After 34 years as General Manager of UK Sailmakers—during which he became a world-class offshore sailor—Adam is using his retirement to pursue a dream instilled in him by his father: sailing around the world. His next major chapter begins this Monday, February 2, as he sets sail from New Rochelle, NY, on a converted Open 50.

In this episode, Adam discusses the route and preparations for sailing through the Panama Canal and across to the South Pacific. While Adam plans to fly home from Fiji after cruising the islands, the preparation for this voyage has been a world-class undertaking in its own right.

In this episode, you’ll discover:

• The Refit: Detailed insights into the transformation of a race boat for long-term performance cruising.
• The Logistics: Adam shares what has gone into the preparation for the boat and his crew of four as they prepare to cast off in freezing Northeast temperatures.
• The Itinerary: A look at the complex navigational preparations for the trek to the Panama Canal and beyond.

Don’t miss this thrilling discussion packed with valuable lessons and inspiration from Adam’s journey, Reaching thru Retirement.

Like and subscribe to the UK Sailmakers YouTube channel to be notified when more great content from our channel is uploaded. The Lessons Learned Podcast is also available for streaming on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and Amazon Music.

On August 23, we danced with Hurricane Erin and had a great passage skirting her northern edge. We originally planned to hide in the Bras d’Or Lakes until the storm passed, but all the forecasts started showing her further south, giving us 20-30 knots of northeasterly winds to blow us to the west. With Halifax being 150 miles away, and upwind at that in the prevailing southwesterly winds, having a downwind run towards Halifax was too good a chance to pass up. If we waited until Erin passed, we would have had wind on our nose all the way to Halifax; therefore, I made the decision to sail the storm.

Keven, my only crew member, was not totally on board with my plan. She felt the whole reason we sailed 30 hours straight from St. Pierre and Miquelon to the Bras d’Or Lakes was to avoid the hurricane. She also saw forecasts showing a solid 30 knots of wind between 2-4 pm. Keven was worried that those strong blasts would be the result of bands of rain spinning off the hurricane. I acknowledged her apprehensions, but I knew the waves wouldn’t be too bad because the wind had not been in the northeast for long. Additionally, we also mapped out a few harbors we could pull into along the way should the conditions prove too rough.

When we left the St. Peters Marina, Gerry, the well-known yardmaster, agreed it was a good opportunity to get west to Halifax – if we were up to it. As we departed, we passed many boats hunkered down at the eastern entrance to the St. Peters Canal locks who were not going anywhere that day.

As we blasted our way west down the coast, we noticed that there was blue sky to the north over the land and there were angry grey clouds to the south over the ocean. As we were jibing downwind, I made sure not to get too far offshore in order to avoid the meanest looking clouds. We had to jibe several times because our destination was dead downwind.

I should note that in this breeze, in those seas, and sailing doublehanded, all of our jibes were “chicken jibes,” where we tacked through 290 degrees up into and past head-to-wind rather than passing stern to wind. In a chicken jibe, you tack instead of jibe so that the boom comes across the boat slowly. Having the main come across in a controlled fashion is much safer and easier on the equipment than having the boom fly across with force. With the reefed main, we could leave both runners set during the turns. Thank you, Rich du Moulin, for the idea to move the runners aft.

Soulmates ended up having a great, fast sail down the south coast of Nova Scotia. We averaged 9 knots for the 95-mile 11-hour passage from the exit of the Bras d’Or Lakes to Beaver Island Harbor, which is more than halfway to Halifax. The wind blew a mild 10 knots for the first hour-and-one-half, but the breeze came up after passing the Canso Peninsula. After that, we were off to the races.

