When Andrew Thompson co-founded Horizon Yacht Charters in 1998, he wanted to bring megayacht-quality service to bareboats. Thompson had worked as captain and crew aboard the larger yachts, and he believed that people chartering bareboats should have every right to expect similarly high standards for their own cruising vacations.

‘Our Mission statement in 1998, was ‘to offer immaculate yachts, exemplary customer service and value for money’, 25 years later, our mission remains the same, and we go the extra nautical mile every day to deliver on that’ he says.

Today, Horizon Yacht Charters has two locations: the main base at Nanny Cay on Tortola in the British Virgin Islands, and a second location at Blue Lagoon Marina in St. Vincent and the Grenadines. Both locations are known for their exceptional customer service. The base in the BVI is also popular for its restaurants, showers, hotel, beach bar and pool. This location is easily accessible with daily flights from Miami on American Airlines, arriving at Beef Island, Tortola.

“Our company takes great pride in being a local business with local operations, management and staff,” says Kim Struiken, finance and business development director. “Our local roots play a vital role in our success. We are committed to our community and to delivering an exceptional experience to our customers. This combination is part of the formula which sets Horizon Yacht Charters apart.”

Horizon Yacht Charters’ high-quality fleet of about 50 yachts in the BVI includes monohulls as well as catamarans from 34ft – 54ft.  The boats are maintained to a level that Thompson brings from his megayacht days, ensuring that guests can embark on their vacations with complete confidence in the seamless experience they’ll enjoy, regardless of the age of the yacht,(although most are 0-5 years old).

“We excel at providing yachts with all systems in order, with concours cosmetics and detailing “ Struiken says. “Most of Horizon’s staff have been here for many years. The first-ever employee of the company, Courtney Frett, our reservations manager, is still here, 25 years later. Our operations director, Henry Leonnig, has been here for 20 years, as have several other dock staff. They like what they do, and when people like what they do, they excel, and it allows you continuity of service – to offer real quality.” Struiken continues: ‘It is not just about the yachts, it is about the ‘boutique hotel’ level of personalized service you get at Horizon. Jalon Shortte epitomizes this as our larger-than-life Customer Service manager, who delivers boat and chart knowledge with a wicked laugh and a brilliant smile’.

Horizon Yacht Charters offers bareboat charters, skippered charters as well as luxury crewed charters with the added convenience of an all-inclusive package covering high-end gourmet meals, premium drinks, water toys, and more.

American Sailing Association (ASA) classes are also available at Horizon Yacht Charters Sailing School. Students can book a whole boat and cruise with a private instructor, or they can book a single cabin for a week on board a boat with an instructor and other students.

The instructors at Horizon Yacht Charters are top-notch. Just one example is Cara Brown, who, in 2022, was named one of ASA’s outstanding instructors. This award is given to the top 1 percent of all ASA instructors, as determined by student surveys. In 2022, there were 2,155 instructors eligible for the award; only 25 were named winners. And Brown was among just a handful of women in that already selective group.

“Cara is a terrific example of the outstanding team members we have at Horizon Yacht Charters,” Struiken says. “She’s originally from London, grew up in Italy, and has been sailing with Horizon in the BVI since she was a little girl—because her parents have had a series of yachts in our fleet since 2002, and they continue to do so to this day. Her own sailing experience includes the whole Caribbean as well as parts of Britain and Europe, she has a 200 ton yachtmaster licence in addition to her ASA qualifications. Cara is  also a qualified personal trainer, ski coach ( having been Britain’s women’s downhill champion for 5 years) as well as a PADI-certified open water diver. She speaks English, French and Italian fluently,  which means she can help so many people feel comfortable while learning to sail.”

Due to Horizon’s winning combination of top ASA instructors, a highly sought-after location, and exceptional customer service, it has been selected by the American Sailing Association as the destination for its 2024 Lenny Shabes Sailing Festival, scheduled from 16th to 23rd June 2024. Similarly, Jeanneau, one of the world’s leading monohull manufacturers, has also chosen Horizon for their Jeanneau owners rendezvous flotilla from 9th to 16th March 2024, driven by some of the same compelling factors.

Another way that Horizon Yacht Charters stands out is its additional charter broker services. While the staff at the base on Tortola can help clients book bareboat charters aboard sailboats in the Horizon Yacht Charters BVI and St. Vincent fleets, the team will also help clients book boats from other fleets all around the world—any kind of boat, anywhere the clients want to cruise.

“If we have clients who have been with us in the BVI and in the Grenadines, we can help them book a charter anywhere,” Struiken says. “Sometimes, people want to cruise somewhere different, and we are happy to assist with that.”

For clients interested in buying or selling a yacht, the Horizon Yacht Charters team is also available to help. The company is a distributor for Lagoon, Excess, FP and Nautitech catamarans, Jeanneau, Beneteau  and Bavaria monohulls, as well as ranges of centre console RIB’s and day boats. Horizon also maintains an active brokerage service with a wide range of listings, both in the BVI, and in Grenada, where Horizon also have a yacht management, refit and storage business.

“We are able to support our clients as their boating needs change throughout the years,” Struiken says. “Families grow, plans change, sometimes cruising ideas become bigger sailing ambitions. Our fleet, school, charters and yacht sales allow our clients to progress however they choose. And when they come back to us year after year, they see the same staff, ready to assist them. They feel like they’re coming home.”

“Whether charter client or yacht owner, from the moment of first contact until the final wave goodbye, whether that is a week or decades later,  our top priority is the customer experience. We look forward to welcoming you aboard”.  Struiken concludes.

How to book: Contact the Reservations team at res@horizonyachtcharters.comHome .

How to buy: Contact Robin at robin@horizonyachtcharters.com to find your new dream yacht or explore the selection of brokerage yachts available through Giles at giles@horizonyachtcharters.com.

For more information, please give us a call  on our toll free number (+1 877-494-8787) or visit our website Home .

The post A Winning Bareboat Experience appeared first on Cruising World.

Philip Barnard’s family arrived in St. Vincent and the Grenadines more than a century ago, in 1902. His grandfather sailed the local waters. His father then grew up on local boats, and his mother started Barefoot Charters in 1991—an unusual, if not monumental, achievement for a woman in those days. Barnard followed his family’s lead and, today, owns the company known for its well-developed charter base and sailing school.

“We have relationships that go back generations with service providers,” Barnard says. “I know every inch of water down here, taught to me by my dad and granddad before we had GPS. That allows us to show people an experience that’s a little different.”

St. Vincent and the Grenadines is in the southern part of the Caribbean, which is far less developed than the northern charter meccas such as Antigua and Saint-Martin. The experience in this part of the Caribbean is often described as untouched—much like the other, busier islands were decades ago.

Still, there are modern conveniences. The $259 million Argyle International Airport opened just a few years ago on the eastern side of St. Vincent, giving visitors a first-class travel option for accessing the tranquility of the archipelago. American Airlines, Virgin Atlantic, Air Canada and other providers offer service here.

The islands of St. Vincent and the Grenadines run north to south, like an unfastened string of pearls. Conditions are different from other charter hotspots such as the British Virgin Islands, and sometimes include sailing in pure Atlantic Ocean winds.

Barnard describes the locale as ideal for bareboaters who want to step up their sailing game with a bit more of a challenge.

“It’s not like the fishpond sailing in the Virgin Islands,” he says. “Down here, the winds are stronger. This is better-suited for intermediate and advance sailors—and it’s why our sailing school is so good. We can access just about any conditions we want.”

