Chronicles of pete goss

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In this sixth and final article in the column he has kindly agreed to write exclusively for Garcia YachtsBritish sailor and adventurer Pete Goss examines the risk-benefit ratio associated with a blue water cruising project. He demonstrates how "giving yourself permission to leave" will enable you to "fill a chapter with memories that will last a lifetime".

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Looking back, my previous articles have largely covered the topics and themes I wanted to share. To expand further on these points would only result in a collection of details that can easily be found elsewhere. So I hope I've expressed, through these writings, what I felt about the following themes: follow your dream, choose the right boat, learn as you go along, avoid imposing deadlines on yourself, expose yourself sometimes - with caution of course - but above all have fun, make friends... and then you'll experience a truly rewarding voyage.

Everyone has dreams that can be realized effortlessly. For many people, the reality of life can unfortunately encourage them to miss out on their dreams, until it's too late. Others, often at odds with the majority, find the temptation to think outside the box irresistible: they feel compelled to make their dreams come true. A reality that demands unfailing determination and a healthy dose of courage.

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In this article, I thought I'd outline a few strategies to help you look beyond the rail, gasp and rightly falter at the abyss of choosing to take the leap of departure.

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It doesn't have to be this way, as there are plenty of ways to make the right parachute, or to make it less dramatic. This jump doesn't have to be a stomach-churning gamble that could compromise your overall life balance. It can and should be the start of a wonderfully rewarding chapter, one that will leave you with lasting memories. But first, and this is all the more true after a working life filled with responsibilities, you have to consciously give yourself permission to leave.

Once permission has been granted, it's useful to consider your immediate environment first, those touchstones that give meaning to life, by which I mean family, friends and work colleagues. Be aware that they may find it hard to accept the simple idea of the yearning for freedom that the sight of a clear horizon represents for you. Help them to grasp this aspiration, so that they understand that instead of abandoning them, you draw your strength from their support. Talk to them, offer them appropriate books, let them participate in the adventure and show them that they play a significant role. Take them out on the water to share your passion, and show them that safety is a priority for you. Bond with them by organizing a going-away party, and take them with you on a blog written with objectivity and honesty to share the highs and lows of the adventure.

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Empathy triumphs over all kinds of emotions, so imbue them with the same excitement you feel for the trip. You can easily offer them this by inviting them to join you for the vacations. Our daughter supported us and sort of "admitted" our project until she joined us in the Bahamas. A few days later, she took Tracey aside to tell her that she now fully understood our desires, that she had empathy and that she was proud of her mother for what she had had the courage to accomplish. It's important not to let your family and friends feel a tragedy about the very thing that, for you, represents the greatest project of your life.

Reassure them that, thanks to modern communications, the days of disappearing over the horizon for months on end are over. With modern aircraft, unless you're in the middle of an ocean crossing, you'll rarely be more than twenty-four hours from home. On an Atlantic crossing, a decent forty- to forty-five-foot boat is usually no more than ten days from land. Designate a trusted friend to hold the short-term reins if need be. Share with him or her a crisis plan that covers modes of communication and includes a list of priority contacts. Discuss each scenario to make sure he's happy and confident in his role. Let's not forget that, although crossing an ocean is an important event, it represents only a small part of the actual calendar for blue water cruising cruisers. Of our two-and-a-half-year journey, only three weeks were devoted to crossing the Atlantic. Some partners choose not to make ocean crossings and to join you by plane: that's no problem! It's what suits you that counts.

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Take into account the people on board, fully understanding each person's motivations, reservations and needs. Don't be inflexible: take honest stock every few months, comparing initial assumptions with current reality. Don't feel sorry for your mistakes, celebrate what you've learned and adopt the adaptability that comes with experience. Leave room for humor to highlight the little things - after all, it's a marriage between the two of you and the boat.

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Don't worry about what other people think or do, because this new life is all about expressing your personal aspirations.

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Don't set sail until you've put in place and tested the right form of support and assistance. Above all, do it on your terms - the departure does not have to be the departure date. You can choose to sail locally until the various issues relating to the condition of the boat, its systems and your ability to master them have been resolved. Take courses ranging from on-board medicine to sail repair, engine maintenance, weather and navigation. When you set out, you can choose to start with small steps that turn into big strides as you progress. Inevitably, as knowledge dispels fear, there will come a time when you can't wait to take to the ocean.

