I once wrote that cruising of the serious variety is an activity most people pursue as a fulfillment of a dream. They seek adventure, travel and challenge, and in today’s complex, controlled and densely populated world a high-quality experience that’s unique and really special is not as easy to find as it once was. The sea has tremendous appeal. It is vast, challenging, ever changing, and perpetually beautiful. The allure of ocean voyaging and of destinations that are unlimited in number and variety is truly what dreams are made of cruising on one’s own yacht offers an experience and adventure that is unrivaled.

For over 40 years I have helped create almost one thousand ocean going yachts that have collectively cruised over eight million miles across the world’s oceans. Randy and Rebecca Tisch have owned two of our Nordhavn Long Range Cruisers and within these pages the story of cruising the Pacific aboard their 68-foot Argo is told.

I recall a late-night phone call I received from Randy as he approached New Zealand in very rough conditions. They were having some difficulty with a hydraulic cooling pump and wanted to turn down swell for a more comfortable ride while sorting the problem. I was asked how the turn should be made in the large breaking seas and with little valuable advice offered Randy turned his storm-tossed yacht around 180 degrees and calmly told me the turn was easy and the motion had dramatically eased. I said goodnight and wished him good luck, but as I drifted back to sleep in the security of my own bed I knew Randy had hours of discomfort and stress ahead and was greatly relieved the next day to learn that all was well and Argo had arrived safely in New Zealand.

It’s very satisfying for me to see the success of Argo’s adventures. I’m sure Randy and Rebecca will remember their Pacific crossing as a rewarding chapter of their lives and the pages ahead give not only valuable technical information on how they accomplished their goals but give good insight too to the incredible people they met and exotic places they called upon during their ocean voyage of a lifetime.

I have always dreamed of accomplishing a grand physical adventure, like sailing across an ocean, climbing Mount Everest, or cycling across the continent. Fortunately, I am married to a wonderful lady, Rebecca, who shares my dreams and works hard to help make them come true. Our dream was to cross the wild Pacific Ocean, as the first leg of a longer cruise. I am not sure when the idea first germinated in me, perhaps as a little boy growing up on the Great Lakes and watching the huge steamers delivering tons of iron ore and coal to the steel mills of Gary and Cleveland.

Rebecca and I started boating on the Great Lakes more than 20 years ago, and I thought that navigation and seamanship would be the biggest challenges. We took courses to educate ourselves as much as possible before venturing out on big waters. As important as those skills are, just keeping boats operating is at least half the battle. The doggone things are always breaking down in one way or another, so mechanical aptitude is a very important skill. I suppose I developed some of those skills as a boy growing up in Detroit in the 1950’s and 60’s when boys were always messing about with cars, much like kids today do with computers and cell phones. We were learning the mechanics of things, and while cars were not terribly reliable then, they were built without robots or computers so it was easier to dig inside one and get your hands dirty figuring out how to make the machine work. Many of us acquired a clunker to fix up. Changing spark plugs and setting valve tolerances were commonplace. I even took the engine and transmission apart on a ’54 Ford Victoria, although I don’t remember if I ever got it back together again. Winter brought special challenges in the form of flooded engines. This required an application of ether in the form of a spray administered directly into the carburetor’s barrels, then a crank of the engine, and, as it started, a belch of fire! All of this playing around with mechanics has been a big help in boating. However, as much as I enjoyed cars, and although our family never owned a boat while I was growing up, boats always captured my imagination, and my mechanical know-how with cars certainly helped with our various boats.

When I graduated from high school, my father took me down to the local armed forces recruiting office, and I joined the Navy. The Navy trained me as a radar and cryptographic technician. After technical school at Treasure Island in the middle of San Francisco Bay, I spent three years aboard the USS Currituck, a sea plane tender (whose class is now extinct). We made four crossings of the Pacific and two Westpac tours including months on station in Vietnam. I loved life aboard ship. I remember one afternoon, as we were steaming past Luzon Island in the Philippines, wondering where life might take me and if I would ever return to these waters. That memory was a partial motivation for our journey in 2014 and 2015.