We started surfing over 12 knots. Figuring it was better to reef before the “fecal matter hit the wind generator,” I went immediately to the second reef. Soulmates has a huge main, so when the breeze comes on, we usually skip the first reef and go directly to the second. Our speed dropped for a short time, but then we were even faster as the breeze built. I think the wind was in the mid-20s with some solid gusts into the 30s, but since we were on a very broad reach, heeling was minimal. Our highest speed was surfing on a wave where we hit 20.2 knots and had an uncountable number of surfs over 15 knots. There were hour-long stretches that we averaged 11 knots.

As the day went on, the blue skies won out and the grey angry clouds pulled away as the hurricane moved in the opposite direction. We had “danced” her out and Hurricane Erin went looking for some other dance partner.

When we got in, we found text messages from boats we had been hanging out with in different harbors since Newfoundland and the Bras d’Or. Everyone was happy we were safe and could not believe the speeds we had made. I emailed Gerry that we made it safely. He said he had been tracking us and was a bit worried but was glad to hear from me. One friend sailing a CS36 said that going that fast was not cruising. I had a different perspective: going slow and bashing upwind for 150 miles is not my idea of fun sailing.

Being comfortable in and prepared for high winds allowed us take advantage of these conditions. My decision to sail bore fruit, as the day after the storm, we had to motor the remaining 60 miles to Halifax because the prevailing southwesterly had returned. Comfort and preparation are the result of years of sailing in incrementally stronger winds and learning from those experiences. All sailors would do well to expand their sailing skills. I can still remember a letter to the editor of Scuttlebutt that I wrote in 2002, that started, “Race Committees on Long Island Sound are fostering poor seamanship by not starting races in winds over 20 knots.” That letter was written because races in two major regattas that year were cancelled because of strong winds.

Yesterday started out with a 5-10-minute blinding downpour after which the wind mellowed out. I put up the main and No. 4 Genoa and sailed on a starboard tack broad reach to the Little Narrows in the middle of St. Patrick’s Channel. The wind went aft and I couldn’t keep the jib flying so down it came. I continued with only the mainsail. As it was getting close to the time to take the main down before going through the Little Narrows, where you have to wait for the cable ferry to “dock,” the wind built and built. It seems the wind gods always breeze it up when the main has to come down just to see the show. With less than a mile to the opening of the channel, the wind built to 15-18 knots. No problem–I turned on the engine, turned into the wind, set the auto pilot and then let the main halyard run free. My Lazy Cradle simply gobbled up the main as it is designed to do.

I saw the ferry reach the west shore and put down its ramp. I watched the trucks and cars get off and then I saw new vehicles loading on. As I was getting closer, I slowed down to see if the ferry was going to depart. I called the ferry on the VHF and was told he would wait for me to pass. I thanked him and revved up to full throttle to get out of his way.

In the narrows, the wind was predictably light. There was another narrow spot three miles away as I passed between the reefs named Bell Rocks and MacIver’s Bank. After that, I had an eight-mile port-tack broad reach to Baddeck. I raised the main with a single reef in 10 knots of wind and, as I progressed, the wind increased. At first, I was slow with the reef, but as the puffs filled in, the boat went faster and faster. Of course, the wind was strongest when it was time to take down the main!

I kept thinking that, if I could get closer to shore before the narrow southern harbor entrance to Baddeck, I would get some wind shadow in which to drop the sail. But no, every time I turned up, the wind bent around the land and kept me on a broad reach. My plan was to avoid at all costs coming into the narrow harbor with the main up. But I was going 9 knots with a lot of weather helm in the gusts. I was left with no choice but to enter the harbor under sail and then turn up into the small cove in front of the Cape Breton Boatyard. The hope was that I wouldn’t run out of runway before dropping the main. After all, things tend to go wrong at the worst possible times. My heart was thumping.

I turned up, thought I pushed the button to engage the auto pilot, and went to free the main halyard. Of course, the auto pilot did not engage and I had to grab the tiller to keep the boat head to wind. Sometimes the button is finicky and, of course, when I’m in a hurry it is even more finicky.

