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July 2018

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You can read the feature story on the 2018 Pacific Puddle Jump in the August issue. In this 'Special Edition' of Changes In Latitudes, we'll focus on the more in-depth thoughts and experiences of three newly-minted veterans of that event: the Bay-based Bravo and Cool Change, and the Australian boat Galaxy III, whose skipper went out of his way to make the Jump part of his ongoing circumnavigation. Plus the usual Cruise Notes from all over the place.

Bravo — Wauquiez 35
Melissa Mora and Andy Blakeslee
Land Ho!
San Francisco

Land ho! Land ho! LAND HO! At 2300 UTC, we spotted the island of Hiva Oa through the haze. We arrived with enough remaining sunlight to see this small island in all its glory. Rugged, volcanic rock formations springing up from the sea. Monumental spikes connected by a jagged razorback ridge lined with teeth. Explosions of water smashing against the rocks below. The windward side barren and unfriendly; hints of a leeward side lush and green.

How do I label this feeling? Unbelievable. Surreal. Indescribable. Joy with a side of awe. A hint of sadness and a sprinkle of disbelief.

Once the sun set, we lowered our sails and motored the last hour into the anchorage. Andy, Matt and I ate dinner under a clear, beautiful sky, comparing notes on constellations. As I thought, "This simply can't get any better," God smiled down, said "Here, hold my beer," and bestowed onto us a last visit from a pod of dolphins that had been playing at our bow for days, visible in the dark through bioluminescence. Seriously?!

We traveled 2,852 nautical miles in 19 days and 8 hours, endured 16 squalls (most small, some big), maneuvered away from dozens more, hit a top speed of 16 knots under sail, took two dips in the ocean (Matt did three, all on purpose), lost four lures, and ate no fish. Only 13% of our passage was assisted by fossil fuels; the rest was powered by nature. How cool is that? Some of the most beautiful islands in the world are ahead of us, and we earned our way to them.

In the days before we left La Cruz on March 17, our friend Giselle interviewed us for her podcast Why We Spin Yarns. When she asked what we looked forward to the most, I blanked. Was it fair to give "land ho" as an answer? In that moment, fear for the unknown and uncertainty overshadowed the highlight of the upcoming weeks, and The Journey ahead. Now, as our passage southwest comes to an end, I've been reflecting on this question and asked Matt and Andy to do the same. With it behind us, how would they characterize our crossing?

Andy: "That was fucking cool."

Matt: "Holy shit, man."

Yeah, thanks guys. That was deep.

My take: When dinner flew off the counter and splattered into the locker making a massive mess a few days ago, I was certain 'land ho' was the right answer. But with morale now restored, I'm sad this crossing is coming to an end. This was really fun. There was something so natural and right about being out there, and the solitude at sea was never daunting. We worked so hard and planned for this for so long, it's unbelievable to be on the other side, or to realize this isn't the end; it's barely the beginning. The longest open-ocean crossing we will ever experience is behind us, and exploration, new cultures and new connections await. I am still so excited. I can't narrow it down to one memorable moment, so I'll give you three:

• The sailing itself was incredible; hours on end on a consistent tack, sailing 8 knots at night with just the mainsail (did not know that was possible), hitting 11-16 knots surfing waves with the spinnaker, deep-blue sea as far as the eye can see, and the peaceful doldrums.

• Taking a mini dip in the ocean, 12,000 feet deep and thousands of miles from the nearest piece of land

• The wildlife. Although visits were scarce, they made it up in majesty. A giant billfish (marlin?) following our wake, two fish (tuna?) surfing waves for an hour at our starboard quarter, a fluffy booby hitching a ride for 18 hours, and spinner and common dolphins at sunset riding waves alongside Bravo. It doesn't matter if you're 14 or 40, when dolphins come and play at your boat's bow, you turn into a kid again.

Bravo and crew held their own, and then some. That includes our 'new guy', Matt Lukens, who had never been on a sailboat before — the Puddle Jump was literally his first time sailing! We left with a group of boats, and not only did we not get left in the wake of larger vessels, we managed to close a 350-mile gap with our friends who'd left before us.

Over the weeks, it led to several comments in our little group that Bravo must be a fast boat. It reminded me of a story (I paraphrase) about a photographer who is told by a chef, "Your pictures are great; you must have a really good camera." The chef invites the photographer to his house for a dinner party, and as he's leaving, the photographer comments, "The meal was amazing; you must have a really good stove."

