“There are lies, damned lies and statistics,” says a quote attributed to Mark Twain, who knew a lot about the first two. I mention this because I came across an interesting statistic about Passagemaker readers: one out of three of you are planning a charter soon.
That’s an impressive number, although, in my own case, I’m always planning a bareboat charter. At one point, my wife wanted a tennis bracelet engraved BTDT, meaning Been There, Done That. I, on the other hand, want one engraved BTGB, which translates as Been There, Going Back. I can return to many charter destinations again and again, find new delights, and have grand adventures anew.
I have been chartering for a very long time. I actually knew Charlie Cary when he launched The Moorings with a fleet of six Pearson 35s. I don’t want to offend any owners of Pearson 35s, but it was a most unlikely boat for bareboating, especially when you consider the luxurious staterooms and airy salons on the catamarans in charter fleets these days.
The Pearson 35 had a V-berth in the bow, which was not particularly, um, conjugal. There were a couple of pull-out settees in the cabin and a narrow pilot berth tucked above one. The head was eensy, and it was a wet head. The active words there are eensy and wet—you would soak everything if you dared to shower, and you couldn’t turn around.
The galley ran under the entry from the cockpit, with the top step being the galley counter. This gave bareboaters the opportunity to step directly into the peanut butter sandwiches being made, or to deposit salt from their Top-Siders that would pre-season any steaks laid out later.
But it was grand fun. I was hooked, and I’ve loved bareboating for decades.
I’ve also had some epiphanies. Just as many of us have migrated from sailboats to passagemaking boats because we just didn’t want to crank winches or hoist sails, so I’ve come to view bareboating through a different filter. To paraphrase the airline ad: “Getting there isn’t even close to half the fun.”
I have wrung enough salt water out of my socks that I qualify as a long-distance voyager—across the Pacific, across the Atlantic, up and down both coasts. I love the idea of being able to walk down to my dock, load up some provisions, twist the key, and leave for anywhere in the world. But will I aboard my own boat? Nope.
Not long ago, I was talking to an old wartime friend of my father, who had flown with him years ago to a land called Siam (now Thailand). I got the itch to go there too. If I wanted to take my own boat there, I would have to cross the Atlantic, round the Cape of Good Hope, and then cross the Indian Ocean. Call it 10,000 nautical miles.
Instead, I was able to do it in about 18 hours of flying time, while being wined and dined the entire way. The word “cossetted” springs to mind. I emerged in Bangkok, bright-eyed and ready for adventure.
That’s the hidden joy of bareboat charters. They allow you to savor all the delights of faraway lands, but without the long ocean passages. You can be threading the islands of the Scottish Highlands one week, basking under a palm on a Tahitian motu the next, and follow up by savoring wines on the French or Italian rivieras.
There are those who may scorn me for not getting the full use of my passagemaker, but, at this particular point in my life, I’m perfectly happy with voyaging, oh, a couple of hundred miles. I now have more seas and ports in my logbook than most ship captains, and anyone who belittles my approach to far-flung boating adventures, well, you have my sympathy. You’re missing out on a great opportunity.
When I hunger for distant lands, I just flash my credit card, and I’m there in no time. There’s no wear and tear on my boat. I don’t have to stare at a blue horizon for days (or weeks). I simply return to an airport at the end of my adventure.
My point is this: Use bareboat charters to get your fill of faraway lands and foreign adventures, without any of the getting-there issues. And, by the way, I don’t believe that one-in-three statistic. I know there are a lot of you thinking the same way I do.
This article was originally published in the May/June 2023 issue.
