No sooner had we put our hook down than 22 small- to medium-size blacktip reef sharks came swarming around our boat. We’d caught a tuna just prior to coming in the pass, so there was likely still some blood in the scuppers attracting undue attention. The water clarity was outstanding, and we could easily see our anchor on the bottom in 50 feet of water. Carefully placing the anchor so we didn’t damage any coral, we saw that buoying our chain might be necessary to keep it clear of the numerous coral heads in the anchorage, should the wind veer at all.

Suwarrow is a Cook Islands National Park, and so we’d expected to see park rangers ashore. Yet after a brief conversation with the skippers of the two other boats that were there when we arrived, we discovered that the island caretakers were not yet there for the season, and that the island is uninhabited for six to seven months of each year.

Going ashore, we found overgrown pathways choked with leaves and debris from past storms. We made our way up the main trail from the old broken-down stone wharf, and came upon a building that had been constructed during World War II by the Australian military. The structure had housed coast watchers during that ­period. It and the substantial water catchments were still usable, for the most part, and a newer two-story building of sturdy pole construction was set to the south. This larger structure housed the quarters for the caretakers, and had a large open-air area in the lower level that was identified by a large wooden plaque as “The Suwarrow Yacht Club.” Flags from many yachts were secured to the rafters and beams of the place, and it was interesting to see a Seven Seas Cruising Association burgee from the vessel Caribee, a boat owned by our cruising friends Randy and Cheryl Baker, a couple we knew from our earlier cruising days back in the 1980s. Small world.

Over the coming days we spent substantial amounts of time exploring the main island, called Anchorage Island, and took our dinghy near some of the other tiny adjacent motus, taking special care not to get too close, as these islets are important breeding sanctuaries for numerous species of seabirds.

We also snorkeled some of the many reefs both close by and across the large lagoon. Fine weather allowed us easy access far and wide. While snorkeling in the pass, Gayle saw manta rays, giant grouper and many larger grey reef sharks.

We took one trip by dinghy near an island that had extensive seabird colonies, and were able to see thousands of chicks milling about in the bushes, in addition to the hundreds of seabirds flying to and from the colonies. Most spectacular to see were the great and lesser frigate birds, whose main breeding colonies are on Suwarrow’s small motus. Watching them as they wheeled overhead in the hundreds was a sight to remember.

One evening, we joined the crews of the other boats and held a potluck ashore at the Suwarrow Yacht Club. On another day, we had a second potluck in an old hut near the water. We later learned that this was Tom Neale’s “­summer house” — an open-sided palm-frond and stick shelter, which is still in evidence likely due to regular reconstructions performed by the crews of various cruising yachts over the years.

Tom Neale, of course, was the island’s most well-known resident. Over three extended periods from 1952 to 1971, the Kiwi lived the hermit’s life here. At one point he went 14 months without a visitor, and his book, An Island to Oneself, written at the end of his second stay on the island, is a South Seas classic and a must-read for anyone planning to come this way. Standing on the shoreline looking to the west as the sun set across the wind-swept lagoon, I tried to imagine what it must have been like to be so alone, on an island barely 6 feet above sea level, with no radio, no electricity and only your own ingenuity to keep yourself alive.

The anchorage behind what is identified in most literature as Anchorage Island, or occasionally Home Island, is tenuous at best and safe only in settled weather. While we were there, the winds came up and blew quite strongly out of the south-southeast for three days. This made the 5-mile fetch across the lagoon quite bumpy, as there is virtually no protection from Anchorage Island in a southerly wind. We had upped anchor after the first night and managed to tuck in closer to the northwest shore in a small pocket in the reef that had room for about two boats. A Pearson 36 with two young men arrived a few days later, and at our suggestion they took advantage of this spot and anchored close to us. The other boats farther out made the best of it, bucking as the winds howled in the rigging and the 4-foot waves challenged the snubber lines. A few days later the winds lay back down and went more easterly, and we were able to relax and continue our exploration of the lagoon by dinghy. Suwarrow’s reputation for having a somewhat dangerous anchorage is well-earned. We heard by radio later in the season that a large Amel had a ground tackle failure in bad weather one night while anchored in the lagoon. We were told that the vessel went up on the reef while trying to make a nighttime escape, resulting in a total loss. Thankfully the people survived.

