Cruising World Editor at Large Tim Murphy had a project pop up for his Passport 40 Billy Pilgrim, so he knew just where to go for supplies. Before getting started, Tim stopped at West Marine to pick up all of the gear he needed to install a new set of solar panels on his sailboat:

• Solar Panels
• Electronic Controller(s)
• Cable (Duplex conductor, sized per ABYC)
• Wire Terminals (preferably heat-shrink)
• In-Line Fuse Holders (2 per panel)
• Fuses
• Cable Ties
• Cable Loom

With the help of the pros at West Marine and Navtronics, Tim and the crew successfully installed new solar panels and is ready for his next journey aboard Billy Pilgrim.

Got a project? Need some supplies? Stop by your local West Marine or visit www.westmarine.com before getting started.

The post How to Install Solar Panels on Your Sailboat appeared first on Cruising World.

Hmm, what to pack for an offshore adventure—now that’s always a tricky question. Depending on the weather and expected time at sea, you can sketch out what you think you’ll need, but sailing trips often take unexpected twists and turns, so you’ll also want to be ready for whatever Neptune might have in store. With that in mind, here are 15 essentials I’d toss into my sea bag and YETI cooler.

1. Frozen Food

I’d pack my YETI Bimini Pink Hopper M30 soft-side cooler or the new M20 Backpack Cooler with an aluminum baking pan of lasagna and a gallon-size plastic bag of chili, both frozen. The first night at sea, the crew will be getting used to the endless motion, so simple sandwiches will suffice. On days two and three, we’ll be ready for a real meal, and by then, the frozen entrees will be thawing out. But in the meantime, they will have done double-duty as ice packs, helping to prolong the life span of fresh fruits and vegetables. After day three, we’ll be bored and ready to cook meals from scratch.

2. PFD and Tether

I’m definitely bringing my inflatable life jacket, two spare inflation cylinders, and my safety tether. At night or anytime circumstances get dicey, I like to have my PFD on, and if I’m on deck, I want to be tethered to something solid. I bring my own gear because it’s comfortable, I know how it works, and I’ve checked to make sure the PFD’s armed and ready to go.

3. Multicolor Headlamp and Small LED Flashlight

From sunset to sunrise, I always carry a flashlight in my pocket, and the headlight frees up my hands. Plus, at night on deck, its red light won’t interfere with night vision.

4. A Couple of Good Books

You can sleep for only so many hours between watches!

5. Swim Goggles

You never know when you might need to go over the side, and they could come in handy on watch during a whiteout rain squall.

6. Multitool

You never know when it might come in handy.

7. Flask of Mt. Gay Rum and YETI Rambler

See reasoning for the multitool. The drinkware company launched a new line of tumblers, mugs and bottles in Offshore Blue and Bimini Pink for use as compact containers while out on the water or simply to keep you hydrated while doing what you love.

8. Personal EPIRB and AIS Beacons

I mount these on my PFD. I’m not planning to go overboard, but if I do, I’m hoping someone will come find me—the AIS because the boat I fell off will probably be the closest, and the EPIRB in case they don’t turn back to get me.

9. Old Bay Seasoning

A tin of Old Bay can make the worst cook’s grub taste good, and if we catch a fish, well, bon appétit.

10. Paper Charts, Dividers and Parallel Rules

I find route planning a lot easier on a paper chart; you don’t need to zoom in and out or scroll endlessly to see what’s ahead. Plus, when I pull out the nav gear, it gives the millennials aboard something to laugh at.

11. Sweatpants

Even in warm places, night watches can be cold. And sweatpants are comfortable.

12. Cap and Shades

I’m definitely packing an extra ball cap and pair of sunglasses. Both are easily lost, and missed dearly when gone.

13. Pure-Castile Peppermint Soap

It works just fine with salt water and is biodegradable.

14. iPhone

Gotta have my smartphone, loaded nav apps and music, of course.

15. Waterproof Point-and-Shoot Camera

When I go anywhere on the water, I bring along my waterproof point-and-shoot camera with Wi-Fi. You can put it in a pocket and swim ashore; it will slide under things like an engine to take photos of stuff you can’t see or reach; and you can take photos of your mates when they fall asleep on watch.

The post 15 Charter Essentials for Any Sailing Trip appeared first on Cruising World.

The late Ted Hood, one of sailing’s most accomplished practitioners, mainstreamed roller-furling mainsails. He acknowledged that a sail being wound into one of his Stowaway Masts had to be cut flatter, devoid of horizontal battens, and lack a big roach. But despite these performance-sapping attributes, he saw the upside it would offer shorthanded sailors: The system demonstrated that performance is also linked to having the right amount of sail area set. And over time, making the mainsail behave like a zoom lens has proved to be as appealing to sailors as the latter has been to photographers. 

Initially, a few innovators attempted to retrofit older rigs with external, behind-the-mast roller-furling systems. In essence, these units were akin to a roller-furling headstay stretched between a beefed-up masthead fitting and the gooseneck. Unfortunately, as the tension between the masthead and gooseneck increased, the spar tended to bow and the luff of the mainsail curved to leeward. This made reefing and furling difficult, and placed excess stress on the spar itself.

Seldén and Schaefer solved the problem by adding evenly spaced track connections that linked the mainsail furler to the mast track. Today, Facnor also offers a refined version of this concept for those interested in converting a standard spar into one that hosts a roller-furling mainsail.

Meanwhile, spar-makers soon recognized that a specially extruded, open-trailing-edge spar could house a furled mainsail. A central mandrel, or furling rod with a luff-tape slot, rotates and retracts or releases the mainsail from within the mast. The design requires a way to support and tension the luff rod and a bearing system to handle rotation under load. The geometry of the sail slot and cavity is vital, as is the cut and construction of the mainsail. 

Hood’s sailmaking ­background and yacht-design ­business put him at the head of the fleet, and Stowaway Masts, with their mechanical, electric or hydraulic roller reefing systems, showed up on vessels from 35 to 100-plus feet.

The furling concept might seem fairly simple, but the devil is in the details. Hood, Seldén and many others eventually worked out most of the kinks, including maintaining proper furling-rod tension. But even so, care needs to be taken when furling and outhauling the mainsail, and that’s especially true when an electric or hydraulic winch does the pulling. The big danger lies in overloading the outhaul due to a hockle, or kink, in the furling line. Too hard a pull by a power winch can wedge the partially furled sail in the exit slot, or damage the drive system or the sail itself. Units with narrower exit slots avoid this “herniated” mainsail condition but add increased chafe concerns. Hood’s furling designs have continued to evolve and are now being produced by Formula Spars.