Join groups of like-minded people, like the Ocean Cruising Club, or sign up for an event like the ARC Transatlantic Rally, which is an extraordinary event, or the Grand Large Yachting World Odyssey. A shared project sees the level of risk divided, and it may be that sailing in concert between friendly boats is your thing. We really enjoyed sailing the Intracoastal Waterway (a network of canals and waterways along the east coast of the USA) with Ian and Michelle, who are now lifelong friends thanks to this shared adventure. All the time spent with experienced cruisers will be like a forum for you to download ideas.

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You can hire the services of a professional skipper to learn things specific to your boat. Stop talking about emergency helm, install your own and set off on a crossing. Service your engine under the guidance of an engineer, practice man-overboard maneuvers in pairs, don't neglect basic routines, and hone your mastery of tasks like dinghy launching and sail handling.

Discover your strengths and play to them, as you evolve as a team: who should be at the helm and on the foredeck when anchoring? who's the best at controlling the spinnaker pole? and so on. How do you make decisions? Will you have a red card system? Define the areas of responsibility of everyone on board. Most importantly, don't project your aspirations onto others, because we're all different. Integrate these differences into the program so that it satisfies everyone.

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Don't lose sight of the reason why you embarked on this journey. The boat is there to serve you, not you to serve the boat. When my wife Tracey and I set out, our pace was too fast and we got tired. A recalibration of the project set the tone for the rest of our time on board. Be indulgent with yourself, measure your progress by your own standards, not those of others. Look back and recognize how far you've come since you first left the dock with your heart pounding.

Boats are always ready but never prepared, and there comes a time when you have to take a deep breath and enjoy the freedom of casting off. You've done the hard work, and the fun is about to begin. Fill your boat with toys to explore the marine environment and enjoy this new lifestyle. A lifestyle that lets you live in the moment, with an infinite variety of what nature, places, cultures and people have to offer. It's all extremely rewarding, and I wish you all the best wherever your journey takes you.

I've always said that when I hang up my ocean racing boots, I'd like to explore the nooks and crannies of the planet rather than speeding past in a quest for speed. For an inquisitive person like me, it's always been frustrating to watch lush, exotic islands like the Cape Verde archipelago or desolate lands like Gough Island in the South Atlantic fade into the distance. What they could have had to offer, given enough time to explore them, took the form of a lingering echo of regret.

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The more I checked off the list of inspirational errands, the more this echo became insistent and began to demand my attention.

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Variety beckoned, and I began to explore other modes of adventure capable of offering me more variety and greater proximity to the coast. This led to me taking part in or organizing trips to the North Pole, an inflatable boat expedition beyond the Arctic Circle, a re-enactment episode to Australia and an epic kayak trip around Tasmania.

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It was the kayak tour of Tasmania (in 2012 ed.) that really opened my eyes to the extra dimension that cruising could have to offer. It was a huge undertaking, with the challenges of survival absorbing all our attention as we prepared for this expedition. However, once we were underway, a wonderfully random and completely unexpected parallel adventure began to unfold ashore.

As Forest Gump's mother liked to say, "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get." Every night we camped ashore, this unpredictable side of the expedition offered us wonderful memories. A Tasmanian devil trying to steal our shoes. A beach filled with bleached whale bones that had an ethereal glow in the setting sun. Shivers as we desperately lit a fire to keep warm after being crushed to the shore by huge breakers. Wombats joining us for an aperitif in Wine Glass Bay, as a square rig rolled gently in the swell. Paddling ashore to find ourselves invited to a golden wedding anniversary filled with the most amazing characters. This expedition became memorable in every way, for the generosity of nature, the strength of the bond between land and sea, and the people we met.

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The Garcia Exploration 45 "Pearl of Penzance

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I wanted more, and after the kids left home and I ended my racing career, Tracey and I decided to dip our toes into cruising. We started with a 34-foot Frances Pilot, which whetted our appetites. The initial plan was for me to sail the oceans solo, but Tracey gained confidence and decided to jump aboard with both feet. We ordered "Pearl of Penzance", a wonderful Garcia Exploration 45, and spent the next two and a half years living on the water.

While researching our trip, we came across a surprising formula according to which cruising corresponded to 20% actual sailing time, with the rest spent at anchor. This formula seemed very unfavorable to sailing, so I added what turned out to be a misguided pinch of salt. In the end, we discovered that we had three modes of operation, anchorage, delivery, and an intermediary we'll call vagabondage. It took us a while to relax and really adopt the rhythm of the long cruise, as opposed to the often default attitude of charging ahead like crazy, knowing that the time available outside work is necessarily limited.

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Once we'd found our rhythm, it quickly became clear that we needed to collect a range of toys and equipment to continue exploring, relaxing and enriching our experience. A toolbox that it will take us some time to accumulate and optimize.