Near the end of our second week at Suwarrow, a ship arrived from Rarotonga. Lady Moana anchored in the lagoon with the island’s caretaker and his wife aboard. Within a few hours this couple and all their supplies for the next six months were landed at the battered old stone wharf. The ship departed before sunset, a rainbow framing it as it made its way out the wind-swept pass, bound for Manihiki.

Going ashore the next day, we were pleased to meet Harry Papai and his wife, Vaine. Harry is a New Zealand-educated, well-spoken Cook Islander, originally from Manihiki. The couple were in the middle of a three-year contract to oversee the safekeeping of Suwarrow’s fantastic natural beauty. They also carry out scientific research for a number of organizations and, of course, are there to welcome yachts when they arrive. A nominal fee of $50 to visit the atoll is charged, but we felt that this was insignificant when ­considering that yachts are the only visitors to this remote place. Depending on the year, there might be as few as 50 boats coming through, or as many as several hundred if the winds to the south are strong enough to cause sailors to take this typically less-traveled, northern route to the west.

Several days of calm conditions allowed us to explore some of the reefs that dot the otherwise deep lagoon at Suwarrow. With names like Baby Patch, Man in the Boat and Perfect Reef, each major formation offered unparalleled snorkeling with myriad species of coral, huge mantas, spotted eagle rays, giant grouper and many species of shark. These reefs are as unspoiled as one could hope for, and the sheer magnitude of the sea life all around us was astounding. Spearfishing inside the lagoon is not allowed, and the presence of so many inquisitive and sometimes brazen sharks in any case would have quelled our enthusiasm for bringing a fish up and to the dinghy. However, trolling by dinghy along the pass, several yachts’ crews were able to catch grouper, rainbow runners, jacks and tuna fairly easily.

After two weeks at this pristine tropical paradise, we were finally compelled to get moving toward American Samoa, where Gayle’s daughter was due to arrive. We managed to take a night’s break along the relatively short 400-mile downwind run to Pago Pago with an overnight stop at Tau, in the Manu’a Islands. Located just 60 miles to the east of Tutuila, which is the main island in the American Samoan territory, the Manu’as consist of two sparsely inhabited and starkly beautiful high islands on which large sections have been set aside as part of the National Park of American Samoa. Because we’d not yet cleared into American Samoa, regulations did not allow us to go ashore at Tau. We did, however, enjoy the relatively sheltered roadstead anchorage on the northwestern corner of the island, beneath the shadow of 3,000-foot-high Lata Mountain. Unfortunately, strong easterlies and limited time prevented us from returning to explore these islands more thoroughly. We learned that a ferry does make the run from Tutuila to the Manu’a islands several times a week, so visiting could be relatively easy while leaving your boat safely anchored in the all-weather harbor of Pago Pago.

Arriving finally in Pago Pago (pronounced “Pango Pango”), American Samoa, just prior to the Fourth of July, we once again entered civilization, with Internet, shopping and many other cruising yachts. Three weeks whisked by as we went sightseeing and visited friends ashore. Gayle’s daughter, Sarah, also arrived to accompany us for a couple of months. Provisioning and minor repairs kept us occupied as we prepared for the next phase of our voyage across the Pacific and for our planned stop at the very remote islands of the Niua Group, in northernmost Tonga.

Todd Duff and Gayle Suhich have been cruising and living aboard various ­sailboats since the 1980s. Both are accomplished sailors and licensed captains. Todd has worked as a yacht broker and is an accredited marine surveyor. Gayle has worked in the crewed charter industry for most of her life. In between work obligations, they sail far and wide at every opportunity.