Just as monohulls and multihulls have their advocates, there’s plenty of partisanship when it comes to in-mast or in-boom furling systems, the latter being another option for those seeking ease of sailhandling. Both approaches succeed at sail-area reduction, and both act as a “force multiplier”—allowing a shorthanded crew to cope with a much larger mainsail. But there are also a few not-so-subtle differences between the two. 

Advocates of in-boom furling call the ability to have a deeper-draft, horizontal-batten-equipped, roach-sporting mainsail an important value-added feature. This means that when comparing equal sail areas, the in-boom option will outperform the in-mast alternative. The boom-­furling mainsail comes closer to matching the performance of a conventionally hoisted mainsail. Another big plus is that if the boom-furler function fails, you can still lower the mainsail conventionally.

As with most good things, there are also a couple of downsides that need to be recognized. The first is the size and weight of the boom, which is typically at least double or more the diameter and weight of a conventional boom. The weight issue raises some tactical and safety concerns. The heavier boom will more actively respond in light air and a rolling seaway, creating trimming issues. It also presents a greater risk to the crew during an unanticipated jibe, so more attention needs to be paid to the preventer or the boom brake. 

Ultimately, there’s a vulnerability to the short portion of track that leads the sail’s luff from the mast to the boom mandrel. The angle that the boom makes with the mast is very important, as is following the manufacturer’s furling guidelines. A heavy-duty mechanical or hydraulic boom vang will help ensure that the correct angle is maintained while reefing. 

Ted Hood was correct: Furling is the future. But a few of us still cling to the simplicity, sail-shaping advantage, and lessened chafe found in conventional slab reefing.

Ralph Naranjo is a circumnavigator, technical writer, former Vanderstar Chair at the US Naval Academy, and author of The Art of Seamanship, among other books.

Mainsail Furler Manufacturers

• Axxon Composites
• CDI
• Facnor
• Hood Yacht Systems
• Leisure Furl
• Hall Spars
• Rondal
• Schaefer Marine
• Seldén
• Sparcraft
• Southern Spars
• US Spars
• Z Spars

The post Mainsail Furlers Lighten the Load appeared first on Cruising World.

Long before Cruising World magazine, before production fiberglass boats or even square-rigged tall ships, there were a variety of different canoe designs sailing the trade-wind-kissed waters of the Pacific Ocean. Widely recognized as one of the first bluewater fleets in the history of the world, the multihull canoes of the Pacific covered vast expanses of water as pioneering voyagers and nomadic islanders settled everything from volcanic island chains to tiny, geographically disparate coral atolls. Of these many different canoe designs that sailed the Pacific, few were as grand as the mighty Fijian drua.

The drua were revered throughout the Pacific for their ­incredible size and performance, along with their huge ­cargo-carrying ability. The largest of them were more than 120 feet long and capable of carrying up to 200 warriors to ­windward, at speeds of 15 knots.

Around the world, the boats of our ancestors have been replaced by modern craft with engines and composite ­construction. The boats of Fiji are no different, and the introduction of the combustion engine signaled the death of the drua. Drua were originally built in the Lau group of islands in eastern Fiji—islands revered for their legendary boatbuilders and high-quality timber. The drua left the islands one by one and disappeared over the years. While there are records of when each drua left the Lau group, there’s not a single record of a drua returning to those islands in modern times.

Meet i Vola Sigavou, which translates to “the new rising star.” A drua built using fiberglass and modern building methods, i Vola Sigavou is a reproduction of the lines of Ratu Finau, the last known drua built in the traditional sense back in 1913. Launched in 2016, the 40-foot i Vola Sigavou is based in western Fiji and is part of a nonprofit organization called the Drua Experience. The drua takes tourists and locals sailing as part of an effort to ­revitalize drua sailing culture and traditional navigation.

RELATED: Canoe Kids in the Solomon Islands

“Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, there are no tourists in Fiji, and we are not expecting any tourists in the foreseeable future,” said i Vola Sigavou skipper Setareki Corvus Ledua, in August 2020. “We thought to ourselves, this could be the perfect time to go out to the Lau group and do more research and collect all of the evidence that still exists.” The ambitious voyage saw the drua sail around most of the main island of Viti Levu before crossing eastward toward the Lau group. The voyage was dubbed na lesu tale voyage, which translates to “the homecoming,” and it marked the first time in modern history that a drua sailed into its ancestral home of the Lau group.

The two-month journey from September to November 2020 saw the drua and its crew of six Fijians sail more than 500 nautical miles around much of the country. Beginning in Fiji’s touristy western division, the crew sailed i Vola Sigavou north and east over the top of Viti Levu, and then waited for proper weather before sailing across the Koro Sea and crossing to the remote Lau group. With more than a dozen stops along the way, the drua’s ultimate destination was Fulaga Island, the captain’s native home and the beating heart of drua culture.

The voyage was part of the Drua Experience’s larger goal of establishing a traditional navigation and canoe-building school in Fiji to reconnect youth with traditional sailing culture, navigation and the ocean itself. The voyage was conceived as a way to revitalize ancient customs and traditions while collecting knowledge from living elders before that knowledge dies out forever.

The post Ancient Fijian Culture Brought to Forefront with Sailing Drua appeared first on Cruising World.

Sailing Hall of Fame, The America’s Cup Hall of Fame and a broad collection of sailing-related exhibits, which collectively will be called The Sailing Museum.

According to a release issued Friday: The Sailing Museum will feature more than 11,000 square feet of interactive exhibits, displays chronicling the history of the sport, and galleries honoring inductees into the National Sailing Hall of Fame and the America’s Cup Hall of Fame. The Sailing Museum experience has been developed by Healy Kohler Design, a recognized leader in interactive museum and sports hall of fame design. The museum is scheduled to open in Spring 2022.

“Our new home will be a feast for the senses, harnessing technology to bring the excitement of sailing to life and honoring our sport’s heroes in exciting and innovative ways,” said Gus Carlson, president of the National Sailing Hall of Fame. “Our goal is to create a special place that engages everyone, from our sport’s faithful to casual sailors to newcomers who are curious about what happens when wind and water meet. We are confident The Sailing Museum will be a unique venue to showcase our sport and the accomplishments of its heroes.”

The heart of The Sailing Museum will be galleries for the National Sailing Hall of Fame and the America’s Cup Hall of Fame, honoring the achievements and commitment to excellence of those men and women who have contributed to the sport of sailing at the highest levels. Like Hall of Famers from across the sports world, these sailing stars undergo a rigorous and competitive nomination and selection process to earn this honor.

“I am lucky indeed to be a member of both the National Sailing Hall of Fame and the America’s Cup Hall of Fame,” said Tom Whidden, CEO, North Technology Group. “What an honor it will be to sit alongside so many accomplished people, who have achieved so much in our sport, presented in this incredible new facility in Newport. For anyone, of any age, who loves to sail, The Sailing Museum will be a must visit.”