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A whole world of wonders is right there, within reach under the keel, so the first thing to do was don a pair of flippers, mask and snorkel for endless fun. This also allowed us to check the propeller, double rudders, sacrificial anodes , and make sure the anchor was secure. In addition to this, we added a small electric compressor which extended my dive time, allowing me to clean the hull and carry out small tasks such as changing the sacrificial anodes, cleaning the propeller or cleaning a fouled anchor. As Tracey is afraid of water, we bought a bathyscope, which was a real godsend as she loves nature. I'd got into the habit of towing her in the dinghy for snorkelling, so we were able to enjoy the experience together.

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I soon felt the need to take snorkelling to the next level, and the idea was to maximize what I could get out of it. I bought a custom-made mask, anti-fog wipes, a longer snorkel and better fins. A neoprene top kept the sun off my back and helped keep me warm in the colder waters. I added to this a lightweight wetsuit when we headed north: I always used it in cases where I had to dive from the boat at sea to minimize bruising in the event of contact with the hull. I also started swimming to keep fit, which, after a brush with an outboard, soon necessitated the addition of a red float strapped to my waist. We bought a book on fish and started looking for good snorkeling sites while planning our sailings. The addition of an underwater camera and a GoPro made for some wonderful memories.

As my underwater knowledge grew, it became clear to me that we were floating above a very nourishing food bank.

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I can't tell you how much fun I had catching my dinner with my harpoon gun, whether it was fish or lobster. It kept me busy for hours and really helped me understand this new world and its complex food chain.

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A chain at the top of which it is not man who dominates... which requires a good understanding of shark habits. The first rule of thumb is not to swim at dawn or dusk. Be wary if food waste has just been thrown overboard, and take care to avoid places where bait is used to attract sharks for tourism purposes, as this encourages them to associate man with food.

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The more time we spent exploring, the more we realized the importance of having a dinghy. I recommend an inflatable dinghy, and we loved our F-rib because it could fold up and be stowed in the bilges during ocean crossings. We quickly got rid of our four-stroke outboard motor and bought a Yamaha two-stroke, used by all professional fishermen. Maybe not as environmentally friendly as the four-stroke, but ten times more reliable. In long-term blue water cruising , the outboard is both a work tool and a safety feature. We have carried out four rescues with our dinghy, one of which would not have succeeded without the extra power of a two-stroke engine.

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When we set off on long dinghy trips, we took along hats, an umbrella, water, a snack, sunscreen and insect repellent. A small bag containing a waterproof VHF, a portable GPS, a cell phone and a wallet is never too much. We also had a good anchor with a few metres chain. If I wandered away from the shore under my own power, I always plotted the projected course on the map, then did a radio check to keep Tracey informed.

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On several occasions, I teamed up with another sailboat that was cruising nearby, allowing us to have total redundancy with two boats involved.

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Over time, I got the urge to exercise more and bought a hybrid stand-up paddle and windsurf. Paddling, which at first seemed boring compared to kayaking, became a passion. It's great exercise and I soon realized, while paddling with a friend in a kayak, that standing up, I could see much better and more than he could. I remember shouting to him that we were almost vertical to a large eagle ray. Being close to the water, all he could see was the reflection of the sun. The other advantage over his kayak was that I could throw the board in the water and stow it easily, whereas launching the kayak required two people and the use of a Halyard. It's that same extra hassle factor that means I've never really used windsurfing.

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One of the key things with my stand-up paddle board was to design and build dedicated storage on the cockpit arch, just below the Solar panels. Easy access meant I could throw it in the water on a whim and have fun. The fact that it was rigid meant better performance and, of course, better gear for many hours of wave-riding fun. The other solution was an inflatable stand-up paddle, which has the advantage of being easy to store, but I found that its rather low performance compared with my rigid board, as well as the hassle of inflating it, limited its daily use. Where the inflatable board came in handy was when we had guests who were new to paddle-boarding: the inflatable version was suited to their abilities. And it was fun to be able to deflate it and store it for long periods when we were both sailing. I really enjoyed introducing the newcomers to the joys of stand-up paddling.

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My paddle board was called "Mindy", after our charming little dog, because she was a real magnet when it came to meeting people. I always ended up chatting to other cruisers as I made my way to the anchorage. In Norfolk, Virginia, I paddled under the amazing concave bow of the USS Wisconsin and cheekily challenged a passing US Marine officer to take my picture. That evening, he came aboard "Pearl" for a drink. The next day, he took us on the most incredible VIP tour of the Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, the USS Eisenhower! In Maine, I met descendants of the Cabot family, who arrived in America before the Mayflower. On another occasion, I paddled around a rocky outcrop to come face-to-face with a metre-high bald eagle. It studied me for a moment, then went on to feed on a large fish caught in its talons - it was an incredible moment.

