have things in hand. The company will assess the situation and either send you a chase boat or give you instructions on how to proceed.

Wrapped prop

I’ve endured a few wrapped props, most notably one that actually yanked the prop shaft out of the hull, leaving us not only engineless, but with a solid stream of incoming ocean as well. That’s a story for cocktail hour. 

I now make it a point to have someone appointed Tender Captain (often an older kid) to keep the towline out of the water during maneuvers.  

When you realize that the propeller is eating rope (clue: the towline is disappearing under the boat at an amazing rate), shift into neutral quickly. Don’t try to outthink a piece of rope; stories about shifting into reverse to unwind the prop are old sailor’s tales, and outright lies. If you’re in calm water, then it’s time for the sharp knife and a swim. If the boat is rolling or pitching, don’t even think about it. Be sure the swimmer has a safety line tended by someone on deck, and just carve away the line. Tip: Don’t cut yourself in the process, either with the knife or a prop blade.

Yes, there are a multitude of other possible emergencies, from breaking a stay (stabilize the rig with a halyard) to anchor windlass failure (hit the reset switch and keep thy fingers at a distance). But preparation and prevention are your best guarantees of a problem-free charter. Listen carefully at the briefing, and ask questions.  

And always have a Plan B.

Chris Caswell is an award-­winning journalist, and the editor and publisher of Charter Savvy, a digital magazine specializing in bareboat charter. 

The post Challenges on Charter appeared first on Cruising World.

I didn’t see the wave coming that tossed me to the end of my tether; I was too busy trying to secure a headsail on the thrashing foredeck of my dad’s old J/44. We had recently peeled from a heavy J1 to a high-cut J3, and my job was to ensure that the big jib made it into its blue North Sails bag and not into “The Race,” that often-choppy slot of water separating New York’s Long Island Sound from Rhode Island’s Block Island Sound. We were roughly 60 percent of the way through the 2005 Block Island Race, and our helmsman was clearly tired as he stuffed our bow directly into an oncoming square wave. 

That’s when my sea boots left the deck. I landed atop my buddy, someplace near the port shrouds. I was happy that I hadn’t cracked my head on anything stainless steel or ­fiberglass. My buddy was happy that I was still on the boat. Two minutes later, we were back in the business district, sorting out the sail.

Yes, I finished my watch as wet as a rat in a drain ditch, but there’s no question that my tether, which was clipped to a foredeck padeye, saved my bacon. Thankfully, my PFD didn’t deploy unnecessarily, and I gained confidence in the system. 

Many years have slipped astern since that Block Island Race, but the basics of personal flotation devices are the same, as is the safety they afford. 

PFDs come in five types. Type I is for cruising, racing and fishing offshore, and for use by commercial ships, or when boating alone, or in stormy conditions. It can be inherently buoyant or inflatable (or a hybrid of the two), and provides a minimum of 22 pounds of flotation. 

Type II typically refers to the chunky orange-foam affairs with at least 15.5 pounds of positive flotation, but the type can also encompass some inflatable vests. It is best for daysailing in small boats. Type III is for activities such as sailing regattas, dinghy races, water-skiing, fishing, canoeing and kayaking, and provides at least 22.5 pounds of positive buoyancy. Type IV, with 16.5 pounds of buoyancy, is a throwable device such as a horseshoe buoy.  

Then there’s Type V, which has 15.5 to 22.5 pounds of buoyancy, is inflatable or hybrid inflatable and inherently buoyant, and is designated as a “special-use device” for activities such as inshore and offshore sailing. 

This article will consider eight Type V PFDs. Their designs may differ, but they all rely on an empty air bladder, a filled and sealed carbon dioxide cartridge, and a release mechanism. Some employ water-­soluble discs or capsules that trigger the spring-loaded firing pin that pierces the carbon dioxide cartridge, while others have a hydrostatic mechanism that fires when the vest is submerged in a few ­inches of water (water pressure on the hydrostatic sensor serves as the tipping point). While both types work well, hydrostatic systems are less likely to fire accidentally if exposed to huge amounts of on-deck water.