Barefoot Charters offers American Sailing Association and Sail Canada classes that start at beginner level and go up to teaching people how to become instructors. The company also has specialty programs focused on living aboard offshore, preparing for offshore passages and learning how to make decisions in high-stress situations, such as major storms. In some cases, instructors include former participants in the Vendée Globe singlehanded, nonstop round-the-world yacht race.

“These extra courses are for people with bigger aspirations, who want to take the family and go all around the world,” Barnard says. “These techniques make you a better sailor in everyday situations too.”

And Barefoot Charters has a well-established base that not only has a restaurant and rooms for bareboat clients, but that also can handle repairs on everything from sails to fiberglass to diesel engines.

“It’s not a dock with three boats and a guy in a little office,” Barnard says. “We don’t have a chandlery in St. Vincent; although it’s a sailing location, there’s no sail industry, so we have to be self-sufficient.”

Teaching boaters to be self-sufficient is also part of the Barefoot Charters operation. The company offers a program that it calls a mentor charter, where clients are on their own chartered bareboat, fully in command and control, but moving through the islands on itineraries that are like a flotilla, so there is always help nearby if needed.

“It’s for confidence-building the first time out,” Barnard explains. “You can say that you sailed a boat for a week. You got your first 50 miles. That’s the prerequisite a lot of the charter companies have.”

That kind of sailing—and all other types of bareboating—can be done aboard the diverse fleet of boats that Barefoot Charters offers. Unlike other companies that focus primarily on, say, only one type of catamaran, Barefoot Charters offers cats as well as monohulls that are built for different purposes.

Barnard says that the fleet breaks down into two general categories: performance boats and boats that offer luxury comfort at anchor. The idea is that different boats are meant to do different things, so bareboaters should be able to enjoy whichever aspect of cruising appeals to them most. Want to go fast on a broad reach? You’ll need a different type of boat than one packed with amenities for use at anchor. At Barefoot Charters, clients can choose either one.

“Our philosophy is to let the fast boats do what they do, and let the other boats be more comfortable,” Barnard says, adding that some clients come back year after year, chartering different styles of boats to learn what they like best. “I have owners here who learned to sail here, and they’re getting ready to go off cruising now that their kids are graduating.”

Barnard also says that Barefoot Charters takes its obligation to the natural environment seriously. Stewardship of St. Vincent and the Grenadines is a major part of the company’s philosophy, so much so that each charter guest receives a tree to plant while they’re in the archipelago.

“We give a casuarina or flamboyant tree—they’re hardy and can grow here,” Barnard says. “It’s to offset the emissions from the flight down to the islands.”

All in all, Barnard says, the experience that charter guests can have with Barefoot Charters is unlike any other. As just one example, there’s the island of Mustique, which often closes to the public because it’s a favorite haunt of the rich and famous. Here, as with other locations throughout St. Vincent and the Grenadines, clients of Barefoot Charters enjoy special privileges.

“We’ve been able to negotiate access for our clients to Mustique,” Barnard says. “They can go horseback riding, rent a Mule—the golf cart, not the donkeys—and go all around the island. The same is true at Palm Island, which is also exclusive. Our guests can access the hotel grounds and spa with a day pass.

“Because we know so many people around these islands,” he adds, “we have access to a lot of back doors.”

To book a vacation with Barefoot Yachts, visit barefootyachts.com.

The post Local Knowledge, Since 1902 appeared first on Cruising World.

We were tucked in behind the reef to windward of our anchorage in the Grenadines’ tiny isle of Petit St. Vincent aboard my old friend John Kretschmer’s Kaufman 47, Quetzal, and it had been a wild night indeed. 

In the breezy blasts of 30-knot gusts, the big superyacht just upwind of us had dragged anchor in the wee hours, and it was actually pretty comical watching its headlamped crew, their beams blinking like fireflies, scurrying about the deck trying to reset the damn thing. Come dawn, however, the unsettling view of the angry, whitecapped, deep-blue Caribbean Sea on the other side of that reef was a lot less humorous—and that’s precisely where we were bound. 

Ostensibly, if incongruously considering we were closer to the equator than the Labrador Sea, we were in the midst of a ­weeklong jaunt that Kretschmer had dubbed “the polar ­navigation summit.” He’d summarized it to me in an email a couple of months earlier:

“I have a great scheme and I’d love you to be part of it. I’ve become good friends with Mark Synnott, an amazing climber and writer. He was part of Alex Honnold’s team (when he climbed Yosemite’s El Capitan without ropes), and is featured in the movie Free Solo. But he’s done incredible first ascents on his own. He summited Mount Everest and wrote a great book about it, The Third Pole. Anyway, he’s totally into sailing, and is planning to do the Northwest Passage in his Stevens 47, Polar Sun, this summer. It’s part of a big National Geographic project and super cool. While Mark is tough as nails and really smart, he needs more sailing experience and certainly more navigation experience, especially high-latitude stuff. 

“I’ve also become friends with Porter Fox, ­another great writer. His latest book is called The Last Winter. It’s a beautifully written story of Northern travels and climate change, and is terrifying and poetic. His dad was Crozer Fox, who founded Able Marine and later sold it to Tom Morris. Anyway, he has a beautiful Whistler 32 and is contemplating a long voyage with his family but wants to sail aboard Quetzal for some experience, or at least spend some time aboard chatting about the ocean, climate, life, etc.  

“So, here’s the proposal. It’s crazy, but I was thinking of having you three join me aboard Q in Grenada, the perfect place for a polar voyaging and navigation summit meeting—straddling the 12th parallel! I am not sure what will unfold, but some thoughts on ice and navigation—Neptune knows you know a lot about that—some thoughts about serious passagemaking, some good trade-wind sailing, some drinking, some scheming, some talk of climate and of the North, just a boys’ polar navigation summit. It’s crazy but will be a great time. I kind of see this summit as a couple of old dudes like us sharing what we know, or think we know, with some ‘youngish’ bucks.”

As a veteran of the Northwest Passage, it appeared (­somewhat laughably) that I was the supposed “Arctic expert.” A superb writer and author himself, Kretschmer’s main business is running offshore training voyages aboard Quetzal, and he had a big ­summer voyage lined up to Greenland, Iceland, the Faroe Islands and Norway, hence his interest in getting into his own ­high-latitude mindset.

During the pandemic, with his usual alluring, distant destinations off-limits, Kretschmer had kept his operation going by conducting offshore trips to waypoints (not landfalls, but “sea falls”) he’d set a few hundred miles off the US Virgin Islands (which were still accessible) on round-trip instructional voyages of several days’ duration that he’d jokingly dubbed “reaches to nowhere.” He’d included a briefer one in the itinerary of our trip.

It all sounded great in his email, and we’d had a good time sailing north to Petit St. Vincent from our meeting point in Grenada. But after upping our own anchor and plowing into the staunch easterly trades for an hour or so—the offshore “­nowhere” segment of our summit now underway—I was ­beginning to rethink the entire enterprise. 

Still on the relatively shallow inshore shelf fronting the Grenadines, the motion on board was quick and violent, and for the first time in quite a while, my mouth was suddenly very dry, the rising sweat on my brow was cold and damp, and my tummy wasn’t feeling so swell. Which is when the rather ­unsettling question regarding my suddenly shaky sea legs came to me: Son, it’s been some time since you’ve been offshore, hasn’t it?

As I waited in the customs arrival line at the airport in Grenada, it was quite clear that the very fit cat ahead of me was none other than the accomplished Synnott, also recognizable from the jacket photo of his bestseller The Impossible Climb, an excellent book that combines simultaneous accounts of Honnold’s famous ascent with a memoir of Synnott’s own career on cliffs and mountains. We made our acquaintances and shared a cab to Quetzal’s slip at the Port Louis Marina in St. George’s, where we were greeted by our shipmates for the week: Kretschmer, Fox and Nathan Zahrt, Kretschmer’s young protégé who also conducts training trips on his Compass 47, Ultima.