In addition to the Halls of Fame, The Sailing Museum will feature a mix of high- and low-tech interactive exhibits with built-in “stealth learning” components that share the principles of sailing and provide seasoned sailors with opportunities to test their skills and knowledge. The museum will include the only on-site Virtual Regatta experience in the country and connect visitors with an interest in trying sailing to providers locally and around the country. A corresponding educational program will be offered for visiting groups with school-aged children.

“Our goal is to create an educational experience for school-aged children that is complementary to what is currently being taught on the dock or in the classroom,” said Heather Ruhsam, executive director of The Sailing Museum. “The Sailing Museum will be able to offer a hands-on and high-tech platform to illustrate some of the more challenging concepts, or those that are weather dependent. REACH is implemented at 400+ sailing centers and events across the US, and as the nation’s sailing museum it makes sense to align our educational programming with that of US Sailing.”

“We are thrilled with the innovative approach the National Sailing Hall of Fame has taken in creating the vision for The Sailing Museum,” said Jack Gierhart, CEO of US Sailing. “The National Sailing Hall of Fame plays an invaluable role in recognizing leaders in the sport who have shaped sailing through the years, and now they are providing an opportunity for people to not only experience this history first hand, but also to connect with sailing personally and get involved. We are excited to support this initiative and play a part in introducing more people to sailing.”

Experience a sneak peek of The Sailing Museum through the rendered virtual tour.

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Longtime Cruising World contributors Carolyn and Cap’n Fatty Goodlander talk about their current circumnavigation, sailboats and their life at sea with editors Herb McCormick and Mark Pillsbury. This is the latest episode of Cocktails with Cruising World, a webinar series featuring sailors, writers and friends.

The post Cocktails with Cruising World featuring Carolyn and Cap’n Fatty Goodlander appeared first on Cruising World.

Wendy Mitman Clarke is a longtime sailor and author who spent four years sailing with her family aboard their Adams 45 Osprey. Their travels took them up and down the western Atlantic, starting in Chesapeake Bay and reaching as far as Panama and the Maritimes.

The post A Conversation with Wendy Mitman Clarke appeared first on Cruising World.

A day to remember: August 16, 2015. The crew of Barba had been sailing north from Stavanger, Norway, for a full seven weeks, making our way along nearly the country’s entire coastline before heading offshore to Svalbard, and then beyond.

The cloud cover was low and as heavy as a duvet, and off in the distance, a polar bear stalked the sea ice before disappearing from view. As far as the eye could see, we were surrounded by ice. And Barba‘s fiberglass hull let us know it too by its creaking and groaning as we maneuvered slowly through the floes, using every skill we’d trained for, on this day.

We had reached the journey’s ultimate goal: to sail as far north as the ocean allowed us in the best boat we had. And our next goal was just as important: to get ourselves and Barba safely back home.

Barba is a 37-foot Jeanneau, intended for sailing in warmer climes. Perhaps it’s not one’s first choice for journeying in polar regions. But the best boat, as the saying goes, is the one you have. That said, gear, crew, preparation and the implementation of all those moving parts are as important as the boat itself. And we had prepared as best we could for the adventure.

Prior to our trip, a number of upgrades were made to Barba to give us the best odds possible in the north. Radar, AIS and forward-looking sonar were among the upgrades to the old navigation equipment. The mast was reinforced with a cutter stay and running back stays. A new engine was installed to replace the faithful one that had served us well for 10 years. And then, of course, there were all of the other upgrades that might escape the naked eye, including a tailored tarpaulin that we could deploy in case of hull leaks, flexible metal plates for more-permanent repairs, meters of Dyneema anchor rodes, and all manner of first-aid materials meant for patching up both the boat and crew while at sea.

As important as the boat, as any sailor knows, is the crew. Two months earlier, following hectic weeks of preparation, the five of us stood ready at the pier in the south of Norway.

Fresh from the German Alps, Daniel Hug is a mountain climber, outdoorsman, photographer and paraglider pilot with almost every skill in the book except notable sailing experience. Terry Ward, from the United States, is a travel journalist, scuba diver and general adventurer with limited sailing experience from previous (and easier) North Sea cruises with Barba. Ivan Kutasov from Russia had been recruited a couple of weeks earlier when we came across an image on Instagram of him ­sailing in the remote Russian Arctic archipelago of Novaya Zemlya. We got in touch by email and learned that while he worked as a computer programmer, in his heart he was an outdoorsman who had hiked solo for weeks in Siberia, sailed aboard unknown but spectacular Russian sailboats and, most likely, accumulated a few world records for outrunning polar bears and hopping onto rooftops for protection.

To ensure Norwegian sovereignty on board and to maintain the required level of sailing skills too, an old and faithful crewmate from Barba’s Jan Mayen expedition (“Norwegians Would,” April 2016) was enlisted as well. He is Chief Commander Jon Grantangen, a ­weapons-savvy open airman of the highest class, and now an experienced expedition sailor. And then there was me, the skipper, a Norwegian with trips to Iceland and Greenland under my belt, as well as Jan Mayen, the farthest destination north, until now.

As is always the case when Barba sails off on a high-latitude expedition, a common question arises: Why not sail to warmer areas? For us, it’s not about getting a suntan and sipping rum drinks in a pretty anchorage. Rather, it’s about reaching spectacular destinations that are not practically achievable without a sailboat and an adventurous crew.

Svalbard had long been a dream of mine. The archipelago off the northern coast of Norway, high above the Arctic Circle, is known for its unspoiled nature, glaciers and epic wildlife such as polar bears, reindeer, walruses and beluga whales. The distance from mainland Norway is surprisingly doable, with a three-day transit. But despite that fact, an extended sailing trip to reach a place like this comes with many challenges for both boat and crew. And it was precisely this combination of adventure, amazing ­scenery and all-out challenge that became our common inspiration to sail as far north as we possibly could. And what better platform for discovery and adventure is there, after all, than a sailboat?

After a rather pleasant leg up the Norwegian coast, the five of us arrived in Tromsø, as had many a polar adventurer before: giddy to sail away from civilization. On July 15, we saw the mainland disappearing in the proverbial rearview mirror.

With a half-ton of diesel, 40 days’ worth of supplies, paragliders, all manner of scuba diving gear, and weapons for protection from polar bears on board, Barba was riding heavy in the water—but full of hope for distant horizons.

We were still wearing T-shirts when we passed Bjørnøya, or Bear Island, the southernmost island in the Svalbard archipelago. But a day later, the rain came at us sideways. Then, out of nowhere, we saw a bergy bit in the water, a lone piece of ice that was far from titanic but nonetheless felt like a harbinger of what was to come.