After releasing the halyard, the main fell only part way because there was a twist in the halyard. Instead of re-coiling the halyard before the drop, I figured it was still clear — a short cut that did not pay off. I had to deal with kinks three times. Each time I had to straighten out the halyard tail, pull some tension on the halyard to free the cocked headboard car and then go back to the helm. Luckily, I had the runway to get this done, but my adrenaline was pumping. Once the main was down, I noticed that there was a fellow sitting in the cockpit of his moored boat watching the show I had just put on; I hope he enjoyed it.

As I motored through the harbor I had to open the anchor locker, release the safety on the anchor chain, and retrieve the windlass remote before picking a spot to drop the hook. I had to be relatively close to the shore to stay out of the channel and get into water less than 27 feet deep. Of course, one of the few open spots was near the lobster pot I wrapped around the keel on my earlier visit to Baddeck. I picked a safe spot, but as I was lowering the anchor in 20 knots of wind, with the boat already drifting off the shore, I had to dive through the forward hatch and free the fouled anchor chain. Of course, once the anchor bit and enough scope was released, I was precariously close to the lobster pot that had over 50 feet of line on the surface. I was close…but not fouling it. Boy, could I use a drink.

But as a singlehanded sailor, I couldn’t just end the day there as there was no one to help me put things away. I had to zip the Lazy Cradle, cover the hanked-on jib, coil lines, set a boom preventer, feed the hungry cat (yes, he is still with me), shut off the instruments and engine battery, make log entries, clean up the cabin of all the things that shifted, and then catch up on all the water I didn’t drink all day. My stiff drink waited until the next afternoon, which was much quieter.

But three times that day, when I could have used a calm breeze, the wind gods threw big blows at me just to see if I could handle them. I believe I passed these tests and I’m sure there will be many more pop quizzes. I’ll take these lessons on my next singlehanded passages and report back on my test results.

On top of the cover, there are full-length round-battens on each side of the zipper. The battens help hold the cover open when the sail is lowered. The battens  give the cover it’s clean shape, and the lazy jacks dead-end around the battens to transmit the supporting load across the whole length of the cover.

Dropping the Mainsail in the Lazy Cradle

With the Lazy Cradle I can literally drop my mainsail into the cover faster than a furling main can be rolled into the mast or boom. I just release the halyard and gravity does the rest. Coming into a harbor is no problem; just drop the sail and it is out of the way without the need to flake or furl. With the sail contained in the cover, you can concentrate on the channel and other boat traffic with out being blinded by draping sailcloth. Later, when I’m at anchor, I can zip the cover over the sail and then zip the front piece that goes around the mast so that the sail is totally protected from the sun’s harmful UV rays.

Having the Lazy Cradle is the only way I can tame my monster mainsail when sailing single- or short-handed. My main is 56.5feet on the luff and 20 feet on the boom, which makes it  565 sq/ft. The sail weighs 112 pounds and is made of Hydranet Radial, which is very stiff. I have such a heavy sail because I am doing a lot of offshore passagemaking. The weight and the stiffness of the cloth makes it hard to manually flake. Those factors led me to install a Lazy Cradle before taking off for my cruising adventures. The other reason for the Lazy Cradle is that standard sail covers are hard to put on when a boat has lazy jacks. 

I have a few tips on how to make the system work like greased lightning. First, my mainsail has ball-bearing slider cars, which allows gravity to do the work. A Tides Marine Strong Track would work well, too. Second, I replaced the lazy jack lines that came with my Lazy Cradle to 3/16” Dyneema line because Dyneema is much stronger, lighter and thinner than the standard polyester line. The Dyneema lazy jacks are also less windage when sailing.

Proper adjustment of the lazy jack lines is critical. Under sail they have to be loosened to prevent them from distorting the sail’s shape.  Before dropping they have to be tightened so that the cover can be zipped easily. If the lazy jacks are loose, the back of the cover splays open making it hard to start the zipper. Also, if they are loose, the cover will be too low to zip over the headboard of the mainsail. In order to reset them properly, make sure to have a mark when they are properly tensioned. 

