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.

We’ve been asked recently: What do you do to keep your cruising sailboat clean? What routines do you have for liveaboard boat cleaning? 

On Totem we have two basic principles:

1. Keep the approach simple and effective, because there are a lot of other things we’d prefer to spend our time doing than cleaning the boat. 
2. Prioritize environmentally friendly cleaning products, for reasons that shouldn’t need explaining. 

Cleaning Tools

We have far fewer cleaning tools on the boat than we did in our house—and almost all run on elbow grease instead of electricity.

Vacuum: A rechargeable handheld model like this works for us; other friends swear by their more powerful, compact Dyson model.

Whisk broom and dustpan: These are often easier to grab than the vacuum.

Buckets: There’s always a 5-gallon bucket or two on board, and often a smaller bucket as well. Nesting bowls from the galley can get called into service too.

Scrub brushes: A brush around the size of your hand works for most below-deck needs; we keep a couple of wider brushes for deck scrubbing. A small brush, like a toothbrush or nail brush, is useful for getting into small or awkward spots.

Sponges: For generally cleaning, two all-stars: extra-thirsty sponges, like these big carwash sponges, for soaking after sluicing, and Swedish dishcloths (thin sponges, actually, made from cotton and cellulose), which are great for everyday wiping up, and they’re biodegradable. 

Cotton rags: We use them to wipe, polish and dry. Old T-shirts are great, and so is terry cloth. Avoid using microfiber rags because they add microplastics to the water. 

Great multitool: Use this telescoping handle with interchangeable attachments to be a mop, brush or boat hook.

Notice the dearth of long handles? We’re just not that big of a boat, which translates to doing fine with the smaller stuff and working with the available storage aboard.

Making environmentally friendly choices is harder than it should be because there is no regulation in using terms such as biodegradable, nontoxic or natural. Brands can use any terms to their liking without consequence, and the cleaning industry is full of greenwashing. That’s just one reason we like to lean on cleaning products that are based on simple ingredients we can more readily supply. 

You might like choosing brands that prioritize environmental friendliness versus the DIY cleaner approach for keeping a cruising boat clean. That’s cool! Do your research and try multiple, environmentally safe products when you have access to them; not all brands will be available once you sail away. You might be in a place where environmentally friendly products are available, but this was not the case in most places we’ve sailed. We’ve found that what’s readily available are products from multinational brands thinking about profit, not the planet. 

Basic Cleaning Kit

Here’s a quick list of ingredients that stocks an effective cleaning kit on board. Most are widely available. Another great advantage of this slimmed-down cleaning approach, beyond being liberated from brands and radically reducing packaging? Freeing up precious storage space from the array of products you thought you needed! 

Vinegar: Great for cleaning, disinfecting, deodorizing, deterring mold or mildew…the wonder ingredient for all-purpose cleaning.

Baking soda: Shake it on straight for scrubbing. Like vinegar, it is shockingly multipurpose on board, and like vinegar (which we keep in gallons on board), you can store it in bulk.

Borax: Similar to baking soda but more alkaline, making it a harsher option. I tend to default to using baking soda. In the mixes below, they are nearly interchangeable. Use slightly less borax. Some folks swear by borax for its strength.

Biodegradable liquid soap: There are many options and bulk packaging. Dr. Bronner’s (castile or Sal Suds) is widely recognized, but it falls into that “hard to find once you leave” category. If you can’t find any, swap phosphorus-free liquid dish soap or use borax and water. Note: Don’t mix castile soap in a vinegar or other acidic solution; they counteract each other (makes sense when you think about it: acid versus alkaline), and the mix will not work.

Lime or lemon juice: This top choice for polishing up stainless on deck is readily available just about everywhere, and often inexpensive. As a backup, use citric acid.

Optionally, use essential oils to add a specific result, whether it’s fragrance or antibacterial. If you’re new to using essential oils, make sure it’s one that plays well with your cleaning goals, and with your denizens. We are new cat parents and have learned that many essential oils are unhealthy for pets. More here about essential oils used on Totem.

A note on bleach. We don’t use it for any general cleaning. Toxicity aside, vinegar is a better deterrent and cleaner for mold or mildew. If you do have bleach, never mix it with vinegar because that creates a dangerous gas. 

Mixes and Methods

Keeping it simple, again: These simple all-purpose approaches work above and below deck. 

1. Spray bottle of all-purpose cleaner for simple cleanup: Put 3 tablespoons of Dr. Bronner’s into a 16 oz. bottle, add a tablespoon of baking soda, then fill with water.
2. Spray bottle of diluted vinegar for basic wiping and mildew deterrent. Use a 3-to-1 (or try 2-to-1) ratio; optional addition of essential oils. Basic wipe down or to remove soap film. 
3. A squeeze bottle of scrubbing liquid ready to go for the deck or the counters. Mix 1 2/3 cups baking soda with ½ cup Dr. Bronner’s in a bowl, and dilute with ½ cup water (or more if needed to pour readily). Great deck scrubber.  
4. Abrasive powder in a shaker (repurpose a grated-cheese canister) is simply baking soda and optional essential oil: shake on, then scrub or wipe up bigger messes. Spray on top with that vinegar solution and wipe away.

One of the things that’s flummoxed me is finding a good spray bottle that holds up over time. The ones I’ve tried seem to have a short life span—a couple of years, max. If you have winners, please comment.

Let’s Be Clear About Something

I am not a happy hippie homemaker just stirring up organic cleaners to maintain my spotless spaces with nary a toxic product on the sustainably grown bamboo shelf. LMAO! I’m human, I try my best, and I think that’s what we should all ask of ourselves. OK, if my kids are reading this, they are laughing and saying, “C’mon, Mama, you are a legit hippie!” I am also pragmatic, make imperfect choices, and just try to make better ones when I can.

Meanwhile: not living aboard yet? Great. This is the easiest time for you to start new cleaning habits and to find what works for you. 

Cleaning Products To Avoid

While some are especially an issue where we have runoff into the marine environment, consider that good practices begin on land. Why not start better practices right now?

Dawn detergent: Marketing efforts to the contrary, Dawn is toxic to marine life. Actually, it’s just a really toxic product in general. Read the details behind their failing grade here.

Disposable wipes: Those wipes in a can, whether it’s to disinfect or to wipe your butt, might be convenient. But each one is a piece of single-use plastic. Think they’re OK because it’s all greened-up on a plastic tub from Seventh Generation? Nope. Unilever, parent of Seventh Generation, is definitely more interested in profit than planet. Single-use plastic is a poor choice when there are plenty of alternatives to creating more plastic waste.

Magic Eraser: These sponges are supposed to help get your topsides shiny and bright, but they also shed microplastic in the form of melamine directly into the water.  

Ammonia: Even a tiny bit is toxic to fish. And now you know. Don’t have any on board and you won’t be tempted.

If you’ll BYOB (bring your own brand), remember to look beyond packaging. Here are two “clean” sounding brands repping a toxic product for general cleaning:

• Simple Green. It is not simple or green. It’s a toxic cocktail. Avoid!
• Mrs. Meyers. I know, it looks so wholesome on the label. Well, it’s not wholesome, and has consistent flunking ratings from the environmental working group.

Routines To Get Clean

Aboard Totem, we deep-clean the galley on Wednesdays, the heads on Fridays, and…LOL. I’m yanking your anchor chain: We don’t have any routine. Cleaning aboard is based on need or opportunity. Oh, hey, is that a squall bringing an abundance of fresh water on the horizon? Time to clean.

Is the boat (or a particular cabin) getting dirty? Tackle it when time allows. Do we have access to abundant fresh water? Then it’s a great time to clean. Sometimes that’s exactly what a pending squall means: Time to get out the scrub brushes and use a welcome dump of fresh water.