The wind was strong and the sea ­frothing as we approached Sørkapp on the southern tip of the island of Svalbard. After our crossing from Tromsø, we finally spotted the snowy mountains on the horizon on day three. And a fresh breeze carried us to Bellsund, the first natural stopover on the archipelago’s northwest coast.

There had been some sacrifices to the sea along the way, but spirits were high as we dropped anchor at a spot specified in the guidebook. We immediately searched the terrain for polar bears but saw little more than bare mountains, snow and herds of reindeer.

A half-hour later, we decided to move on. After studying the map further, we found a new and better anchorage where we spent the night peacefully. Lesson learned. Guidebooks can be useful and have well-meaning recommendations, but sometimes it’s best to go with your instincts and what you find on your own.

Hornsund, where we ended up by using our own intuition, was one of the highlights of the trip, partly because of the good weather we enjoyed there that allowed everything from mountain hikes to paragliding to maneuvering around ice from calving glaciers. The polar bear tracks we saw on the dark sand beach made for plenty of excitement too, as we scanned the terrain with binoculars, sure we’d spotted the animals. But a closer look proved the shapes were just ­polar-bear-shaped boulders.

Soon enough, it was on to Longyearbyen, Svalbard’s population center and a most necessary stop on the journey for both provisioning and obtaining information from local acquaintances. Barba was moored modestly next to a number of steel and aluminum expedition boats. We were not to see any of them again as we pushed north.

Our first port of call out of Longyearbyen was Barentsburg, a small and cozy town inhabited nearly entirely by Russians and Ukrainians, which in many ways was more interesting than Longyearbyen because the contrast in living conditions was so different. The pier wasn’t the best here, but the reception was welcoming, and the local food and home-brewed beer ample. A modern sauna and the chance to walk around a city from a bygone era made it an absolute worthwhile stopover before heading into the truly wild areas of Svalbard.

Our route continued from there, north along the west coast of Spitsbergen, where we fed ourselves on fresh-caught deepwater cod, met our first walrus, and stopped for a few days in the international research settlement at Ny-Ålesund to refill the diesel and party into the ­midnight sun with scientists stationed there for the summer.

For cultural interest, Virgohamna Nordvest in Svalbard was an interesting stopover. A former Dutch whaling station, it’s the place to see the remnants of the equipment used to send off Salomon August Andrée and Walter Wellmans in their attempt to reach the North Pole by hot air balloon (a mission that turned out to be one with a one-way ticket).

The biggest highlight came when several of the crew decided to try spending the night on land in a tiny hunting cabin that was open for overnight stays. Daniel and I were charged with keeping watch on the boat, and when we went to shut the hatches for the night, we saw a polar bear stalking on land. The initial high of our first sighting was quickly replaced by nervousness, as the bear was slowly picking its way toward where the rest of the crew were sheltering for the night. But the majestic King of the Arctic soon headed off on an alternate route around the bay. Daniel and I marveled at the sight of him from the dinghy—I had sprung into action, shotgun in hand, in case of a potential encounter—while our mates were similarly impressed from their quarters ashore.

Svalbard accounts for 19 percent of Norway’s total landmass. The main island of Spitsbergen in the west is flanked by Nordaustlandet in the east and Barentsøya and Edgeøya islands in the south. Even though we had five weeks at our disposal to explore the archipelago, we were limited in what we could discover—there is just so much to see in this part of the world.

One of the many high points while sailing around Spitsbergen was finding a harbor where we could spend happy days as true adventurers under the never-ending midnight sun. Volumes of driftwood made building a fire a natural activity, and we even found waterways to fish that were positively teeming with Arctic char.

The landscapes here have the look of an Arctic desert, yet the contrast underwater is incredible—once you put on a mask, snorkel and drysuit to brave the freezing ocean temperatures. Colorful anemones decorate the sea bottom, along with all kinds of mollusks.

One morning in the northeastern reaches of Spitsbergen, I looked over my shoulder while pulling up anchor on an early watch. A couple of yards behind the boat, something giant was swimming in the flat water. The polar bear alarm was sounded, and it was suddenly all hands on deck.

A young male bear was approaching the boat, with breakfast in mind. We managed to keep him at bay with a large wooden pole intended to move ice away from the boat, slapping the water at times to startle the bear into keeping its distance, and yelling at the animal in Norwegian, English, German and Russian. The bear retreated in the end to a perch on a rock over the water, and seemed to watch us with both dismay and curiosity until we sailed out, bound for farther north still.

After studying ice and weather maps downloaded over satellite phone, we sailed past Sjuøyane, the last piece of land before the North Pole. And at 81 degrees north, Barba was finally halted by pack ice. Surrounded by frozen brine in every direction, we had finally met our limit—and realized our ultimate goal.

We piled out of the boat onto an ice floe the size of a basketball court, and broke out some schnapps from South Tyrol to celebrate. Two members of the crew suited up in their drysuits to go for a scuba dive—one of those things you most likely do just to say you’ve done it. The view below was endless blue, and small jellyfishlike creatures in the freezing cold water was all there was to see.

Later, as we retreated into the open water, we remembered the wise words of our Russian crewmember: It’s hard to sail to the Arctic, but even harder to sail back home again. An uptick in wind had made the ice shut in around us, and the radar showed that we were surrounded. The next couple of hours were spent slowly navigating our way out, pushing with those polar-bear-repelling wooden poles as Barba‘s fiberglass exterior groaned in trepidation.

After 56 days cruising, it was with a great sense of relief that we finally headed back south toward the green-clad mountains and warmer waters of mainland Norway.

But there were other highlights before we left Svalbard, including beluga whale sightings and the chance to sail past the Blåsvell Glacier that covers large parts of Nordustlandet. It is a continuous ice cap of some 8,500 square kilometers; Barba was dwarfed in front of its vertical ice wall looming some 30 meters high.

Moments like those, and many more, go down in the memory books for life. And when we finally made it back to the quay, which we’d last seen some four months earlier, the champagne awaiting us felt well-earned indeed.

The Barba expedition to Svalbard was intended to be an adventure, using the boat as a platform for close interaction with nature. It will never go into any history books of explorations. But in terms of boat and crew, we were pleased to cover some 4,040 nautical miles without damage to either. We had done it. We’d fended off polar bears, flew paragliders from mountain peaks where it had never before been done, and raised our glasses in a toast to adventure on an remote ice floe as far north as we could sail.

And then we’d made it back safely to where it all began.

Andreas Heide is a conservationist and marine biologist from Norway, and is currently preparing his sailboat Barba for an expedition to document whales in the North Atlantic.

