Gun-toting Granny’s Solo Transpac
“Help! I can’t see land anywhere. My kids were right, I’m going to die!” This was the panic-stricken thought that jumped into my head that first night as I left Mexico and headed toward Hawaii alone.
“Help! I can’t see land anywhere. My kids were right, I’m going to die!” This was the panic-stricken thought that jumped into my head that first night as I left Mexico and headed toward Hawaii alone.
By the time you read this, Kinship, an American-flagged Saga 43, will have made its second Atlantic crossing in little over half a year. As I write, the yacht is staging in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria, just off the coast of Morocco.
Teresa Carey and her husband, Ben, plan to release their documentary film, One Simple Question, to film festivals this summer. The film follows the couple as they move aboard their Bristol Channel Cutter 28 Elizabeth and set sail in search of a mammoth iceberg adrift in the North Atlantic.
Pressure water is always nice on a boat, but when a landlubbing crew comes aboard it only encourages them to waste a precious commodity.
If I’m racing, I sail to win. If I’m cruising, I sail to relax. The sailing bug bit me 20 years ago, and I’ve never recovered.
My love for boats began in 1960 when I was a high school freshman. A friend’s father had a small powerboat and we water skied in wet suits as early as May.
Energy and excitement crackled in the rigging around us as we prepared to set sail on the shimmering Adriatic Sea. We, a group of 31 adventurous Canadian sailors, were setting out in a charter flotilla to explore the beautiful islands of Croatia.
If you’re like many boatowners, you’ll only learn that the hoses connecting your cockpit drains to the transom through-hulls have failed when you see your floorboards afloat.
When I asked Dr. Wayne Andersen why he has sailed his tricked-out Moody 54 Habits of Health in the Caribbean 1500 rally four years in a row, his answer made me smile.
It never fails to amaze me how many jerry jugs of fuel some bluewater sailors are willing to carry on deck. Once I spotted a boat at the fuel dock in St. Georges with 16 jugs open on the quay waiting to be filled…

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Squalls are well known to sailors who cruise the middle Latitudes. Eventually, you become complacent to their bluster. But squalls vary in magnitude, and while