Shortly after returning to the States from my last Westpac tour my enlistment came to an end, and, unfortunately, I was discharged a few days before the 1967 Detroit riots began. Shortly after my return, Metropolitan Airport was placed under martial law, as was the entire Detroit area. I was shocked to see tanks and soldiers with guns on the streets of my hometown, the former Arsenal of Democracy. It was too much like the Vietnam I had recently left.

As the years went by, I graduated from college, settled in Ann Arbor, started a business, and met Rebecca. She was an ophthalmology resident at the University of Michigan Medical School, and was an adventurous soul who also loved water sports and boats. After we were married, we worked for years building our family and professions. Then, when we had the time and money, we started our boating career on the Great Lakes. We bought a twin diesel motor yacht and named it Currituck after my Navy ship. We took Power Squadron courses in the winter and cruised the Great Lakes on weekends and vacations during the summer. We circumnavigated Lake Superior, Lake Michigan, and Lake Huron. We loved our time spent together in the Georgian Bay and the North Channel; Isle Royale was a special delight. Although the Great Lakes offers some of the best cruising we have ever experienced, after 6 years of boating we decided to pursue other adventures. It wasn’t until several years had gone by and we were nearing retirement that we realized that some of our best memories were aboard our boat. No other pastime for us surpassed the adventure and beauty of boating. So, we started evaluating boats and the type of cruising we wanted to do in the future.

In 2009, I sold my investment management firm, and Rebecca closed her medical practice. My mechanical and electrical aptitude combined with Rebecca’s medical skills were perfect for our intended undertaking. We bought Odyssey, a Nordhavn 55-footer, and on her maiden voyage we cruised from California to Mexico under the tutelage of a captain and other Nordhavn owners. I began studying for my own USCG captain’s license. The next year we headed north to Alaska. When we returned to Dana Point, California, and Nordhavn’s home office, they made us an attractive offer and we decided to build a 68-footer. We sailed Odyssey through the Canal and up to Rhode Island, sold her there, and spent most of the following year building Argo and planning our voyages. During the build process, we visited the shipyard in Taiwan, which was a wonderful experience, to customize our boat to suit my 6’5” frame. After Argo was delivered in Florida, we took her to the Bahamas for a brief break-in cruise (where we encountered an hellacious storm crossing the Gulf Stream). Following minor adjustments, we headed north up the east coast to Newfoundland. After returning to Florida in early fall, we provisioned and set off for New Zealand in February.

The following pages are in large part our log of the trip—a personal travel log that we sent to friends and posted on the internet during our voyage. We hope you enjoy it.

Rebecca and I would like to thank the many people who inspired, taught, and lead us to the realization of our 50,000-mile sojourn. Although many people contributed to our success, James Leishman (son of Jim and co-founder of Nordhavn Yachts) helped us design our yachts, taught us how to operate them, and answered every phone call day and night to help us sort out the many problems we encountered. We couldn’t have done it without him. He did a fantastic job, as did the entire Nordhavn organization, who helped us every inch of the way all around the world. They demonstrated that the dream of ocean voyaging under power is possible, safe, and doable by ordinary people. Thank you!

We would also like to thank Scott and Mary Flanders for writing their colorful and inspiring blogs from aboard Egret, their 46-foot Nordhavn, as they traveled around the world. They showed us how to do it.

Everywhere we moored or dropped anchor, sailors of every stripe helped us with advice or directions on interesting places to visit, maintenance tips, shopping, and introductions to local resources. Whenever we came upon other Nordhavn owners, like Mary Rose and Peter van Cuylenburg, we had instant friends who shared yachting and local information with us. We met so many wonderful people, which was the real joy of our adventure.

We would also like to thank our many friends who encouraged us to take the risk and get underway, or visited us and brought with them the warmth of home as well as parts. Reid Sherard, Frank Gordon, and Captain Curtis and Melanie Hoff in particular offered special encouragement as we got started. Thanks to Gus and Lyle Gialamas for their friendship and help along the way. Hugs and kisses to our daughter Kathryn, who’s infectious excitement and optimism made everything a lot more fun. Finally, a big thank you to Professor Kim Eagle M.D., my friend and doctor who helped me through troubled waters.