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As with any water sport, safety and common sense must be at the heart of your concerns.

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Don't use any of these devices if you've been drinking, and above all make sure that if things go wrong, you won't be swept out to sea. Watch out for tides and changing currents, as they can build up very quickly and sweep you off your feet. Constantly scan the horizon when snorkeling to watch for approaching boats or even, as happened to me on a dive in the Bahamas, when a large and dangerous waterspout occurs. When choosing your boat, take into account these activities outside the sailing program, which are very pleasant distractions. The Garcia Exploration 45 "Pearl" was perfect for this, with its large boarding platform and ladder. This provided a stable and safe platform for moving from dinghy to paddle-board to water. In fact, this part of the boat looked almost like a marina pontoon and was even equipped with a ceiling light.

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Fishing has all the makings of a great pastime and, looking back, I wish I'd explored it more. It's a wide-ranging subject, into which we dipped our toe by dropping a spoon hook over the longline, with surprising results. I think that, had family circumstances not necessitated the sale of "Pearl", this would have been the next area for both of us to explore. Knowing that the mere idea of preparing a meal leads you to cast a line to Newfoundland or Norway and catch a fresh cod is pretty magical. So is catching a big tuna or other pelagic fish on an ocean crossing.

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Looking back, as much as we loved our Atlantic crossing as a duo, most of our lasting memories come from experiences close to the coast. With time and experience, we've built up our toolbox for making the most of this rich and wonderfully diverse meeting point between land and sea. Don't just sail the oceans: immerse yourself in them in the truest sense of the word. You'll discover a world that will add immeasurably to the value of time, and leave you with glorious memories.

I don't remember exactly when we decided to go to the North Pole, but I do remember that, like most good ideas, this one presented itself from the moment we reached the bottom of a good bottle of red.

Explorer Alan Chambers and I had been planning an expedition to the South Pole for about a year when he was asked to guide a trip to the North Pole. Initially seen as a distraction, the project quickly turned into an exciting opportunity when it became apparent that I could go as a replacement. It would be our first joint foray into a new and hostile environment, free of charge. Alan, a master of this kind of challenge, would impart as much knowledge to me as I could absorb. At the same time, we could begin to develop our approach to conquering the South Pole, drawing on our newly-discovered strengths and weaknesses as a team.

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The phrase "hostile environment" sounds trite on paper, but the reality is that daily life must continue under a certain degree of duress. Hidden enemies lurk in the background, waiting to sneak up unannounced. Frost bites are always a problem, and what's worse is that as your flesh begins to freeze, nerves are gently severed. This is where a buddy-buddy system comes into its own, as we continually check on each other. Fortunately, Alan spotted it on my cheek and nose before any serious damage was done. Cold feet are something you have to live with but can't afford to ignore until they're numb enough to feel like stumps, because that sensation is the harbinger of a reality I wouldn't wish on anyone.

It's also sobering to think that survival rests on a crust of frozen sea ice that's constantly shifting and varying in thickness. There's nothing more disconcerting than when the ice starts to flex and ripple beneath your skis. You can't stop yourself, as this could be fatal. So you have to rely on a fluid, relaxed movement, and hope that the ice will be thicker in front of you, because there's no turning back. Deep ocean currents compete with erratic wind-driven ice movements to continually stir and tear the crust. I was shocked to pitch the tent one night only to wake up fourteen miles away. It took two days of hard work to end up just behind our starting point. I remember once when the ice cracked in front of me and I was startled by Alan's highly motivated cry from the other side. The speed at which the pack ice had opened up into a lead was shocking as I glanced back after a rather ungainly jump (leads are linear cracks in the ice that form when pack ice diverges or shears). Add to that some hungry polar bears and you have a particularly amusing moment.

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But that's not all, I've returned to the North Pole several times because of its seductive and unique beauty. I expected a white, cold and sterile world, and was astonished to find a changing landscape full of color. I've never seen so many shades of blue, constantly changing with the passing of the sun. The different ages of the sea ice are reflected in the intensity of their color and transparency, the oldest being hard and beautiful enough to be mistaken for precious stones. As a gap opens in one place, the ice is compressed to erupt into the sky in another. There's never a dull moment, and there's no room for complacency; there is, however, for danger....

