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June 2018

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With reports this month from Aretha's 'reverse' commuter cruisers who live in London but come here to sail; Atea living a Beach Boys song; Feel Free on a find-facting mission; Raven having 'one of those days' — and Cruise Notes.

Aretha — Oyster 53
Craven Family
Commuter Cruising in Reverse
San Francisco and London

I'm sitting in the cockpit of Aretha, our Oyster 53. To starboard, the fog is rolling down the side of the Sausalito hills. Astern, Mount Tam is looking spectacular in the early morning light.

Nine years ago, experiencing such a morning was beyond my wildest dreams. Back then, my wife Nichola and I spent a lot of time arguing about money. I was running my own business, working 18 hours a day, and money was tight. Our relationship was under pressure and I was feeling guilty, as I never got to spend any time with our two young children.

We asked ourselves the same question many times: "Is this all there is to life?"
Everything would change in a single moment on June 13, 2009. That was the day someone mentioned the idea of sailing around the world.

What a crazy idea.

Although I was a sailor, at that time, Nichola had only sailed twice — and had been seasick both times. Plus, we didn't have the money (not even remotely close), and we didn't have a boat.

Still, the idea resonated. We talked. We planned. Then we set a departure date: August, 2014. We believed we could do it; we had five years to figure out how.
They say that when you step outside your comfort zone, that's where the magic happens. And the magic did happen. We rearranged jobs and priorities. We got a boat. And on August 20, 2014, Nichola and I slipped lines from Southampton and with our now three children, Bluebell (9), Columbus (7) and Willow (2), we headed out to sail around the world.

We had only finalized the purchase of Aretha three months earlier, and had completed a huge amount of refitting and testing in a short time. Was everything perfect when we left? Not by any stretch of the imagination. Did we trust that we'd be able to figure out answers to whatever came up? Absolutely.

As it turned out, despite all those little fix-its that we did eventually get to, Aretha turned out to be the boat of our dreams. She is solid as a rock and sails beautifully, both upwind and downwind.

The early days of our adventure unfolded memorably. As we headed south toward Portugal, the gray weather of North Biscay turned sunny, the seas calmed, and gentle breezes carried us along. Our spirits rose. The wind even veered north, giving us easy downwind sailing and flat decks with the mainsail and genoa flying wing-and-wing.

Dolphins swam playfully in Aretha's bow wave — a first for the children (and a great distraction from the schoolbooks). In South Biscay, we fished for the first time since Plymouth. It was only 30 minutes before the reel started screaming and the rod bent over. We slowed down by furling the genoa and within 10 minutes we had landed a 10-pound bluefin tuna.

I particularly enjoyed night sailing. It was stunning to look at the sky ablaze with stars, then glance astern to see the water ablaze with phosphorescence streaming in torpedo-like wakes that the dolphins left behind.

For the next two years, we truly lived our dream — experiencing the world with our three young children as we sailed its seas and oceans.

Our route took us down the European coast before joining the ARC fleet in the Canary Islands and sailing to the Caribbean. In Panama, we joined the World ARC and spent six months traversing the magical islands of the Pacific, eventually ending up in Australia. We then headed north and, via Indonesia, picked our way through more island paradises to South Africa. Early 2016 saw our re-entry to the Atlantic with fast downwind sailing to Brazil via St. Helena. We crossed our outbound track in Grenada to complete our circumnavigation.
On our second Atlantic crossing, we spent a lot of time discussing what we wanted to do next — and where we wanted our new homeport to be. We knew going back to our old lives was not an option. We wanted to look forward to the next adventure.

We both loved the time we'd spent in America previously, so several US ports were on the short list. But when it was all said and done, the winner by a huge margin was San Francisco. Nichola had spent time there before and loved it, and even though I'd never been, I was captivated by the stories of Silicon Valley at the center of the technology world, and the lure of the vibrant, buzzing city, the stunning scenery, and of course the great sailing. Plus, its central location made it a perfect homebase for exploring the West Coast of America by sea.

Now we just had to get there — and from Panama. We had heard and read about The Bash. We soon became intimately acquainted.

Over the month it took us to get to the Bay Area, the trip north challenged us in new ways. As Aretha pounded through day after day of big wind and seas, I have to admit there were several times we considered scrapping the San Francisco idea altogether and heading back to the South Seas.