Why a powerboat? Simple: Rebecca wouldn’t go via a sailboat. She says she doesn’t look good in yellow—as in rain slickers. She doesn’t want to be outside, particularly on night watches, doesn’t like life at 45 degrees, and doesn’t want to live below decks, and neither do I (although I would have sailed in a bathtub if I couldn’t afford a boat). As she is the copilot and indispensable in operating the boat, she needed to be satisfied, and luckily, she was very happy aboard our beautiful Nordhavn (and so was I).

Why a Nordhavn? There are a couple of reasons. While there are several manufactures building motor yachts capable of ocean crossings, Nordhavn is by far the leader in building beautiful yachts that can be operated by a couple or small crew. They are proven veterans of world cruising, and they are also spacious enough to accommodate my 6’5” frame.

Our route for the trip took us from Florida to the Bahamas, south along the Exhumes, past Turks and Caicos, then through the Windward Passage between Haiti and Cuba on to Port Antonio on the northeast tip of Jamaica. This took 10 days. From there we crossed the Caribbean to Santa Marta, which lies on the northern coast of Colombia. Then on to Cartagena, the Rosario Islands, Panama, and a canal transit. Once through the canal we headed 1,000 miles west for the Galapagos Islands where we spent 3 weeks exploring before heading to the Marquesas Islands 3,169 miles to the southwest. This was the longest leg of the trip, requiring 2 ½ weeks at sea. From the Marquesas, we headed south through the Tuamotu Atolls, then to Tahiti and famed Bora Bora, Raiatea, and Moorea. After a few weeks, we headed northwest to the Independent State of Samoa, Vava’U, Tonga, and then sailed 1,200 miles south to New Zealand where we were welcomed by a force 10 gale. After spending almost a year in New Zealand, we headed north to Fiji and spent nearly 2 months in those lovely islands.

Weather conditions played a critical role in the scheduling of our voyage. For example, the waters from Florida to Cuba can be very difficult when winter storms blow across North America. These winds meet water flowing from the south, creating mountainous waves. Further south the Christmas trades blow across the Atlantic. When they reach the Andes Mountains near Colombia, they bounce off the mountains as katabatic winds of tremendous force, creating havoc far out to sea, often making the Caribbean a nasty body of water. Likewise, we needed to make it to the Galapagos in early April in order to avoid adverse winds off the coast of Central America. Every step of the way and the scheduling of each port of call were determined by the weather.

Preparation for the trip was extensive. Without going into excessive detail, I first considered single points of failure on the boat and tried to create alternative systems or at least carry spare parts. We have a special software program from Wheelhouse Technologies that contains a database of all the machinery and equipment on board as well as electronic versions of the equipment manuals. It provides in maddening detail a maintenance schedule for every piece of equipment and keeps an inventory of our spare parts as they are used. When we need parts, either Nordhavn or Wheelhouse will ship them worldwide to us wherever we are.

In determining what parts to buy, I called each of the manufacturers and asked their opinion about what parts to carry in light of our ability to repair things at sea. This step was very helpful. All of our electronic systems on the yacht were backed up with two of everything, so we didn’t really need much in the way of spare electronic parts. We had two radars, three sonars, two VHF, two chart plotters, two autopilots, two engines and drive systems, two generators, two computers, and two sat-com systems (although in the South Pacific only one will work most of the time). Of course, we needed charts and cruising guides, courtesy flags, and customs information for all the places we planned to visit.

As you might imagine, fuel was a big concern both for the 3,100-mile open ocean leg as well as the ability to obtain it in distant, remote ports. We retained a fuel broker to help us acquire fuel along the way, and we bought a 500-gallon fuel bladder to augment our fuel tanks, which hold about 3,000 usable gallons. The bladder required devising a system to secure it to the deck while at sea so that it didn’t slosh around as Argo rolled with the waves, as well as an appropriate pump and hose system to transfer its contents to the main tanks.