Seeing as how we had gathered for polar discussions, the talk quickly turned to “the ice.” As in, we required some for the rum. And with that, the storytelling portion of the summit was underway. 

Kretschmer is a master, and had some wild COVID-era tales to spin about his recent travels; Synnott was equally entertaining. His climbing remembrances were pretty crazy—his yacht, Polar Sun, is named after the nearly 5,000-foot Polar Sun Spire on Baffin Island in Canada, on which he lived for 39 days while scaling its sheer face. But he had some fine and outlandish sailing stories too. 

The best was the time back in 2005 when he convinced National Geographic to sponsor a climbing expedition to remote Pitcairn Island in the southern Pacific Ocean, where many inhabitants are descendants of the HMS Bounty mutineers. This expedition required chartering a 66-foot yacht with a churlish Australian skipper to sail from French Polynesia with his team, providing several misadventures. Plus, the “climbing” on the shaky, volcanic peaks of Pitcairn was not exactly like summiting Everest; his editors weren’t exactly thrilled with the photos of everyone playing badminton on a reef. But the trip’s magical moment happened when he was standing a night watch by himself with the moon reflected in the shimmering Pacific Ocean. Bam! That’s when the sailing bug bit. And now, on his own boat, he was heading north, to Baffin and beyond.  

The next morning, understandably, our collective crew was not exactly moving with vigor or dispatch. But we rallied quickly. Once the coffee kicked in, we had sails to hoist. 

Kretschmer had laid out a course some 20-odd nautical miles to the north for the popular anchorage of Tyrell Bay on Carriacou; according to the notes on its noonsite.com webpage, the island was first settled by the indigenous Caribs, who called it Kayryouacou, meaning “land of the reefs.”

At the outset, ambling up the leeward coast of Grenada with a full main, staysail and genoa, we were sheltered from the easterly trades right up until clearing the hilly island’s north shore, at which point the easterlies commenced pumping. Time to shorten sail.

Kretschmer had promised us a bit of a sailing clinic, and our first lesson was his preferred style of reefing: bearing off to a comfortable reach at a wind angle of 110 degrees (as opposed to going head to wind, like many textbooks advise) and simply dropping the main and tucking in the reef(s). It was a gentle, no-drama maneuver, with the added benefit that we didn’t need to drop the genoa to accomplish it. Duly noted. 

After the long beat to Tyrell and a nice dinner with a dash of red wine, it seemed we’d be having a more restrained, mellow evening…right up until Kretschmer fatefully unscrewed the cap on a bottle of scotch. More stories, perhaps some even truthful, were dispensed. 

The next morning, we hired a cab for a nice tour of the island and to search for Kretschmer’s acquaintance who was building a schooner on a beach, the subject of the documentary Vanishing Sail. Alas, when we rolled down the hill to the purported building site, the hearty ship was complete and at anchor. However, we did chat up some locals constructing a very cool workboat nearby, then got underway for Petit St. Vincent, tucked around Carriacou’s northeast flank. Other than Kretschmer nearly drowning me in the early going on an exercise demonstrating tethers and man-overboard situations (see “Tethers and Other Matters” below), it was a pretty routine, ho-hum day.

Check that: It was a fantastic one, with absolutely killer ­sailing. Quetzal is named after the sacred birds of the Mayans, and is synonymous with the notion of freedom. “It’s one of the few animals that refuse to live in captivity,” said the skipper, another being who pretty much refuses the same. The boat was built in Taiwan in 1987, and Kretschmer has put in countless miles, in the six figures, aboard it. He keeps it in Bristol fashion; after all, it’s responsible not only for his livelihood, but also for his life. With its longish fin keel and skeg-hung rudder, it absolutely hauls the mail and is a flat-out gas to drive in staunch winds and rising waves, the helm always responsive and forgiving. 

I was happy to let the other guys steer until Kretschmer asked, “You want a go?” I couldn’t say no, my sole task for the next couple of hours or so keeping the telltales streaming aft while tacking to weather past Palm Island and Union Island and right into the paradisiacal isle of Petit St. Vincent, the steering as light and balanced as could be. Sorry, guys, but once I got hold of that wheel, there was no way I was going to relinquish it.

Nowhere:

That was our next destination. The original plan had been to reach offshore for 50 or 60 miles, heave-to for dinner, then jibe and enjoy another reach back to Grenada. But that had been predicated on an expected northeast flow to the trade winds. What we actually encountered was solid wind hammering directly from the east, which meant a more southerly heading toward Trinidad and, gulp, Venezuela, which these days is no place anybody wants to be. That meant closehauled sailing as we broke into open water. Which led to my brief, sweaty and, thankfully, passing moment on the verge of blowing lunch. 

Luckily, as we sailed into deeper water, I got back into the old familiar rhythm of being at sea. Like riding a bike, my friends, you never forget. 

And then we were ocean sailing. Conditions were squally and sporty, to say the least; those overnight 30-plus-knot gusts had not dissipated. But the cutter-rigged Quetzal was most certainly in her element, trucking along at an easy 7 knots under a shortened-sail combo of double-reefed main and staysail. Kretschmer kept an attentive eye on the compass. “I think we’re going to end up more south than we think,” he said prophetically.

He also was a nonstop fount of information: “On port tack, as we are now, all the loads are happening from left to right, so maintain your situational awareness. Right now, anything bad that happens will happen to starboard.

“When any sort of issue arises, bear off. When the wind angle changes from 60 degrees to 100 degrees, everything levels off and the loads are lessened across the board. Your whole world changes.

“If you detect water down below, tack. It has to be coming from the low side. It buys you time and will probably expose where the problem is. It can be hard to find where the ingress is.

“These are beautiful waves. Long, long waves. Feel that temperature drop a little bit? That means we’re about to get popped by a squall. Bear off a bit. We’ll drop down to 80-degrees apparent and sail right around it.”

To get my attention at one point when I was driving, Kretschmer suddenly appeared from below and tossed something over the side. “Man overboard!” he cried. We’d practiced the old quick-stop maneuver the day before, after I’d sputtered back aboard following the tether drill, and I once again immediately put the bow head to wind, jibed, and luffed up right next to it. To be honest, I was surprised it worked as well in the open sea. We heaved-to, and Kretschmer pointed out the defined slick to weather, settling the seas as Quetzal calmly bobbed among them. Yet another set of experiences to etch in the memory bank.

A pretty sunset punctuated the eventful day, and with no moon, at roughly 11 degrees north, the Southern Cross and North Star both magically appeared, in all their ­celestial glory. It was indescribably beautiful. Kretschmer served up a fantastic chicken dinner that had been percolating all afternoon in the pressure cooker. Life was damn good. 

At midnight, we spun the boat around back ­toward Grenada, some 45 nautical miles from our real ­destination: Prickly Bay on the island’s southeastern shore, a well-known hangout for cruisers from near and far. 

The squalls kept coming. Kretschmer and I stood the first watch of the new day, to 0300, shooting the breeze while dodging the weather. In an offhand remark, he mentioned that he’d conducted 153 training voyages on Quetzal. 

Make that 154, I thought. 

We dropped Quetzal’s hook at precisely 0730 after one final rip-snorter of a dawn squall, which I had the honor of negotiating. The resulting rainbow right as the anchor grabbed made for a storybook ending to our unique summit.  

I’d successfully been “nowhere” with a great group of characters. And now I want to go back. 

