Cruising Stories

Cruising the Spanish Virgin Islands

Buen Viaje!


It's a bit painful for me to write this painful the way it is when you've got a really good secret and don't want to divulge it but know you must. Because here's the thing: A trip to the tropical isles of Culebra and Vieques nestled between Puerto Rico and St. Thomas, and collectively known as the Spanish Virgin Islands is one of the most charming, stunning and bafflingly underrated Caribbean jaunts to be had.

And now that the venerable charter company The Moorings has set up shop in Fajardo on the main island of Puerto Rico, it couldn't be easier to execute. Remember that there are loads of affordable flights from the U.S. to Puerto Rico, you do not need a passport to travel there, the currency is the American dollar and your cell phone will work on its normal plan just fine. Though I suggest ignoring your phone while you're there, lest you miss a single second of the experience. For our own adventure, we boarded a 51-foot, four-cabin powered catamaran at Puerto del Rey marina, where The Moorings manager, Felix, could not have been more helpful.

After a briefing about our vessel and a last-minute provisioning dash (including excellent sandwiches for lunch from the marina's on-site deli), we were off. We consisted of a band of Marinalife associates: Joy McPeters, chief executive officer and our fearless leader; Barbara Barrett, associate publisher; Anna Barthelme, marketing manager; Jeff Werner, captain extraordinaire and frequent contributor to Marinalife magazine; and myself, Marinalife magazine's contributing editor. Puerto Rico, Culebra and Vieques roughly form a triangle, and it's about a 2-hour trip between each island see Captain Jeff 's sidebar for some insight into the prevailing conditions.

Cruising straight into the wind on our way from Fajardo to Culebra, the ride was choppy, but the sky was bright and glorious. The cat's generous bridge meant we could all be up there comfortably together, taking it all in.

We rounded the west coast of Culebra and eased into Ensenada Honda, a natural harbor dotted with mooring balls and a healthy share of live-aboard boats whose owners had arrived on Culebra one day, realized they'd found paradise, and never left. We grabbed a mooring ball and didn't waste too much time before firing up the dinghy and zipping across the harbor to The Dinghy Dock, a friendly, perfectly scruffy bar/restaurant that serves potent cocktails with big smiles and relaxed, everyone- is-welcome-here attitude.

After a round of mojitos we wandered through the tiny town, soaking up the Old Caribbean vibe and swinging by the bustling snorkeling-gear rental place owned by an affable chap named Carlos he not only hooked us up with well-cared-for equipment but gave us tips about snorkeling spots. Flippers and masks in hand, we dinghied back to our vessel to feast on skirt steak that Barb expertly prepared on the cat's fly-bridge grill.

After giddily discussing the day's events, we turned in for a good night's sleep. The next morning, we gathered around the stern's roomy dining table, nibbling breakfast and soaking up the gorgeous hillside views. We let loose our mooring and cruised over to Playa Tamarindo, a beach renowned for its population of sea turtles. After securing a mooring, we jumped into the water, suited up with snorkels and fins. We didn't manage to spy a turtle because it was too late in the day (on previous trips to this beach I've seen them, so I can attest that they're there!), but we saw a wealth of other creatures, including anemones, starfish, parrotfish, a barracuda and a trio of cephalopods.

After a tuna salad lunch, we lounged on the bow, then cruised back over to Ensenada Honda, picked up a mooring ball, and took a sunset dinghy toodle. We did some retail therapy at the don't-miss art gallery above the Dinghy Dock and hit Mamacita's for a delish dinner of various fish and plantains. Our evening ended at, where else, the Dinghy Dock. How could we resist the raucous live African drumming that set the whole bar to boogieing? The next day we set our sights on Vieques.

The winds were high, so we forewent our intended day trip to the pristine deserted isle of Culebrita (if the conditions are right when you visit, make sure you go, you won't regret it), heading west toward our next destination. Captain Jeff let each of us take a turn at the wheel, which was thrilling. Soon we were running parallel to Vieques's extraordinary, undeveloped south shore. We anchored in another Ensenada Honda, this one shallow and choppy from the wind.

We tried not to think about what it would be like to sleep aboard with the sea that rough. Instead, we girls activated the dinghy and shot over to a sandy boat ramp. Captain Jeff stayed behind, ostensibly to return the boat to shipshape, though I'm sure he also appreciated a few hours' solitude.