Looking for Adventure?

Andreas Heide and Team Barba are planning a return voyage to Svalbard in 2020. They are currently looking for crewmembers, onshore support and partners for the project. If interested, contact Heide at barba.no.

Tips for Sailing to Svalbard

• A good anchor and windlass are high on the priority list. There’s good information online for what type of anchor is recommended in Svalbard. Aboard Barba, I use 100 feet of 8-millimeter chain (I limit it to this length because of weight) and an additional 300 feet of 18-millimeter line. Since that trip to Svalbard, I have upgraded to a Lofrans windlass and a 20-kilogram Spade anchor. I also carry a 3.2-kilogram Fortress anchor that I can attach in series with the spade anchor. And I have acquired an anchor sail to keep the bow to the wind.

• Undoubtedly the best guidebook for the area is The Norwegian Los, which is available for free online.

• The best ports of call not mentioned in the guidebook were found by studying charts and paying close attention to the weather ­forecast for upcoming days.

• To sail to Svalbard, you must apply for a permit with the governor, which is an affordable and straightforward process.

• A satellite phone is an absolute necessity for downloading ­weather files and ice maps.

• Condensation is a classic problem in the high latitudes. Insulate the mast with self-adhesive mats, use insulation under mattresses and along the hull, and be sure to have sufficient diesel on board to keep the boat heated.

• Polar bears inhabit the entire archipelago and are often hungriest during summer. Follow the instructions from the Norwegian Polar Institute on this matter, and there will likely never be a tragic outcome for bear or human should an encounter occur. When traveling outside Longyearbyen limits, it’s imperative to be armed with a powerful rifle in case of an encounter.

• It is recommended that cruisers have experience sailing in polar areas before passing the northernmost point of Spitsbergen. First-time adventurers in these environs should consider sticking to the west coast.

The post Sailing to Svalbard appeared first on Cruising World.

Our daughter drives us nuts. She knows how much we treasure our summers afloat and then suddenly she tells us she’s expecting her first child in late July. Really? This is the 21st century and she can’t plan any better than that? We’d left the boat four years earlier to get her married off in early August. Now we’re going to interrupt our summer cruise again?

The answer to the last question is, of course, absolutely. We are all in. We’ll just have to figure it out.

We suspect we are not alone in this dilemma. My wife, Jennifer, and I are able to cruise all summer on Catamount, our Caliber 38, because 1. We are retired, and 2. Our two kids live happy and comfortable lives off on their own. We know lots of other grandparent types who deal with births and birthdays during the summer, not to mention figuring out how to get grandkids to local airports and bus stations to join them on their boats. We sailors, after all, love our independence and we love our families. Sometimes you just have to devise ways to reconcile the two.

Jennifer and I live in Vermont but keep our boat in northern Michigan so we can easily access Lake Superior. The Canadian shore of that big, bad lake is remote, dramatic and unpopulated; we can go weeks without seeing another boat. Until we got our daughter’s phone call, we’d counted on our usual summer adventures there. Instead, it looked as though we’d make some significant changes to our float plan.

Before we had gathered enough experience and courage to tackle Lake Superior, we spent several summers cruising nearby Lake Huron’s North Channel and Georgian Bay. It’s really quite a nice area, but we had grown used to the much bigger and wilder Superior. However, for the upcoming summer we’d need access to transportation, cellphone service and the internet, none of which were available off in the wilderness. So we decided that spending the summer revisiting old waypoints and waiting for the phone to ring would have to do.

We were afraid it would be boring, but frankly returning to our old haunts in Lake Huron gave us everything we could hope for: fine sailing, snug anchorages, lovely scenery. And almost every day we swam in warm water, something one rarely finds in the much bigger and deeper Lake Superior. It turned out waiting for a new grandchild reintroduced us to an old friend.

We set off from Cheboygan, Michigan, in mid-June, crossed into Canadian waters at Thessalon, Ontario, to check in with customs, and then ran east to the Turnbull Islands, a cluster of rocky islands and islets just a few miles off the Canadian mainland. There were no other boats in what is a very popular spot. A northwest blow was predicted for the next day, so we hunkered in the lee of the biggest island. The 35-knot winds arrived on schedule at daylight, and we yawed wildly on our anchor and 80 feet of chain in 10 feet of water over mud. In the distance, waves from the open lake thrashed the shoreline. In a lull, I rowed our second anchor out to port, reducing our yaw to a manageable swing. It was one of those bright, sunny, howling days where we didn’t dare do anything but wait it out.

RELATED: Unsalted Island Hopping in the Great Lakes

Pulling the hook the next morning required driving Catamount hard over the rode several times before the mud-encrusted anchor popped free. OK, we said to each other, that was a little more than we expected from a pretty tame cruising area, right?

A telephone call to our daughter reassured us all was well with her in her eighth month so we headed further east. We ran wing-and-wing through the narrow but deep Whalesback Channel to anchor in Middle Cove, a one-boat anchorage well protected from the west winds and with expansive views to the north and east. It was much prettier than we remembered it. We hiked the nearby high hill for some early season blueberry picking and good phone and internet reception, should we need it.

The North Channel is studded with scenic anchorages like that, all just a few miles apart, where you can dodge any weather that might crop up, and in late June and early July still largely empty. We spent days sailing for four or five hours through the islands and out into the open North Channel, then often going right back to the anchorage we had left that morning. On a really adventurous day, we would sail back and forth for six hours and move to an empty anchorage 3 miles away. Or go out for a spinnaker run and return to an anchorage where we had been two days earlier.

But as we proceeded east in early July, we were also now farther from our car. The critical question was whether to go east of Little Current, Ontario, where the North Channel narrows to 50 yards between the Canadian mainland and Manitoulin Island. Beyond lie the inviting waters of Georgian Bay, and that sweet siren indeed beckoned us. But with prevailing westerlies, every day to the east might mean three or four days getting back to our car. Then a sailing friend from the States who had a car in Little Current told us he had to make a run back home. Leaving Jennifer on the boat at the Little Current dock, he and I drove seven hours back to Michigan, then I drove our car seven hours back to the boat. One logistical problem resolved.

With me once again aboard Catamount, we sailed through the Little Current swing bridge and out into northern Georgian Bay. We had not been there for several years (see “Uncharted but Enlivened,” October 2013) and had forgotten what a treat it is to cruise there. With the high white-quartzite hills of the Killarney Range in the background, we ran 7 miles on light west winds down the narrow passage to The Pool and found only two other boats in this amazing spot. We bushwhacked up high for the views down to our boat and the wilderness beyond, then skinny-dipped in nearby Topaz Lake.