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large. For more info on John Kretschmer’s books, seminars and voyages, see his website. To track Mark Synnott’s voyage aboard Polar Sun, visit his website.

Tethers and Other Matters

A professional sailor and writer who has knocked off seven sailing books in his “spare time,” John Kretschmer has nearly 400,000 offshore miles in his wake, including 26 trans-Atlantic crossings. Along the way, he’s come to many conclusions and beliefs about “safety and seamanship,” which he says equate to one and the same. Near the top of that list are tethers—the leashes that connect one from a harness or life jacket to a jackline, with the vested goal of keeping one aboard and alive—and the right and wrong ways to employ them.  

As he would on a dedicated training voyage, Kretschmer tugged on an inflatable life jacket and reviewed its operation, including manual inflation. He then made his way toward the bow, reciting the key points as he went: Always go forward on the high side of the boat. Keep your center of effort low. Take your time; in rough weather, when moving to the mast, two settled minutes is better than 10 frantic seconds. If you’re feeling shaky, sit down and regroup. Don’t hook into the lifelines; think of them as an electric fence. Do not clip into the jackline continuously; instead, clip and unclip, moving purposely to where you’re going, and then clip in. And above all else, do not use a tether too long, one that will allow you to go into the drink if you go overboard. If you do, make sure the tether has a dedicated quick-release fitting, and that you know how to use it.

To get his point across, Kretschmer gave us all too-long tethers and sent us over the side. Time for a drill.

Mark Synnott was first, his vest inflating on ­contact with the water. Being the athlete and climber that he is, as the boat bobbed along, not making way, he hauled himself back aboard. But Kretschmer’s point wasn’t about what happens when a boat is standing still; it was about when it’s underway, as it would be in any oceangoing situation. Synnott jumped back in, and Kretschmer instructed Nathan Zahrt, at the wheel, to put it in gear and throttle up: 1 knot, 2 knots, 3. And it was suddenly very clear that movement through the water introduced a whole new dynamic. At 4 knots, Synnott had had more than enough, pulled the quick-­release shackle, and swam back to the boat. Porter Fox was next, repeating the sequence.

Then it was my turn. I consider myself a good ocean swimmer and a competent seaman. I like to think that I know what’s up when I’m sailing and when I’m in the water. But once in the sea, at 2 knots at the end of the tether, I was pretty uncomfortable. At 3, I felt the first surge of panic. At 4, I was underwater and thrashing, signaling that I was in distress just before pulling the rip cord. What the hell would it be like being dragged at 5 or 6 knots, as you would be on any actual passage if you tumbled overboard? The answer was clear and unnerving. 

Kretschmer’s point was made. Short tethers. Considered movements. And the most important lesson of all: Don’t go over the bloody side in the first place. 

The post The Sail to Nowhere appeared first on Cruising World.

John and I have been sailing our 50-foot cutter-rigged sloop, Atea, through the Pacific, Asia and the Indian Ocean for the better part of 10 years with our two children, Braca and Ayla. We had two choices when considering our route back into the Pacific from the Atlantic: south through Patagonia, or north through the Panama Canal. 

While the remote beauty of Chile was appealing, we’d dragged our kids around the globe with very little same-age companionship, and we felt it was time to show them that they weren’t the only children living on boats. We knew that there was no better place to demonstrate this than the Caribbean. We chose the northern route from Africa, bound for party central. 

We arrived in the West Indies in early 2021, amid the ­pandemic. We were aware that lengthy quarantine periods and PCR tests would restrict our movement through the islands, and we knew that far fewer boats would be traveling this year. Protocols were in place to enable movement throughout the islands. We needed to find a “bubble”—somewhere we could island-hop without having to test into each island. 

An ideal time to travel

We settled on St. Vincent and the Grenadines, a group of 32 islands spread across 60 miles in the southern Caribbean Sea, where we could travel freely. All we needed to do was drop $1,000 on PCR tests and endure a two-week quarantine.

In fact, 2021 was the perfect time to visit the Grenadines. Traveling throughout the Caribbean for work in the 1970s, my father described the Grenadines as a “warm, fuzzy puppy,” full of friendly people in a relaxed atmosphere. Those same islands are now swamped by cruise ships and charter boats in high season, when bays are overcrowded with tourists. But because of COVID, those crowds had disappeared. 

The 350 cruising boats that used to lay fender to fender in Bequia were reduced to a dozen. The frenzy of the Tobago Cays was a quiet oasis. As we nudged into spots a boat length from the beach, I appreciated that I was not sitting in the back of a pack of yachts, squinting through the traffic jam for a view. The odd fisherman offered a few fish from his hold, and the occasional fruit seller came by. That palm-licking puppy had returned. 

A rare opportunity

St. Vincent and the Grenadines offers everything from large ­volcanic islands to small sandy cays with a range of activities. There are seven inhabited islands, and of those, three have infrastructure for boat maintenance, provisioning and shoreside services. The main island of St. Vincent is the big brother, supporting the other islands with an air of indifference. Bequia, the little sister, is upmarket and sassy, drawing attention with flare and fancy ways. Union, the baby, sits quietly in a southern corner, modest and unassuming. The remaining five inhabited islands—Mayreau, Canouan, Mustique, Petit St. Vincent and Palm Island—have a much smaller population but no less character. 

But the Grenadines is more than just a place. It is an opportunity. 

We spent two months traveling up and down the island chain. The reduced tourism meant little harassment, empty beaches, low-key venues and a relaxed island vibe. The fact that all the islands lie in such close proximity means you can hop without committing to a route plan. The trade winds are always blowing, and the temperature is always 82 degrees Fahrenheit. Days are filled with bright blue skies, and nights are a blanket of gentle warmth. 

The diversity of each island means you can choose from small coral atolls or lush mountainous islands, from isolated coves to populated villages. You can feast on cheap street food or lavish five-star meals. You can sip flower-adorned cocktails at scenic lookouts or guzzle Hairoun beer in a backstreet bar. 

And you can do this all in your own time. At 12.5 degrees to 13.5 degrees north, technically speaking, the Grenadines lies within the hurricane belt as defined by most insurance agencies. Lying at the southern end of the Lesser Antilles, the island chain is on the edge of most hurricane activity, and its proximity to Grenada means a recognized hurricane hole is only a day’s sail away.

Each island has its own character. We saw the beautiful black volcanic shores of St. Vincent, and traveled inland to hike up steep, forested mountains and down lush, winding valleys to swim in freshwater pools fed by cascading waterfalls. In Bequia, we wandered through tropical gardens, enjoyed meals at a ­century-old plantation house, and drank cocktails at a floating bar. We explored the dilapidated ruins of a cobblestone compound, and spent our days swimming from boat to beach and diving the excellent reefs around the bay. 

We relaxed on the soft, white sandy beaches of the Tobago Cays, searched for small tortoises and large iguanas in the bush, and looked for turtles, rays, and sharks on the reef. We ate lobsters fresh off the barbecue, and stoked bonfires and drank rum with the ghost of Jack Sparrow. 

In Union, we spent our days kitesurfing, driving our kids around on mono-skis, and hiking up rocky peaks for views of the surrounding islands and our anchorage below. In Canouan, we hung out in a first-class marina, and in Mayreau, we strolled through small villages and picked seasonal fruits from heavily laden trees. We cracked coconuts and carved out the meat, sticking them in the fire before washing them in the sea, following the local custom. 