Planning for the possibility of being shipwrecked required all sorts of other considerations. We had our life raft refitted, and we bought a waterproof ditch bag that could carry and float with 100 pounds of supplies and filled it with 20 days of rations for three people, water, a seawater desalinator, fishing gear, blankets, and a whole list of other items that other resourceful people included in their kits. In case our propeller became fouled by fishing lines or other debris encountered at sea, we carried dive and snorkeling equipment as well as two Shark Shields (devices thought to interfere with a shark’s sensors and cause them to turn away) so that I could go below and cut us free. We also had onboard cable cutters to cut fishing lines. In the event of a failure of our windless system (anchor lift system), we bought a lift bag to hoist the anchor so that we wouldn’t be marooned in a remote anchorage. The anchor and chain weigh about 1,200 pounds, so it is not a small consideration. Our yacht had only one hydraulic windless, which proved to be unreliable on several occasions as it turned out. We also carried an underwater hull-patching compound, so that if our hull was punctured at sea, we might be able to plug the hole ourselves right away.

Regarding our tender: one time in Mexico I was cruising about in the tender when its new Yamaha motor unexpectedly quit (later recalled for a faulty fuel pump). I was stranded, and the wind was blowing me out to sea toward Japan. Luckily a fishing boat spotted me and towed me back to safety. Since then I equipped our tender with an electric get-home motor. Looking back, it seems the preparation list was endless.

Normally Rebecca and I were Argo’s crew. We enjoy each other’s company and preferred to handle the yacht ourselves. However, because this was such a long voyage we hired a young man as able crew to help with deck and maintenance work and to stand watch while underway. His name was Tom. He was a delightful person, and we enjoyed having him with us to share our adventure. Before actually crossing the Pacific Ocean, we joined The Pacific Puddle Jump. Most sailors crossing the Pacific join this or other similar groups so they can keep in touch via shortwave radio or sail together in small groups. The organization also helps provide customs and immigration information on the various ports of call. Altogether, and I don’t have any hard data, we heard that about 350 boats attempt the crossing each year. Of this number, to my knowledge only two powerboats made it during the year of our crossing, the rest being sailboats of various types.

Planning a voyage, anticipating it, and actually getting underway is a lot of fun. Likewise, making landfall and entering a new port is quite exciting. Often, we were at sea for days and seldom saw another vessel. Because the boat was often underway day and night and usually for many days at a time, a schedule of watches was necessary to be sure that someone was always at the helm and that everyone got enough rest. We also needed food to be prepared on a normal schedule. Usually breakfast and lunch was up to each individual to handle personally, but dinner was a hot cooked meal with salad and dessert every day at sea. A night watch snack was also generally available. Night watches are, of course, the most dangerous time, since it is dark and the watch stander has to rely on the radar and AIS (automatic identification system) to become aware of and avoid dangers. Often, we got some form of seasickness, mostly of the malaise variety, but this would pass after several days at sea. On watch, we required hourly engine room checks in calm weather, twice an hour in heavy seas. We used check sheets to make sure all the necessary things were observed, but these boiled down to looking for oil leaks and coolant leaks, monitoring temperature, and making sure that the main engine had an adequate fuel supply. This might seem strange, but Nordhavns have an isolated fuel system with a separate day tank into which carefully filtered fuel is transferred to assure that nothing clogs up the engine’s injectors. This tank can run dry if not refilled periodically.

Today is an important, or rather an auspicious, day in that we are embarking on an 8-month cruise that will take us literally halfway around the world. Ultimately, we plan to make landfall at Auckland, New Zealand, in early October, but from here to Auckland we will visit 16 countries and island groups, travel nearly 10,000 miles, and burn 11,000 gallons of diesel fuel. It is a big undertaking that has occupied a lot of our time for the past several months and our dreams for many years. It is the reason we bought Argo.

We got underway this morning at 10:15 and passed under the Roosevelt Bridge, which could be a metaphor for the moment: the beginning of the trip and an end to the planning and preparation phase. As we passed under it we caught a glimpse of a couple waving frantically to us: Melanie and Curtis Hoff, dear friends from Ann Arbor, surprised us by driving down from Vero Beach (where their beautiful boat is now moored) to wave goodbye and take our picture for posterity. What a wonderful gesture!