RELATED: Canal Cruising, Canadian Style

A lovely east wind the next day let us run right back out to the open bay, where we checked in once more by phone — uh-oh, a little problem for mom and the baby. Nothing to be alarmed about, the doctors said, but with two weeks to go, they wanted our daughter to check in every day instead of once a week. She sounded pretty cool about it all, considering it was her first child and she had tried so hard to get this far, but we were nervous. Keep sailing, our daughter said, and call again tomorrow, that is if we could get coverage.

So we sailed in circles for a few more days, not too far from our car in Little Current, but hitting a different anchorage every night, where we could either row out to open water or climb a hill to check in. Our typical conversations: Where do you want to go today? The wind is good for Fraser Bay. Gosh, I don’t remember ever seeing a better sunset from this spot. Oops, now it’s hard out of the south. OK, how about Boyle’s Cove with its high cliffs. Look at that loon family, with the chick on mom’s back. Squalls tomorrow? Let’s go hide in Covered Portage, a ­top-10-in-the-whole-world anchorage. All of these options lay within a 5-mile radius.

After three days, our daughter reported that the doctors said not to worry. All was well and back on schedule.

So now what? We didn’t want to be worrywarts and get to our daughter’s too soon, and frankly the sailing had been just terrific. So with 10 days to go and our daughter and the baby fine, we struck out even farther east across northern Georgian Bay to the Bad River, where on a dinghy trip upstream, we watched a black bear tear into a rock ledge looking for ants for lunch. In Northeast Harbour in the nearby Bustard Islands, we heard a weather forecast for squalls to our south but missed the fact they were headed our way; we got whacked hard at anchor for an hour but were rewarded with a glorious setting sun to the west and a rainbow to the east. Wow. We were so glad our daughter had given us leave to keep sailing.

Finally, though, it was time to head back west toward our car. The north winds were perfect for a long beat in light seas, and we had 30 miles of sun-dappled wavelets at 6 knots SOG. Our daughter’s due date was now the next day; we were in good shape.

Six days later, the baby still hadn’t decided if he or she was going to go anywhere. So, in the meantime, we had still more circles to sail. We settled in Browning Cove for the fishing; in Oak Bay for a night; then Eagle Harbour for a beer with old friends; Oak Bay once more; then Eagle again to duck another blow. These are all great anchorages, but we’d had enough. We decided to start driving whether the baby was ready or not. We got a berth at the marina in Gore Bay, Ontario, then hitchhiked 60 miles back to our car in Little Current. Three short rides, including one with a driver who felt badly for two thumbing oldsters, made it very smooth traveling — this was Canada after all. And then, we were off.

One day into our drive and eight days after the due date, our daughter delivered by cesarean section a handsome, healthy boy. All was well. We arrived the next day, helped everyone move back home, ogled and cuddled, made meals, and took a thousand pictures. Then, as many grandparents know, we were dismissed.

We took a long drive back to Michigan, a small charter plane back to our boat in Gore Bay, and we were back on Catamount for the rest of the summer.

We now look at North Channel and Georgian Bay differently. After all those summers up on Lake Superior, we had forgotten just how attractive this cruising ground is. Charming towns, lots of anchorages, terrific scenery, warm water, challenging sailing.

How challenging? Well, remember that anchorage in the Turnbull Islands where we safely rode out an all-day blow back in the early summer? On our way back west to Michigan in September, we stopped there again and anchored in the same spot in 10 knots of wind. I rowed off in the dinghy to fish but was quickly summoned back by Jennifer because Catamount was dragging. One day you are safe in a howling anchorage, the next time there you drag in hardly any wind at all. As Forrest Gump noted, “My mama always said life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

It turns out, the North Channel and Georgian Bay were our box of chocolates: full of surprises and delights, the best of all the arrival of our grandson. Waiting for him brought us back to our sailing roots. Now we just have to figure out how to get him up there to join us as crew.

Jennifer and Fred Bagley live in Vermont but have sailed the Great Lakes for many seasons, out of Cheboygan, Michigan.

The post Sailing Lake Huron’s Northern Shores appeared first on Cruising World.

“So, what do you guys want to listen to?” asked our new friend, Cuban artist Solé.

“I don’t know, maybe something local?” replied Mark.

“How about Simply Red?” was Solé’s reply. “Do you guys like Simply Red?”

This might be the last thing I expected him to say, but at this point, nothing really could surprise me. And so he popped in a Simply Red CD while the group of us sat around the living room, sipping strong Cuban coffee in the tiny Havana apartment he shared with his wife, Mary, and her family. All I could do was look around me and smile at the unexpectedness of it all. We were midway through our time in the island nation during the 2017 Cruising World Expedition and Rally to Cuba, sponsored by Fountaine Pajot, and from the very beginning, this country had surprised me in so many ways.

The brainchild of my friend and colleague David Gillespie, the rally came to fruition in late March 2017 after a year of legwork and planning. In all, 49 private sailboats and 10 chartered sailboats met up at Stock Island Marina in Key West, Florida, to begin the adventure. Our home for the week was Quince Amor, a chartered Fountaine Pajot Saba 50 catamaran, and our cast of characters included myself and my husband, Green; David and his wife, Sandy; and photographer and troublemaker Jon Whittle. Also aboard the five-cabin cat were two brokers from Atlantic Cruising Yachts, the largest North American dealer for Fountaine Pajot catamarans: Frank McCarthy and his wife, Janet, and Joe Buxton and his wife, Mary. Editor-in-chief Mark Pillsbury rounded out team Cruising World aboard Tranquility Base, a beautiful Fountaine Pajot Ipanema 58 also participating in the rally.

While sailing to Cuba and traveling in the country certainly was something I wanted to experience as part of my role as a Cruising World editor, visiting the island held a strong personal note as well. With both Green and me growing up in South Florida and around so much Cuban culture, we have been intrigued by Cuba for a very long time. Politics and regulations being what they are, the island nation has always been just out of our reach, merely adding to the mystique. When David started putting the plans in motion to work with a charter company and make this rally a reality, I jumped at the chance to participate. Although things had been getting easier for cruisers to take their own boats to Cuba, there was still plenty of red tape, which made going with a rally — and letting someone else deal with the paperwork — seem like an ideal way to finally do the trip. For the latest Cuba visitor regulations see Cuba Rules.

Green, David, Sandy and I headed to Key West on Tuesday, March 28, to arrive well ahead of the planned March 30 departure, and to have time to provision, attend the captains’ briefing and meet some of the other crews. Although we work for the same company, albeit in different states, I had never met Jon, the photographer who was joining us for the trip. When he sent me an email asking if it would be OK if he arrived on Wednesday with a bottle of good rum to share, I knew that we would all get along famously.