Our reward was sailing under the Golden Gate in glorious sunshine. Though it was my first time in the Bay, it felt as though I was coming home and I quickly fell in love with the area, its welcoming and cosmopolitan residents, and the vibrant lifestyle. Parts of the Bay reminded me of where I'd grown up in the Southwest of England.

Now, we split our time between London and San Francisco and are absolutely loving sailing the West Coast. Our forays range from sailing around Angel Island, and doing some racing around the Bay, to a wonderful expedition last summer to British Columbia and back. Later this year, we plan to sail to Southern California and Mexico.

As I sit here watching the sunrise in Sausalito, I reflect on how remarkably different our lives are now from nine years ago; how a random comment led to a decision which has literally changed the course of our lives in every way imaginable. Our adventures continue as we plan more family adventures and split our time between the best cities in the world.

— Caspar 5/5/18

Readers — Caspar Craven first sailed around the world aboard Quadstone in the 2000-01 BT Challenge. He now speaks around the world on teamwork, leadership and how to make things happen.

His book Where the Magic Happens (available on Amazon) tells the story not only of how he and his family transformed their lives and sailed around the world, but gives a 'blueprint' for anyone wishing to pursue their own dream, no matter how big or small.

Atea – 49-ft Ganley steel cutter
Kokomo Keeling
Kia and John Koropp
New Zealand

Aruba, Jamaica, ohh I want to take ya
Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama
Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go to the Kokomo…


The Beach Boys' 1980s lyrics were what put Cocos Keeling in our sights. As we sailed south toward the small island dependency of Australia, I kept singing the song and imagining us bound for the kind of island that songs and dreams are made of. " . . .We'll get there fast and then we'll take it slow . . ." And that's exactly what we intended for our two weeks in paradise.

That said, I know the actual song had nothing to do with Cocos Keeling per se, (and I've yet to find out where the real Kokomo actually is). Regardless, heading for an island oasis in the middle of a large ocean was enough of a similarity — the palm trees would sway over white sand beaches; the waters would shimmer cool and inviting; and I could almost taste the "tropical drink melting in my hand."

What I didn't foresee were the stormy conditions that greeted our arrival. Coming in between squalls, we found it difficult to find the entrance to the small lagoon off Direction Island, the designated anchorage for visiting yachts. The entrance was marked by directional buoys, but it was hard to see any way over the reef. After scratching our heads and spinning Atea in circles for half an hour, I donned mask and snorkel, jumped in, and guided us over the reef by sight. The anchor was finally set and we breathed a sigh of relief.

We spent the first few days enjoying the protected marine reserve under our keel. The snorkeling was terrific. Gray, black- and white-tip reef sharks abound and proved reliable swimming companions, as did the large schools of hump-head wrasse and parrotfish, so numerous that I could dive down and reach out to tickle their bellies. There were grouper the size of my 4-year-old son, colorful butterfly and clownfish, and snapper and trevally for the afternoon barbecue, with large-mouthed clams on the side.

Dolphin often came into the lagoon to swim around the resting yachts, and inquisitive sea turtles visited on occasion. The kids leaped forward in their swimming skills; with Braca and Ayla swimming underwater unassisted by parent or float, and both discovering a newfound love of snorkeling.

Social engagements with other cruisers included sundowners and rowdy, raucous games in the cockpit. We built bonfires on the beach at sunset, shared island-style barbecues of barracuda and mahi-mahi, served with freshly cut heart of palm, and washed it all down with the rich water from freshly cracked coconuts. We were living 'the Kokomo', Keeling-style. We had it all, ukulele and percussions included.

It didn't take long to register that we had also changed cruising seasons with the transit between the Northern and Southern hemispheres. Instead of hot, humid and windless as it was back in Sumatra, the Cocos climate was slightly cooler with constant trade winds. The 90° water of Asia dropped to the 70s, and the air temperature dropped with it. We started wearing clothes again and sleeping under sheets, a novel change brought by the cool breezes of the southern trade winds. The islands are positioned into two main groups: North Keeling is an atoll with a continuous coral reef enclosing a lagoon, South Keeling consists of an atoll with a reef connecting the various main islands around a large lagoon. Yachts have one designated anchorage in the lagoon at the northern entrance of South Keeling. It is here on Direction Island that the cruising yachts are based and where most of the yachtie activity is centered.