Another tip is to get the recirculating zipper line outside of the cover before dropping the sail. If you forget to do this, the sail will fall on top of the line and you have to free it before the cover can be zipped. Not only is the sail on top of it, but somehow, the line aways gets tangled with the buckles of the integral sail ties and straps used for securing the cover to the side of the boom when sailing (an option when underway). 

It is recommended to roll and secure the cover to the boom on a long ocean passages or when you are racing. Having the cover rolled next to the boom is more aerodynamic and reduces wear from the cover bouncing around for hours at a time. However, when sailing shorter passages, I leave the cover up. 

Also, when putting in a reef, make sure your Lazy Cradle is clear before tightening the reef outhaul. One time at sea, when we reefed in a hurry, we didn’t notice that the reef line had wrapped around the aft end of the Cradle. While trapped, the long batten ripped through the end of its pocket. Luckily, we noticed it before the batten fell overboard. 

For most of the sailing I do, I leave the cover up so that I can drop the sail at a moment’s notice. For instance, if the wind dies and the sail starts slatting, I can drop the sail by myself without having to get help from the off-watch crew. The two things I have to remember to do before dropping the sail is to tighten the lazy jacks and get the zipper line out of the cover. The Lazy Cradle is absolutely the easiest way to drop and cover a mainsail for shorthanded sailors. 

The Lazy Cradle is not only a cruising convenience, it is a piece of safety equipment as well. I have been an instructor at the Storm Trysail Club’s hands-on Safety at Sea Seminars in New York for nearly two decades. This year SOULMATES was used to teach man overboard recovery. STC teaches that it is extremely important to recover an MOB on the first try, and the best way to do it is to drop your sails quickly and return to the MOB under power. With the Lazy Cradle, not only can I drop the main fast, but it is contained and out of the way. On boats without a Lazy Cradle, the STC teaches to drop the sail on the side of the boat opposite of the LifeSling so that the sail is out of the way. You can see how much safer it is to have the sail contained in the cover instead of just pushed to the side. For more on the MOB recovery, click here.

After sailing halfway around the world, I think that many people spend too much time preparing for heavy winds and not enough time for preparing for light air sailing, which is more likely found on traditional routes. Unless you sail a “super tanker,” boats can’t carry enough diesel to cover thousands of miles. Even if you can carry enough fuel for daysails and short cruises, who wants to motor downwind smelling diesel fumes that envelop the cockpit when your speed under power is similar to the windspeed.

When setting up my own boat, I made a sail selection mistake when developing my sail inventory. Since my boat only has room for one of my 180-square-meter asymmetrical spinnakers, I originally chose my heavy air runner because it is bullet proof and would survive shorthanded sailhandling errors; after all, spinnakers sometimes get away from you. But during that first year of cruising, I found the times I was most apt to set the chute was in light air because that’s when I needed more speed. In light winds, the heavy chute just sagged and got the wobblies, as shown here sailing north up the Florida coast.

Just before leaving on my trip to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland in 2025, I switched spinnakers and brought aboard my old, tired, A2, which is made out of much lighter nylon than the newer heavy-air A4. The lighter sail has become a work horse on light air runs. While sailing to Canada, we used the asymmetrical spinnaker nearly 50% of the time while under sail. In wavy conditions, the auto pilot slewed around a bit and I could hand steer much faster, but it could keep the slightly over trimmed chute full. These clips show us sailing at 4-6 knots in winds blowing 6-7 knots. On the flat water of the Bras D’or Lake, the autopilot steered a straight arrow course allowing us to relax. True, we couldn’t sail directly on our course, but we were able to make our destination by jibing downwind. The longer distance was more than made up for by the pleasant sailing. Books and screens were read, lunch was served and views were appreciated. Even our cat Max got to come on deck and check out our progress.