We pulled the dinghy ashore, tied it to a nearby trunk, and set off along a winding path. Following the sound of crashing surf, we were suddenly standing on the magnificent, crescent-shape Playa de la Plata. The water was liquid turquoise, the sand sugar-fine. We splashed around, reveling in the beauty. Eventually we pulled ourselves from the sea and continued following the trail, encountering a handful of the magical wild horses for which Vieques is known. We even found a horseshoe! As if we needed further evidence of how lucky we were.

Back aboard our cat, Captain Jeff greeted us with the news that he'd been studying the charts and tides; he'd figured out a more sheltered anchorage for us to try. We puttered over to a nearby site. Dear reader, this is where I draw the line: I will divulge almost all to you, but I need to keep this one thing secret. Suffice it to say that Vieques has one of the most indescribably gorgeous anchorages that any of us have ever witnessed. Even Captain Jeff concurred, and he has seen it all. Placid waters, a fringe of robust mangrove, not a single sound to disrupt the scene. We passed the remainder of the day there, swimming and gleeful, then devoured a scrumptious dinner cooked aboard, gazed at the stars as Captain Jeff pointed out the constellations, and busted into an impromptu dance party.

The next day, we reluctantly left our nirvana and cruised down the coast toward Esperanza, one of the two main towns on Vieques. Soon after arriving and hooking a mooring ball, a stingray leaped up out of the water it felt like a free-spirited welcome. We went ashore that night and feasted on local specialties - Caribbean spiny lobster, cracked conch salad, braised goat masala at El Quenepo, a lovely spot owned and run by an American couple.

In the morning we cruised back to Fajardo. Felix greeted us; he is a doll, so it was, of course, great to see him, but a wistfulness pervaded our group: How sad we were to be saying goodbye to Culebra and Vieques; but how lucky we knew we had been to have spent time on those jewel-like islands too. The Spanish Virgin Islands. They are waiting for you. Go now, before everyone else knows the secret too


Navigation Tips by Capt. Jeff Werner

Departing from Fajardo, Puerto Rico the Spanish Virgins are all to windward. For sailors this means a beat into the trade winds, and for power boaters it means a rhumb line into 2-to-4 foot and higher waves for a good portion of the cruise. In either case, planning is necessary to operate a boat safely and to avoid seasickness by those aboard. Proper cruise planning includes an accurate wind and sea state forecast.

The website PassageWeather ( is the perfect tool. That website's forecast of surface wind speed and direction, as well as wave height and direction will help determine the best route to follow and the safest anchorages.

There are a couple of cruising guides for the Spanish Virgin Islands on the market, as well as a few links to magazine articles online that highlight sailing experiences to Culebra and Vieques. However, never pass up the opportunity to gain local knowledge from charter base managers and their captains.

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The Autumn: Why Haul Out
Water and Fall foliage at Dory's Fall
Dory's Fall

Why do so many yachtsmen hurriedly haul out their boats immediately after Labor Day? Sure, the kids are back to school, and the weather starts to change. But we have enjoyed some of our most clear, calm, beautiful days boating in the fall. I dare say don’t haul before fall, have a ball while everyone else is buttoning up their boats and turning to watch football or baseball. Perhaps those sun-soaked sandbar rafting days have passed until next summer, but from New England to the southern coasts you’ll still find glorious warm days, less boat wake and less boat traffic in general, which opens a world of late season cruising opportunities. My father always said boating is better once the “summer yahoos disappear.”

Boating Experience: So soon in fall? 


Red Fall tree with water and boat in the background
Cape Porpose Maine Fall

Fall boating is just quieter. As most boaters vacate the water in lieu of other pursuits, September and October can offer brilliant blue-sky days. Waterways that were jam-packed with everything from inflatables to tour boats a month prior are now more open for you to explore. Loud two stroke “boater-cycles,” as my friend likes to call jet skis and sea-doos (personal propelled watercraft) are trailered away leaving in the absence of their wake- jumping a more serene scene.

Foliage starts to pop on the waterfront come mid-September into October from Maine to Virginia. The sparkling water reflects the kaleidoscope of autumn leaves in their shimmering crimson, gold and orange. It’s spectacular, truly a photographer’s dream, whether you’re on a lake, the ocean, a beautiful bay or waterway. Boating in September, October, even into November a bit farther south, is a gem. Just be mindful of the forecast, hurricane season, and significant temperature shifts that invite pop-up storms.

Man's legs propped up on seats facing stern of the boat with sunset in the background
Block Island, RI.

The weather. With cooler fall days, temps trend toward delightfully crisp and clear. Days are also shorter, so midday boating is best for peak sun. For your boating comfort, have sweatshirts, sweaters or jackets handy, even hats and gloves, especially if you’re in northern New England.