Bravo is no ordinary stove, she's a stellar piece of classic engineering and we love her dearly (more and more each day). She handled herself beautifully, and kept us safe, comfortable and mostly dry.

But my biggest point of pride is my +1, Captain "please-pull-your-pants-up" Andy. He devoted every waking hour to ensuring a safe and successful passage, hand-steering in precarious waters, strategizing, trimming and adjusting based on current conditions. Our fate was his responsibility, and our success is his doing. We worked brilliantly as a team, but would not have made it out of the Bay without him. I love you, Boo — now go take a shower.

As mentioned, Matt had no idea what he was getting himself into, but that did not deter — he recognized an epic in the making. With a copy of Sailing for Dummies in one hand and his wit and good humor in tow, first-class helmsman Lukens picked this sailing stuff up quickly and conquered the sea. We are incredibly grateful for his time at the helm and for helping keep the morale high.

Time to break out our three ice cubes and make a toast to you guys: We made it!

So, goodnight, everyone, thank you for following us along. Until tomorrow. Wait, no . . . until we make memories and have more cool stories to tell. Bravo out!

— Melissa 4/6/18

Cool Change — Pacific Seacraft 31
Rick and Cindy Patrinellis
Lessons Learned

Eight years since the dream sprouted from a hot-tub conversation over wine in our Northern California foothill home, my husband Rick and I cast off the docklines from Banderas Bay on March 27 to sail to the South Pacific. It still sends chills down my spine when I see the words "South Pacific Ocean" on the chartplotter. I can't believe we made it here.

Here are a few lessons we learned about sailing and life on this voyage.

1. Move slowly and deliberately through life. I started this voyage feeling like Dorothy skipping down the yellow brick road. But after a while, I realized the road to Oz had more than a few potholes. My body became so battered and bruised that I felt like a human pinball. I thought after 3 1/2 years of full-time cruising I had become accustomed to rocking and rolling, but nothing prepared me for the constantly changing motion.

On day 13, it all came to a head. I'll spare you the gory details, but we caught a fish, I made sashimi, I fell backward down the companionway, crashing into the door of the head, which split in half — and I got food poisoning.

That day, I realized that, rather than hurrying around the boat as I had on other voyages, I decided I should move very slowly and deliberately at all times, constantly being mindful of the boat's movement and in tune with the sea. As with mountain climbing, I made sure each foothold and handhold was secure before making the next step. It worked. During the second half of the voyage, my bruises started healing, my broken fingernails started growing again, and hot dinners didn't get made unless the sea permitted.

2. Help someone in distress if you can. A bit over halfway into the trip, a skipper came on the SSB net to say that he had lost his steering and had been floundering for days trying to get it working again. Due to the delay, they were down to only 5 liters of drinking water for three crew members, and had at least 10 days before landfall. He asked if anyone was in the vicinity and could give them some water. We are a small boat with minimal tankage, but we do have a watermaker and we were only 30 miles away. We planned a rendezvous and managed to get him enough water to last either until a rain catchment system could be devised or another boat could come by. We also attached a little goodie bag including candies and even some rum for the captain!

3. Dinnertime is very special. Honor and respect it. This is as true in an ocean crossing as it was back in my father-knows-best childhood home. Every night, Rick and I sat down together in the cockpit and shared a good meal. Sometimes he prepared the meal and sometimes I did. It was the one time a day we could actually devote to being together. Even though we were obviously together on the same small boat, off-watches tended to be spent down below while the person on watch remained in the cockpit. We planned it so that we ate before the evening radio net. We asked each other about our days, and took time to work through any brewing disagreements or misunderstandings before they got out of hand.

4. The ocean is as varied as it is vast. Somehow I had acquired the impression that this trip would basically consist of the same monotonous view of ocean and sunny blue sky in increasing heat for 3,000 miles. How wrong I was! We found ourselves breaking the trip down into segments, and each segment had a distinct 'personality' dictated by the weather. The first, just getting past the Socorros, was cloudy with choppy waves and good wind. Then we got into some light-wind days on our way to the NE trade winds, where the sea was calm and the sky was clear. When we hit the trades, the winds and accompanying seas picked up dramatically, and I found it kind of cold, especially at night. I actually put my foulies on once.