Best of all, we found what we came to the Caribbean in search of: other kids. We met more kids on boats in the Caribbean in half a season than we came across during all our years of travel combined. In the Caribbean, every other boat has a kid bouncing on a trampoline or swinging from the halyards. The VHF radio is a chatter of young voices and invitations for beach activities, game dates and sleepovers. Home schooling, typically a struggle of wills, is now whipped through without complaint. Our boat is either a hive of loud, manic bodies or a silent sanctuary. When it comes to cruising families, we fell into the vortex when entering the Caribbean. It’s the best kind of maelstrom I can think of. 

When looking back at our decision to head for the Caribbean this year, I know that it was the right one for us. This was a special time to see the islands as they were in my parents’ years—to see the puppy in the dog. 

Kia Koropp and her husband, John Daubeny, have been cruising the world over the past 11 years with their two children (ages 8 and 10) aboard their steel cutter-rigged sloop, Atea.

The post The Year of the Puppy appeared first on Cruising World.

My friend Larry Tyler and I have known each other and sailed the Caribbean together for years. Larry has been chartering The Dove, his 54-foot Bill Crealock-designed yacht, in the islands for 30 seasons. So he was the natural person to ask perhaps a not-so-simple question: What are your favorite places to drop the hook in the Caribbean?

“What criteria do we use?” he wondered. “What defines a desirable anchorage?”

“I want clear water for swimming, and to see the sunset each evening,” I said.

He took that simple yardstick and ran with it. “It must be unspoiled, a near-empty place,” he added. “With good holding ground and access ashore. My charter guests want it calm, with no swell. A nice local or French restaurant ashore is always a must. Certainly, no bugs and good snorkeling.”

“A small village with a farmers market, and trails for hiking ,” I countered. With these conditions in mind, we set about drawing up our lists. Mine included three coves in the British Virgin Islands. Larry began in Anguilla. We both ended up in Grenada, at the southern end of the chain.

“Anse Colombier on St. Barts is my ideal,” Larry said. “No roads, no houses, no bars, no restaurants, a great beach and hiking trails. And the town Gustavia, with a patisserie, is a 2-mile dinghy ride away.”

“Five Island Bay and English Harbor on Antigua are my favorites,” I replied. Then again, there’s Deshaies and Les Saints on Guadeloupe, and Saint-Pierre and Sainte-Anne on Martinique. Choices, choices! We both agreed that the anchorage beneath the Pitons on St. Lucia is memorable. I liked Bequia, though Larry insisted it’s getting too popular. He preferred Cumberland Bay on St. Vincent and Chatham Bay on Union Island (where he and his mate, Justina, spent much of last year during lockdown).

I must say, I could spend a month in any one of these anchorages. But when push came to shove, Larry and I jotted down our notes on eight great, specific Caribbean anchorages. You can’t go wrong with any of them.

Five Island Bay, Antigua

Larry and I sailed The Dove into Five Island Bay late one night in November 2019—the conclusion to a three-week delivery from Maine. When I awoke the next morning, the sun was peeking over a series of small hills that encircles this large, open bay. We were the only boat anchored in paradise.

If you get in close enough to the exclusive Hermitage Resort, you might pick up its free Wi-Fi. Evenings, the jazz singer at the resort will lull you to sleep, then it goes quiet by 10 p.m. Half a dozen coves and beaches encircle the bay, but few boats anchor there. I’ve never seen more than five at a given time.

There, then, is solitude. But a mere 12-minute dinghy ride brings you into Jolly Harbor, an extensive marine complex that’s more Fort Lauderdale than Caribbean. There’s a marina there, a boatyard, fuel dock, restaurants, and the best supermarket on the island. There are rental cars, a marine chandlery and a pharmacy, and you can clear in and out there. Pretty much all the bases are covered.

English Harbour, Antigua

There’s only so much solitude a sailor can take before needing to get back to civilization. An hour away from Five Islands is one of sailing’s great meccas: Falmouth and English harbours. That fall, before the pandemic hit, we anchored The Dove off Pigeon Beach. Falmouth is a large harbor with lots of room. Most everything you need can be found in the village of English Harbour: fuel and water, a chandlery, a sailmaker, a repair yard. A lone farmer has his stand by the dinghy dock; the laundry is directly across the street. The Seabreeze Cafe, next to the Yacht Club, has Wi-Fi, and restaurants abound in this village devoted to sailing.

Huge mega-yachts, liveaboard cruising boats, dinghies, bareboat charter yachts, paddleboarders, and everything else that floats come and go all day long. There’s always something going on there: the Charter Yacht Show, the Classic Yacht Regatta, Antigua Sailing Week, a lone rower paddling in having just crossed the Atlantic. As I said: whatever floats.

It’s a short walk to Nelson’s Dockyard and a step back into the 1700s. This restored British naval base has a museum, bakery, rum locker and the famous Admiral’s Inn. Yachts are docked stern to, with more riding at anchor out in Freeman Bay. Heading up to Shirley’s Heights for the sunset ritual—a rum punch, a steel band and a view—is well worth the 30-minute hike.

Deshaies, Guadeloupe

It’s 48 nautical miles of open-ocean sailing from Antigua across the waters to the lee of Guadeloupe and Deshaies, a small harbor tucked in between two tall cliffs. I could spend weeks there—and in fact, I have. It’s there you clear into France. The customs and immigration “office” is a computer inside La Pelican Boutique. This small, one-street village is not on the cruise-ship ports or the tourists’ bus excursions. It’s a residential town with three small groceries stores and the best tomatoes and pineapples I’ve tasted. The patisserie opposite the dingy dock has fresh croissants and baguettes every morning (though your coffee comes out of a coin-operated machine). There are a few boutiques, an ATM, three dive operators, and rental cars, but no yacht services or supplies. Wi-Fi is available at Le Madras, a thatched-roof cafe right on the beach.

Just around the corner is a mile-long sandy beach. Take the dinghy around and anchor outside the break, or walk over on marked trails, around or up over the cliff. An hour south is the Cousteau Underwater Park, ideal for snorkeling and scuba diving. A hiking trail follows a stream that runs down from the mountains, tumbling over boulders and splashing into pools just right for a swim. A mile south of the village is an extensive botanical garden park. My family and I spent half a day there last year.

The holding ground in the harbor at Deshaies is not great, so make sure your anchor is well-set. The wind can occasionally come blasting through the mountain valleys. An East Coast storm will send swells into Deshaies, and conditions will become uncomfortable and dangerous. I recently had to up-anchor and escape those swells. It must be said: Paradise often comes with her blemishes.

South of Guadeloupe: Les Saintes

Les Saintes is a cluster of small islands with a single village, 6 miles south of Guadeloupe. Last year, we found a vacant anchorage between Tête Rouge and Pain de Sucre, in 30 feet of clear water. There are other anchorages among these isles, but the closer into the village of Bourg des Saintes, the more crowded it becomes. Our solitude meant a 10-minute dinghy ride into town—nothing too onerous. Ashore, the village hadn’t changed since I was there 20 years prior.

Here’s Larry’s take: “Mornings, we sit at a bakery on the beach with coffee and croissants, watching the village wake up. On my last visit, French schoolchildren, in uniforms, scampered past as shopkeepers swept the pavement in front of their stores, their colorful fabrics and local artworks spilling onto the sidewalks. We had the entire village to ourselves. Then, the first of a dozen ferry boats arrived at the town pier to disgorge hundreds of tourists from the mainland. The village was now abuzz, the single street packed. There are electric mopeds and bikes to rent, restaurants galore from which to choose, roads and paths to walk, beaches to visit. Fort Napoleon is a short hike away. But we had to mind those daredevil motocross kids as they zipped past!

“The crowd quickly thinned out, heading to the beaches to the south and east. This went on all morning, with the reverse in the afternoon. By tea time, we again had the place to ourselves.”