Good news: Gone are the hot humid mugginess and the bugs that accompany spring and summer heat. Bonus: you have less chance of that scorching summer sunburn. Still, be sure to apply sunscreen, refraction on the water is real even when a chill is in the air. You may want to eat steamed lobster by the waterfront, but you don’t want to look like one. Evenings on the water cool off, making for great sleeping aboard. Snuggle under covers and wake to fresh air and hot coffee on deck that never tasted so good in another season.

Fall means more available dock slips, moorings and anchorages as many are pulling their boots “up on the hard,” which frees up marina space for you. The same prime spots that were impossible to get in summer, with wait lists at places like Block Island, Newport and Annapolis, are now wide open. Same goes for waterfront restaurants with tie ups; their face docks are free and on a first come first served basis.

Just be prepared that dockhands and marina staff may not be as readily available in the fall, as students that typically manage the docks have returned to their campuses, and marine techs are pre-occupied prepping folks’ boats for winterization and storage. Be ready to tend your own lines.

Wildlife abounds in fall. Migratory birds are on the move. Enjoy watching geese, loons and birds-of-a-feather flocking south as winter approaches.

Speaking of marine life, if you like to fish, then fall is your wish. As temperatures decline, the fish sense that winter is coming. In preparation of the next season, fish begin their migrating south and their subsequent feeding frenzy.

Sailboat on a mooring with fall trees in the background
Kennebunkport Fall Foilage

Snowbirds of the human variety start their boating trek south too, if they aren’t storing their boat up north. Cruising the ICW in fall can be a social circuit where you may see the same boat owners and crew as you stop along your way at various harbors and marinas. It’s entertaining to compare ship logs and experiences from your adventures, favorite sights and seaports, with fellow boaters along your journey.

I have always loved how friendly boaters can be, and how an impromptu sharing of dock-side drinks aboard yours or their top deck can quickly transpire into an animated evening talking about best and worst boating with your nautical neighbors.

Word of caution: don’t be like my dear deceased, super-dedicated-to-boating Dad who insisted there’d be one more great boating day in late fall in New Hampshire. He would hold out on hauling his 28’ Eastern well into November, insisting it’s not winter till December. I recall more than once having to chip the ice of the dock lines to free up his pride- and-joy, then boating to the nearest icy ramp while frost clung to the windshield, and it was bitter cold on the slippery decks. That’s taking fall boating to an extreme.

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Cruising Grenada

Sugar Spice and Everything Nice

When the end of the cruising season in the southern Caribbean was upon us, we did what many Caribbean cruisers do: We sailed south for Grenada. We delayed as long as possible, knowing the hurricane season was upon us, but we didn’t want to be forced south. I had one impression of Grenada, and that was of rotting boats and retired sailors. It was a cruisers graveyard, or so I thought, and I was far from accepting an end to our sailing days.

Grenada is the southernmost group of islands in the Lesser Antilles archipelago as well as the name of the main island in a cluster of eight smaller islands and about a dozen smaller islets and cays. The only thing I knew of its geography prior to arriving was that it was one of the few island groups in the Caribbean far enough south to be considered out of the hurricane belt. So, it was ironic that on our first day in the country we had to shelter in the mangroves from a Category 1 storm.

As we lashed our boat Ātea’s bow to densely bound tree roots and secured lines to the cleats of yachts on either side of us, our small unit became part of the larger, unified collective. Little did we realize that this interconnection would be representative of our Grenadian experience.

Safely through the storm, we disbanded and spread out to explore our new surroundings. We completed our clearance in Carriacou, Grenada’s northern sister island, and were amazed to see a hundred or so yachts anchored in Tyrell Bay, Carriacou’s main harbor. I knew Grenada was popular, but if the numbers of boats in Carriacou were anything to judge by, I’d have to cope with much larger crowds when we travelled farther south.

The south coast of Grenada not only provides the most settled weather, but it’s riddled with about a dozen safe harbors from the dominant easterly swell. It’s the reason cruisers gather on Grenada’s south coast and also the reason why they remain. Some stay for hurricane season, some use the island as a base for a few years, others retire from active cruising and either settle or sell. One thing was certain: Grenada was far more than the end of the line.

Before making the journey south, however, we wanted to stretch out the season by adding a short circumnavigation around Carriacou, known as “The Isle of Reefs” to the Kalinago people (the original Island Caribs). We spent our time there dodging bommies (submerged coral reefs) and soaking up the tropical island experience with our feet in the sand, our bellies in the water and our hands on a bottle of rum.