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Like Phileas Fogg's experience, you find yourself in a foreign world devoid of substance. With the nearest land a kilometer beneath your feet, it's like being in suspension, space and time seemingly unbalanced. The North Pole, the focus of all our efforts, is merely the convergence of a mathematical model. The point where our lines of longitude meet, which has no physical existence. Reach it, have a cup of tea and by that time the drifting ice will have carried you forward. Not far, but enough to require a short walk to take the celebratory photos at the precise point. Time takes on a new meaning, as the basic rhythms of night and day are suppressed by perpetual daylight, with a weak sun rotating just above the horizon. This creates the illusion of standing at the center of the world's largest clock face, where the passage of time is measured by marking lunch in Moscow, Paris and New York. There's something inescapably spiritual about this unique landscape that seems to touch the soul. Like the Southern Ocean, I was drawn to this space and set up a company with Alan, with whom we trained, equipped and led groups of novices to the North Pole. Many of these wonderful people returned to their normal lives after benefiting from the extraordinary time and space up there, which was useful for some in making life-changing decisions.

The North Pole, but also a number of other expeditions, changed my perception of remote latitudes, which had always been described as places of suffering and little interest. With the right equipment, knowledge and preparation, I was pleased to discover that these places have a lot to offer. It takes more commitment than dropping anchor in the Bahamas, but the returns can be more rewarding. Not only for their uniqueness, but also for the satisfaction of being able to function in a hostile environment and overcome its difficulties. Instead of being relaxed by the balm of the tropics, a polar experience heightened the senses to bring a deeper, more meaningful and often more lasting reward. The icing on the cake is that, in such a foreign and hostile environment, all the senses are rewarded with unfamiliar colors, smells, sounds, wildlife and culture.

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Any boat designed for offshore sailing should be able to take you to high latitudes. All the basic safety rules apply, but greater vigilance and preparation are advised.

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Long-distance cruises are just that, long-distance cruises. There's no marina, hospital or store to fill the gaps in preparation. In fact, there can't be any gaps; carry extra food, spare parts and a more sophisticated communications system. Have a detailed crisis plan drawn up and entrusted to a trusted person at home. Improve your maintenance skills, especially in the medical field. Think the worst and be prepared with the best, like a Guy Cotten survival suit. Test these life jackets and train the crew in their use so that details are instinctive and thoughtful. There's no point having your knife in the wrong pocket in a crisis.

Any ocean-going vessel is in fact capable of taking you to high latitudes, but that doesn't mean it's capable of offering you the hidden rewards. What's the point of a survival exercise that makes you freeze to death when you could be warm, happy and equipped to see beyond the misery of an improbable, unprepared moment? A sturdy aluminium boat, built with watertight bulkheads, eliminates an enormous amount of residual stress. Good insulation and heating provide a cocoon in which to warm up and recover from mini-expeditions. A sturdy inflatable dinghy with a reliable engine gives you the luxury of getting close to nature. A shapely hull with sufficient volume offers space for extra reserves and large tanks, providing the autonomy required for long-distance sailing. The cockpit needs to be sheltered, and having a cockpit is a huge advantage, as it encourages a watchful eye and prolongs the crew's endurance.

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Clothing is very important, as it should be a mix of specialized sailing and mountaineering gear. Breathable materials are a must, while simple, robust design and construction are the order of the day. Extra details, like the addition of a braided extension to a zipper, make all the difference when trying to close a jacket with mittens. I swear by a merino wool base layer, followed by a water-resistant mid-layer for drier days on deck. A bag of warm hats is never too much, as are neck warmers and ski goggles. Although waterproof clothing is essential, the truth is that high-pressure systems often mean it's dry, and a good insulating jacket is preferable most of the time. I love my trusty Finisterre jacket, which has served me well for many years. Designed for surfers, it's perfect for high-latitude sailing. A hot water bottle, too, is an excellent companion on watch and in bed when you're trying to keep warm.

It's the extremities that suffer the most, so get another pair of insulated boots that are half a size too big. Make sure you have some excellent socks to fill the space. Boots should be generous in the calf area, as they need to accommodate socks, first and middle layers without compressing them. Take them with you and wear them when you try them on, because it's too late when you take them out in real conditions. Unlike many, I don't use insulating mugs, because there's nothing like squeezing a hot mug to warm cold fingers. I wear very thin gloves for the first layer, heavier thermal gloves and finally generous mittens that can be put on and taken off easily. Never use a winch with mittens, as they can get caught in the winch. Take them off and put them in your jacket pocket - which you've already made sure is big enough!