On a chart, the route to Havana looks pretty straight­forward: Sail south from Key West for about 90 miles, and presto. While this is more or less technically true, in reality, there is the Gulf Stream and plenty of shipping traffic to keep those at the helm on their toes. In order to not completely inundate the customs officials on the other end with nearly 60 boats arriving in short order, the rally fleet departed Stock Island Marina in three waves. Quince Amor was part of the last group, with a 1900 start time, and we couldn’t wait to get off the dock. Once underway, we were treated to one of Key West’s famous sunsets, and spirits were high aboard.

The Quince Amor crew was fairly well divided between experienced sailors and first-timers. Green was our designated captain and devised a watch schedule that paired the saltier crewmembers with those less experienced. Our crossing started out easy enough, but as the moonless night went on, the wind increased to about 20 or so knots with confused seas. A Saba 50 is a big boat, and a far cry from the classic ketch I’m used to sailing. Helming from the flybridge while barreling along through the Gulf Stream in the dark of night was quite the experience. Throw in some ship traffic and boat systems that we were all still getting used to (not to mention a few seasick crewmembers), and there were some tense moments. Needless to say, we were all happy for daylight and our first sight of Cuba’s coastline.

On the approach to the Marina Hemingway entrance, we caught up with some other rally boats (so much for not inundating the officials) and queued up outside the channel, where a red powerboat zoomed up to each boat to tell them when it was their turn to head in. The entrance itself is a bit tricky, with a reef on either side of the channel, then a sharp turn to port to land on the customs dock. Clearing into Cuba was a simple affair, and included a round of visitors — customs and agriculture officials, a doctor and drug-sniffing dogs — all of whom were very polite.

Afterward, we each had our picture taken and passport stamped (if we wanted). As I walked back to the boat from the customs office, I noticed an odd little statue. A figure of an animal that resembled a gopher or a giant guinea pig stood about 3 feet high right on the seawall. I climbed back aboard and mentioned it to Jon, who was next for his passport stamping. Jon might not know more Spanish than I do, but he’s definitely more confident, so he had no trouble asking someone on the dock about the significance of the statue. “Ahhh … ratón. It’s a very important animal here in Cuba, and very good to eat,” was apparently the reply. Jon relayed this surprising answer to me, and at first I didn’t believe him (thinking his translation might be off). But after reading in my guidebook a bit, I learned that, indeed, a large rodent, technically a hutia, was once hunted for food. Or the dock guy might have been messing with us.

Marina Hemingway is huge and unlike any marina I’ve been to before. Instead of docks and slips, boats side-tie along four canals. For the most part, each dock space has electricity and water, though the conditions of the concrete docks vary, so we heeded advice and used plenty of fenders. Once we secured Quince Amor and raised our Cuban courtesy flag, it hit me that we were actually in Cuba.

When I think of Cuba, certain images tend to come immediately to mind: rum and cigars, Che and Fidel, crumbling old Havana and, of course, the classic cars, all with tunes from the Buena Vista Social Club playing in the background. Cliché, I know. I had assumed before we arrived that we’d probably see all of these things, but I wasn’t prepared for how much. I’d thought that the old American cars would be few and far between, so I was floored when I spotted one zooming by right after we’d tied up. Turns out, they are everywhere, in all their pieced-together, noxious diesel-fumed glory (most of the original gas engines have long since been replaced).

It was already late in the day, and we were all eager to get off the boat to explore and hopefully find dinner. Our rally organizers had suggested that crews eat aboard their boats that first night, but we were feeling adventurous, and David said he knew of a small place nearby that would be perfect. Marina Hemingway is outside of Havana proper and within walking distance of a neighborhood called Jaimanitas. I have an absolute love of Cuban cuisine, so local fare was very much on my mind. After a few wrong turns, David thought he found the right place, though there was no longer a restaurant there. We walked for a few more blocks, then came across a small paladar that looked promising. The streets we were wandering down weren’t the type that were frequented by tourists, and the neighborhood restaurant we stopped at was really nothing more than maybe six tables and a counter, with locals coming in and out. Green, David, Sandy, Jon and I found a table and ordered Cristal, a Cuban beer. The meal was simple and affordable, and perfect for our first night in Cuba. After we had been there for a little while, a man walked in with a motorcycle helmet under his arm, and he clearly looked like he was picking up some dinner on his way home after a long day at work. Jon, who isn’t shy at all and will talk to anyone, struck up a conversation and invited him to sit with us while he waited for his food. He introduced himself as Octavio Cesar. He was eager to speak English with us, and was enthusiastic to chat with Americans about rock-and-roll. After a few minutes, he said, “You know Bon Jovi, right? Well, I met him, right here last year!” To prove his point, he took out his cellphone to show us some photos, and yes, there he was, with Bon Jovi. Unexpected indeed.

For our first full day on the island, everyone participated in a welcome-to-Havana tour. Organizers broke up rally crews into seven groups, each of which left the marina aboard modern, comfortable buses. A guide on the bus pointed out the sights along the way, including the Hotel Nacional de Cuba and the U.S. Embassy. Once we arrived in Havana, we met with another guide and took a walking tour of the old city. So much of Havana was exactly like I expected — from photos I knew that many buildings would be in disrepair, if not outright crumbling down, but what I didn’t expect was the art, everywhere. Statues, murals, sculptures, music, quotes from José Martí — you name it. Art, be it visual or performing or the written word, is a big deal in Cuba (although art supplies, such as quality paints and paper, are scarce).

A highlight of our time in Havana was meeting Solé, an artist whom David had befriended on a previous trip. We found his colorful open-air studio tucked on a side street. With an easy smile and a look that would fit right in on a California beach, Solé was happy to show us around his shop and chat about his art. His pieces ranged from portraits of Che Guevara and Bob Marley to Cuban flora and fauna.

The next day was the Cruising World Parade of Boats into Havana harbor, which was something that all rally boats had to participate in because it was one of the event’s conditions for legal travel to Cuba. We lucked out with the weather — light wind and a perfectly sunny sky. I’ll admit that I’ve been in boat parades before (usually the Christmas variety), and was a bit lukewarm at the thought of spending the day on the water when we could have been exploring. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Organizing 60 boats to leave the marina, check out with customs, line up in a specific order and then cruise down the coast to enter Havana harbor (then do all that in reverse) must have taken someone hours to orchestrate. It all went off surprisingly well, with the most challenging part being lining up in order. Commodore Escrich, of the Hemingway International Yacht Club, led the parade on his Sea Ray, and each boat was decorated with as many flags as it could fly. I underestimated how cool it would be to take in Havana from the water as we motored the length of the Malecón — the colonial buildings, the classic cars going by, the distinctive Russian embassy and people lining the shore to watch the boats. But the best, most goose-bump-raising part of the parade happened as we approached El Morro castle and our turn into Havana’s harbor — a lone Cuban musician playing The Star-Spangled Banner on his trumpet as we all passed by. The return trip to the marina turned out to be a fantastic downwind sail, with many of the boats popping their kites for the run. It truly was a beautiful day in all respects.