 Additionally, Type V PFDs all have a manual-release rip cord and an oral inflation tube in case the built-in systems fail, or if the air bladder needs topping off later. In all cases, it’s important to read the manufacturer’s care and use instructions, and to replace key components per the manufacturer’s guidelines.

I evaluated these PFDs by considering their features, wearing them with sailing gear, and floating in them at my local pool. Here’s what I found.

Mustang Survival MIT 100 Automatic Inflatable PFD

This PFD has more going on than initially meets the eye. Most PFDs employ an inner air bladder protected by an exterior jacket that breaks away when the jacket inflates. This US Coast Guard-approved PFD instead has Mustang Survival’s Membrane Inflatable Technology and the company’s clever “one-fold design.” The combo means the PFD’s air bladder is physically housed inside a protective jacket. When the jacket deploys, two Velcro strips rip away, revealing the jacketed and inflated bladder. This same design makes the MIT 100 the easiest PFD in this article to repack: Just bleed the air, rearm the carbon dioxide cartridge and trigger mechanism, and fold over two flaps. While the MIT 100 doesn’t have a tether hardpoint, its lower price point could make it a good choice for inshore cruising or blue-sky daysailing. The PFD’s waist belt is easily adjustable for guests, and an inspection window lets you evaluate the firing mechanism’s status. In the water, this PFD is comfortable, but there isn’t much behind-the-neck head support.

Mustang Survival HIT Hydrostatic Inflatable PFD With Sailing Harness

This is an affordable PFD with a full sailing harness, a hydrostatic trigger mechanism, and US Coast Guard approval. Its air bladder comes bundled in a sturdy jacket built from 500-denier Cordura, and it sports a neoprene-lined collar. A beefy harness with two equally beefy stainless-steel D-rings allows for attaching a tether. There’s an inspection window for checking the trigger mechanism’s status, a strobe-light holder, and Mustang’s SecureZip breakaway jacket-­closure system. The PFD’s Hammar-built hydrostatic sensor needs to be submerged to a depth of at least 4 inches to fire its carbon dioxide cartridge (read: no accidental deployments). Once inflated, the PFD delivers 38 pounds of buoyancy, and its high-visibility air bladder and even higher-visibility SOLAS-level reflective tape help ensure that you’ll be seen. The PFD also has a tidy-size zippered pocket. One consideration, however, is that rearming this PFD is more involved (Mustang’s instruction video runs 12 minutes, 30 seconds), but it’s a worthwhile trade-off. In the water, with the crotch strap attached, this PFD did a great job of orienting me face up and providing head support.

Mustang Survival EP 38 Ocean Racing Hydrostatic Inflatable Vest

As its moniker suggests, this PFD is made to take you from offshore racing on wet, fast boats to adventure cruising in wet climes. The US Coast Guard-approved PFD has a Hammar-built hydrostatic inflation mechanism, a sturdy sailing harness with an easily adjusted (even when wearing gloves) waist belt, a soft-loop tether-attachment point, and a small, integral backpack-style pod that houses the vest’s shoulder straps, spray hood, and removable crotch straps. While the backpack pod feels a bit bulky, its contents are a treasure trove when floating. This pullover-style PFD also has a low-profile design that allows for unencumbered athletic movement, and a zippered pocket that can house emergency essentials such as lights or electronics. There’s also a stitched-in lifting loop for emergency MOB retrievals. The vest’s hydrostatic mechanism is prominently situated on the front, behind a three-­dimensional inspection window, for a ­military-esque aesthetic. The EP 38 felt great to float in, especially once I ­deployed the crotch strap and spray hood.

Onyx A/M-24 and A/M-24 All Clear

Consider these PFDs if you’re seeking a basic Type V PFD and don’t need a tether attachment. Both are US Coast Guard-approved, employ lozenge-style automatic firing mechanisms, and can be used in automatic or manual mode, or converted to manually operated PFDs (which can be useful aboard wet boats, so long as the MOB is conscious and able to pull the manual-inflation rip cord). Both vests also have a Velcro-enclosure system, high-­visibility inflation chambers, and wide neoprene necklines that felt comfortable when worn with a T-shirt, and that added padding when worn with a jacket. 