Sainte-Pierre, Martinique

It’s 70 nautical miles from Les Saintes down to Sainte-Pierre on Martinique. In other words, it’s an all-day sail with strong winds and higher seas between the islands. That said, you can stop midway for a few days of respite in the town of Portsmouth, on Dominica.

On our last visit to Sainte-Pierre, we furled the sails and motored into the open roadstead along the port’s narrow beach. The only suitable anchorage is a narrow shelf that extends less than 500 feet from shore. Depths fall off quickly to 1,000 feet. If you can’t find a spot there, try a bit farther south, under the monument. Ashore, we found the restaurant we dined at 10 years ago, and the family tucked in for dinner. This town is extremely French and not touristy.

We rented a car and drove into the mountains to explore. We found a deserted and overgrown turnoff. The kids scampered down the slope to a cascading stream, and my wife, Julie, and I followed. There, we found small waterfalls, deep pools, smooth boulders, and spillways. We spent two hours slipping and sliding, swimming and floating in the cool pools. No one else was around.

Sainte-Pierre has a volcanic history, and there’s a museum to visit; the streets are lined with shops; and a large open market next to the dinghy dock has fresh local fruits and veggies. We filled our basket.

The cultural and economic differences between the French islands and their other Caribbean counterparts is striking. Guadeloupe and Martinique are large isles, with modern infrastructure, excellent highways and real cities. You could be on the Cote d’Azur. By contrast, while the former English colonies were left to fend for themselves, the country of France still holds claim to their islands, and spends lavishly on their tropical offspring…to the lament of the French people stuck back home.

Cumberland Bay, St. Vincent

Halfway down the west coast of St. Vincent is a small cove, Cumberland Bay. “This is my favorite anchorage,” said Larry’s mate, Justine. “It’s the real Caribbean. You can smell the jungle.”

“There are no tourists, no cruise ships, and room for just a few boats,” Larry seconded. “You have to tie off astern to a coconut tree on the beach. There are no streets, stores or shops, but there are a few barbecue shacks and restaurants on the beach. The fishermen there are very nice, and they are eager to meet you and talk—and of course, sell you fish! You can buy bananas, coconuts and vegetables from local farmers, and some of the men will organize a pig roast for you, right on the beach.”

Trails lead up into the mountains, the two main villages are a mile inland, and there’s a cricket pitch and sports field next door. Cricket is a major sport on many of the former English islands. Get to know your wickets.

Union Island, the Grenadines

Larry and Justine spent the first 10 months of the pandemic lockdown in the Grenadines, a string of small islands that includes Bequia, Mustique, Canouan, Mayreau, Union and the Tobago Cays. It was early April 2020 when they arrived at Union Island—the last yacht allowed into the territory.

“We anchored in Chatham Bay for months and months,” Larry told me. “It’s on the west side of Union, and like Cumberland, it’s the real Caribbean. There are no stores, just a dirt road leading over the hill to town. There are a few cottages for the fishermen who live there, and in good times, a couple of fish shacks serve up barbecued fish, chicken and lobster.”

“The fishermen came by every few days to sell us tuna, red snapper, lobsters,” Justine continued. “Ashore, there are hiking trails, the snorkeling is good, the water clear and clean. We got to know a fisherman and his wife who live on the beach. Larry helped them wire up a solar cell so they could charge their cellphone. There’s no electricity there! They invited us to spend Christmas with them, which we did.”

Bequia Island and Port Elizabeth

The Dove and two dozen other liveaboard yachts made Bequia home for much of the pandemic year. The harbor of Port Elizabeth and its small town had everything they needed: stores, an open fish and produce market, a chandlery, plus a few restaurants. They hiked the island, explored the beaches, snorkeled on the reefs, and worked on the boat. “The people were very happy to see us,” Justine said. “There was a potluck dinner somewhere each week for the cruising community.”

So there’s our shared list, which begs yet another question: Which is the best? It’s hard for me to choose a favorite Caribbean anchorage. I like them all, each for a different reason: shopping, snorkeling, hiking trails, waterfalls, and either the solitude or the shoreside community. It’s the “going back” to see each again that I like and appreciate. It’s like a good book, painting or photograph—you see so much more on each repeated visit. It might not be the island that has changed; maybe it’s me.

The important things are these: The deep blue Caribbean Sea spreads out before the bow; the mast and mainsail tower into a blue sky above; the green mountains of the next island rise up from the horizon. I’m back in the Caribbean, and that’s what matters.

David H. Lyman is a professional ­photographer, author and frequent contributor to CW. For more on Larry and Justine, and their travels on The Dove, visit their website, thedove88.com.

Planning Your Caribbean Escape

As vaccinations ramp up, more and more islands will hopefully be open to accepting guests, those arriving on planes and by yacht. Now is the time to begin researching your options, be it on your own boat, chartering a bareboat, or on a crewed charter yacht with a skipper and chef.

The eastern Caribbean has hundreds of islands in a 500-­nautical- mile arc, from the Virgin Islands down to Grenada. It is possible, even desirable, to explore the entire eastern Caribbean in a single winter season; but then again, you could stretch it into a lifetime. After all, you’ll want to linger in each anchorage for a week or two, even a month. A one-week charter might include an island or two, and you can do the BVI in two weeks. But the last thing you want to do down there is rush around. Here are what I consider eight groups of islands, each worth a full two weeks of exploration:

• The Virgin Islands: US and British
• Anguilla, St. Martin and St. Barts
• Antigua: with 365 beaches and two dozen anchorages
• The big French islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique
• Dominica: Ashore is worth a few days
• St. Lucia and St. Vincent
• The Grenadines: Bequia down to Union Island, including the Tobago Cays
• Grenada and Carriacou

You can go anytime, but the best weather is late fall and late winter into spring, when the weather is more settled and the bareboat charter rates come down. To begin planning, you’ll need Chris Doyle’s cruising guides to the Windward and Leeward islands (doyleguides.com). Doyle updates his guides yearly with detailed information on shoreside amenities, hikes, shops and services.

In the old days, before Doyle and the internet, there was ­legendary Caribbean cruiser Don Street’s Cruising Guide to the Lesser Antilles. You can still find used copies online. My copy is from 2000, but as Street would say, “The rocks are still in the same place.” Street’s guide is for serious sailors and navigators, and includes compass bearings on approaches to all anchorages (remember, this was before GPS and chart plotters). If you are looking for secluded anchorages, Street has them, but they are often difficult to enter. Street, now in his 90s, is still racing sailboats in Ireland. His website is full of good stories and advice (street-iolaire.com).

Finally, download the Navionics app, then download the individual charts for the entire island chain (navionics.com). This app provides three valuable tools: You can zoom in and view detailed charts of each anchorage; there are notes and recommendations from ActiveCaptain cruisers who have been there and have the latest updates; and the app has a tool to measure distances between waypoints, and to estimate course and distance for route planning.

The post What are the Best Anchorages in the Caribbean? appeared first on Cruising World.

Horizon Yacht Charters’ three bases in the Caribbean islands are welcoming guests for the charter season. While their bases in Grenada and St. Vincent and the Grenadines have been open to tourists for some time now, the base in the British Virgin Islands just opened on December 1.

Grenada

Open since July, Horizon Yacht Charters in Grenada requires visitors to present a negative PCR test taken within seven days of travel, health declaration forms and waivers, and download the Ronatrac mobile app for contact tracing. Forms can be found at covid19.gov.gd. Horizon’s base is located at the True Blue Bay Boutique Resort, which is on the list of Pure Safe Accommodations. More information can be found at puregrenada.com. Visitors must quarantine at the hotel for the first seven days and then have the option to get a PCR test to move about the island if found negative.