That night was the first of two rally parties, and this one was held at the yacht club. After a welcome from the commodore and some prize giving, the crowd enjoyed a Cuban pig roast and plenty of rum. One notable prize —the Comeback Award — went to Shenanigan, a Gulfstar ketch captained by Jennifer Lamar and Janet Ellis. On their way to Key West from Charleston, South Carolina, the pair was hit with some nasty weather, and the mizzen boom broke. Fortunately, the replacement arrived in Key West just before Shenanigan was about to push off for the rally.

Due to the red tape involved in coming and going into Cuban ports, Cuba is much easier to tour by land, especially if you have time constraints. Over the next three days, there were a variety of tours and activities that rally participants could choose from, including an in-depth look at the Cuban revolution, a visit to a coffee plantation and salsa-dancing instruction, in addition to further exploration of Havana.

After our initial day in the capital, the crew of Quince Amor couldn’t wait to get back there. Travel within Cuba is an adventure in itself, especially when you catch a ride in one of the many classic cars turned taxis. Our driver that morning was surprisingly outspoken about, well, everything. (His opinion of the Castros and all politicians? They’re bad. Although he used much, much more colorful language.) His car had been in his family for nearly 60 years, and he kept it in better condition than the majority of the “Yank tanks” that we saw on the road.

First order of business in Havana? Finding lunch, which we did at a great spot we stumbled upon. While the ropa vieja was tasty and the beer nice and cold, the highlight of the meal was the private concert from a trio of musicians playing classic Cuban tunes with guitars and maracas.

Having no use of our cellphones for the week meant navigating the streets of Havana the old-fashioned way — with a map and a guidebook and plans to meet at specific places at certain times. Honestly, taking a tech break was refreshing, and getting lost in Havana can yield sweet surprises. There is nothing quite like wandering until some music lures you in, whether it’s on a street corner or in a bar, or coming across yet another cool art gallery. The temperatures outside truly rivaled those on the surface of the sun, so finding respite in an icy mojito or two could be considered therapeutic.

There isn’t much in the way of shopping in Havana, and our planned souvenirs leaned heavily toward rum and art. Later in the day, we all headed back to Solé’s studio, where I bought a lovely painting of a hummingbird. The big group of us, now including Solé and his wife, Mary, decided to make an evening of it and had a fine dinner in town followed by dancing to a live salsa band. Solé and Mary then invited all of us back to their apartment for coffee, an unexpected treat. In any other city, the walk there through a labyrinth of dark alleys would likely have raised some internal red flags, but not here. Each of us at some point on the trip had remarked how surprisingly safe we felt wandering Havana.

Seated around the small, tidy living room, we chatted about our families as best we could given our language barriers. Mary, a photographer, was excited to show Jon her equipment and use his much more modern Canon. The coffee was strong and delicious (maybe not the best decision at 11 p.m., but whatever), the company good and the music, well, the Simply Red tunes were a throwback for sure.

It’s hard to get a feel for all of Cuba if you only stay in Havana, so Jon, Green and I were glad to have the opportunity to head out of town on the rally’s trip to Viñales. This small town was a two-and-a-half-hour drive west from the marina. Once outside of Havana’s sprawl, the scenery rapidly changes to a much more rural landscape. While I had a notion of what I thought Havana would be like, I had no idea what to expect in any other part of the country. The only word to describe the Viñales valley is spectacular: mountainous and dotted with dramatic steep-sided limestone hills called mogotes, and the sweet smell of tobacco, the region’s dominant crop, permeates the air. We visited the impressive, if strange, Mural de la Prehistoria, a 400-foot-long painting on the side of a mogote that is supposed to illustrate evolution. After an extraordinarily sweaty hike, the air-conditioned bus felt amazing. Better yet, our tour guides candidly talked with us about everyday life in Cuba, and were happy to answer any of our questions. I was surprised that no subject was off limits. We learned about the education system, and how the dual currencies work (see “Money Talks,” at the end of this story) and have changed the economy. They told us about the types of jobs Cubans want (anything with the potential to work with visitors and earn convertible pesos) and spoke of travel, religion, politics — pretty much everything.

Lunch this day was easily the best meal we had in Cuba. We ate at an organic farm named Casa de Confianza that served direct field-to-table fare, family style. The dishes were abundant and delicious: veggies, pork, chicken, seafood, rice, beans. The signature drink — a healthier take on a piña colada — was served with a bottle of rum on the table for guests to spike to taste.

On our final day in Cuba we paid a visit to Havana’s Museum of the Revolution. The imposing building was once the presidential residence but now provides an interesting (albeit one-sided) education of the Cuban revolution. Afterward, sounds from a fantastic band pulled us into another cafe for more mojitos. It was the perfect cap for the afternoon, since we needed to be back at the marina in time for the last rally party.

The rally fleet was scheduled to head out the next day, but due to a weather report that warned of building northerly winds, several crews planned to leave that evening. The Quince Amor crew debated leaving later that night, but decided that an early morning departure would be fine. The closing party was held on the marina grounds and featured a sit-down dinner under the starry night and live music, a special way to close out an incredible time.

Under still dark skies, it was with a heavy dose of reluctance that we cast off for home. In the end, Quince Amor‘s journey back to Key West was as benign as the voyage there was boisterous. Dolphins accompanied us for a portion of the way, and the guys even went for an ocean swim. All too soon we were back where we started, but now with old friendships deepened, new ones formed and memories galore. Summing it up would require too many superlatives, so I’ll leave it at this: Cuba blew my mind, and my expectations. And I barely scratched the surface.

Jennifer Brett is CW’s senior editor.

Money Talks

One of Cuba’s more unique features, and a source of bafflement for visitors, is its two-currency economy. The Cuban peso (CUP) is the national currency of Cuba and what most state workers are paid their wages in. The Cuban convertible peso (CUC) has a value that is pegged to the U.S. dollar and is worth about 25 times more than the CUP. Cash is king in Cuba (credit and debit cards issued from American banks don’t work), so luckily, it doesn’t take long to get the hang of it. Before leaving the United States, we exchanged dollars for euros, which have a higher exchange rate for CUCs, and then bought our CUCs when we arrived. Most of the things you’ll spend money on are priced in CUCs (restaurants, taxis, dockage), while basics, such as street food, produce and coffee stands, are priced in CUPs. Some stores accept both currencies and list two prices. Just be sure you’re using the correct bills or coins.

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