The marina caters mostly to the sport fishing crowd, and there were a number of them in the harbor as we pulled in. These boats are very expensive—certainly millions of dollars—with most of them having several crew members. While at the dock, crew members spend most of their time washing and polishing their boats or stringing fishing lines and preparing for the next day’s expedition. The docking fees are extremely high here: $4.35/foot in season and $2.50/foot off season plus 40 cents/gallon for water and $30/night for electricity. One night at dock was $225. Because the high season began February 17, we should have paid the higher rate (about $400), but they let us off “easy.”

After checking in with the dock master, Rebecca took our papers to customs and immigration located a few miles away at the dirt airstrip and paid the Bahamian $300 cruising fee. Meanwhile Tom cleaned the salt off Argo while I de-pickled the watermaker and got it up and running. That afternoon we went to the beach for a little while, but the ocean was only 78 degrees, a little cold for Rebecca and Tom. On our way back to the boat, an owner of a sport-fish stopped Rebecca and asked her to taste his ceviche. What a come-on! I was standing right there. Anyway, I commented on the raft of fancy reels and fishing poles bristling off the back of his boat. There must have been $50,000 worth of reels and poles, some electric and some manual, all bright and shining gold masterpieces of the sport fishing culture. To distract him from focusing on my wife, I asked him what he had to buy his wife in order to invest so much in all this fishing gear. That’s when I heard the biggest whopper of them all: he told us that his wife doesn’t particularly like jewelry, so he buys her a fishing rod or reel for Mother’s Days, anniversaries, and the like. Boy, that’s a fish story if ever I heard one; either that, or he has the most understanding and unselfish wife in the world!

After a delicious dinner, a la Rebecca, we all fell into bed tired and glad to have started on our voyage.

We arrived in the early afternoon and found about 50 yachts at anchor. We put out the tender and cruised around the islands, stopping in at the club for a libation. Since many cruisers come here year after year, sort of like visiting the same campground, on the way back we decided to look around for people we met last year. As we tooled about in our tender we noticed Exodus, a Fleming 65 with Texans Susan and Arnie on board. We met them last year and spent a fair amount of time in their delightful company. Later that evening we stopped by for cocktails and watched the sun go down. We asked about a couple (best to remain nameless) that we had met last year, and Susan told us that they had to sell their boat because neither of their mothers, both of whom are in their 90s, had died yet, so they couldn’t afford to keep up the cruising lifestyle. The couple tells everyone this story and refers to themselves as trust-fund babies, so we are not really talking out of school. Apparently, the nameless couple tried to sell their boat, had a buyer, and needed to take the boat south from its location to consummate the sale. On the way, the boat unfortunately developed an engine room fire at sea. Having been aboard the boat last year, I am not sure if the fire wasn’t a blessing in disguise. But, instead of letting it burn and sink, the fire was extinguished, the boat was saved and ultimately towed to shore. The buyer, of course, lost interest, and our acquaintances are now watching their mothers spend their inheritances.

That afternoon Tom and I thought we should clean Argo’s bottom. She had been sitting in the Saint Lucie River in Stuart, Florida, for several weeks, and a grassy alga had taken up residence. Growth of any kind should be removed from a vessel’s bottom as it will slow the boat and decrease fuel efficiency. I had never done this sort of work before, as usually I hire a diver to clean her, but one of my boating friends does it himself, so I thought I would give it a try. In this case, we just used a washcloth and wiped the bottom as far down as we could reach, which was adequate. It can be a little unsettling to enter the water from the boat in the Bahamas as nurse sharks up to 10 feet long rest on the sandy bottom in the shadow of the boat.

That evening we took the tender on the 20-minute trip to the Staniel Cay Yacht Club. Fancy this place ain’t; it’s a Bahamian bar offering booze and food (mostly fried) to passing sailors. It’s a fun place full of cast-off hats, flags, and other nautical and team sports memorabilia from around the world. Fishing boats and tenders are tied up at the little dock, and under the boats are a dozen or so nurse sharks milling about. They are attracted by the fishermen’s fish-cleaning station, hoping to snatch an easy meal.