We stopped at Petite Martinique, the third and smallest of the three main islands. There we enjoyed rugged, rocky beaches and side-stepped clusters of goats grazing the green rolling hills as we hiked up Mount Piton for panoramic views of the surrounding islands. We climbed down into the Darant Bay Cave for framed views of the same islands at sea level.

Of course, we couldn’t miss a few sundowners on Mopion, a tiny sand mound rising amid expansive coral reef with a single thatched beach umbrella perched in the center. While technically a part of the Grenadines, its proximity to Petite Martinique made a quick dash across the border for a sip in the shade of this unique little spot a worthwhile experience. Carriacou is an island surrounded by unspoiled reef, and it did not disappoint. A quick tour of her perimeter was the perfect way to salute the end of an amazing Caribbean season.

With a quick stop-over in Ronde Island, a beautiful private island that’s halfway between Carriacou and Grenada, we continued our transit south. Again, I hadn’t prepared myself for the wild beauty of Grenada’s west coast. Mile after mile of dense, lush forest cascade down the leeward side of the island from peak to sea.

We hugged the coastline as we sailed the 13 miles down the west coast, looking up at 2,700 feet of volcanic rock and shear waterfalls that fed small rivers that ran down the slopes of the mountainous interior to the coast. While Grenada is well reputed as a tourist destination for holidaymakers seeking either a sun- drenched party or quiet refuge on one of its 45 beaches, I knew from sailing the coast that my preferences would draw me inland.

Grenada’s coastline contains many large bays, but most yachts head for safe anchorage behind one of the many narrow peninsulas that split up the southern coastline. As we pulled into Prickly Bay, the first of Grenada’s southern harbors, I knew from the crowd of yachts that I would escape to the interior as soon as possible. As it turned out, I didn’t get that chance. As soon as we dropped anchor, we were invited ashore for a cruiser’s jam session to reconnect with friends from past seasons.

The following day we crammed into the back seat of a taxi on our way to an event for the annual Chocolate Festival, and our schedule quickly filled after that with tours of cocoa plantations, cocoa grinding competitions, chocolate tastings and chocolate drawing contests. In additional to the island’s cultural events, we were also immediately drawn into the cruiser’s social scene.

On our first week of arrival our mornings were already booked into early morning yoga and bootcamp on the beach. The kids joined a cruiser’s homeschooling collective and regular extracurricular activities that were held under the shade of the trees. If we weren’t listening to live music or joining the locals’ beach barbecues in the evenings, we were sitting poolside and sipping beers from a $5 bucket with other cruisers at Le Phare Bleu, a boutique hotel that opened its amenities and services to cruisers during the pandemic.

Every morning offered an activity, and every evening we joined a social get-to-gether, so the weeks flew by in a social extravaganza unlike any we’d experienced. As yachts gather in Grenada every year for the hurricane season, the regularity of this influx of boats resulted in a solid cruising community and a variety of services and events. Far more than a collection of retired boats and sunburnt seamen, my preconceived notions of Grenada didn’t come close to the reality of the vibrant cruising network that existed on this popular island.

As we made new friends and reconnected with old ones, we really enjoyed the buzz that the tight community offered.

Pulling myself out of continuous activity took a concerted effort, but I eventually dragged the family off the beach and up the mountains.

After our trip into the interior, I developed a new passion for my time in Grenada: A short bus journey followed by a hike into the forest would lead us to one of Grenada’s many waterfalls. Unlike other tourist destinations where fees were handed over and you’d stand under falls next to groups of other tourists, we had the rivers for free and all to ourselves. Some of the trails were near the road, and we’d hop on and off a bus to walk the short distance to the falls. Others, such as Seven Sisters and the Concord Falls, required planning as it took a full day to hike in and out of the forest, clambering up steep banks and crisscrossing the river to wind through deep forest and get a view from the top.

Each part of the river that ran down from one of the six inland lakes had its own magic, and I was enthusiastic to see what each had to offer. Later I appreciated all that I’d experienced of Grenada’s inland beauty. As I paid $20 per person to stand in crowds under cascading water at Costa Rica’s most popular waterfalls, I couldn’t help but compare it to all that I’d seen in Grenada’s secluded, remote interior.

In additional to nature, we explored some of the historical roots of Grenada’s past. Grenada’s original economy was based on sugar cane and indigo, and with that, slaves were imported in the mid-17th century to work and harvest crops. We set out to search for some of the old plantation houses and slave pens that remained from that period, which took us on a wild tramp through the backstreets of quiet neighborhoods and into unmarked bush to find these lost relics.