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For adventurous sailors, the northern Antarctic Peninsula is one of the world’s last unspoiled cruising grounds. Last February, I was part of a group of eight who chartered Pelagic Australis, the 73-foot aluminum sloop designed for high-latitude sailing expeditions by Skip Novak, legendary long-distance sailor and mountaineer. Brawny as its owner, rugged and equipped with a big Cummins diesel, Pelagic Australis is cutter rigged with genoa, yankee and staysail, all on roller furlers with lines leading to the cockpit. The 800-pound mainsail carries four reefs and can be reduced to the size of a handkerchief.

We spent more than three weeks crossing the turbulent waters of Drake Passage, threading our way among icebergs and islets along the Antarctic coast and then recrossing the Passage via Cape Horn.

The cruise started in Puerto Williams, Chile, on the Beagle Canal. We met Pelagic Australis tied up at the Micalvi, a grounded Chilean navy supply vessel that serves as the Puerto Williams Yacht Club.

Soon enough, we were underway on a 650-mile crossing of Drake Passage, one of the most inhospitable bodies of water on Earth, known for its large and unpredictable seas and successions of storm-laden lows. We dosed ourselves with Stugeron, the powerful motion-sickness medicine. The weather gods were good to us. Although some of us were a bit green at various times, we all made the four-day passage without losing our cookies.

Our Antarctic landfall was Deception Island, a sunken crater once the site of whaling and sealing stations, now abandoned and desolate. There, in Whalers Bay, we experienced our first Antarctic storm. During the day the wind increased to the 50s with gusts over 65 knots. Our anchor and 350 feet of heavy chain couldn’t hold us on the narrow shelf under the crater wall. By nightfall we were idling under power in the middle of the caldera. As we drifted to leeward, once in a while one of us had to go out in the cockpit, rev up the engine and drive the boat to windward to gain drifting room. Then we could sit tight again. It was a long night.

But storms pass. A day later we were nosing south among snow-crowned peaks on islands and mainland, nudging small icebergs and spotting seals, whales and, of course, penguins in abundance. We launched the Zodiac and a couple of kayaks to explore.

Our first major destination was Port Lockroy, a former British research station on tiny Goudier Island, in front of the large glaciers of Wiencke Island. The huts of the former research station are now a museum, a post office and a gift shop managed by the Antarctic Heritage Trust. Port Lockroy is a mandatory stop for cruise ships along the Antarctic Peninsula each summer. The proceeds of the gift shop support the historic-preservation program in the peninsula region.

From Port Lockroy we pushed south along the west side of the peninsula, through the “iceberg graveyard.” The might of the crags, the whiteness of the snow — everywhere — and the extraordinary blues and greens of the icebergs made us gasp.

Our next destination was Vernadsky Research Station in the Argentine Islands, south of Anvers Island. Vernadsky is a prized destination for Antarctic sailors because it’s the site of the world’s most southerly bar, the Vernadsky Station Lounge. We brought our own wine, but ended up drinking locally produced vodka with our Ukrainian hosts.

While at Vernadsky, an approaching low required us to tie up in a tiny cove on a nearby islet. Pelagic Australis has four large reels of Spectra cable to secure the vessel to boulders on the shore. Four corner ties plus the anchor make a classic Antarctic five-point moor, which kept us safe from winds of 40-plus knots. Although the Spectra lines were taut as bowstrings, they held.

The five-day trip back across Drake Passage to Puerto Williams was enlivened by a near collision with an iceberg on our first night out, and a race to shelter behind Cape Horn to beat an approaching low, which kicked up quite a wind and sea at the end. Par for the course with Antarctic cruising.

Peter L. Murray has cruised Serendipity, his 30-foot wooden schooner, along the Maine coast for nearly 50 years.

Click here to read more about cruising the Antarctic

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That’s what my boss at the time said when I told him that Green, my husband, and I bought a boat to live and cruise aboard. I think he feared that I was about to turn in my notice and head over the horizon from our home port of Newport, Rhode Island.