Heading south into the ITCZ was our biggest surprise. Everyone in the fleet was anticipating this part with foreboding. Stories abounded of towering rain clouds, lightning all around and high winds that came out of nowhere and changed direction to cause unintentional jibes.

On the contrary, we loved the ITCZ. The air warmed up and became soft and soothing. Yes, the clouds were dramatic, and we were grateful that the lightning remained at a distance. We did get 30-knot winds for a time but they weren't that shifty. For the most part, the seas were calm, and we had enough wind to sail all but about 12 hours. We crossed the equator in light breeze, just right for making our offerings to Neptune and having a little dress-up party.

Then we hit the SE trades. OMG, talk about a freight train! Unlike their NE cousin, we hit the SE trades on a beam reach, which made them all the more awe-inspiring. Like most everyone else in our little fleet, we roared to the finish line with reefed sails and white knuckles.

5. Good preparation pays off in fewer breakdowns and reduced stress. Except for my incident with the head door and a cockpit microphone that was on its last legs before we started, nothing broke on the entire voyage. Before we left Mexico, Rick spent many sleepless nights dreaming up unlikely scenarios that could cause us problems, then addressing them as best he could the next day. Cool Change was as prepared as any boat twice her size, and in many cases, better. We had good equipment, up-to-date electronics and spares for spares. During the voyage, we found exactly one loose screw (which we promptly tightened). We also added a number of chafe guards while underway, as possible chafe points appeared.

6. Don't assume you will remember important things. Set up obvious reminders.
Our particular nemesis was our handline for fishing. One bumpy evening, we hove to for dinner. Sometime later, Rick realized the hand line had wrapped itself around the rudder or prop. Somehow, he finagled it out intact. We were not so lucky the second time: We had to cut the line, knowing the lure was still caught somewhere below. It wasn't until we approached landfall and put the engine in gear that we finally breathed a sigh of relief that the line and lure weren't hung up in the prop. After that, we stuck a piece of blue tape to the chartplotter reminding us of the fishing line — no maneuvers without first hauling in that fishing line!

7. You can't quit; this is the ocean! This is what a salty old sailing instructor of ours once said to a student who said she couldn't take it anymore and she quit. There are times in life when quitting is not an option; an ocean crossing is one of them. Yet in our small fleet of two dozen boats that had started from Banderas Bay the same time as we did, there were at least two boats whose crew decided that, when the going got tough, they wanted to abandon ship.

Fortunately, both issues were resolved (by a lot of helpful radio support). But it impressed on us that when planning a long crossing, you need to make certain that everyone realizes before you start that this is the ocean; you can't quit.

— Cindy 5/22/18

Readers — Cool Change departed Sausalito in September 2014 and participated in that year's Baja Ha-Ha. At the start of cyclone season (November-April in the South Pacific), Rick and Cindy will leave the boat on the hard in Raiatea and return to California for the winter. Next year, the Tuamotus, or maybe farther west, or maybe back to Hawaii — their plans are open.

Galaxy III — S&S 39
Chris Canty
Longest Leg
Sydney, Australia

Galaxy III joined the annual migration of "puddle jumpers" who for the past 20-plus years have made the crossing from the Americas to French Polynesia. For boats that start in Mexico, it's about 3,000 miles. For those of us who started in Panama, it was about 4,000 — but we have the added elective of a stop in the Galápagos. With three on board, this long passage required rationing both our 300 liters of water and fuel to firstly, get through the doldrums, and secondly, keep the batteries charged.

After the new gearbox was installed on Galaxy, Cui (pronounced 'Trey') and I departed Panama on March 22 with a nice NE breeze that we hoped would get us far enough south from the intertropical Convergence Zone to meet the SE trades. The northeast breeze faded a couple of days early and the forecast was for 0-5 knots all the way to Galápagos. Galaxy had enough fuel to motor half the distance, so it was likely to be a slow passage. Happily, 5-10kts breeze came in and, combined with the Humboldt Current, gave us around 6 knots boat speed all the way to Galápagos.

The Humboldt Current flows north along the coast of South America, bringing cool water to the Pacific Ocean — the sea temperature at the equator is around 75 degrees, and this cool water creates the unique environment of the Galápagos Islands and their rich biodiversity. The Humboldt merges with the South Equatorial Current and keeps the water cool enough for the coral reefs in French Polynesia to also escape the high-water temperatures that cause bleaching.