Having a dousing sock is key to successful sets, douses and jibes. In fact, when I made UK Sailmakers’ instructional video on how to use a cruising spinnaker 25 years ago, I said the dousing sock replaces several long-armed crew members, and it does. Here is how we accomplish a worry-free jibe. First, the boom preventer is released, the spinnaker gets socked, the mainsheet is tightened so that the boom is centered, the new running backstay is set, the boom crosses to the new leeward side and the old runner is released allowing the mainsail to be eased out for a broad reach. With the main jibed, then we can move the socked sail around the forestay, pre-set the new spinnaker sheet, raised the sock and start sailing again. While this takes some time, it is much faster than trying to untangle a spinnaker wrapped around the forestay, which happened last summer in Boothbay Harbor, Maine. 

The trick to getting the dousing sock over the spinnaker easily is to turn nearly dead downwind so that the mainsail blankets the spinnaker. As the sail starts to collapse, it is much easier for the sock to come down over the sail. To see the video I made 25 years ago about how to use a cruising spinnaker click here:

To see a full selection of UK Sailmakers’ instructional videos and articles, click here.

From the Bahamas, my next stop was going to be the Panama Canal. If I did go through the Canal, it would be at least two years before the boat, and I would be back in New York. That was not going to work. At that point I decided to plot a new course.

The new plan was to sail the boat back to Florida in time for Christmas to meet Jenni in Miami, then sail the boat to Cape Canaveral to haul out until spring and then sail her home to New York. After doing the next round of boat projects, the new plan is to sail to the Canadian Maritimes for the summer. Jenni will fly to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to join me for harbor hops since she no longer feels comfortable doing overnight passages. This seemed like a good compromise; I get to spend the summer cruising, and I won’t be away from Jenni the whole time.

I spent 10 days anchored in Nassau. It was easy to stay put since a week-long strong northerly was blowing constantly, I had no crew to help navigate the coral heads of the out islands. Also, I had a deadline to meet my next crewmember Tom Barnard coming to help me sail to Miami.  The passage from Nassau to Miami went smoothly after we made it under the two bridges to Paradise Island, which Soulmates’ masthead barely cleared. In fact, I planned our departure two hours after high tide, and we still only made it under the 21-meter-high bridge with inches to spare. I was so unsure about getting under the bridge, that I slowed the boatspeed to less than a knot.

We had a fast close reach north from Nassau to the northeast corner of Andros Island, and we the wind died at dusk as we exited the Northwest Passage between the northern edge of Andros Island and the Berry Islands. The depth went from over 8000 feet in the “Tongue of the Ocean” to 14 feet on the Great Bahama bank. At first it was unnerving to see the bottom so clearly, but we kept that depth for 50 miles until we passed Bimini entered the deep water of the Gulf Stream. At 18 seconds into the video, you can see the shallow bottom.

Jenni flew down to Miami for a-way-too short visit between Christmas and New Years. After she left, my nephew Matt, his wife Shakira and my niece’s husband Nate drove down from Orlando to help me sail the boat north from Miami to Cape Canaveral, a 180-mile overnight. We had a smooth sail with the Gulf Stream pushing us north at three knots. The three of them helped to keep me awake for the 25-hour sail. We even saw a midnight SpaceX launch that was a brilliant streak in the sky.

Matt was driving and saw it first as the glow rose up from the horizon. In the early morning Nate was on watch with me as we sailed into a fog bank. It was eerie seeing the blackness approaching. The only way I knew it was fog, was seeing the stars above the blackness. It was a bit scary sailing fast not knowing what was in front of us. It was like being on a train in a tunnel without a headlight.

Sure enough, my worst fear was realized — around 7 am a 40–50-foot power boat came right at us while going 30 knots. I barely had time to put the engine in neutral and disengage the autopilot. Luckily, he saw us and turned at the last minute before he changed course and disappeared into the fog at a high rate of speed. Not all the fog was terrifying, I did get to see my first “fog bow,” (see picture). We arrived in Cape Canaveral on New Year’s Eve Day, and since I hadn’t slept for 24 hours, I wasn’t awake to greet the start of 2025.