This is my cue to credit our kids, who were an awesome cleaning crew and generally more fastidious about cleaning up the boat (well, after a certain age anyway) when needed than this particular parent. Team effort helps too: It’s awesome how fast you can scrub down the boat when there are helping hands. Adding a ship’s cat might introduce some kind of “vacuum every X days” routine, but more likely I’ll just see a bunch of cat hair, and that will be the spark to turn on a favorite podcast and get to tidying up.

The post Sailing Totem: What Are the Best Products To Use To Clean Your Boat? appeared first on Cruising World.

Getting mail while cruising is a problem all cruisers need to address (groan). It’s been more than 15 years since Jamie and I received mail in a conventional manner at a fixed address we call home. I have intended to update our guide to the best virtual mailbox services for a while. There are a number of market entrants since our 2017 summary. But more importantly, there’s a key factor—perhaps the key factor—easily overlooked when picking “the best” service for your needs. Services to consider include those in the USA, Canada and select other countries. Don’t miss the mail service FAQ at the bottom!

Choosing a Private Mailbox

There are a few main features to consider when choosing a virtual mailbox service (VMS), with some insight into how these features work.

1. Location. Rarely does a VMS support residency. Most likely, users choose to consolidate in a particular state for convenience or personal reasons. In most cases, VMS does not count as proof of residency.
2. Services. The baseline is simple: A VMS provides a digital scan of your mail (envelope exterior first, interior contents on request), then forwards the mail or shreds it based on your wishes.
3. Cost. There is an annual fee and additional costs. Don’t overlook the add-on charges for bonus services. Many are volume-dependent. Ruthlessly cut your mail by only sharing the new address when required.

The Most Important FactorThe factor I had not considered before: What is the actual storefront for your virtual mailbox service? Outside a headquarters address, most brands and platforms are executed by a local business independent from the platform. We learned this when picking up a parcel sent to an iPostal1 box we rented in Phoenix, and arrived at a small shop called not iPostal1, but Biltmore Mailboxes Plus.

Choosing a VMS is not just picking a plan or service, it’s also trusting your personal mail to other humans. In that sense, don’t you think it might be nice to know more about them? Friends cruising the Caribbean on their St. Francis 44, Majestic, use iPostal1, one of the major virtual mailbox services. In Annapolis, the iPostal1 business (and Anytime Mailbox address) is run out of a Staples store. Staples feels like a faceless chain to some, but it knows the folks working at the mail service inside; this made it the right choice for Majestic.

We recommend due diligence on the storefront, and one of member of our coaching community took it a step further and outlined a great process. In Pinky Parson’s words:

• I Googled the address and used Street View to find out exactly where the mail would arrive what exactly the business is.
• I read Google reviews of the business. If it was a big-box store, I passed. (Just my personal preference.)
• We went to the store to meet the owners and chat with them about which VMS platform they liked working with.
• We went home and signed up for Anytime Mailbox. (The store owners we spoke with had a slight preference based on its ability to help customers with payment information.)
• We came in a couple of days later with IDs to sign the USPS form and meet the rest of the staff.

Parson’s full account of her virtual mail service search can be found on her SV Loka’s blog.

Forwarding Mail

One of the great things about a virtual mail service is your mail is scanned and you can receive it as a PDF. We have never needed to have mail forwarded, so I ignored the subject in our 2017 post on mail services. But our friends on Majestic provided several recent examples of how important VMS forwarding has been for them while cruising in the Caribbean:

• Retirement papers that needed originals with signatures
• Replacement bank cards (typically not sent internationally by banks)
• Global Entry cards for travel back to the USA

Mail forwarding costs can vary meaningfully. If you anticipate this, anticipate the fees!

The Best Mail Services

Expanding and revisiting the original list, we found services you may want—or want to know the cost for—in addition to the factors mentioned. These include an address in the state of your choice (especially if it differs from the service’s headquarter state), a grace period for free mail storage, the ability to repackage when forwarding to reduce cost, and secure shredding. 

Dockside Mail: We’ve used this Seattle-based service for several years now. It was started by liveaboards at Shilshole Bay Marina to meet the need they saw around them. It ticks all our boxes, offers a good value, and the humans behind it are awesome. They really understand the cruiser market. 

Saint Brendan’s Isle: Another family business that gets travelers is popularly known simply as SBI. It has focused on the cruiser and RV markets for a long time.

Traveling Mailbox: Cruisers rave about its dashboard and the availability of a mobile app to manage your mailbox. One of our clients returned to land but refused to give up their TM box! It made life that much easier.

Anytime Mailbox. It has a large global footprint with addresses just about anywhere you could want.

iPostal1. It has addresses in every state, often the same storefront as Anytime Mailbox. The staff in one shop we asked told us their customers tended to like iPostal1’s dashboard best, but another preferred AM for management (see Parson’s note above).

The list is longer, with services like PostScanMail, USA2Me, VirtualPostMail, PO Box Zone and more.

Is it important to you to have an address in your hometown? Then start by searching online for mailbox services in that location; you may hit the mark.

Canadian Services

These are the virtual mailbox services I’m aware of that offer Canadian addresses. Anytime Mailbox has the most extensive list of Canadian addresses. iPostal1.com offers nine locations, including Vancouver and Winnipeg. eSnail wins for being a personal operation in Vancouver. Clevver has addresses in Toronto and Montreal, and YCA / Your Canadian Address is Montreal-based.

Beyond North America

This list was effectively nonexistent a few years ago but now includes a range of service providers. Check Anytime Mailbox, possibly the most international of all, and the only service I’m aware of with Australian addresses. After AM, Clevver seems to have the most significant international footprint, with addresses in Europe, the Middle East, Asia and more. iPostal1 includes addresses for a range of countries in Europe and Asia. Unique to the UK is Ship to Shore, Boatmail and UK Postbox.

When You Need a Real Address

Jamie is well-acquainted with needing to ship to real addresses when there’s a customer ordering a new sail. Shipping agents are occasionally necessary to handle import and duty, but sometimes it’s just using a marina address (always confirm first). For example, the crew of the Privilege 445 Motu recently received a new sail at their marina location in Grenada.

If we need a physical item, we either have it sent directly to a location we will visit (such as a marina that will hold mail) or to someone who will visit us. It is remarkable how many things are no longer “important” once you wait a little while; in our modern world, we’re just very accustomed to near-instant gratification.

Of course, sometimes it is really important to get a thing. During our refit in Puerto Peñasco, we have been fortunate to have friends just an hour-and-a-half north in Arizona who hold mail and packages for us. (The picture of Jamie at the top of this post is in front of their garage.) Internationally, we’ve received packages to the boatyard in Mexico and marinas in a number of countries.

Mailbox Service FAQs

Virtual addresses do not convey residency. US nationals may wish to “relocate” to a new state for tax purposes; it’s not as simple as a virtual address. Learn more about residency here; importantly, check with the states you wish to retain (or shift) residency to. Virtual Post Mail has a good article outlining why a VMS typically isn’t enough. But for a counterpoint, the RV club Escapees can assist with domicile for Texas, Florida and South Dakota. Still, consider that you will probably need an address in your domicile state, and the VMS may be the most convenient way to have one.

VMS is irrelevant for home-schooling. The home-schooling laws you should follow are those guiding your physical location, not your virtual address. Only a few states care about what you do as a resident when you are not physically present. 

Your VMS and home or hailing port do not have to match. And neither is tied to legal residency. It may feel good to have all these in one state because it’s convenient or home or soothes a part of our brain that likes consistency, though.

You may still need a real address for a few things. Get familiar with requirements for voter registration after moving aboard and before sailing away so you don’t miss the window to register to vote in an election you care about.

Banks often don’t allow a VMS. Thanks to the Patriot Act requirement for a residential address, some institutions (banks, namely, but also health insurance) take issue with a VMS. We have gotten around this by using a friend’s address to sign up for a credit card, then promptly changing address to our Dockside VMS once we had the cards in hand.

The post Sailing Totem: An Update on Virtual Mailbox Services appeared first on Cruising World.

It’s appropriate for reflection on sailors discussing the weather to start with a bar joke.