While most of the businesses cater to locals and holidaymakers that come from the inhabited islands, all visitors are free to use the amenities as long they do it responsibly. That includes rainwater from a catchment tank, picnic tables scattered along the beachfront, swings and hammocks hanging from trees, bonfire pits and barbecue facilities — and even the use of golf carts on Cocos. There is even the modern convenience of Wi-Fi, and a not-so-modern telephone booth offering free calls to anyone in the islands. All this for the nominal fee of $50 per week.

Our main shock — it's hard to call it anything else — was the price of food. Fresh fruit and vegetables arrive every other Friday by plane from Australia, and the villagers stand in a long line at the single cash register at daybreak Saturday morning get them. If you aren't there early, you have to wait two weeks before you get another chance.

Even if you happen to be first in line that second Saturday, it can be brutal on the wallet: $30 for a dozen tomatoes, $25 for a handful of carrots, $40 for five cartons of eggs, $16 for two heads of lettuce, $10 for a small Ziploc bag of green beans, $15 for half a small broccoli and half a cauliflower . . . In the two weeks we spent there, it cost us $1,000 — and we came to the island fully provisioned! Luckily, the fishing was great.

All in all, for such a small, isolated spot on the world map, Cocos Keeling delivered us an extraordinary time full of new charms and unexpected surprises, and it was hard to say goodbye to this uniquely charming atoll. As we slipped out of the lagoon bound for Chagos, the Beach Boys again harmonized in my head.

We'll put out to sea and we'll perfect our chemistry
By and by we'll defy a little bit of gravity
Afternoon delight, cocktails and moonlit nights; That dreamy look in your eye, give me a tropical contact high; Way down in Kokomo . . .

— Kia Koropp 4/27/18

Readers — Kia is a former Sacramento resident whose first long cruise was on a 32-ft boat from Seattle to Auckland in 2006. John is a British Navy veteran who did a four-year solo circumnavigation on a 27-ft boat. They met in New Zealand and took off together on Atea in 2011. Their visit to Cocos Keeling in September was part of a two-and-a-half-year exploration of the Indian Ocean.

At this writing, the boat is on the hard in South Africa, while Kia and John are back home in New Zealand, working to build up the cruising kitty for the next part of the adventure.

Oh, and by the way, although there are real places named Kokomo, the one in the Beach Boys' song is fictional. Of course, after the song came out, many Caribbean businesses adopted the name. They're the ones right down the street from all those Cheeseburger In Paradise restaurants.

Feel Free – Spencer 51
Things You Find
Liz Tosoni and Tom Morkin
Nanaimo, BC

After mucho miles of cruising and untold miles of beachcombing, my husband Tom finally realized a longterm cruising goal: to find a stash of weed on a remote beach. Twenty miles north of San Carlos in the Sea of Cortez, there it was, a kilo brick wrapped in aluminum foil inside a taped plastic bag. "Christmas in March!" he reckoned. If there's one, there must be more, we figured; so we did a thorough search but found no more.

It got us thinking about the whys and wherefores of that small package. When was it dropped into the sea? Why? Who dropped it and what happened to him or her? Why was it there all by itself in the intertidal zone? Had it been part of a larger cache that was either recovered or lost? Why only one? Of course, we'll never know the answers, but imagining the stories is half the fun.

And then, we couldn't help reflecting on the sometimes surprising, often useful, rarely nasty, occasionally shocking, usually fun things we've found on beaches or at sea, around the world over the years.

Our beachcombing addiction began in 1985 in the Queen Charlotte Islands of British Columbia when we set out aboard our first sailboat, Hoki Mai. There, on an isolated beach, we came upon that quintessential sailor's find: a message in a bottle. It read: "God bless beachcombers, and provide many treasures to make your day. All the best to you." It included a name and address and we did send a message back, but are still waiting for the reply. Anyway, there and then began our decades-long hobby.

Here are some of the things we've come across on beaches or on the water, in 30+ years of cruising:

• The 'usual suspects': fenders, floats, small containers, milk cartons, fishing gear, bottles, hats, towels, sunglasses, T shirts, shoes, boots and flip flops
• Life rings. We still carry one of them aboard Feel Free, our present boat.
• Dinghy parts obtained from aged, abandoned, deflated dinghies.
• A floating six pack of beer, which we put to good use
• A life-size inflatable woman (in Japan). We left that one on the beach!
• A stuffed Mickey Mouse (also in Japan). It became ship's mascot before we passed it on to a four-year-old on a Russian boat setting out on a circumnavigation
• Countless varieties of sea shells including nautilus (New Caledonia) and paper nautilus (Japan and Mexico)
• A perfectly preserved sea horse skeleton, high and dry on a rock-strewn beach (Mexico) — now displayed in a shadow box
• A Swiss Army knife (Turkey)
• About 20 Japanese glass balls of all sizes (Pagan, Marianas Islands) — we have one left
• A Pelican dive light (Spain)
• A 23-ft panga, adrift, minus the outboard (Banderas Bay, Mexico). When we returned it to the authorities to get it back to its rightful owner, we were accused of stealing the engine!
• A huge branch of black coral the size of a small tree (Australia)
• Two satin housecoats, found separately, on different parts of a beach (Hong Kong)
• Remains of an ancient Mediterranean urn (Cyprus)
• A lovely ceramic plate made in France with bullfighter logo (Bequia)
• Whale bones, bleached by the sun (Mexico)
• A working cell phone — owner later found, and phone returned (Mexico)
• Sea glass — beaches everywhere, but first discovered seriously in Curaçao, now displayed in ship's galley
• Countless tiny shells — beaches everywhere, now glued onto mirror frame in ship's head
• A $20 bill (British Columbia)
• Plastic debris, trash, trash and more trash, but don't get me started

Tom and I have yet to find something we've wished for for years: ambergris. The excellent Latitude 38 article about it some years back made us realize its value and uniqueness, and coming across it would be like discovering the holy grail. Will keep you posted on that one. As for what's become of the weed, well, some stories are best left to the imagination.

— Liz 4/29/18

Readers — What are some 'treasures' you have found in your travels? Please let us know at . (Possibly the strangest flotsam we ever saw photographic proof of was a spent booster rocket found in mid-ocean in the 1980s.) And yes, Liz and Tom really have been cruising for more than three decades. When they originally departed Vancouver on their first boat, they figured all they could really afford was an 18-month Pacific circuit: Mexico, Hawaii and back home. Instead they kept going, ending up in French Polynesia, and never looked back.Interestingly, Liz says their longest passage in all those years was that first one across the Pacific — 23 days. And their worst weather? Also that first year, when they rode out 65 knots of wind, hove-to for three days, in the Tasman Sea.

Raven — Nauticat 52 ketch
Trust Your Cork
Neil and Tally Armand
Seattle

During the first day and a half of our passage from Chiapas to Bahia del Sol, El Salvador, I was feeling pretty proud. This was going to be the longest trek Tally and I had done with minimal crew, the first time Jan — my 83-year-old mother-in-law — stood a watch, and, if our luck held just another five hours, the first passage with no major mechanical issues.

It was not to be. Around 5 a.m., the engine stumbled and died. We'd been motoring in almost no wind, but now put up the sails. Tally made the best of it while I spent the next hour or more in the engine room trying to coax the engine back to life — with no success.

About the time I got back on deck, the wind started blowing, eventually reaching gale force with short-period, 8-ft seas. Under jib and jigger, we made slow but steady progress. I even allowed myself to think we still might make it to the anchorage outside del Sol in time for a pilot to guide us in over the treacherous bar.

Conditions abated through the morning, and we began increasing sail. First, the mainsail went up. Then we unfurled the jib. Soon we were flying every sail aboard except the spinnaker — which I would have considered if the wind angle had been better. This was the first time we had ever been fully canvassed on Raven! We reached 8.5 knots in 15 knots of wind several times. Raven was happy to "stretch her legs."

Me, not so much. The time in a hot engine room had left me sweaty and fatigued — and Tally wasn't feeling much better. We began to feel worse as the breeze again fell away to nothing and we cooked in the hot El Salvador sun.

By that time we were about 20 miles out — still too far for VHF, but Doug and Sara on the MacGregor 65 Illusion heard us and relayed messages for us to Bill and Jean from the El Salvador Rally — the event we were coming to take part in. When they asked if I needed assistance, I swallowed my pride and said yes.

Within a few hours, a panga arrived along with Bill from the Rally and Steven Dees, a medic from the Beneteau 43 Toccata. They brought water, juice, ice, and handheld radios

After a brief check-up, 'Dr. Steve' determined that we were all healthy other than a bout with dehydration and fatigue. With that diagnosis, a huge weight of worry was lifted off my shoulders.

I had hoped that the panga might give us a tow, but Bill explained that it was too far and our boat was too big. They soon zoomed off over the horizon.