While the two PFDs are similar in design and features, there are some differences. The A/M 24 is no-frills, with a side-release waist buckle and a plastic D-ring attachment that’s not for use with a tether, but it is useful for attaching a handheld VHF radio (see CW, August 2022) or an emergency beacon. The A/M 24’s firing mechanism is hidden in the Velcro-enclosed outer jacket, meaning a user must unpeel several inches of hooks and loops to ensure that the jacket is properly armed. 

The A/M-24 All Clear has some ­upgrades, most notably a plastic ­inspection window on the jacketed front that gives an at-a-glance status report of the firing mechanism. Additionally, the A/M-24 All Clear has a zippered front enclosure, a beefier nylon waist belt, and a smaller-profile D-ring attachment (also not for use with a tether).

Neither of these PFDs has crotch straps, and this absence was noticeable when floating. In our test pool, the ­A/M-24 All Clear failed to trigger ­automatically for almost two minutes.

Onyx A/M-33 All Clear With Harness

If you’re ready to go offshore, this PFD could be right for you. The US Coast Guard-approved vest has a sailing harness with dual soft loops (port and starboard) for attaching a tether, a beefy nylon waist belt with sturdy stainless-steel adjusters, a high-visibility inflation chamber, a breakaway zipper enclosure, and a  window for at-a-glance status on the vest’s firing mechanism. The vest’s back has shoulder-strap padding that doubles as ultraviolet protection, and also adds a bit of cushioning when leaning back in the cockpit or lounging on deck. 

This PFD also sports a zippered front closure (with an elasticized zipper garage to ensure that the vest stays put) and a thin neoprene neckline for extra comfort. As with its little brothers, the A/M-33 All Clear can be operated in automatic/­manual or fully manual modes, but it differs by delivering 35 pounds of buoyancy once fully inflated. This extra lift was immediately noticeable when floating; there’s no crotch strap, but its absence wasn’t an issue.

Spinlock Deckvest LITE+

Lightweight, low-profile, unencumbering—this PFD’s design (when packed) is wide at the neck, allowing about 165 degrees of head rotation without chin contact. The bit that does contact your neck is neoprene-covered for comfort. This is a side-entry PFD that arrives in automatic/manual mode, but it can be converted to manual-only with a kit. The LITE+ has a single crotch strap with a hidden receptacle clip, and it comes with loops for attaching Spinlock’s optional Chest Pack, which is handy for storing emergency essentials. 

The PFD also has Spinlock’s clever breakaway zipper system, a soft-loop attachment point and—when deployed—an emergency haul loop. The LITE+ can be upgraded with Spinlock’s Pylon Light, which is a water-activated flashing LED; Lume-On patches to illuminate the inflated bladder; and a spray hood. Customers also can purchase the LITE+ with an integrated Ocean Signal MOB1 AIS beacon. The LITE+ is approved to CE and ISO standards. In the water, the Deckvest LITE+ provided good head ­support and face-up orientation, ­especially once the crotch strap was properly deployed. 

Spinlock Deckvest 6D HRS

There’s a lot to like about this innovative PFD. It’s built to CE and ISO standards. Once inflated, it delivers 170 newtons of ­positive buoyancy. It can be ordered with 275 newtons, but this adds bulk. The PFD has Spinlock’s Pro Sensor Elite firing mechanism, which activates only when ­water flows upward into its cap, so there are no wave or rain deployments. It also has Spinlock’s Harness Release System, which has a load-releasable tether hardpoint. If the MOB is getting dragged, she pulls a rip cord and immediately separates from her tether. 

Once in the water, the automatic/­manual vest opens to reveal a spray hood, emergency haul loop, Spinlock Pylon 360 light, and Spinlock Lume-On air-bladder light. A crotch strap resides in a small pouch on the back of the PFD’s harness. Additionally, there’s a user-friendly waist-belt buckle, an inspection window for the firing mechanism, and compatibility with Ocean Signal’s MOB1 AIS beacon. The Deckvest 6D was one of the most comfortable PFDs to float in, and its design made accessing the spray hood a snap.

The post Type V Inflatable PFDs appeared first on Cruising World.