An ol’ salt swaggers into a bar.
He has a ship’s wheel stuffed into the front of his trousers.
The bartender says, “Hey, you’ve got a ship’s wheel in your trousers!”
The ol’ salt says, “Aye, mate, and it’s driving me nuts!”

Two sailors did saunter into a bar, taking stools not far from where Jamie and I recently tucked into our lunch in Newport, Rhode Island. We were on break from teaching at the Confident Cruiser Seminar Series at the Newport International Boat Show, refueling ourselves for the afternoon, and…well, we were inadvertently eavesdropping, to be honest. 

The sailors, so marked by the faded-pink Block Island Race Week cap and duct-taped Sperrys, leaned on the bar to trade war stories, somewhat loudly. We heard about being tossed around in storms at sea, of plowing a furrow down the ditch that is the ICW. There may have been mention of pirates, but a weather update about Hurricane Lee was broadcast on the TV behind them. The sailors scoffed: “Ha! So much hype, but we had a bigger windstorm a couple of weeks ago. These weather presenters, they have one job but can’t seem to figure it out.”

It’s fair enough to say that the media hype leading up to Lee was, well, unsurprisingly full of media hype. But at some point not long before this bar-leaning narrative, it was possible Newport would get whacked by the storm. Thankfully, what might have been a boat-show-ending event shifted farther east, so Newport had a little rain and wind.

Q: How do hurricanes see?
A: With one eye!

Were these sailors right to blame the forecaster? It’s an easy chuckle, as critic in hindsight. And naive or at least overly simplistic. It’s easy to take weather forecasts at face value when the immediate safety doesn’t depend on it. Sailors on the water, with capacity to travel at only 6 or 7 knots to get out of harm’s way, by necessity must be more serious weather followers and students of weather. Lee’s traverse up the East Coast was a long process. If you were in the possible path, there was much time to move to a safer location and prepare. 

How long was Lee tracked? Take this excerpt from an Atlantic storm-season newsletter: 

“We first started talking about Lee as it was about to become Invest 95L back in the closing days of August while Idalia was readying to impact Florida. When we say hurricane season is a marathon, not a sprint, this is what we mean.” 

They’re talking about three weeks of tracking. Three. Weeks. (From The Eyewall’s “Au Lee-voir” email from September 17th.)

A piece of rope walks into a bar. The bartender says: “We don’t serve your kind.”

The rope goes outside, bends around into a pretzel, pulls a few strands, then walks back in. 

The bartender says, “Weren’t you just in here?”

The rope replies, “Nope, I’m a frayed knot.”

Looking back, the early forecasts for Lee turned out to be remarkably close to the actual path toward New England more than a week later. Before then, when the system was barreling toward the Bahamas and Florida, both of which with more than enough hurricane history, forecasters correctly predicted that Lee would turn north before impacting them. GFS ensemble shook out as more accurate (compared with ECMWF) on long-term accuracy of the track and timing for landfall, although both were quite similar. On the morning of September 8, Jamie posted this to our coaching client group:

Jamie commented with this post of the models: Cat 5 MAJOR Hurricane Lee is currently east of the Caribbean. The image is showing forecast size/place in 7 days. It is too early to tell what action, if any, North East coast sailors should take—stay tuned as we’ll have a better sense in the next few days.” Notes below reference changing status of the Bermuda high/low pressure systems crossing North America, and another named storm (Margot) farther east of Lee complicates forecasting but that sailors north of Cape Hatteras need to pay attention.

Models aren’t perfectly accurate with hurricanes; they can always surprise us (like Hurricane Ian did last year, with a last-minute gyration that landed it over Fort Meyers instead Tampa/St. Pete). But the variability is consistently less. The accuracy is there in broad strokes enough to enable preparation; enough that we—the greater we, of boaters in a storm-affected region—can make good choices. About whether to move out of the way, or to haul out, or to prepare a boat as needed when you have nine, eight, seven days of lead time. 

Lee’s path had two main drivers: the stationary Bermuda high, and a low-pressure system over Canada and moving west to east. The high kept Lee from bending north sooner, but once past it, the expected dogleg north happened. Then the path northward could’ve been a direct hit in Newport if the low moved faster and passed ahead of Lee. Or Lee could be steered east and away from land if the low was slower-moving. These both were predicted as possible outcomes, and the latter outcome happened, sparing eastern New England.

Q: Why do Swedish warships have bar codes on the side of their vessels?

A: So that when the ships come back into port, they can Scandinavian!

Back to our salties at the bar. At one point, it appeared that Newport could be a direct hit for the storm. Those older nightly news segments are probably what our two sailors were reliving over wings and fries because subsequent updates made this progressively less likely. The irony of sportscasters arguing over the stats and probabilities of the Saturday college game now playing on that TV behind the bar was not lost on us. Playing armchair quarterback, er, weatherman is common enough among sailors, as are weather war stories painted in colorful hues. It can be fun to indulge in storytelling. It is also astonishing how well weather is forecast today compared with five, 10, 15 or more years ago. It does require paying attention.

Join Us in Chesapeake BayJamie and I are excited to be heading to the U.S. East Coast very soon. This weekend, we’ll be at the Seven Seas Cruising Association’s Chesapeake GAM on Saturday, September 30. Then it’s on to the big event, the 2023 Annapolis Boat Show and Cruiser’s University! We’ll be teaching daily at Cruisers U, from masterclasses and all-day courses to shorter seminars that help people go happily, safely cruising. Jamie and I also will lead the classroom portion of “Take the Wheel,” the boat show’s introduction for folks who want to get into boating more seriously. See annapolisboatshows.com for details.

The post Sailing Totem: Tall Tales and Weather Stories appeared first on Cruising World.

In 2013, NOAA announced plans to end the production of traditional paper nautical charts, to the wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth from many mariners. Ten years later, most cruisers do not rely on paper charts (arguably, many had moved away from them well before 2013). Is this a travesty, or just the march of technology and time? What do we do on Totem?

When Jamie and I were preparing to go cruising in the early 2000s, we spent several years gunkholing around Puget Sound with our growing family on board. We had a small handheld GPS, a Garmin MAP76, and a paper chartbook for the region. When we bought Totem in 2007, one of the changes Jamie made before our 2008 departure to begin cruising was a rebuild of the navigation-station table. Although Totem’s build predates the era of widespread GPS cruising, you couldn’t unfold a paper chart on the nav table. We expected to do this. 

The wider table let our West Coast chartbook lie flat. We also removed the slow, small, clunky chart plotter from the nav station. This we replaced with a ruggedized laptop running charting software, and connected to an NMEA2000 network for navigation data. The bigger screen, higher resolution and faster speed added up to a better mousetrap for our primary chart plotter.

Several years later, while we were putting coins in the cruising kitty in Australia, Jamie built a locker expressly for chart storage. Carved out of dead space from a portion of the pilot berth, the new locker allowed flat storage of our paper-chart collection.

Jamie began sailing more than 50 years ago and is skilled at navigating using paper charts. I am a confirmed map geek who finds joy in poring over them. Yet, as the years rolled by, we never pulled a chart from that locker to use for navigation. We did use paper charts for wrapping Christmas presents. We’re not the only cruisers who have done this. 

Tools and technology for cruising have changed within a generation. Recently, I posted a question on our Facebook and Instagram pages to gather opinions about whether to reinstall Totem’s SSB radio. Like paper charts, it’s been years since we made use of long-distance radio communication. Like paper charts, SSB is a tool that voyagers relied on for decades and remains in use by a shrinking minority of cruisers today. And like paper charts, the decision to use it or lose it elicits strong opinions from comments to the post. 

I went to a few forums to see what other sailors volunteered on the topic. “Real ocean sailors would rely on paper charts,” one tenured cruiser said. Well, then! Or how about, “See ya on the rocks,” another person lobbed from behind a pseudonym. Ah, internet. Scornful comments flung by the salt-crusted (or settee potato, hard to tell) to a newer generation ends up shutting down the ability to exchange thoughtful, different perspectives. Both comments are a dissonant clash with the 2023 reality where it seems most cruisers do not use the paper charts they have, and new cruisers don’t see the need to acquire them. I asked on Totem’s socials (find the posts here on Facebook, Instagram) how often folks use paper charts, or if they use them at all—then, held my breath waiting for responses.