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This robust yet nuanced approach also applies to the boat. Take long, spiked poles to fend off chunks of ice. A Shallow draft is a priceless asset, as you can anchor in shallow waters that repel large chunks of ice when they run aground. Take large Fenders to cushion the roughness of docks designed for commercial boats that take the place of marinas. I like to have two large inflatable Fenders to bridge the growing gap between fore and aft midships. Carry very long chains and lots of rubbing and scraping protection material, a piece of old fire hose is good if you can get it. Carry a few jerry cans so you can recover fuel with the dinghy. Bear protection in the form of a locally hired rifle is essential. I would supplement this protection with bear spray, because who would want to harm a bear in its natural habitat? After all, we're the invasive species.

The old military maxim "divide and conquer" should never be far from your mind. Make sure the dinghy has a fully-charged, high-quality waterproof VHF and spare batteries. Contact with the mother ship should be maintained by regular radio checks. A portable GPS with spare batteries should not leave the boat until the precise point of anchorage has been entered as a "waypoint" on this equipment. If you can afford it, take a satellite phone. Carry a written backup plan, including a sketch of the map and a pre-arranged rendezvous point(s) in case of trouble. A waterproof bag should be carried in the dinghy in case it is separated by sudden changes in weather or visibility and has to remain ashore for an extended period. Be very careful not to be swept out to sea if the outboard motor fails. Always have two people on board to ensure that the mother ship is not left unmanned in the event of an emergency. Search the web for others who have taken the route before you, as maps can be vague and nothing beats local knowledge and advice from the field. Take a drone.

The details I refer to above need to be applied to all areas of the expedition and assimilated by the whole crew through numerous meetings, training sessions and delegation of responsibilities. There's a lot to do, so assign each member an area of responsibility in which he or she can excel and thus feel valued. I've always focused on crew morale and entertainment. This can be anything from a bag of chocolate in the cockpit to a weekly meal to celebrate and reflect. There will be times when the boat can't move, so make sure you have books, games and ingredients to cook with. Some people seem to elevate suffering to an end in itself when they're on an expedition. This macho approach couldn't be further from mine. Why not make it something fun, something enriching, so that you come back from these adventures both happier and fitter than when you left? After all, isn't that what life's all about?

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To me, the definition of an adventure is "a journey with an unknown outcome". We strive to reach our goal, but it doesn't always work out, which in itself brings a thrill of excitement. Although it's a challenging experience, adventure is not a test in the true sense of the word. It doesn't have to be seen in terms of success or failure, because, ultimately, it's the journey itself that counts.

All this was perfectly expressed by Theodore Roosevelt, in the famous speech "Citizenship in the Republic" delivered in Paris at the Sorbonne in 1910 and widely repeated since - by John Fitzgerald Kennedy, among others:

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"The critic tells absolutely nothing: all he does is point the finger at the strong man when he falls or makes a mistake in doing something. True credit, however, goes to the man in the arena, with his face smeared with dust, sweat and blood, fighting bravely. True credit goes to the one who makes mistakes, who makes errors, but who, along the way, succeeds, for there is no effort without error. He knows great enthusiasm, great devotion, and spends his energy on what is worthwhile. This is a true man, who in the best of hypotheses knows victory and conquest, and in the worst of hypotheses, falls. Yet even his fall is grand, for he has lived with courage and risen above the petty souls who have never known victory or defeat."

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One of the joys of life is that the arena we're talking about is made up of individual knowledge, experience and passion. I know a man who's trying to grow the world's biggest melon, and he's an example of Kennedy's definition. Indeed, my first Channel crossing with my father as a child was as exciting as finishing the Vendée Globe many years later. I'll never forget the childhood thrill of seeing a foreign country rise above the morning horizon, teaching me about a new language and those incredible croissants!

We all need tension in life, in the sense that tension brings reward, whether through education, physical challenge, starting a business or raising a family. That tension may come from doing hard work, but that doesn't lift the spirit, whereas a hint of danger does. Why else would we have amusement parks where the thrill of fear is chased from one ride to the next. And even then, the attraction quickly dissipates as soon as you get used to it.

Some of us have a greater tolerance for danger than others, which is why adventure should be measured by tolerance, not intensity. What creates only a thrill for one person may arouse genuine terror in another, who would be just as affected by a seemingly more mundane activity. The reward will be just as great, and it's on the basis of the effect produced that the right arena should be chosen for a positive experience.