The Galápagos archipelago is a province of Ecuador, and that country has strict biosecurity requirements for boats entering the islands. So even though I had a diver clean the hull in Panama a week before we left, the bottom looked like a lawn in summer and we needed to scrub it again before arrival in Santa Cruz on Thursday afternoon, just before the Easter weekend. After emailing ahead just about every document imaginable and paying a dozen different fees, we cleared in with six officials onboard, including a diver to inspect the hull. Cui and I celebrated a successful first leg with Andres, who rejoined the crew after crossing the Atlantic on Galaxy last year.

The next morning, the bay was busy with blacktip reef sharks, sea turtles and sea lions. Easter is low-key on The Islands of Evolution — the church didn't seem to have much going on Good Friday, aside from two hardy souls handing out 'Was life created?' brochures on the ferry wharf (that would have to be one of the toughest gigs in Christianity). Public holidays seem to be observed primarily by the government. For everyone else, it's business as usual.

The clearing agent advised it would take three days after Easter to obtain a fuel permit, which requires approval from three government departments — so enjoy your time in Galápagos! This gringo had run out of patience, and while my response was probably like water off a duck's back, it worked. We had the permit, fuel and water on board Saturday. Next was the cooking gas, which the agent triumphantly advised was impossible to obtain until next week. So Andres disappeared into the depths of Santa Cruz and emerged with a 15 kg gas bottle and the fittings to transfer it into the smaller bottles on board.

In between victualing activities, Cui did the sightseeing on behalf of the crew while Andres and I surfed at Tortuga Bay. The waves were ordinary, though the white sand and aquamarine water made the two-mile walk worthwhile. Pelicans sitting close by in the lineup, would launch themselves 10-12 feet vertically out of the water, bank, then dive with surprising speed and power to catch fish — you could almost hear the David Attenborough commentary. After clearing out on Sunday morning, we weighed anchor and made way for French Polynesia. Adios amigos!

It was a slow start with light or no wind for the first four days as we made our way south to meet the SE trade winds. The GPS aerial on the autohelm gave up the ghost, and we spent a day contemplating hand-steering for the next 20 days . . . Fortunately, the autohelm could use the GPS signal from the AIS, and it took me a day of sweating in the aft cabin to make it happen.

Cui's authentic Chinese cooking lifted the standard of meals considerably. What the fishing lacked in quantity, it made up for in quality after we landed a 4.5-ft shortbill sailfish and two nice mahi mahi. Sashimi and beer with each fish is a money-can't-buy experience that has become a well-established tradition on Galaxy III.

A passage wouldn't be complete without at least one big thing going wrong, Ours came when we hoisted the spinnaker at a bad angle and it blew to shreds. Then it wrapped around both the forestay and inner forestay in different directions. There was no lucky escape this time and both Andres and I had to climb the mast to release the halyard and cut it free.

Hanging on to a swinging mast is physically demanding in itself — never mind what you're trying to accomplish up there. Fatigue sets in quickly and amplifies the risk of swinging out from the mast and crashing back into it or the rigging. After we were both down safely, I contemplated taking up basket weaving as I consoled myself with a few cold beers and AC/DC on full volume.

Otherwise, most of the passage was as advertised, with consistent 15-knot trade winds. After 21 days and 3,025 nm, Galaxy III arrived at Hiva Oa in the Marquesas Islands on April 22.

Welcome to French Polynesia!

Hiva Oa harbor has a muddy look from black volcanic sand and is crowded with fellow puddle jumpers, some with fore and aft anchors, some without, just to keep everyone on their toes as the boats swing about, or not. Anchoring in Sydney Harbour on New Year's Eve is easier.

Andres and Cui scouted the island for surf and returned with a carload of bananas, grapefruit and mangoes thanks to the generosity of a local farmer. The only surf is a small, onshore, black-sand beach break, so the surfboards stayed on the boat.

Refueling was again an 'adventure' —three days for an authorization letter, another day for the service station to have diesel, and then ferrying jerry cans in the dinghy between the dock and the boat! The fresh water is also untreated so we added chlorine tablets to the tanks, just in case. Victualing complete, we weighed anchor for the next leg of 600 nm to Rangiroa Atoll in the Tuamotu Archipelago and some of the best scuba diving in the world.