Charting on Totem

Our philosophy isn’t chart-medium-specific, rather, simply put, our philosophy is: Don’t rely on a single source. Have multiple inputs and compare them, and most important, use your senses—especially common sense. We apply this for navigation and for weather, and it’s relevant for the SSB question as well. It happens that paper charts have not been among those inputs in a very long time aboard Totem. 

What exactly are we using? We have a primary chart plotter on a laptop, which is running OpenCPN with CM93 charts, pilot charts and KAP files (geo-indexed satellite images). We have two tablets—an iPad and an Android—each with different navigation software (currently, iNavx and Navionics). We are map geeks and will carry a few small-scale, large-area paper charts that we never expect to use.

For folks who love paper charts—cool, you do you! Hopefully you’re finding a way to compare them with other data too—partly for the intrinsic value in comparing different sources and because paper chart data might be outdated. We are astonished by how frequently different chart sources are different in the information or detail about the same location. Meanwhile, there’s a great rundown of the relative strengths of paper charts over electronic, and of electronic charts over paper, on the Starpath Navigation website’s blog.

Fostering navigation skills

Many sailing education courses are based on using paper charts and traditional skills. Do you feel cognitive dissonance there? Don’t! The skills are still valid, but we need a bridge to the tools used today. I sought opinions from instructors, and had a good conversation with Brady Trautman about how they manage this at Cruisers Academy. There, students coming aboard the program’s Passport 42 Lintika may have a chance to learn traditional skills (such as basics of a noon sight on the boat’s sextant), but instruction is grounded in modern reality. Brady noted how sailors accustomed to coastal cruising (where the internet is always on) need to be prepped for a cruising life where charts must be available offline on their devices, and to seek multiple electronic sources for redundancy and cross-referencing. Other traditional navigation skills we discussed still matter—and, they are not locked into paper charts. 

One example of how traditional skills play into digital tools is for understanding the different ways that latitude and longitude are given. A PredictWind tracking page for a vessel shows a given boat’s position in degrees and decimal minutes, such as: 6° 46.652 S / 179° 19.841 E. But the default setting (rarely changed; we see many) for a Garmin InReach tracking page uses decimal degrees, displayed as 6.777533° S / 179.33063° E. Perhaps you prefer the traditional presentation in degrees, minutes and seconds, such as 6° 46’ 39″ S / 179° 19’ 50”. All three waypoints given here represent exactly the same location in Savu Savu, Fiji. Examining a chart, plotting and analyzing your course ahead, and scanning hazards to avoid are equally important between paper and digital charts. Migrating from paper charts doesn’t mean navigation skills are lost. It means they evolve.

Meanwhile, most responses on my post to Totem’s social media about charts aboard were far more thoughtful than what the wild internet offered. In fact, they made me honestly feel so good about how people could share without judgment about what they do, instead of slinging “mine’s the best” drivel. MVP among comments came from our friend Fred Roswold. He has been cruising for nearly four decades aboard Wings, his Serendipity 43 (a custom IOR race boat), spanning from paper-chart-centric cruising into the digital-navigation era. Fred and his late wife, Judy, departed from Seattle with “more than 500” charts on board. His concern today? That mariners become lazy because electronic navigation appears to be so easy. “In my opinion, too many cruisers simply look at an electronic display, see where they are, and leave it at that. Even today, with all of our electronics, yachts get wrecked due to bad navigation.” 

One case for paper charts that must be considered is their value in the event of electronics failure. Power failure and lightning strikes do happen. This is partly managed with the redundancy of additional GPS devices. We have six or more on Totem, with a couple of them wrapped in aluminum foil as an imperfect makeshift Faraday cage. From a backup GPS (without chart plotter), traditional dead-reckoning and common sense (we know from last position, destination is 330 nautical miles away on a course of 264° magnetic), it’s not really so hard to make an approach to a destination with reasonable notion of when you should really be awake to avoid driving directly into something solid. Another case is that you can’t use auto-routing. We have a saying on Totem: FRIENDS DON’T LET FRIENDS AUTOROUTE. We’ve seen the function recommend routes that aren’t just a terrible idea, but they also are boat- and human-threatening. One autoroute directed a crew in two different apps to drive right across the middle of the shoals off Cape Hatteras. As Fred pointed out, it seems so easy.

Paper or digital is not the fulcrum point. The real point is having multiple sources of information and broader fundamental skills. And common sense, which is something Jamie completely fails at when wrapping Christmas presents with old paper charts. They all turn out looking like a crumpled mess ready for the bin. A few of our old charts will still be stashed for wrapping paper, so just as the unused pilot berth was altered for chart storage, that space was reimagined and updated again in this 40-year refit.

We’re coming to Newport!September 14-16, Jamie and I will be instructors at Confident Cruiser Seminar Series: an educational seminar series designed to enhance your boating skills and confidence. Our courses include cruising for couples, offshore cruising essentials, how to make your dream a reality, and more. It’s just steps from the Newport International Boat Show. See you there!

The post Sailing Totem: Do We Need Paper Charts on a Cruising Yacht? appeared first on Cruising World.

We’ve crossed major milestones in Totem’s refit, and I’ve included the highlights here. But first, a shout-out to the guy making it happen. Jamie is at the boatyard seven days a week, virtually without fail. Refit realities don’t make for sexy social media posts. What is sexy, though, 

is the commitment of this guy to getting the job done, and done right, as we bring Totem into the 21st century.

The work is hard on his body. It’s repetitive. It’s not fun. It’s emotionally wearing. We’ve passed major milestones, but there are days that forward progress feels thwarted. There seems to be a natural law about boat projects taking more than the expected time—at more than the expected cost—and we are internalizing it with our slow progress. Yet, ultimately, there is progress, and it is awesome to see. I’m excited to share the updates. But first, I want to tell you about one of our favorite roles on board.

The Happiness Engineer

Who is your “happiness engineer?” At some point, every boat needs one. Typically, we use this moniker during the transition from land to living aboard to describe the person for whom cruising was “the dream,” and upon whom it is incumbent to ensure that their partner has a positive reality. Right now, the happiness engineer is a role I take on to make sure that Jamie’s laser focus on finishing the refit includes breaks to enjoy life, heal his body and soul, and stave off burnout. Sure, I’m working hard, too—long hours in other roles. But it’s easier to be a keyboard warrior. Recently, I stole Jamie away from the yard for a three-day trip out of town so we could remember what it’s like to be living as travelers instead of refit grunts. 

Getting away was more than a break from work. It was reconnecting to an important way we find our joy in cruising: by engaging with, and learning from, the different cultures we intersect with. The best of those experiences are what I refer to as “walking on the moon,” because they transport you so thoroughly into another world that sharing the experience defies explanation. (How can you effectively explain to someone what it was like to walk on the moon?)

An Indigenous New Year 

A few weeks ago, I had learned from a friend that the Comcáac (first nations people from the northeast coast of the Sea of Cortez—also referred to as Sierra Seri) New Year was in the last days of June. Our friend, Ruben, organizes small-group trips. He planned a trip for us all to witness and participate in the New Year ceremonies, bringing along an indigenous guide to help us understand. We went, and we walked on the moon. From the moment we arrived, we were enveloped by reminders of a very different way of life. Pressed by adversity, Comcáac people have held tightly to traditions and language, and we had much to learn. 

At the ceremony, red, white and blue ribbons, the color of the Comcáac flag, fluttered from bent cactus armatures on the beach. The chanting of elders was carried over loudspeakers, accompanied by the sound of the waves breaking on the beach. 