St. Vincent and the Grenadines

Horizon’s base at St. Vincent and the Grenadines, also open since July, requires travelers to complete a pre-arrival form, arrive with a negative Covid-19 test completed within seven days before arrival, must be retested upon arrival in St. Vincent and quarantine for five days in their hotel. With a negative test result, guests can then start their sailing charter but must be monitored by SVG Arrivals for up to 9 days. Horizon’s base is located at the Blue Lagoon Hotel & Marina, which is on the list of approved accommodations for Quarantine. Forms for visitors can be found online.

“Throughout the entire Covid-19 pandemic, we have been working closely with our guests, providing them with up to date information and helping them to reschedule charters when necessary and without penalty,” states James Pascall, director of Horizon in Grenada and St. Vincent.

British Virgin Islands

Visitors to the Horizon base at the British Virgin Islands after December 1, 2020, requires proof of negative COVID-19 PCR test taken within 5 days before the day of travel, proof of medical coverage, and must complete a travel declaration and upload test results before boarding flight.  Visitors must also wear a tracking bracelet, use approved transportation, and quarantine for 4 days on their yacht or hotel  . You can find all of the information here.

“Planning a sailing charter to the Caribbean islands is one of the safest ways to travel during the pandemic,” said Andrew Thompson, Director of Horizon Yacht Charters. “We are excited to welcome our charter guests and know that they will experience the most amazing time sailing these islands. The first four days of quarantine can be spent sailing around the islands to many designated anchorages, so clients can also enjoy swimming and snorkeling from their pre-provisioned and prepared yachts. After their negative 4th day test (testing stations will be set up around all the islands), clients are free to sail and go ashore wherever they wish.”

Having arrived in the BVI in the mid-80s, Sylvia Driver, Director of Horizon Yacht Charters said “I have never seen so much marine life, dolphins, and turtles. Our environment has benefitted from the tourism break, and it’s looking even more beautiful wherever you go. Now truly is the best time to experience the underwater wonders of the BVI.”

The post Sail with Horizon this Winter in the Caribbean appeared first on Cruising World.

Ever since publishing A Cruising Guide to the Lesser Antilles in 1966, I have been telling anyone who would listen that summer is the best time of year to be cruising in the Grenadines. During June and July, and often into August, the wind blows 10 to 15 knots day after day, seldom less and seldom more. Yes, it’s hurricane season, but if a tropical storm is forecast to head toward the southern end of the Caribbean, just sail south to Trinidad. And don’t stop in overcrowded Chaguaramas. Press on south to Pointe-a-Pierre at 10 degrees north, where you will be well south of the effects of any hurricane.

At any time of year, I recommend avoiding the overrated, overcrowded and expensive Tobago Cays. Other spots in the central Grenadines are just as spectacular, and nobody will force you to pick up a mooring. You might be alone in some anchorages or, perhaps, have the company of one or two other boats.

Boats heading south from St. Lucia or St. Vincent, whether on charter or bound for summer quarters at a lower latitude, will surely stop in Bequia. From there, skip Mustique and sail to Canouan. In the summer, the groundswell from the north isn’t a problem in Charlestown Bay, where the best anchorage is in the northeast corner by the coast-guard dock. If you’re looking for more of a challenge, the windward side of Canouan has a couple of anchorages.

Eastern Canouan

While I was cruising and exploring the central Grenadines in February 2015 with Geoff Curtain on Ariel, his Olympic 48 ketch, we were using the Imray-Iolaire B31 chart and discovered that it had errors, as do all the charts for the eastern side of Canouan. We threaded our way through the coral heads in Riley Bay, on the southwest corner of the island, and anchored at the south end of Windward Bay in 9 feet (shown as 2.7 meters on Imray-Iolaire charts). Windward Bay is 1 mile long and protected by a barrier reef, so there’s often a small chop in there but nothing more. We left the mizzen up to hold our bow into the wind because the sea comes over the reef and exits through the southern entrance, creating a southerly current 24 hours a day. We saw three small, perfect white-sand beaches that can only be reached by dinghy — the shore behind them is heavily overgrown and rises so steeply as to be impassable.

Contrary to the chart soundings, we found a full 8 feet (2.4 meters) of depth all the way to the north end of Windward Bay and also in Carenage Bay. The rock shown in Carenage Bay does not exist. (These and other corrections are on the 2015 edition of the chart.) There appears to be a channel, with a depth I estimated at 5 feet (1.5 meters), through the reef at Point de Jour at the north end of the bay, but I wouldn’t recommend using it.

Windward Mayreau

Another great anchorage is Windward Bay on Mayreau. The entrance is easy, but use eyeball navigation in good light, not your chart plotter. There is ample water and swinging room — after we anchored in Windward Bay, a 150-foot ketch came in and anchored in the upper bay. The crew loaded the guests into an RIB, exited Windward Bay through the 6-foot-deep channel in the northeast corner and took them around the island to the resort at Salt Whistle Bay. Geoff and I went ashore, walked across the low land and hitched a ride up the hill to the Catholic church, with its magnificent view. Below in Windward Bay, three boats were swinging on their own anchors. To windward, 50 or so boats in the Tobago Cays were swinging on moorings, paying fees to the park rangers and being bothered by boat boys trying to sell them stuff. We walked down the hill past numerous bars and restaurants until we found a quiet bar with no music, where we sat, admired the scenery, and enjoyed the beer and quiet conversation.

Kristian Nygard, of Nomad, tells me a sailor skilled at eyeball navigation can get into a good little anchorage tucked up behind its own reef in Petit Tabac, which is protected from seas by Worlds End Reef directly to windward. He reports 8 feet (2.4 meters) just outside and 6 feet (1.8 meters) inside. Here, you are guaranteed to be alone because two boats cannot fit into the anchorage, and you are within RIB distance — less than half a mile in semi-sheltered water — of Worlds End Reef, with its superb diving. If you dive here, or in other exposed areas, do so on a weather-going, or east-flowing, tide. (See the tides and currents sidebar.)

Petit Tabac is outside and southeast of Horseshoe Reef, which protects the Tobago Cays. While it is part of the Tobago Cays Marine Park, there are no mooring balls, and I very much doubt the park rangers will make the rough 1-mile journey out to Petit Tabac to collect their fees.

Sheltered Petit St. Vincent

Heading south from Petit Tabac, leave Palm Island to starboard, pass between the sand islets Mopion and Punaise, and head east into another wonderful sheltered anchorage on the north side of Petit St. Vincent, aka PSV. In the 1970s, this was a favorite anchorage of charter captains who wanted their parties to enjoy the privacy and good diving. You can go ashore on PSV, but on the beach only. The owners do not like sailors wandering around on their very private island, but public access to beaches — the queen’s chain — is a relic of British dominion.

From PSV, sail north to Clifton, Union Island, to check out of St. Vincent waters, then south to Tyrell Bay, Carriacou, to check into Grenadian waters. The next day, explore the south coast of Carriacou, but don’t set out too early. Before 1100, the sun is too low in the east for you to navigate safely by eyeball when heading east along the south coast of Carriacou (or of any of these islands).

Carriacou’s Anchorages

Head southwest from Tyrell Bay 1.2 miles, round Southwest Point, and head east 4.5 miles along the south coast of Carriacou to Kendeace Point, the south entrance to Grand Bay. If you have time, you can stop along the way and anchor for the day and night off White Island. Andy Smelt, a sailmaker who has cruised the area for 30 years, recommends anchoring north of the island. He also says you can anchor north of Saline Island, but use a Bahamian moor there because the ­current reverses itself.