Our next option was to 'hip tie' the dinghy to the side of Raven and use its 15-hp outboard to get us the rest of the way. It worked surprisingly well — pushing our 30-ton boat along at better than 3 knots. We made it to within 5 miles of Del Sol when the current changed and our progress over the bottom went from 3.3 knots forward to 2 knots backward.

The wind also returned with a vengeance — right on the nose. We again set shortened sail, put the dinghy on a long towing line, and headed south. By the time we tacked back, we were again 25 miles away, it was dark, and I was worried about the batteries getting too low to run the autopilot, instruments and running lights. Our own 'batteries' were also drained. Neither Tally nor I had slept much in the last 42 hours and Jan was unable to help out due to her age. Tally and I traded off 20-minute watches while Jan rested as best she could.

It was about 1:15 p.m. when we finally ghosted into the anchorage and dropped the hook. We had been in contact with friends and were informed that a panga would soon be arriving with a mechanic, a crew of helpers – and hamburgers!

Within minutes of its arrival, Raven was a flurry of activity. Another good friend, Eric from Shearwater, along with Greg (a cruiser we had never met) got the dinghy back on its davits, while the diesel mechanic, Willy, worked below with his two helpers.

Incredibly, within about 20 minutes of his arrival, Willy had the engine running. The problem — stripped bolts on bleeder valves — would require a proper repair later, but he assured us his quick fix would hold long enough to get us into the Bay. And it did just that.

After what we'd been through, the passage over the bar was almost anticlimactic. Bill came out with the pilot, and acted as interpreter. As instructed, we held position as two big sets of waves went by. Then it was "max speed!" and away we went, following the panga in as three relatively small waves propelled us safely at 10 knots over the bar.

We arrived to a large welcoming committee. Bill and Jean were waiting on the dock with rum punch. The immigration official was there, as well. So were Mike, Tara, Pati, Willy, and about 20 other cruisers and locals who shared concern for our well-being. We wished then, and wish now, that we could remember all their names and thank them all.

Oddly, I felt most grateful to someone who wasn't even there — my good friend Brian Neill, who crewed for six weeks on Raven. More than once, Brian had told me, "Trust your cork." At the time, I took it to mean having faith in your vessel. But sitting there, safe at last in Bahia del Sol, I realized that he really meant the cork on top of your shoulders.

— Neil 5/7/18

Cruise Notes:

The Changes in Latitudes layout is pretty strict as far as article length, and we're sad to say a lot of the 'good stuff' often ends up on the proverbial cutting room floor.

One such story was too good not to include, so we offer it here. It was originally included in Kia Koropp's great piece on Cocos Keeling, where you may recall there was exactly one payphone on the whole island.

"It was at this random payphone, placed conspicuously between palm trees, that I met Flo," wrote Kia. "Between tears and phone calls, I pieced together the unfortunate situation that this single Italian cruiser had gotten herself into.

"Joining as temporary crew on a Chilean yacht, she'd developed a hostile relationship with the captain, who'd threatened to throw her overboard mid-passage! Clearly not an ideal situation as she and the skipper were looking at 1,700 miles to the Maldives in front of them. She was frantic to find accommodation ashore, but nothing was available. I took the opportunity to repay earlier kindnesses extended to me by strangers: I offered her safe haven. She packed her bags and by morning we'd acquired a new crewmember on Atea. It was a change of scene having someone onboard and we enjoyed the company, although it was a reminder of how tight a space our floating home becomes in the company of strangers. Regardless, a beautiful friendship was made through an unexpected encounter, thanks to a random telephone booth tucked up in the oddest, most unlikely spot on Earth."

Bill Edinger has headed out again on his Cross 45 trimaran Defiance. Along for the trip are wife Sandy, daughter Annie and old friend Billy Mittendorf. They departed the Bay in early April, made a pit stop at Santa Barbara to wait out some weather, then turned their three bows south, making Hiva Oa in just 18 days. They're currently in Fatu Hiva's Bay of Virgins. "We're planning to be out 90 days before heading back to the Bay," says Bill. "But who knows?"

Christian and Josie Laducci of the Stevens 40 Shawnigan (and kids Nina, Ellamae and Taj) are part of the 2018 fleet of Pacific Puddle Jumpers arriving in French Polynesia as this was written. Josie reports the three-week passage "went a lot quicker and easier than expected" — especially when compared to their 19-day passage from Mexico to Costa Rica, which was half the distance but upwind. Jan also echoes a sentiment we've heard before — that the hardest day of any long passage is Day Two, when the routine has just started to set in. "But after that, the daily routine of watches, sleep, school and meals all fell right into place."