Blazing sun and temperatures in the triple digits beat down upon the women and girls who wore vibrant, ankle-length skirts and flounced, long-sleeved blouses. After crossing the channel to the sacred Isla Tiburón, a Comcáac shaman included us in the traditional face painting and spiritual cleansing. It was some marvelous moonwalking.

We returned to the mainland to join in the feast and enjoy the music. As sunset turned the sky from gold to purple and then black, the beat of gourd drums, the rattle of shell cuffs on the legs of the dancers, and the jingle of bells hanging from their belts filled the air. We watched the dancers’ movements mimic the deer they represented, while mounted deer heads were strapped to the heads of the Yoreme brothers who were invited to join the event.  

Deep in this moonwalk, fresh artists soon stepped in and worlds shifted. The crash of modern rock music wasn’t that jarring, but what seemed at first like a collision of cultures leveled up into something mind-blowing. The musical was familiar, but the lyrics were being belted out in Cmiique iitom, the Comcáac language. Those same women and girls in head-to-toe jewel tones now jumped up and down, singing along, screaming song requests and Comcáac of all ages and genders threw themselves enthusiastically into the celebrations. 

It was spectacular.

The music capped off a day steeped in tradition, and it demonstrated how Comcáac are finding ways to bring their cultural roots forward into the modern world. Hamac Caziim, the rock band, was founded on the belief that rock music will to help foster an interest in retaining the indigenous language. To our experience, I’d say that they have been wildly successful in engaging more than just the younger generation.

Back to Totem: Interior Finishes

Back in Puerto Peñasco, Totem’s interior work has reached major milestones. We didn’t start this refit thinking we’d resurface the whole interior. We just knew that the cabin sole was suffering in a few areas, that some bulkhead rot needed to be addressed, and that the Formica in parts of the galley had worn through to particle board. Those tasks were addressed, and they made it easier to add on some voluntary cosmetic work. 

We realized that the dinged-up, 41-year-old veneer, the junky headliner, and horizontal surfaces such as the table and countertops would all need replacement. Jamie crafted a simple, elegant solution for the headliner from insulation, thin plywood and alder battens—oh, and a lot of epoxy! We replaced the horizontal surfaces, originally wood veneer, by bamboo, which seems to glow from within, restoring some natural warmth to the cabin.

Suddenly, the huge undertaking to look nice, stay more comfortable and be ready for faraway cruising feels like it’s coming together.

We’ve learned so much along the way. When Jamie first rebuilt a bulkhead on Dogwatch, his 22-foot S&S Sailmaster, around 1984, it felt significant. Now he’s rebuilt entire cabins. He’s learned about fillers, materials and how to apply accumulated years of knowledge about Totem along the way, making her our long-term home, and now hopefully easier to maintain—at least as much as any boat can be.

Want to learn more about Comcáac?

• NY Times: An Intimate Look at Mexico’s Indigenous Seri People
• Video: Seri turtle songs of survival (Spanish with subtitles: Comcáac history in <15 min)
• Video: Hamac Cazíim | an indigenous punk documentary (29 min: the Comcáac rock band we heard)
• Creative Pinellas: Seri Tribe (konkaak / comca’ac) of Sonora Mexico
• Sonora tourism: indigenous people of Sonora
• Mexico Escultura: Seri New Year 

Totem Talks

Our free, monthly livestreamed talks cover topics of interest pertinent to cruisers. Coming up this month: Tools and Spares. It’s tempting to bring everything you might need. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to bring everything you will need. How do you decide what’s essential to have on board for tools and spares? Register here to join the session. Other recent topics include getting sails for your boat. How do you know when it’s time to replace your sails? What is the process like? What should boat owners know about evaluating options? Also, don’t miss our adventures while anchoring. This talk covers key anchoring techniques and discusses how to figure out where you can anchor and how to deal with anchorage politics.

The post State of Our Totem appeared first on Cruising World.

There’s a food preservation zeitgeist in my world. It started with expanding our canning repertoire here in the Cabrales Boatyard in Puerto Penasco, Mexico. Our current access to a full bounty of ingredients and supplies prompted the canning projects. Gaining basic canning experience before departing on a bluewater cruise is useful and can also help cruisers connect with and anticipate a future cruising life. We are gradually stocking up and I look forward to the days when my husband, Jaime, and I will happily rely more on what’s on board instead of what’s on shore and we’ll trade well-stocked grocery stores for swaying palm trees and turquoise water. Fueling our bodies with homemade goodness from our onboard canning bounty after a hard day of snorkeling in a remote area will surely add to the pleasure of a day.

Dispelling the myth of glass jars

Although some cruisers may have concerns about glass containers on board, we use a lot of glass canning jars aboard our Stevens 47 Totem and have broken only two. The broken jars were a result of errors on our part, and not a result of the glass thrashing around in an agitated sea state or flying across the cabin. The jars get no special storage care such as bubble-wrap padding. We simply place them in a locker snugly enough to make sure they don’t go flying around. Should one drop on the cabin sole, there may be food to clean up but the durable jars remain intact.

Reducing waste 

My friend Kristen Hanes knows of my affinity for food preservation. She took time out from getting her CT41, John Muir, ready to launch to share some cool news she learned from a recent NY Times article:

• The average U.S. household wastes nearly a third of the food it buys.
• Households account for 39 percent of food waste in the U.S., which is more than restaurants, supermarkets or farms.
• In the U.S., food waste is responsible for a greater amount of greenhouse gas emissions than commercial aviation.

At a time where most levers for reducing greenhouse gases may feel out of reach for individuals, here is one that is solidly in our control. Food preservation to keep our excess food from spoiling is an easy way to reduce our individual waste. When you can your own food like this, you are not turning single-use cans into rubbish that can’t be handled in faraway places.

Kristen and I spent an hour talking about food preservation and you can listen in on episode 30 of her podcast – The Wayward Home. The food preservation tips aren’t just for tiny home living. They’re for all of us and they can make a difference.

Reducing even more wasteSpeaking of making a difference, I hope more than a few folks reading this were cheering along as Kirsten Neuschäfer drifted towards the 2022 Golden Globe Race finish line April 26 off Les Sables-d’Olonne, France. After 235 days at sea, she won the epic solo, single-handed race around the world. An emotional moment that genuinely made me well up was seeing the post a few days later from chef Jean-Louis Leclerc. He was alongside Minnehaha with Kirsten, and sitting on the dock beside them were bags with the now-empty glass jars of food he had donated to her campaign. It is a part of the race rules that all recyclable goods must be stored aboard. But these weren’t just metal cans ready for recycling. They’re glass jars ready to be used again and again. It’s a great model for cruisers.

Jean-Louis was a stranger to Kirsten when he offered to provide her with 100 jars of prepared food for the race. He surely knew that this thoughtfulness would fuel Kirsten’s mind and soul, not just her body, as she sailed around the world; she mentioned Jean-Louis’ beautifully-prepared meals in the letters she passed off in drop points during the race.

What we’re canning

In our temporary land-galley, a rack of wire shelves has a growing stash; some chosen for practicality, others for delight. My practical side appreciates that when time and ideas are running low, opening a can of dry-packed potatoes for a quick breakfast fry-up is a welcome start to a good, quick meal. Here in Mexico, green waves of ferny fronds in fields east of town attest to the end of the local asparagus season. My purchases from a street vendor, pickled with lemon, will be a treat later during our travels.

Affordable Mexican pork has been turned into jars of carnitas for a quick, yummy taco or enchilada whenever we have the craving. Jalapeño jelly and cream cheese on crackers for a snack? Yes, please. I recently experimented with canning bread (yes, yeast bread). We opened the jar after about six weeks, and while it wasn’t fresh-from-the-oven good, it was far better than anything I can usually buy locally.