After about 45 minutes I thought luck might not be with us today. Then, just as I was about to get up I scanned the waters to starboard and saw a bull dorado leap out of the water. He was about 300 yards away. As he jumped in the air he displayed a dazzlingly gorgeous neon robin’s egg blue color. I never saw anything like it. I hoped he might be headed for my lure. I waited . . . then wham! Off he went with my plug in his mouth. He fought for about 15 minutes, jumping and tail walking, but unfortunately for him the die was cast; when it was over we had a nice 30 to 35 pounder in the bag. Two hours later we caught another dorado on the same bright lure, this time a 45 pounder. A beautiful fish, indeed, and an end to a great fishing day.

Around 16:00 we pulled into Stocking Harbor at Monument Hill across from Georgetown. There were about 250 boats in the harbor, mostly sailboats. Like Big Major, many people camp out here for long periods of time. They even conduct classes on the beach on all sorts of subjects. Chat & Chill is located on the beach, which is the most iconic Tiki bar I have ever seen. As we made our way carefully down the narrow fairway, we saw a familiar boat—Pirate—owned by Jim and Jane, a couple we met during our cruise last winter. Jim hailed us on the VHF radio and invited us to a dinner on their boat that evening. We accepted their invitation and turned Argo around and dropped anchor next door. We went aboard Pirate around 18:00 that evening for a hot dog and chili cookout accompanied by a musical jam session. Jim had set up a karaoke device next to his macaw named Mackie, and two young Canadians with guitars arrived in short order. They had sailed a tiny sailboat from Ontario all the way down via the Erie Canal and Hudson River on a boat with no generator or ice maker. Despite a rough ride at times, these young men could really sing folk songs. It was a lot of fun.

After lunch, we returned to Chat & Chill to collect Tom and have a swim. We found Tom at the bar with new fast friends from Atlanta, Lee and Mary Ann. Lee had bought his wife a vacation at Sandals for her birthday, but they were disappointed with the resort and found their way down to Chat & Chill. Lee also found out about Gumby punches and had been buying them all afternoon for Tom. Everyone was in a very good mood by the time we arrived, and Lee insisted on buying us more of the same. It was a lot of fun.

Later in the evening we visited our Nordhavn friends George and Mary Ann aboard their yacht, which was similar to ours. It was great to see them and hear about their experiences both with the boat and their travels. They are planning a summer trip to Montreal, Quebec, Greenland, and Iceland. Sounded like a great trip to us!

Around 6 p.m. on Thursday we reached the Windward Passage, which is the channel between Cuba and Haiti. We passed through it two years ago on Odyssey, and it was as gentle as a lamb, just like today. Lucky us!

In the morning, we passed the protection of the mountain range Massif de la Hotte, on the southern peninsula of Haiti. Here we began to feel the large swells on our beam rolling north from the Caribbean. As the sun rose, the sea changed and the wind rotated so that by afternoon the swells were much smaller and more pleasant. The day was lovely, but as time passed we became more anxious because we didn’t want to reach Port Antonio after nightfall. Unfortunately, we were in an adverse current all day so our speed was limited to just over 7 knots. Later, as the sun set, Jamaica’s beautiful Blue Mountains were cast in a silhouette against the high clouds and the rose shades of the setting sun. That evening, Rebecca made us a wonderful dinner of the mahi-mahi that we caught at sea the night before.

As spectacular as the evening cruise into port was, coming into a strange harbor requires close 3attention and vigilance, particularly in a third-world country like Jamaica. At night, fishermen are often working offshore and the lights of the city present a background against which small boats, even if they have a light, are indistinguishable. Most are too small for the radar to pick up, so care and watchfulness is the order of the day (or night). The harbor’s entrance can be equally hard to spot amidst the background lights. We scanned the city’s waterline and spotted some red and green lights marking the fairway entrance right were the chart illustrated them to be; we checked the code blinking from them, which confirmed that we were in the right place. We slowed and proceeded in, then made a turn to starboard and entered the west harbor through a small channel. By this time, we were going very slowly as it was quite dark and there were many small boats at anchor. We looked for the marina (named Errol Flynn after its founder), but it didn’t seem to be located as shown on the map. A very large four-mast sailing schooner was tied up at a pier, but in the dark, it was hard to tell its orientation or the pathway to the pier. Typical of Jamaica, the nightclubs were blasting loud, throbbing sounds, the party was in full swing, and a sweet fragrance wafted on the breeze. We inched our way toward the schooner, watching the depth and mindful of how to get out if we were in the wrong place. A couple of people on the schooner confirmed that this was indeed the marina, and so we decided to bring Argo to rest at a vacant portion of the dock in front of the schooner. We needed to reverse Argo’s orientation, so in this confined space I brought her about and moved her starboard side ever-so-gently to the pier. Rebecca and Tom made sure we had adequate fenders out and that no protrusions from the pier presented a danger. As we approached, fellow sailors scrambled out of their boats to give us a hand with the lines. One fellow was still in his PJ’s!