Four days later, the boat was hauled.  She stayed on the hard until I could return in April to sail her home. After getting back to New York, I will install the radar that I never got around to doing before I left. I want to replace the Starlink system with the Iridium Go that I have but had never installed. I need to fabricate a way to hold and secure the water and fuel jugs in the aft wet locker; on the passage back to New York, one of the diesel jugs tipped over and broke open, making quite a mess. The masthead wind unit still needs to be replaced after an osprey landed on in in Maine last summer. As you can see, there is always boat work to do.

I have a friend who is preparing his 50-footer for a trip to the South Pacific next year, and I hope to join him for parts of his trip. This way, I’ll get to complete my goal of sailing in the South Pacific without being away for years. Being away for a few months at a time changes the dynamic of the trip, but I always said that my plans are cast in Jell-O, and I know new adventures still await.

For this leg, I sailed with Randy Burr, a friend from my yacht club whose wife had sailed the leg from New York to Cape Canaveral. The two of us set off at 1500 hours so that we would not arrive in the Bahamas in the dark. With the three-knot northerly current flowing against us, the trip took 24 hours. Randy and I didn’t set a watch schedule, but we made sure to relieve each other enough to stay rested. Neither of us used the autopilot, as surfing the waves with a tiller-steered boat was too much fun. After sunrise, the wind dropped to a mild 10-12 knots, which let me shake out the reef.

Clearing into the Bahamas was easy since I followed the procedures posted online. I visited the country’s website, where I found well-explained video instructions that walked me through the forms and payment process. Since I had already printed out my cruising permit on the boat’s portable printer, the whole process went smoothly, with smiles all around. Both the customs and immigration officers were glad to see someone who had followed the instructions, which made the experience easier for everyone. What a relief to walk back to the boat to replace the solid yellow “Quarantine” flag with the Bahamian courtesy flag. We were officially cleared in in under half an hour.

After a good dinner at one of the harborside restaurants, we went to bed early to recover from our overnight passage. In the morning, we walked through the local resort on the way to the beach, where we snorkeled in crystal-clear water. There were turtles, small barracudas, razorfish, sawfish, and clouds of little minnows. Randy found a small stand where they made fresh conch salad to order—a great treat.

Since we had to pay for water as part of the dockage fee, we hosed the salt off the boat after lunch. In the calm conditions, we even raised and rinsed the No. 4 sail, letting it dry before folding it up. We used the full-sized jib for our next leg to Nassau, as the forecast called for milder conditions. Once again, we set off in the early afternoon for the 127-mile passage from West End, around Great Stirrup, and then on to Nassau. It was a full beat for the 65-mile leg from West End to Great Stirrup.

All night long, it felt like we were on the highway for cruise ships heading to and from Nassau. Luckily, we could see them on AIS long before they were visible with the naked eye. With all their cabin lights blazing, they were so bright that it was hard to make out their running lights. Just before we reached Great Stirrup, we had to make four tacks to get around the point. In my less-than-alert state, we got within one-quarter-of-a-mile of one of the behemoths — I had a hard time visualizing her course. Radar would have helped, as would more sleep.

Once around Great Stirrup, the wind faired, and we could just crack the sheets slightly, helping us make better time to Nassau. Randy had been there before and knew the harbor. Even though the chart said we could get under the two bridges to Paradise Island, the top of the mast looked very close to hitting the bridge. Not taking any chances, I dropped our speed to less than one knot as we passed under the highest part of the spans. We had less than two feet to spare—it looked way too close! We all know that even when you have 20 feet to spare going under a bridge, it always looks close. It helped that we went under the bridges an hour after high tide, which gave us an extra foot of air draft.