A few starter ideas:

• This flexible recipe for papaya chutney is a forgiving first recipe. No papaya? Substitute other similarly-textured fruit available to you, such as mangoes or peaches.
• Canning meat helped keep our omnivore crew happy, and was easier than I ever imagined. I walked through my process for canning chicken on board.
• Rebel Canners / Canning Rebels have been a great source of recipes. “Your kitchen, your rules,” is their motto, but it’s a good idea to learn about FDA guidelines and canning safety and then make an informed decision that’s right for you.
• Other favorites: Canning Granny has provided useful methods and ideas, as has Diane Devereaux (The Canning Diva).

What do you need for canning?

I keep a list of jars and lids we use on Totem. Here’s what works for us.

• Standardizing on a single size jar. I like wide mouth pint jars. While they cost more online, you can look for deals in stores such as Target and Walmart. They are the easiest to fill and readily double as drinking glasses.
• Ditch the tin-plated rings and lids that the jars come with. They quickly become a rusty mess on board.
• Use BPA-free plastic lids (such as Tattler or Harvest Guard) which can be re-used and don’t rust.
• Make sure to get good bands. Heavier-duty 304 stainless bands from EcoJarz  used to be the only game in town, but you can source durable lids at good prices more readily now.

Of course you’ll need a canning pot, too, one that works best with your method of canning. Pressure canning (for low-acid food, like meat or vegetables) and water bath canning (for fruits with an acid added such as vinegar in chutney) are the most common.

We don’t have a pressure canner. I use a pressure cooker (see my linked post on canning chicken for how and why). I primarily use our Instant Pot the Pro Plus – which has a ‘max’ pressure setting of 15 psi. The USDA does not officially approve; my galley, my rules.

Don’t count on finding canning jars and supplies while cruising. I found it difficult to buy jars along the way. A last note on using heavier bands: while they cost quite a lot more, you don’t need one for every jar. You only need enough to use during the process. You can remove the bands from the jars for storage after the contents have cooled. Here’s an illustration of one reason to get the bands off promptly. They can corrode to the point of needing to be cut off, such as the lid and band of this delicious jar of pickled cauliflower a friend gifted us.

Storing jars on board

Jamie has figured out how to turn a new space on board into storage for nearly 100 canning jars. The spot was previously where Totem’s electrical panel used to be. I joke (but, it’s no joke) that he knows my love language. The new space is tall and not very deep, making it awkward for many other uses, but ideal for our jars. 

Whether you’re inspired by Kristen’s lower-waste living, by Kirsten’s jars-round-the-world, or eating well in your cruising life, don’t let canning intimidate you. It really isn’t that hard. If there’s someone near you with canning experience, I can almost guarantee they’ll be happy to hold your hand through the first time.

TOTEM TALKS: Anchoring

We’ll discuss anchoring techniques and politics in our June 4 Totem Talk. Register here to join.

The post Sailing Totem: The Many Benefits of Canning appeared first on Cruising World.

If we joke about needing little more than love and a fishing pole to subsist while cruising, it’s only to underscore the fact that funds are necessary to sustain nomadic adventures. But dealing with money while cruising is different. I had forgotten how different until we finished our circumnavigation in Mexico. With proximity to the United States making visits easy, the differences came into focus. 

Everyday Transactions

The biggest difference recent trips stateside impressed on me: Little actual currency is used in everyday transactions in the United States. Almost every payment is made with a credit or debit card, or even just a swipe with a phone. 

By contrast, as sailors going around the world, we’ve predominantly paid for goods and services in cash—actual paper money and coins.

That pile of cash above? It’s what our friends on Majestic needed to depart the Dominican Republic: check-out fees, dock fees, all in cash. 

You don’t need to stockpile currencies on board to exchange on arrival, and you don’t need to change money ahead of time. In all but two places, Papua New Guinea and St Helena, we were able to get local currency from ATMs. The machines really are just about everywhere, although sometimes island time may apply to availability hours.

Another exception proving the rule: A member of our coaching community recently found that in Argentina, costs to withdraw from an ATM were so high that he got a better deal sending himself money via Western Union.

If you’ll be in a region for a while, does it help to have a local bank account? Not really. We see some cruisers retiring to life aboard in Mexico doing this, but it’s rare for cruisers to have local bank accounts. We just crossed into five years since sailing back into Mexico and have never felt the need.

In Madagascar, we had to make multiple ATM withdrawals to buy diesel because the largest bill at ATMs was worth less than $2, and there were low transaction limits. The aftermath looked like a stash peeking out of my backpack pocket. I felt illicit, carrying that around, but it’s just cruising life.

Debit Cards

Are there better banks for cruisers to use for ATMs? Many folks rave about travel-friendly banks such as Schwab, Capital One, Fidelity, USAA or others that reimburse ATM fees. These are great options, especially if you’re in regions with high fees (I think we paid $9 per withdrawal in Phuket, Thailand). Other cruisers like to stick with digital-only neobanks.

We made an unlikely choice: staying with our hometown bank, which has a handful of branches in a semi-rural county in Washington state. Our choice means we pay a little more in ATM fees because they’re not reimbursed, but if we need help with anything—last week, it was instructions for a wire transfer—a call to the branch around the corner from our old house on Bainbridge Island connects me to a person who actually knows us.

I value this personal touch highly. There is no getting lost in the robo-response of a bigger bank, no cumbersome identify verification holding things up if we need an expired (oops) debit card shipped out. And, I love the human connection. Last year, this bank contacted me first instead of turning off our card when a Mexican ATM tripped a fraud flag. That could have been a hassle.

When we were back in town, we could give ever-ready branch greeter Rex the corgi that biscuit he’s awaiting, as we did above when migrating our daughters’ accounts in January. Rex, sadly, died last month, but I’m told there’s an energetic puppy now working the biscuit game.

A few other debit-card tips: Some countries are more likely to have ATM-skimming fraud than others; ATMs attached to a bank branch are almost always the safest option. If the ATM asks you to accept its conversion rate, it is almost certainly a bad deal; decline, and use the conversion your bank will do automatically. Check your withdrawal limit; your bank may increase it with a phone call. And, ask if replacement cards can be sent internationally, or only to a home-country address.

Travel-Friendly Credit Cards

As much as our life afloat has relied more on cash for everyday needs, we still need credit cards. In regions with wealthier residents or progressive technology, credit cards may be easier to use than cash (hello, Mediterranean sailors).

Credit cards can’t add a markup to currency exchange rates, but they can charge fees. You need to find out if foreign transaction fees are charged with your current cards. In the United States, Chase Sapphire and Capital One have cards without foreign transaction fees. 

We usually keep two credit cards: one in the wallet for everyday needs, the other in a safe place on the boat. The latter is used for routine fees, such as an internet service payment, so if a wallet is lost or stolen, those payments continue uninterrupted.

A few other credit-card tips: Visa and Mastercard are accepted globally; we wouldn’t bother with anything else. Make sure you offset expiration dates by a wide enough margin, especially if you only have two cards. And, call before departure to alert the bank that you will be using the card internationally; this will reduce the chances of having it flagged for fraud.

Sending Money

Zelle, Venmo, PayPal, Cash App, Wise, Xoom, Payoneer: There are so many ways to move money around. But which methods work with cruising?

Our recent proximity to the United States hammered home how common peer-to-peer payments are now. Whatever service you use, watch those terms. After more than a year of use, Venmo locked us out (and wouldn’t transfer our balance) because we had spent too much time outside the United States. 

We have used PayPal for years from around the world to make some payments (such as to our agent in the Maldives) or to receive payments. For larger amounts, Payoneer, XE.com, or wire transfers from your bank can be good options. When we bought our cool new stove from the UK last year, it was easy to use Wise, drawing from our bank account in US dollars. Fees were so reasonable, I don’t remember what they were.

Cash On Board

Before setting off across the Pacific, we had a couple thousand dollars stashed, just in case. Several years later, we had to nearly force ourselves to use it. It came in handy in Papua New Guinea, because US dollars (or Australian dollars) were preferred in the place where we purchased diesel. Since then, we’ve kept lower cash reserves on board.