It was quite the education for our children to see small, dank, windowless, stone slave quarters set behind grand old houses, a potent reminder of darker times in this beautiful and vibrant country. We also smelled and sampled some of Grenada’s current crops, nutmeg, mace and cocoa at the top of the list of exports, and enjoyed local culinary treats such as oil down, a vegetable stew that is the country’s national dish. Thanks to these excursions we can say that Grenada is, both figuratively and literally, full of sugar and spice.

Cruising often leaves you tied to the boat and, therefore, the sea. Grenada offered a wonderful period of enjoying the most of both land and sea in equal balance, so we were able to get the most of what the country has to offer. To see the beaches but not the forest, lakes and rivers offers only half the experience; likewise, to spend time inland but not explore the coast leaves only half an impression. As Grenada offers safe anchorage throughout the hurricane season, cruisers remain nearby for an extended period, sharing experiences and building friendships. This is unique for a community that is typically very transient, and it offers plenty of opportunity to create a home away from home atmosphere.

In addition, suitable yacht services are available, so that time spent waiting for the next season gives everyone a chance to get much needed repair work done. Far from being the end of the line, Grenada offers an interim rest stop where friendships are forged and yachts are restored on an island that offers a range of activities and opportunities both on and above the waterline.

Article and photos by Kia Koropp

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Our Adventures between the Great Lakes from Detroit to Port Huron

My husband Tim and I spent 2021 traveling 8,000 miles around the Great Loop. Like many, we wanted to cruise in Canada, but we didn’t get the green light for entry in time. We were initially bummed, but our mood quickly shifted as we discovered some of our favorite stops on the stretch that kept us in U.S. waters, including our journey between Lake Erie and Lake Huron.

Stop 1: Belle Isle

Estimated Mileage: 2 NM

Belle Isle is the largest city-owned island park in America, located on the Detroit River between the United States and Canada. The island’s only marina is the Detroit Yacht Club, which has a limited number of transient slips for reciprocal members, so it’s best to explore while keeping your boat at Milliken Marina. 

Roughly 1,000 acres, Belle Isle is home to an aquarium, maritime museum, botanical garden, beach, picnic areas and playgrounds that provide a plethora of options to explore. You won’t find great spots to grab a bite to eat, so we recommend stopping at Atwater Brewery on the way back to the marina.

Stop 2: Harrison Township, Lake St. Clair

Estimated Mileage: 24 NM

Often referred to as the Great Lake’s smaller cousin, Lake St. Clair is large enough to easily keep your distance from freighters yet small enough to explore in a day.

By boat, you can visit several of the lake’s swimming spots in Anchor and Bouvier Bays (or “Munchies” Bay as the locals say), popular for their clear water and hard bottoms. After an afternoon of swimming, cruise through the Clinton River and tie up at one of several restaurants catering to a lively boater scene for a drink and meal. Crews Inn is one of our favorites for their fun atmosphere and great food.

Lake St. Clair Metropark Marina is a popular spot for transients. The marina is located in the park, so after docking, enjoy the expansive park’s beaches, trails, picnic areas and swimming pool.

Stop 3: Port Huron, MI

Estimated Mileage: 44 NM

Port Huron is home to the start of one of the longest fresh-water races in the world called the Port Huron to Mackinac Sailing Race, and the port is a charming and boater-friendly destination.

Ideal for its central location and friendly members, Port Huron Yacht Club is a great place for tying up, sipping a drink at the clubhouse and avoiding the drawbridges on the Black River. Another popular spot is about a mile farther down the river at the 95-slip River Street Marina.

Port Huron is home to the Island Loop Route National Water Trail, a 10-mile loop through the Black River, Lake Huron and St. Clair River. Your dinghy is a must through the Black River and for exploring the town and clear waters by boat.

Walk a mile along the Blue Water River Walk that runs along the St. Clair River. Be sure to leave enough time to watch the freighters go by and delve into the area’s history that is shared along the route. Continue a couple of miles farther to Lighthouse Park, where you can enjoy an afternoon at the beach and swim in Lake Huron’s crystal clear water.

During a stroll downtown, check out the Knowlton’s Ice Museum of North America to discover the history of local ice harvesting that took place along the Great Lakes.

When you’ve done enough activities to work up an appetite, Casey’s is the place for delicious breadsticks and pizza. For a more upscale option, you can’t go wrong with anything on the menu at The Vintage Tavern. Maria’s Downtown Café offers a hearty breakfast, and Raven Café or Exquisite Corpse Coffee House are great options for a cup of coffee.

Kate Carney is a writer and Great Gold Looper who traveled 8,000 miles on Sweet Day, a 31-foot Camano trawler. Learn more about her and her husband’s adventures on

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