Speaking of the Pacific Puddle Jump, the fleet of nearly 200 boats all should have arrived by the time this issue hits the streets. If you are among them, we'd like to hear how it went! Part of our Grand Plan for 2018 is to dedicate at least one Changes in Latitudes column specifically to the adventures of the PPJ Class of '18.

The subject matter? You, your boat, your crew, your crossing – your choice! Even though you have all shared the same experience of crossing an ocean, every individual perceives it in a unique way. That's what we want to read about.
Just a few suggestions to get your right brain sparking: Is this your first ocean crossing? How did it match expectations? What was the weather like? What were watches and other daily routines like? What were the high/low points? What was it like to see land for the first time after weeks at sea? What would you change if you did it again? Let us know! Send your words (and photos, please!) to

Some millenials are redefining the cruising experience. Alma Sommer and Brian Stith (along with 3-year-old son, Neo and 8-month-old daughter, Tate) are currently cruising the East Coast aboard their Pearson 323 Bangarang.

We first became aware of them when we noticed on their social media page that they were about to take off from South Padre Island (Texas) — and were polling Facebook users on which way they should go: south to Mexico or east to Florida.

We reached out to learn more, and were amazed and amused by their unique story.

They had traveled the country for two years in a land yacht, and were accepting both cash and 'crypto' — cryptocurrency, Bitcoin in this case — for the various odd jobs they did along the way. When it came time to shop for a boat last year, they didn't have much money, but they did have the RV, Jeep and an ATV — and Bitcoin — to trade.

They found the Pearson in Clear Lake, Texas, The boat was in good condition with a recent bottom job. The owner was 78 years old and had tried unsuccessfully to sell the boat through a brokerage for over a year. He offered it to them for $5,000. He wasn't willing to trade for vehicles or Bitcoin.

Alma contacted "my 100-year-old Grandpa" who agreed to give them a loan. He also agreed to take monthly payments while Alma and Brian hung onto the Bitcoin on the chance that it would earn value.

"And boy, did it!" Alma says. "Right before Christmas, Bitcoin blasted through the roof!" The windfall allowed the young couple to outfit and upgrade the boat with refrigeration, a generator, navigation equipment and many other items it needed.

As the boat came together and departure time drew nigh, Alma and Brian began discussing which way to go. She favored Mexico, where they had spent some fun times recently, while he was leaning toward Florida and the East Coast, where friends were wanting them to visit.

Just for kicks, they decided to ask Facebook followers what they thought. "We did a live video asking cruisers which way we should go," Alma says. "It got over 7,000 views!"

The verdict? East. "Brian finally convinced me because someone suggested that there would be many more boats with kids going that way."

There are many celebrities, past and present, who have enjoyed sailing. (A few off the tops our heads: Errol Flynn, Bogie, FDR, JFK, Walter Cronkite, Albert Einstein, David Crosby, Neil Young, Stephen Colbert.)

We were surprised to learn recently that Morgan Freeman is also on that list. And even more surprised to know that Freeman, who turns 81 on June 1, has been sailing for 50 years and cruising for almost 40! A bit of Googling revealed the actor "first fell in love with sailing when he saw a sailboat gliding on San Francisco Bay in 1961." His first boat was a Lightning that somebody gave him in the '60s, and upon which he learned to sail on a reservoir in Vermont. His first 'big boat' was a Holiday 28, which he kept in Eastchester Bay (New York) and used to explore the waters of Long Island Sound, Block Island, the Elizabeth Islands, Cape Cod, the coast of Maine, and as far north as Nova Scotia.

He first cruised to the Caribbean in 1979 on an Alberg 30, later moved up to a Shannon 38, and then his present boat, a Shannon 43 named Afrodesia, that he has owned for the last 20 years. Unfortunately, a car accident in 2008 left his left hand almost completely paralyzed. That curtailed a number of activities (even more so since he is a leftie), including sailing. He reportedly had not used the boat much at all since the accident, and finally put her up for sale last year down in the BVI. Asking price is just under $300K for the well-equipped boat. Net proceeds from the sale will go to charity.

Missing the pictures? See the May 2018 eBook!

 

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