We dropped the anchor off the Nassau Yacht Club and Randy flew back to New York as he needed to get back to work, but he vowed to return in the future. We had eaten well and got to know each other much better over the course of the two overnight passages. After Randy left, I made plans to cruise to the Exumas singlehanded; that is a story for another day.

The first stop on my retirement cruise was Cape Canaveral, Fla, which was an 860-mile non-stop passage from New York. I chose Cape Canaveral because it is close to my brother’s home in Orlando, Fla. Stopping there allowed me to spend several weeks with my brother and his family. It was a good chance to catch up, including with my nephew, Matt Loory, and his new wife, Shakira.

November 21st provided one of those memories that will last for a long time. The day started out with an early morning rocket launch — the fourth since I’ve been at Cape Canaveral. Around lunch time my brother Josh and Shakira came for a visit. We were supposed to go for a sail, but a strong northerly was hard blowing hard out of the north and it was whistling through the rigging; a daysail was going to be a too sporty. Shakira had never sailed before and my older brother is not as nimble as he used to be. Instead, we put the cooking talents of Josh and Shakira to work for a shipboard lunch.

We christened the boat’s the pressure cooker with a chicken, artichoke hearts, mushrooms and pasta dish that I found in a basic pressure cooker cookbook. The pressure cooker speeds up cooking times and saves propane. Josh and Shakira modified the book’s recipe by adding more spice to make lunch tastier. Josh even improved my shrimp scampi leftovers (Shakira ate the shrimp since she is not a fan of artichokes). Dessert was a fruit salad with a rum and honey sauce.

Chatting while we chopped, sautéed, stirred and seasoned the main course, made for a great visit. We talked about cooking, politics, life in Florida, Shakira’s upcoming surgery, cruising, and more. Josh needed this distraction as his wife is seriously ill with cancer and he’s her primary caregiver. Even if not underway, being aboard a boat for a visit, a meal, a quiet cocktail, or just to say “Hi” can be very therapeutic. We must have been entertaining as Shakira got out her phone and started videoing the two brothers cooking.

Lunch was served in the cockpit on my custom, foldable, stowable, and rotatable cockpit table. I’ll write more about the table in a future post, but this is precisely the kind of entertaining I had envisioned when installing the table. Afterall, the cockpit on a cruising is the boat’s living room.

After getting cleaned up we went for a harbor tour under power and even poked our bow out into the Atlantic Ocean, which had calmed down significantly as the wind shifted from the north to the west. In the morning, boats coming in reported 5-6-foot waves, but the waves disappeared in the afternoon.

This was a perfect day on many levels despite not even raising a sail. Most importantly, it was a chance for quality family time. Living in New York, I hardly ever get to see my brother. While on the boat cooking and eating, we were much more relaxed and intimate than we would be at a family event like a wedding. Also, I love being able to use the boat for cooking, entertaining, a family get together, and an alfresco dining experience. In the past, using the boat consisted of going out for a few hours to race, then getting in the car to rush to the party at the host yacht club, where we would perform “sailing Karate” and pay too much for drinks.

Don’t tell my sailing friends I’m saying this, but maybe powerboaters aren’t so crazy as we see them sitting on their boats all day just “visiting.” I’m not ready to give up sailing, but using the boat as a purely social venue is not bad, and provided Josh, Shakira, and me with a memorable day.

Racers are not interested in all the extra weight I have added with the anchor roller sprit, windlass, cockpit coamings, water heater, watermaker, hydrogenator, dodger, and extra storage lockers. But for me, being a retired racing sailor, SOULMATES is a terrific compromise. I don’t mind going on the foredeck to take down the jib, which is on hanks. I have settled the running backstay issue so that they don’t have to be adjusted — as long as there is at least one reef in the main. Dropping the huge main is a piece of cake thanks to the ball-bearing luff cars, Dyneemalazy jacks and the UK Sailmakers Lazy Cradle; I just let the halyard go and the sail falls instantly into the cover (see photo). I carry one spinnaker in a dousing sock and a Code Zero on a bottom-up furler. I like to sail fast!