I've never had a career in the constructed sense of the word, but rather a series of crazy ideas. It's not that you shouldn't reproduce things, but in my opinion, life is so short that I like to treat it like a playground, jumping from one project to the next. I could have taken the start of several editions of the Vendée Globe and aimed for victory in this event, but for me that would have been a sign of a lack of imagination and open-mindedness. The Vendée Globe was like an incompressible desire, which was fulfilled on my first attempt. So it's a project that I'll always recognize as having brought me so much, and as having freed me to tackle new shores.

I quickly realized just how much investing in a new arena exercises the muscles of both body and mind. The new and rewarding trajectory that came out of the Vendée Globe propelled me into the orbit of new groups of passionate people. The kind of people who give texture, vibrancy and color to life. My love of the sea has meant that most of my projects have been sailing-related, but I've also made forays into other fields, with a kayaking expedition around Tasmania, another to the North Pole which I reached on foot, or the historical reconstruction of a 19th-century working sailing ship which I sailed from England to Australia like the colonists of the time and, in my early days, the Royal Marine commandos.

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For the uninitiated, this list of adventures is marked by the sign of danger, but life itself is dangerous. During the Gulf War, more people died in road accidents in Europe than on the front line. Risk, often ignored as background noise in our daily lives, is unpredictable, ever-present and has many faces. Choosing to expose oneself to an obvious danger is another matter altogether, as it has to be dealt with and managed. Those who faced the unknown threats of a deadly enemy during the Gulf War showed great courage. The risk was mitigated by superior technology, training, teamwork and leadership. The military is exemplary in risk management and, as I always say, "I don't take risks, I manage them". A very different approach to the common perception that adventurers choose to put their lives at risk in a reckless quest for thrills.

At the same time, it has to be said that danger plays a big part in this attraction, just as moths are attracted by flame. The question is, how far can you fly by building a protective shield? To do this, you first have to break down the hazard into its component parts, and then tackle each part of the overall challenge individually as a team of experts in the field. As a member of the Musto development team, I wore the first revolutionary prototype of the HPX Ocean suit in the Southern Ocean. I was also a guinea pig in NASA's first-ever program to study sleep deprivation phenomena. Knowing my personal sleep rhythm increased my competitiveness and reduced the risks. Benetton Formula 1 integrated me into its physical training program, and I do mean integrated. All these experiences, and many more, were then put to good use in real-life conditions during transatlantic races, helping to iron out any difficulties before the start.

All my most extreme projects have been accompanied by incidents that could have turned the whole thing into a disaster. A broken keel, a fractured leg, a broken mast. A major rescue in hurricane conditions, a self-operation on my arm, a cold snap, a complete overturning of my boat, not to mention numerous mechanical and electronic breakdowns. All these situations were managed thanks to meticulous preparation, training and the support of an excellent team. Nevertheless, the most important lesson to be learned is that the closest I ever came to losing a boat was just outside Plymouth. I had let my guard down and got caught. Never relax your drills, training and routines, for they are the intangible insurance that mitigates the effects of a cruel sea. Complacency kills.

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Adventure doesn't need a huge budget, in that purity brings good things. I'm referring here to an expedition to the North Pole with a group of amateurs we had trained for six months. When we arrived, we spent a cold, exhausting night waiting for a Russian helicopter. A distant pulse set our stiffened limbs into action, we pitched the tent and knelt in the swirling white airstream. As the engines stopped, the door opened so that a wealthy American could coax his rebellious teenager down onto the ice for a photo. The next day, thanks to an extensive press campaign, the boy was hailed as the youngest American ever to reach the North Pole. Back in the heated scientific base, he beamed his fame through the satellite phone. He didn't gain a single victory or lesson from this, so I watched in sympathy as the poor boy began to realize that, to those of us who knew we owed an honest success only to ourselves, he was an impostor.

Nothing could be further from this experience than running into Lynne, a teacher who has never been to sea, and Matt, a veteran. Both young, sharp-eyed and savoring the mistakes, lessons and joys of a new and challenging life at sea. They had an old boat that he had refitted from scratch with modern equipment. Most of their food came from foraging, and I'll never forget watching Lynne struggle to keep herself on a reef in thirty-knot gusts. From time to time, Matt would emerge from the water with a shriek and a lobster in his hand. They remained good friends, continuing to expand their horizons as their sailing skills developed. Living on a handful of dollars a week, their experience is richer than the fortune spent on this boy's foray to the North Pole. There is no correlation between the money spent and the gain generated by the adventure.