Some cash-stash tips: Whatever you tuck away, keep it in smaller bills, ideally no larger than $20. These denominations are less likely to be counterfeit. And, benchmark the amount you stash at the cost to fill your fuel tanks at the highest regional rate, plus a buffer.

Fear of counterfeiting is real: I remember watching a frustrated tourist who arrived with a cache of hundred-dollar US bills, only to be turned away from changing them to ringgit at a bank in Malaysia. Too risky for the bank.

Is managing money while cruising a big problem? No, not at all. Planning around these pitfalls can ease your experience.

TOTEM TALKS: Standing Rigging

Join us Sunday, April 30, at 4:30 PT / 7:30 ET to talk about standing rigging fundamentals. We’ll cover basics, tuning and troubleshooting—high points that can be covered in the space of an hour, anyway.

If you have particular questions, send them in advance. And of course, register here to attend 

The post Sailing Totem: Managing Money While Cruising appeared first on Cruising World.

As a fellow cruiser gazed around the torn-up main cabin of our 1982 Stevens 47, Totem, his eyes grew wide. He asked a head-scratcher: “Why?” 

Why not buy a newer sailboat? Why take on so much work? Why not be anchored at a remote Pacific Island right now instead of dry-docked in a dusty shipyard? 

Because this boat—our home of 15 years through dozens of countries along a path around Earth, classroom for our three children, magic carpet to unimaginable experiences—is our Totem. Named as an homage to our home waters in the Pacific Northwest, the tribute became our truth. Totem is as much a symbol as a safe conveyance for our family. This boat has cared for us, and we now care for it, with a refit centered on its 40th year.

The Stevens 47 is a storied Sparkman & Stephens ­design, praised by experienced sailors for seaworthiness, ­sturdiness and performance. We dispute none of this, but even well-proven boats will age into meaningful needs. All materials degrade sooner or later, especially when they’re subjected to extended use in the harsh marine environment. Some boatbuilding practices become dated. Plywood-cored decks become spongy. Fiberglassed-in chainplates become a rusty, unsafe mess. Totem wasn’t built with either, but she has original flaws. Below the lovely teak and juniper cabin sole is a plywood subfloor that is delaminated and rotten in some areas. My husband, Jamie, has been known to quip that “everything on a boat is consumable.” And ultimately, it’s true.

This isn’t Totem’s first refit; others took place under the care of prior owners, a history we’ve never fully unraveled. We’ve done several refits too. Back in 2007, the listing claimed the sailboat was “turnkey.” We found it necessary to add new standing rigging, sailhandling improvements and a working watermaker. Seven years in, another round was due in Thailand: replacing through-hulls, a failed stainless-steel water tank, and a fridge box with water-saturated foam insulation. Rerigging (again), a new watermaker (again) and new hatches were a big part of a 2019 refit in preparation for sailing across the Pacific. The pandemic scratched that plan, but it was nice to have the upgrades, regardless.

Sometimes, routine updates speak to good stewardship. When bronze fittings get a pink tone, it’s a red flag for deteriorating metal and time to replace the part—even if it looks fine. There can be spaghetti wiring with ghost wires that prior owners ignored rather than removed. Sometimes, we’ve had to make do with less-than-ideal materials or supplies; when a hidden flaw under the C-clip end of our steering chain failed off the coast of Colombia, spliced Dyneema was a quick and reliable solution that served for 5,000 nautical miles. We now have a new steering chain, a new 7-by-19 stainless-steel wire cables and an entirely new binnacle.

The 40-year refit is the biggest we’ve taken on, and was entirely unplanned. We sailed down the Sea of Cortez in Mexico in early 2021, with permits in hand to explore remote islands several hundred miles offshore. Just a few hundred miles in, our always reliable Yanmar 4JH3-TE with 8,300 hours on the clock ­manifested an unrepairable problem. Repowering is a big financial drain on the cruising kitty and, as it turned out, a big cost in time as well. Waiting for the new engine, we stumbled into additional, discretionary projects. Here’s a look at some of what we’ve been doing.

 Repowering 

The engine problem that started this refit came to our attention when we ­discovered oil in the engine’s cooling system. Troubleshooting showed that the issue wasn’t the head ­gasket; instead, pinholes in the oil gallery leaked oil across to the cooling system. Five to eight hours of motoring was enough to make a gloppy mess of the coolant. 

Totem had been repowered once before, around 2002—a major tick in her favor when we were boat shopping. But 20 years of active cruising later, the bill came due. A shiny new Beta 70 turbo is now aligned and mounted in Totem’s engine room, chosen for reliability and simpler routine maintenance. 

We also updated the engine-room insulation and engine-exhaust hose. The challenge of replacing 24 feet of 3-inch-diameter exhaust hose snaked through tight, hidden spaces brings to mind wrestling an alligator at night. We also replaced and sealed delaminated plywood, and the entire engine room is now painted glossy gray.

 Hull Paint 

Totem’s hull was a cosmetic disaster for years, and we’ve worn that scruffiness like a badge. Each scratch is the reminder of a dugout canoe that came to visit, or an enthusiastic fisherman who arrived to trade. But the paint wore through in places, exposing the original dark blue gelcoat. Even that was thin in places. It was becoming more than a cosmetic problem. 

We hired crew at the Cabrales Boatyard in Puerto Penasco, Mexico, to prep (so much sanding and fairing), prime, and spray two-part topcoat. The hardest part was choosing which white to use. I wish that were a joke.

 Cabin Rehabilitation 

Global supply-chain issues caused refit delays that led to more refit projects. Every cabin is now included on the list. In the heads, the shower pans let water find a way to the adjacent bulkheads. (Shower pans, you had one job!) Over time, hidden sections of the bulkhead rotted. Even though we converted the forward wet head to be dry in 2007, the problem percolated out of sight. Removing the shower pans revealed rotten plywood subfloor. As with many projects, you start one and find four more.

Repairing the ­bulkheads was relatively easy. We removed the roughly ­12-by-18-inch section in each, created a tapered edge, and then layered fiberglass down to the hull. In the ­forward head, the new plywood floor is sealed, fiberglassed with epoxy, and capped with tiles. 

The aft head, which still has a shower, needed the pan improved. The original was board-flat, so water collected when Totem sat at a slight angle. The new pan has a distinct angle that actually drains. And the plywood subfloor was replaced. 

We also fixed the original, cracked laminate surfaces that lined both heads. That job required a heat gun, metal scraper, and no small measure of blood, sweat and tears.

Surprisingly Consumable 

Abovedecks, it’s easy to assume that a binnacle will last as long as a boat. Totem’s is original, and while it has served well, the chain cog and axle show notable wear, and the brake mechanism is so worn that it no longer secures the wheel. Plus, Jamie has never liked the design because of poor access to inspecting the inner mechanics. 

Now, in its place, we have an Edson Vision II ­pedestal that opens easily for inspection.

Safety Issues 

Fiberglass is flexible—to a point. Over 40 years, smooth water and big seas alike pressed or smashed into Totem’s bow. We now have slight oil canning, or waviness and distortion near the bow. The Stevens 47 hull is thick, but it still gets only so many million flexes before the resin degrades. And we have plans to carve through many more sea miles.

Reinforcing inside Totem’s hull at the bow to address the distortion opened up another opportunity: to install a crash box. Our friends recently suffered some scary damage to their 2008 Seawind 1160 when they hit an unidentified floating object north of Hawaii. That object ripped a hole in the starboard bow while they were 1,500 nautical miles from land. An effective crash bulkhead saved the vessel—and the crew—from needing rescue. We want that level of security too.

Safety updates are a theme we carried throughout this refit. Our old stainless-steel cockpit scuppers looked fine, but after removing them, we found them to be brittle and replaced them. Chainplate inspection is vital to a vessel’s safety, and we removed and inspected each one. Using a 10x magnifying loupe to examine them thoroughly, Jamie noted a few small areas (about ¼-inch in diameter) where shallow pitting started through the otherwise mirror finish. These minor areas of rust occurred where water must have leaked through. We used muriatic acid to eliminate the rust, and polished the chainplates with a progression of sandpaper, starting at 260 grit and going up to 3,000 grit, before reinstalling.