By this time, it was about 11 p.m. Within minutes, police arrived, two very nice officers. They wanted to come on board immediately, but Rebecca wanted to see their IDs. The two fumbled around trying to scrounge up their cards, but only one of them could find it. I wasn’t sure if Rebecca was going to relent and let both on board. But after a minute or two of discussion, aboard they came with their shoes on, although Tom wiped the bottoms of them off. (Generally, we try not to wear shoes on the boat so as to prevent bird droppings and other dock refuse from coming aboard.)

The two officers filled out a raft of paperwork and then inspected the vessel from stem to stern; they went through the refrigerator, all the drawers, and even tossed the dirty laundry. The whole ordeal took about an hour and a half. We were then told we had three more inspections to go through: Coast Guard, Immigration, and Health. By this time, we were very tired, but not too tired to have a few Dark and Stormy’s.

About 10 a.m. a nice lady from the Health Department arrived. She didn’t want to take her shoes off either, but complied with our wishes. She had almost nothing to say, but did fill out paperwork substantially the same as the other officials. At this point we were almost done, but we weren’t allowed to leave the boat until the immigration officer made his visit and completed his paperwork. This was frustrating because we needed provisions and, as it was Saturday, the markets closed at 13:00 and would stay closed until Monday. We called the harbormaster and yacht club manager in an effort to hurry things along. They told us to go ahead and do our shopping in spite of the lack of formal permission. The immigration officer finally showed up at 5 p.m. with the same paperwork that the others had brought before, and then he demanded $38 extra payment for his overtime!

During the day, we cleaned Argo, reconnoitered the club, and met other sailors along the dock. That evening we had a wonderful time with three other boating couples. Our first acquaintances were Ismael and Olga from Barcelona who lived aboard the catamaran moored alongside us. She was a gorgeous young woman, and Ismael was a thin, middle-aged, athletic man who looked every bit the Castilian—like a portrait of Hernando Cortes. Both were bright, animated, and lots of fun. They have lived on a catamaran for at least 8 years, and had spent the last 3 years in Cuba, which they loved.

The second couple was from the United States and were named Westa and Ian; she a former teacher in Harlem, he a retired British army officer. Lovely people. They live on a 45-foot Beneteau.

The third couple was French. He, Jean-Marie, a trauma doctor who treats sailors crossing the Pacific on French tours. He also attends drivers in famous auto races; he once treated Paul Newman at the Monaco Grand Prix. Coco, his wife, doesn’t speak English, and we unfortunately don’t speak French, so we didn’t learn much about her except that she becomes very seasick as soon as they leave the harbor. She takes a couple of pills and goes to bed—even on long, 5-day cruises—while he stands all the watches and sleeps in 10-minute catnaps. Amazing!

Last but not least was Harry, a very energetic and affable person who had just crossed the Atlantic single-handed and was on his way home to Australia. Harry became a good friend, and we met up with him many times as we crossed the Pacific. You will hear more about him as the story unfolds.

As Harry crossed various bodies of water, he would hire hitchhiking deckhands to help run the boat and stand watch. In Port Antonio, he had a deckhand on board who was a beautiful 20-something of Asian ancestry. She was gorgeous with long, shiny black hair flowing down her back, and a great figure that she showed off in a teeny-weeny bikini. Each morning as things began to move on the dock she would make her way out of Harry’s boat and take a stroll up and down the dock in her bikini and Ugg boots. At that moment, all the men’s heads popped out of the cabins on their sailboats like prairie dogs looking about. It was very funny. One day she didn’t show up. I asked Harry what happened to her. Apparently, he fired her because she was just an “alley cat.”