If you are good at eyeball navigation, the light is good, the wind is north of east, and you have the instinct to explore, take a look at an anchorage in Great Breteche Bay northwest of Dumfries Point. This is another anchorage that Nygard tested.

Kendeace Point marks the entrance to 4 miles of water sheltered by a barrier reef. Enter Grand Bay, tuck up behind the reef to anchor and enjoy some excellent diving. In the 1960s, Jim Squire would anchor the 55-foot steel schooner Te Hongi, which drew 7.5 feet, so close to the reef here that his charter parties would swim directly from the yacht to the reef without Jim having to launch the dinghy. (In those days, everyone carried dinghies on deck rather than towing them.) Jim would stay for two days, diving for lobsters and serving them to his charter guests for lunch and dinner. Grand Bay, Jew Bay and Watering Bay are protected by a 4-mile-long barrier reef. Sailing north, proceed with caution off Point St. Hilaire if you draw over 6 feet (1.8 meters). Eyeball your way by the point via the deepest water toward the deeper water farther north, but watch for the 2-foot (0.6-meter) spot in the south end of Watering Bay. Go slowly. The bottom is sand; if you stop, you are not aground, you are parked, and you will come off at high tide. (See the back of Imray-Iolaire B31, 2015 edition, for detailed piloting notes, including the ranges used by locals, provided by Kristian Nygard, David Goldhill, and Rex, a local fisherman.)

In Windward Bay, tuck up behind Crab Island, where the late Haze Richardson, the former owner of PSV and a registered preacher, conducted weddings. Then go ashore to the settlement at Windward where, with luck, you’ll see a local sloop being built or repaired. You might also be able to buy some Jack Iron rum, which has such a high alcohol content that ice cubes sink in it.

Remember to take into account that the sea level in the Caribbean in June and July is usually about 18 inches lower than it is the rest of the year. David Goldhill, who has lived on the windward side of Carriacou and sailed Grand, Jew and Windward bays since 1984, reports that a tidal anomaly occurs inside the reef at spring tides coincident with the spring and fall equinoxes. At these times, the tidal range inside the reef can be as much as 3 feet.

Grenada South and East

Since you have already cleared into Grenadian waters, when you have finished your stay in Windward Bay, head south down the windward coast of Grenada on a glorious beam or broad reach, depending on the wind. Continue south on port tack until you can jibe over to starboard and approach the entrance to Woburn Bay (also known as Clarkes Court Bay) on a northwesterly course. Once you arrive within a mile of Calivigny Island, forget about your chart plotter and eyeball your way into the harbor. Do not trust, or become confused by, the buoyage on the south coast of Grenada. Anchor in Woburn Bay and explore the area by dinghy. Go west to the Hog Island anchorage and Mount Hartman Bay, or east, passing between Calivigny Point and Calivigny Island to visit Le Phare Bleu Marina, and on to Egmont Harbour. From your anchorage in Woburn Bay, you can visit five restaurants and a dozen different bars by dinghy. From Woburn, at the head of the bay, there is good bus ­service to St. George’s.

From Grenada, North

If you are in Grenada waiting out hurricane season, instead of sitting in the same spot until you are aground on your own coffee grounds, take advantage of the fair winds and head north to Carriacou for a change of pace. This is a good time of year to explore the east coast of Grenada along the way.

At 84, I am still exploring, and in November 2014, I chartered a dive boat. Armed with a handheld depth sounder, I went in search of new anchorages on the south coast of Grenada and checked on the status of others. As a result, I made several corrections to Imray-Iolaire Chart B32. Until the chart is reprinted, those corrections are posted on the Imray website.

A new anchorage I discovered is south of Great Bacolet Point, only 10 miles, or a morning’s sail, from Clarkes Court and Woburn Bay. From St. David’s Harbour it’s only 6 sailing miles.

Since in summer the wind will usually be south of east, take off from Clarkes Court Bay early, about 0700, and stand out on port tack for 3 miles, then tack back. Enter from the southeast, heading northwest. If a swell is running, the 8.8-foot (2.7-meter) shoal on the north side of the entrance course will be breaking. If the swell is not breaking, it will hump up over the shoal and will be easy for an eyeball navigator to spot. The harbor shoals from 30 feet (9 meters) to 20, then to 10 in the inner harbor, where it will be calm.

The next day, take a short port tack out to sea until you can clear Great Bacolet Point on starboard tack. From Great Bacolet Point, it is a close reach 3 miles north to Grenville or 10 miles to Sandy Island off the northeast corner of Grenada.

Grenville is not as difficult to enter as sailors think. The sea buoy is there, and although the turquoise house marked on the chart has been repainted and is hard to spot, the directions on the back of Imray-Iolaire B32 will pilot you between the two coral heads in the outer channel and in toward Luffing Channel.

The anchorage in Grenville is sheltered from the sea but not from the wind. It is a great place to windsurf or kitesurf, or just swim and relax. You can rent a car or hire a taxi to visit the Belmont plantation and River Antoine Rum Distillery, where cane is crushed by a water wheel, and then on to the chocolate factory.

Alternatively, it is only 10 miles on a close-reach course from Great Bacolet Point to Sandy Island. In the late 1950s, developers began construction of a resort on this beautiful uninhabited island. Large buildings were built, but the project died. Anchor on a Bahamian moor here, as there is a reversing tide.

For the passage to Carriacou, calculate when there will be a weather-going tide and take advantage of it so you don’t get set to leeward of the island. It’s 15 miles from Sandy Island to White Island, or 17 miles to Kendeace Point. With the weather-­going tide, you are guaranteed a nice fast reach (if there is wind).

Do not waste July, August and September sitting at anchor worrying about hurricanes. Go sailing! If a tropical storm threatens to approach the southern Windward Islands, head south. It’s only a day’s sail from the Grenadines to Grenada, and another day (or night) to Trinidad.

Caribbean Tides and Current

The predominant water mover in the eastern Caribbean is the Equatorial Current that sweeps across the Atlantic Ocean, driven by the trade winds. Squeezed into the passages between the islands, it accelerates. The flood tide flows against it, at times overcoming it, and the ebb tide flows with it, often boosting it to 2 knots. When sailing north, and also when diving, it pays to have the tide flooding toward the east. Don Street, with help from longtime residents in the islands, has it mostly figured out.

Think of this as a homework assignment. On the back of the Imray-Iolaire charts you’ll find all the information you need to calculate the times of high and low tide, ­except for one piece: the time of ­meridian passage of the moon. This missing piece is published every month in the Caribbean Compass. (It’s also in the Nautical ­Almanac.) Your interisland passages will be much ­faster, especially when you’re northbound or eastbound, when you can use the tide to your advantage.

This article first appeared as “The Grenadines of Summer” in the January/February 2018 issue of Cruising World. Author Don Street has been discovering anchorages in the eastern Caribbean since 1956, when he purchased Iolaire and began using her keel to locate the 7-foot soundings contour.

The post Why You Should Sail the Grenadines appeared first on Cruising World.

The Horizon Yacht Charters base at Blue Lagoon Marina, on the southern tip of the Caribbean island of St. Vincent, has expanded its fleet.

More catamarans and monohulls means more charterers can cruise to some well-known events in January 2016 throughout St. Vincent and the Grenadines, including the Bequia Mount Gay Music Fest from Thursday, Jan. 21 to Saturday, Jan. 24, and the Mustique Blues Festival in Bequia on Friday, Jan. 22.

For details, contact Horizon and Bequia Tourism at horizonyachtcharters.com; bequiatourism.com/bequiamusicfest.

The post Sail to Tunes appeared first on Cruising World.