— Chris 5/10/18

Readers — The Pacific Puddle Jump was the longest leg of Galaxy III's ongoing circumnavigation, which started in Sydney Harbor in April, 2017. Chris had not heard of the PPJ until it was recommended to him by Nigel Heath in Trinidad. He checked it out online and signed up.

Andres Mamed and Cui Zhipeng left the boat in Moorea. After six months and nearly 14,000 nautical miles, Chris reunited with significant other Deanne, who flew into Papeete for a long visit. From Tahiti, Galaxy III is heading for Fiji and then home to Sydney by August — a mere 3,600 nm and a Tasman crossing to complete a lap around the world!

Cruise Notes:

Although he'd dabbled in sailing while growing up in Lake Tahoe, Gavin McClurg's baptism by storm into the sport happened back in 1999 when he helped his father deliver the new-to-them Holland 52 Saoirse from Seattle to Santa Barbara. They were hit by gales and big seas, one of which laid the boat flat, mast in the water. Everyone survived, but the senior McClurg was so traumatized he never sailed again. Gavin loved it. He got a job bartending, eventually bought the boat from Dad, and sailed her to the South Pacific. That's where he got the idea for a kitesurfing expedition/rideshare named Best Odyssey (after its main sponsor), which led to the purchase of the Lagoon 570 cat Discovery in 2006, and — so far — two globe-girdling 'expeditions' (totaling more than 100,000 miles) to enjoy the best kitesailing spots in the world, BEST Odyssey (2006-2011) and Cabrinha Quest (2012- 2018). The boat is currently on the hard at the Watercraft Venture boatyard in Subic Bay (Philippines) until December, undergoing extensive upgrades in preparation for her third sojourn starting next year.

A couple of years ago, Nikk and Jan of the Oregon-based Baba 30 Balance, got interested in turtle conservation while cruising in Mexico. In Marina Riviera Nayarit in La Cruz, Jan recalls seeing several adult green turtles "swimming inside the marina, looking for the beach that hasn't been there since the marina was begun in 2006." (Sea turtles return to the exact beach where they were hatched — no one really knows what a mother turtle does when she can't find 'her' beach anymore.) After that, they and other cruisers got involved in local and national-turtle rescue efforts. In their case, it was taking part in the annual release of hundreds of baby turtles into the surf at Tenacatita. There are similar programs throughout Mexico. The egg-laying season runs from June until November. If you want to take part, do a Google search or start at

Scott and Nikki Stolnitz sent a note from Perth correcting an error in our list of West Coast Circumnavigators (find it at Unbelievable as it may sound, we made a mistake! The dates for their seven-year, 36,617-mile circumnavigation aboard the Switch 51 cat Beach House (which we had erroneously noted as 2007-2009) were actually 2009-2016. The adventurous couple are currently land-cruising the Outback.

Speaking of cruising the concrete, Nick and Allison Edwards of the San Francisco-based Beneteau 393 Salt are also on the road for the summer. In May they left Salt in El Salvador, where she will get some maintenance and upgrades while they do a tour of the national parks in the lower 48.

With her umpteenth participation in the Baja Ha-Ha, a class win at the Banderas Bay Regatta, and trophy for 'Best Boat' in the Boat Parade, Patsy Verhoeven of Talion had been having a good season — until she headed out of La Paz for the Big Bash up to Canada in early May. Barely 15 minutes from casting off, the oil pressure on the boat's diesel went to 20 pounds. Then 10. She sailed back to La Paz for some exploratory surgery on the engine. It was raised, flushed, degreased, cleaned and pressure-tested — and got new hoses and a new alternator. She left again on May 18 and is currently en route north, hoping to make Portland by July 4 and Canada by August.

"Just when we thought things couldn't get any better, they did!" writes Bill Edinger in his latest dispatch from the South Pacific. He was referring to great sailing conditions aboard his Cross 45 trimaran Defiance on the 500+ mile passage from Nuku Hiva to Fakarava, which even included hooking a sailfish (which they released as "too big to handle"). At this writing, Bill and his crew — wife Sandy, daughter Annie and longtime friend Bill Mettendorf — were about halfway through their 90-day cruising sabbatical from the Bay, and particularly enjoying diving at South Pass, one of the top diving spots in the Pacific. They'll be heading home sometime this month.