SOULMATES was built in 1991 by Goetz Custom Sailboats and originally named KATIE G, after Eric Goetz’s then three-year-old daughter. Goetz had Rodger Martin design his boat to be a doublehanded ocean racer and fast cruising boat. Her design date is apparent in the fractional rig, with four sets of in-line spreaders and running back stays that hold up the towering carbon rig (see image of the sail plan).

A few years later, most new designs incorporated masts with fewer sets of swept back spreaders to eliminate the need for running back stays. The boat’s plumb bow and deep bulbed keel are on par with modern designs. SOULMATES is helmed with a tiller instead of a wheel to give the driver better feel for steering as well as to save weight. Needless to say, she is much more racer than cruiser. Click here to see some of the modifications I have made over the years.

The boat was built with a water ballast system that allowed 2000 pounds of water to be pumped to either side of the boat or to be pumped overboard. When I bought the boat, I disabled the system since most handicap systems severely penalize water ballast. Since I raced with a crew of 10-11, I had plenty of weight on the rail. In 2021, I converted the four water ballast tanks (two on each side) into vast amounts of storage space.

SOULMATES has many custom touches; the most unique feature is the gimbled stove. The stove and oven are part of a unit that includes pot lockers on either side. The whole unit is gimbled. The stove/oven/pot locker unit has a circular bottom that rides on halyard sheeves. Not only does the stove stay level, but the tops of the pot lockers on both sides of the stove stay level too. When the boat is heeling, the tops of the pot lockers become level surfaces that the cook can use forpouring a cup of coffee or plating dinner. The “U” shaped galley is secure in a seaway; there is no need to wear security belt. While turning in a circle the cook can reach the double sink, stove, utensil drawers, pantry lockers and the fridge.

To save weight, there is no headliner on the overhead. One of the ways that the quality of the build is shown is the perfectly smooth overhead. The ceiling of the cabin was sanded, faired and spray painted with Awlgrip, which is a difficult and time-consuming process. Instead, most boat builders save time and money by covering up rough fiberglass work with a headliner. All the furniture is built with fiberglass and cored panels to keep the boat light and strong. Even the teak and holly floorboardshave a foam core. The leaves of the drop-leaf saloon table are finger-tip light.

The main cabin bunks all have block and tackles so that the bunks on the windward side can be raised to keep them level. This replaces using lee-cloths, which I find uncomfortable. The upper saloon bunks can be lowered to form sofa backs for the lower bunks. In the photo, the port upper bunk is raised for sleeping and the starboard bunk is shown lowered as the sofa back.

In the 12 years that I owned the boat before starting my dream cruise, I had never sailed the boat in the ocean – just on the flat coastal waters of Long Island Sound and New England. But now I can say the boat is a dream to sail in the waves. Because of all the reserve buoyancy above the waterline in the bow sections, we never buried the bow surfing down waves. When I told Eric Goetz about my experiences he said, “I had asked Rodger(Martin) for flare in the topsides forward to keep the bow from driving under. There is a lot of reserve buoyancy in the front six to seven feet.  Another feature that I particularly like is the sunken forward end of the foredeck. It is pretty cozy and secure when one is all the way forward. And the big hawse holes drain that well very quickly.”

Eric Goetz was one of the top custom boat builders in the world. Goetz boats have won at the highest end of international yacht racing. His boats won in the America’s Cup (Bill Koch’s AMERICA3), the Admiral’s Cup, and the Maxi Worlds, as well have competed successfully on the TP52 circuit, the Whitbread/Volvo race, the TransPac, Kenwood Cup, Southern Cross Series, Sardinia Cup, and countless other regattas around the world. Since 1975, Goetz has built over 200 boats.