Alas, nearly four years later, as I looked around the harbor from our mooring in Newport, his words rang in my ears as an ironic reproach. Although lovely, Block Island, a 25-mile sail away, was as far as we’d made it yet aboard Lyra, our Reliance 44 ketch. With the summer waning, we were staring into the face of another winter aboard with no real summer cruising under our keel. This wouldn’t do.

To be fair, these last few years have been busy — new baby, new jobs, a new business — and we’ve done plenty of daysails and weekend jaunts, but we were understandably getting itchy feet. So Green and I formed a plan. Getting away during the height of the summer is difficult for us, since Green’s profession as a daysail charter captain keeps him busy, so we decided on a late-in- the-season two-week cruise to Maine — a lofty goal.

One truth about modern families is that clearing everyone’s schedule for two weeks is difficult at best, and such is the case with us. Two weeks were whittled down to 10 days, and suddenly the planets would have to align if we were actually going to make it to Maine and back. But we didn’t give up, and we even lined up Green’s mom, Troid, to join us for the adventure and to lend a hand with the kids, Caitlin, 7, and Juliana, 2, for the passage to Maine.

As it turned out, the planets didn’t get my message. Fortunately, we had a backup plan. A benefit to our not having gotten much past Narragansett Bay is that the rest of southern New England’s cruising grounds are still new to us and can easily occupy us for 10 days.

Dutch Island

We left Newport in our wake, finally, and sailed around the southern end of Conanicut Island, peeked out at the sloppy conditions outside the bay, and decided to head up the West Passage to anchor off Dutch Island for the first night. One of the best things about cruising New England, in my book anyway, is the sunsets, and this night’s was stunning. After a hike early the next morning around the island, which once had a Dutch West India Company trading post on it, we were ready to head out.

Block Island

The plan for Day Two was to head directly for Cuttyhunk, the last in Massachusetts’ Elizabeth Islands chain; however, the seas were still quite bumpy, and the wind was just right for Block Island. Perhaps it was time for yet another grand entrance.

During the heat of the summer, Block Island is a busy place, and the wide, protected anchorage and mooring field, accessed through a narrow channel, is chockablock with hundreds of boats. Sailing during the late season, however, offers a more laid-back experience. The beaches surrounding Block Island’s Great Salt Pond are a magical place for kids, and the girls spent hours exploring the tidal pools.

Cuttyhunk

After an entire day of moseying about Block Island, we finally made tracks to Cuttyhunk. The day started wet, cold, foggy and windless — providing an opportunity for us to tune the radar and warm up the diesel — but fortunately it changed to warm sunshine and light breezes. And that’s just how it goes in New England. It seems as though the temperature on any given day can vary by 20 degrees or more. When the breeze filled in, we enjoyed some of the best sailing on our trip. Green — who loves any opportunity to experiment with the sail plan — set up the mizzen staysail, and we easily gained a knot.

We’re a family that’s always on the go, but once under way, we had a chance to settle into the cruising rhythm. Someone once told me that the perfect age to go sailing with your kids is when they learn how to read. Now I see the wisdom in that. Our second-grader, Caitlin, will curl up with just about any book she can get her hands on. Juliana requires more parental interaction. Much more. While Green and I are hardly cruising neophytes, we’re new to the cruising-with-toddler thing. My mother-in-law, who raised two kids aboard and knows a thing or two in this area, proved invaluable. Could we have done the journey alone? Sure.

Would it have been as fun and relaxing? No way.

The entrance into Cuttyhunk is a little daunting — a narrow channel with rocky beaches on either side, lots of current, shifting sand — and the small harbor doesn’t offer much wiggle room. Indeed, watching other boats anchor here is a popular amusement. But this place is so worth it. The surroundings are idyllic, the tiny town is welcoming, and the hike up to the top of the island offers great views of Vineyard Sound and Buzzards Bay. My girls also found the island’s still-operating one-room schoolhouse to be a very cool spot.

