I’ve done countless offshore passages, including a 3,000-miler without stops or even seeing another vessel. And here’s my short take: That’s a long, long way. That’s really, really boring.
Yes, I know that this magazine is named Passagemaker. It suggests making longish offshore passages. I have another suggestion: bareboat charters.
That 3,000-miler took us about 16 days, and we were banging off 8 knots when the winds and the seas looked upon us kindly. If the speed doesn’t register with you, that’s two full-length spy novels and 21,600 minutes of empty horizon. It is also 12 bottles of a pleasant pinot and about 1,250 miles per gallon of vin ordinaire. After the first day of departure excitement, it was endless tedium and monotony.
Being awakened at midnight or, worse, 4 a.m. to go on watch was always an “oh, gawwwd” moment. High points in the day might be if the galley crew splashed some screw-top red in the canned beef stew. Or if we discovered we still had half a carton of ice cream. High points in the wee hours might be a meteor shower, which I can also see in my own backyard, thank you.
Side note: Non-boating people I meet at cocktail parties sometimes ask where we anchor at night on an ocean crossing. After many years, I still don’t have a decent answer. If any of our readers do, please share.
There are better options than that 3,000-miler. Rather than 16 days and too much (or not enough) cheap plonk, I could have settled into a reasonably comfy airline seat, asked for a gin and tonic, and spent six hours watching a dumb movie for the third time. I could have started my spy novel and fallen asleep with it in my lap, and then arrived at my destination.
Then, I could have headed to my bareboat charter, where, at a civilized hour, I would have enjoyed a sundowner in the cockpit. It would likely have been a celebratory adult beverage featuring rum and a tiny umbrella. And then, I would have slept straight through for eight hours before going off to explore the destination.
I like bareboat charters because they allow us to head for the Greek Islands, the volcanic peaks of Mo’orea in French Polynesia, or the eerie spires of Phang Nga Bay off Phuket, Thailand. All while leaving our boat at home. No wear, no tear.
Don’t give up your cruising boat, because there’s lots of cruising around your own area. I’m also not suggesting just bopping from dock to dock. Personally, I enjoy dropping the hook or snagging a mooring buoy somewhere. That keeps me away from madding crowds, allows me to savor an alfresco meal in the cockpit without onlookers, and lets me feel like I’m using my boat properly. I might even sit on the hook and weave a Turk’s head knot on the steering wheel, so I can find dead center in hurry without having to locate the rudder indicator on the dashboard.
As with many readers, I love boats and boating destinations, but it’s the here-to-there that has me bogged down. I don’t subscribe to the theory that getting there is half the fun. I’d rather be exploring a French canal, or be sitting at anchor in a tropical downpour that hides a white sand beach lined with palms, or starting my day with an iced coffee in a Greek taverna with tables on the quayside.
Just because you have a yacht capable of crossing oceans doesn’t mean you should. Or will. Just knowing you can provision, fuel up and cast off should be enough. This is the nautical equivalent of people who buy Ferraris or Lamborghinis that can go 200 mph. The point is knowing you can.
If this sounds like heresy to you, fine. Go off on your long voyages. Take a case of wine and a bunch of trashy novels. Me? Rather than trudging for weeks, I’d rather savor two charters of one week each at far ends of the world.
My refrigerator is covered with magnets holding brochures for exotic lands. I think I hear the Mediterranean calling my name.
This article was originally published in the May/June 2024 issue.