We never get tired of hearing about unusual encounters with wildlife. Cruiser (and noted artist) Michael French had one such back in April. He and his family (wife Erika, sister-in-law Veronica and daughters Sophia and Amelia) had anchored their Mazatlan-based Hinckley 46 Sophia Allessandra at Isla Isabel — the 'Galápagos of Mexico' — and were checking out the abandoned research center when they heard a 'whomp!' They turned around to see an iguana lying on the floor. It had either fallen or jumped through a hole in the roof. At first they thought it was dead — or soon would be. But after awhile, it came to and ambled off. Then it happened again with a different iguana! And again! "We witnessed this strange behavior over and over again, but none of the iguanas seemed to harbor any ill effects," French wrote. He and his family spend three months a year cruising the Mexican Gold Coast and/or Sea of Cortez. The rest of the time, the boat is berthed in Mazatlan, where she's looked after by, among others, Tyler Merchant of Dockside Services.

When the Northern California band 'That Captain' embarks on a world tour in 2020, it will be by boat. Specifically, the 50-ft Piver trimaran Tatzelwurm ('little dragon' in German). The fiberglass-over-plywood boat was started in Eureka back in the '70s but never finished. Now Marc Bourde, along with some of his 'That Captain' bandmates and a group of volunteers, will complete that mission — and move on to the next. Bourde is no newcomer to music or sailing. In 2011, he and the band, then sailing a 26-ft sloop based in Galveston, completed 33 shows along 300 miles of coastline in South Texas.

As you may have read elsewhere in this issue, the Schmidt family of the Vancouver-based Catana 471 catamaran Element had a pretty interesting Puddle Jump. In fact, part of it was one of the biggest stories to come out of this year's event: coming to the aid of the disabled monohull Vata, and eventually towing that boat — almost entirely under sail — for six days and almost 700 miles to Hiva Oa.

But that wasn't the only notable story going on aboard Element. In a great illustration of the friendships that can be made cruising, Shaun, wife Sherrie and daughters Paige and Jordan, first met German cruisers Manuel and Nadja of the Reinke 10M (34-ft) Manado in Spain. Personalities meshed instantly, and the two boats ended up buddying together in Gibraltar, Morocco and the Canaries. Element and Manado crossed the Atlantic separately — then ran into each other again in the Caribbean and buddy-boated some more. When Schmidt asked Nadja and Manuel if they might want to come along for Element's Pacific adventures, the German couple sold Manado and moved aboard! It's been one big happy family ever since.

A new and updated version of our popular booklet First Timer's Guide to Mexico has recently come off the presses. It covers pretty much all the 'need to know' stuff for both first- timers, and maybe a few seasoned veterans who haven't been back in awhile. Subjects covered include what gear we like, what boats to consider, phone service, documentation and other paperwork, suggested itineraries, weather, finding crew — even the current (and surprisingly modern) state of medical care in Mexico.

An excerpt: "For cruisers, nowhere in the world are they more socially or group-oriented than in Mexico. Tenacatita Bay on the Gold Coast has even had a seasonal Cruising Mayor and Cruising First Lady — Robert and Virginia Gleser of the Alameda-based Freeport 41 Harmony — for 18 years. Unless you're a hermit, you'll make more friends in Mexico than you had back in the States."

The Guide will be available at our website by the time you read this.

On May 9, Bill Babington of the Liberty 456 Solstice crossed his outbound track off Bahia de los Muertos to complete a seven-year circumnavigation. Bill departed Redondo Beach in April 2011 and should be arriving back there about the time this issue hits the streets. Although he did a few passages with friends, "Three quarter of my trip around the world has been solo," he says. A hearty congratulations to you, sir! Your name has been added to our list of West Coast Circumnavigators.

There are many interesting statistics and trends that Jimmy Cornell references in his newest book 200,000 Miles, (which we review elsewhere in this issue). One is that the number of cruising boats sailing the world's oceans seems to be declining. According to his latest surveys of cruiser-oriented ports (which he's been monitoring for 30 years), "the popularity of long-distance cruising may have peaked in 2010." He estimates that about 8,000 boats of all nationalities are currently cruising or voyaging now, compared to 10,000-12,000 in the first decade of the new millennium. Reasons for the decline may include political, economic and climatic changes (the latter leading to less predictable weather). The silver lining? "Attractive destinations have not been overrun by visitors and show no signs of that happening soon."

Missing the pictures? See the July 2018 eBook!


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