Martha’s Vineyard

After leaving Cuttyhunk, we thought that it’d be fun to spend a day exploring Martha’s Vineyard, which requires sailing from Buzzards Bay through a pass between the islands to Vineyard Sound. These passes, such as Quicks Hole, between Nashawena and Pasque islands, have a shocking amount of current, so we did our best to synchronize our forays with slack tide.

Once in Vineyard Sound, we had a speedy sail to Vineyard Haven, where we anchored in the lee of West Chop. Since the forecast called for benign southeasterlies for the next day or so, this wasn’t a bad place to be; however, if the wind clocked to the north, we’d be completely exposed.

Martha’s Vineyard is the quintessential American summer getaway, yet we found it to be very accessible and even affordable for visiting sailors. With our sights set on a full day ashore, we got an early start, tied the tender to the dinghy dock next to the ferry terminal, and found coffee and breakfast sandwiches a short walk away. The island has an excellent bus system, which made exploring easy. We left tracks from Edgartown at one end all the way to Aquinnah and the Gay Head cliffs at the other. Juliana loves lighthouses, so we paid admission to climb to the top of the Gay Head Light.

Traveling by sailboat truly makes you appreciate distances, and it felt like we’d come a long way, so I’ll admit to feeling a tiny bit disheartened that I could see the top of Newport’s Claiborne Pell Bridge from the lighthouse. Ah, well.

Woods Hole and Hadley Harbor

At this point, we were well into our cruising New England voyage and had really adjusted to its rhythms. Unfortunately, we knew that our time was running out, and as much as I love the late summer in New England, the weather isn’t quite as settled as it is during July and early August. With the wind switching to a northerly, we knew we needed to head somewhere else, so we set a course for Hadley Harbor.

Hadley Harbor is located just west of the Buzzards Bay entrance to Woods Hole, and the surrounding land is privately owned by the Forbes family, so this isn’t the place for shoreside adventures. But Hadley offers something else to the visiting sailor: peace and solitude. On the day that we arrived here, the wind was still ripping on the sound and the current through Woods Hole resembled rapids, but tucked away in pondlike Hadley, you wouldn’t know it.

The next morning, Green and I took the girls for a dinghy ride to the town of Woods Hole, home of the eponymous oceanographic institute. A difference in traveling with kids — and I definitely consider this a benefit — is that even though we grown-ups would be quite content to relax on the boat with a book all day, the kids are looking for more things to do and have energy to burn. This leads us to explore places a little deeper in search of playgrounds and museums, and our dinghy ride to town was in search of the Woods Hole Science Aquarium, a very cool place that’s free to the public. In the summer months, you can also take a tour of the institute’s docks and restricted areas to learn about the research that’s performed here.

Home Again

With our weather forecasted to deteriorate, we started making plans to get back to Newport. Our long-awaited summer cruise was coming to an end, although it felt like it was just starting. After leaving Woods Hole, we sailed down Buzzards Bay and stopped in again at Cuttyhunk, but this time we stayed aboard. The next morning, we made our way back to Newport in cloudy and breezy conditions. A screaming sail up Narragansett Bay topped it all off, and then we were back on our mooring. Ten days may not seem like much, and compared to many other adventures, it’s not. But you don’t need a circumnavigation or an open-ended cruise to reap the benefits of this life, and indeed, even though we never made it to Maine, we got exactly what we wanted. Grand entrances and all.

Recommended Guides

For sailors unfamiliar with this area, New England can seem a tricky cruising ground, so good guides are key. Take a look at A Cruising Guide to the New England Coast by Robert C. Duncan, Roger S. Duncan, Paul W. Fenn and W. Wallace Fenn ($50; 2002; W.W. Norton & Co.),_ Dozier’s Waterway Guide Northern 2013_ ($40; 2013; Dozier’s Waterway Guide), Embassy Cruising Guide: New England Coast (10th edition, $45; Maptech), and A Visual Cruising Guide to the Southern New England Coast by James Bildner ($40; 2009; International Marine), and you’ll ply these waters like a local.

Harbor at Cuttyhunk

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