We switched out Totem’s rudder-shaft gland assembly, which required a complete redesign using off-the-shelf parts because a standard replacement was not available. We replaced the boot with a 4-inch-diameter exhaust hose and fabricated a new upper gland.

We upgraded our old ditch kit with ACR’s RapidDitch kit, and customized locker space near the companionway to accommodate it.

 Headliner 

I remember, when we purchased Totem, stepping belowdecks at a marina up the estuary in Alameda, California. The basket-weave-­embossed vinyl headliner was permanently grubby. I thought, That will be the first to go. 

It wasn’t essential, so it continued to irritate me for another seven years. We put in a Formica headliner in Thailand, which bought us time, but it wasn’t done right. We lived with it and thought about how we’d do it better someday.

 Our extended stay at the yard has allowed us to tackle a lot of “someday” projects like this one. Jamie worked up a solution for the headliner by using ¼-inch plywood panels, cut to fit, and faired with West System epoxy and 407 filler. They create a super-smooth and tough finish. And the panels can be fabricated outside the boat, sparing grueling overhead sanding. The trick was securing the panels in place. They were too thin for screws. The solution Jamie landed on was wetting out fiberglass tape with epoxy, and forming ridged strips that bonded to the panels and ceiling. The only remaining work was to apply thickened epoxy on the seams.

 Cabinets 

Totem’s main cabin has been through several iterations, each one tuned to the stage we found ourselves in life. In 2007, Jamie did a significant rebuild that took an 18-inch section of stowage out of the port side; moving the settee and table outboard allowed us to create midline seating for the family. It was a fantastic upgrade, and the shelves on the port hull were perfect for our children’s collections of books. 

Fast-forward a few years: We opened up the space, giving our dwarf hamster a place to run as our need for printed books reduced. That change was effective, if a bit crude. 

Now, with help from a skilled carpenter, that space is reconfigured again to retain stowage and bookshelves, with a finer finish.Similarly, in the aft cabin, we did a makeover of the cabinets and a desk space for our current needs.

 Cockpit Comfort 

Abovedecks, our dodger and Bimini top have been through several rounds of progressive improvement. The hard dodger crafted in 2007 now has fairing to clean up the rough underside, as well as improved stainless mounts. There are new snaps for the soft-sided dodger. A car-painting shop sprayed it with epoxy topcoat to gleaming perfection: It will now look like the dodger we always wanted, with molded-in grips that channel rain to the sides instead of sheeting it into the cockpit.

 Swim Steps 

The most dramatic change was among the first that we tackled. We had been hauled out for only a few weeks when Jamie pressed an angle-grinder cutting disc into Totem’s transom. Years of pondering how to make it a better platform for entering and exiting finally landed on a clever approach. 

He perched on a ladder against our reverse transom, a legacy of 1970s design, and created steps that would appear as if they are carved into the back. Partway through, I described my vision for sitting back there, feet in the water, enjoying morning coffee and a view. The bottom step then became a swim platform. 

This upgrade has created a new space for us to enjoy life afloat. It eliminated the awkward, perpetually rusting stainless-steel ladder, and gave us bonus space in the propane locker, which is about 20 percent larger. 

Reaching The End 

“When will you splash Totem?” is the question we hear repeatedly. “It’s a 40-year refit, so only 38 years to go,” Jamie replies with a weary, wry smile. 

The timeline has extended far beyond anything we imagined. The delays answer the question of why cutting the dock lines can be so hard for cruisers. Life gets in the way. There was a pandemic. Our daughters went off to college and life on land. There were unanticipated ­delivery delays. And it was an important time to be in reach of my parents. We could not have known that these two years in the shipyard would be my mother’s last two on Earth; to be in reach for easy visits was priceless. She passed away early this year.

But ultimately, Jamie and I are on no timeline but our own. As we reach the point of being ready enough, the islands beckon, and we’ll soon point their way. 

Galley Upgrades

While every cabin on Totem is part of the refit, changes to the ­galley crept up on us. At first, we focused entirely on ­nondiscretionary needs. The Force 10 we installed in 2007 was on its last legs, and was not practically repairable. The laminate countertop installed in 2014 in Thailand was wearing through enough to expose particleboard—that had to go. Jamie fell through dry-rotted stringers under the sole—looks like that would have to be replaced!

Discretionary updates crept in, easily justified. The new stove’s geometry would let us reclaim precious inches of workspace at the forward end by rebuilding a cabinet, turning it from skinny to functional. Then, when pulling off the laminate—why not just pull the whole countertop and reimagine a better use of the storage spaces below? That engine compartment (the whole inboard side of the galley) needed to be gutted for the new Beta anyway. It wasn’t long before the only remaining part of the galley we weren’t tearing into were the lockers along the port hull—and it had always bothered Jamie how when they were rebuilt in 2014, they weren’t to his spec, leaving yawning portals to unrealized storage.

Suddenly we were looking at our galley as a near-rebuild, not a few fixes. But a love for cooking and eating well, and no additional time cost to the haulout, made it easy to embrace expanded plans.

The first splurge was a GN-Espace stove. This UK-made “cooker” is a rarity among boat ovens—it’s actually insulated. This means baking in the tropics without heating the boat, and vastly more efficient use of propane. I can’t wait to hone my sourdough skills from the tropics!

 Countertop material has been the hardest to settle on. For months, installing quartz—a manufactured product from stone powder and resin—was the plan. But it’s too heavy: not because of the weight overall (we determined it to be about the same as having another person on board), but the heft needed to lift the slab for refrigerator access, or a large square to reach the garbage can hidden beneath. Solid surfacing was our second choice, but there isn’t an installer/fabricator or supplier in this part of Mexico—and it’s not a material we’d like to tackle as amateurs. We decided on bamboo. Strips of the grass bonded to form a slab creates the lightest-weight countertop among all options (save laminate), with the benefit of being relatively thin—an asset because we seek to avoid adding height. The environmentally friendly option feels and looks good.

Cabin-sole replacement has been a trickier proposition than expected. We could never match the teak and juniper elsewhere on Totem; attempting it would look awkward. Casting for options, we initially chose recycled rubber tiles, but Jamie and I kept returning to memories of the cork flooring we loved in our Seattle kitchen: It is comfortably resilient underfoot, handles traffic well (hiding grime from toddlers and dogs), and is a renewable material that we can feel good about. Finding glue-down tiles intended for use in high-moisture settings (such as a bathroom…or a sailboat!) settled the choice.

Finally, there is literally the kitchen sink thrown in. With new counters and fresh finishes everywhere else in the galley, that 1982 sink was going to look pretty out of place. Jamie jokingly refers to our new sink as “The Bathtub.” And while the household size might be inordinately large on a sailboat, it fits, it has fantastic utility with nested cutting boards and drainage, and we know from our prior use patterns that we’ll appreciate the capacity. —BG

A Paean to Sanding

It’s ironic that making  Totem  better requires removing so much of Totem in a slow, agonizing process. I’m referring to sanding. I hate sanding. I recall learning this as a ­7-year-old kid; sandpaper wrapped around the wooden block, cleaning the gunwales of an old wooden skiff in my backyard. At 13, I rebuilt the centerboard trunk on my Enterprise-class sailing dinghy and produced an astonishing quantity of dust. My summer job at age 18 was preparing boats in a shipyard for spring launch in Mystic, Connecticut. Wet sanding ­bottom paint is a grueling, messy business. Almost four decades later, this refit on Totem is one epic, tedious, awful sanding event. Countless coarse 60- and 80-grit sander disks, cut through rough surfaces. An eternity of 120-grit sheets. When the dust settled, I learned to row in that wooden skiff. I learned to race the wind in that sailing ­dinghy. Totem might be a dusty mess, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.—Jamie Gifford

The post Total Refit of Our 40-Year-Old Stevens 47 Totem 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.