After our children left home, Tracey and I were able to choose a new arena, one that matched our abilities and aspirations. Tracey had little experience under her belt when we set sail for the Caribbean. Often asked if she was afraid, she replied that she didn't know what to be afraid of, so no, she wasn't afraid. She had confidence in me, in our boat and in the experience that would enable her to dispel her new fears as her knowledge grew. One of her deepest fears, due to a childhood accident, is that of water. She can't go above knee height and so, with a good dinghy and a bathyscaphe, we were able to enjoy underwater life by towing her, while snorkeling. There's always a way.

People at Garcia's ask me if danger is necessary to feel pleasure. I suppose it could be considered one of the many components of pleasure, but excitement is the natural companion of danger. In the two and a half years we've been cruising, there have of course been difficult moments, but an exceptional boat has kept them in our comfort zone. If I look back using the word pleasure as a filter, it brings to mind distant lands, glorious sunsets, joyful sailing and new friendships. Certainly not danger, because that's not something we run after.

We love travel but dislike impersonal hotels and being forced to skate across touristy surfaces by the straight jacket of limited time. Cruisers can go at a snails pace for they have their home with them. If we go back to my definition of an adventure being a journey with an unknown outcome then long term cruising could be construed as the ultimate adventure. We set off with aspirations not plans and so the voyage remains forever unpredictable, each encounter opening the door to further unknowns that stimulate all the senses. Its life at its best and if there was ever a poem that captures cruising for us it would be 'Sea Fever' by John Masefield;

We like to travel, but we don't like impersonal hotels and being forced to pace tourist spots because of a lack of time. blue water cruising isers can go at a snail's pace because they have their home with them. If we return to my definition of adventure, which is a journey whose outcome is unknown, then long-term cruising can be considered the ultimate adventure. We set out with aspirations, not plans, so the journey is always unpredictable, each encounter opening the door to further unknowns that stimulate all the senses. This is life at its best, and if there was one poem that sums up cruising for us, it would be John Masefield's "Sea Fever" (1902).

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I must return to the seas, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a big boat and a star to guide it,
And the lurch of the wheel and the song of the wind and the flapping white sail,
And a gray mist on the sea and a gray dawn breaking.

I must return to the seas, for the call of the rising tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that can't be refused;
And all I ask is for a windy day when the white clouds roll in,
Where spray and foam and seagulls squawk.

I must return to the seas, to the vagabond, bohemian life,
to the seagull route and the whale route, where the wind cuts like a knife;
And all I ask is a merry tale from a cheerful fellow traveler,
And quiet sleep and sweet dreams when it's all over.

Widen your search and you'll find a limited number of boats that allow you to explore the same remote territories in complete safety. No longer quite a base camp, but more a yacht capable of taking you safely along the roads less traveled. Yachts with which a couple, a family or a group of friends can broaden their horizons in complete safety and comfort, with the advantage over a vessel fitted out for polar tourism of being able to free themselves from the commercial constraints of waiting for a favorable weather window.

Further investigation will eventually lead you into the realm of plastic production boats, designed to coexist with the marina environment. A combined approach that has generated a family of boats full of berths, with limited tank capacities and minimal mooring and safety features. These boats, which perform their function admirably, should be left on the pontoon whenever even moderate bad weather occurs. They certainly don't deserve to meet even the broadest definition of an expedition boat: they can therefore be directly eliminated because of their inability to allow long periods of sailing in perfect autonomy.

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Construction fundamentals

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To qualify for the expedition label, a boat must be of sturdy construction, whether steel or aluminium. It must have watertight bulkheads at each end. It must be well insulated, with double glazing and an efficient heating system. The boat must have a propulsion system capable of keeping it moving in rough seas over a long period of time. The rig must be solid and the sail plan simple and reliable, with particular attention to windy conditions. The cockpit must be protected and there must be an excellent anchoring system. Every aspect of the boat must be designed and built with redundancy in mind.

In my opinion, there are only a small number of boats that meet these specifications, and it's difficult to make the right choice among them. Rather than listening to your feelings, it's much safer to sit down and really define the scope of the adventure you want to undertake. Only a clear and impartial identification of your aspirations will enable you to find the boat that's right for you, whether or not it's in the expedition category. After all, sailing boats of all kinds are adventure facilitators. Don't forget that a beginner can enjoy the same challenges and rewards from a Channel crossing as an experienced sailor would from a transatlantic crossing.

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Know what you're looking for

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The question of matching the choice of boat to the type of adventure envisaged can be illustrated by our next boat. Changing family circumstances have forced my wife Tracey and me to reduce the scope of our cruising area, originally conceived as planetary - which is why we sold our wonderful Garcia Exploration 45 "Pearl of Penzance". As we need to stay closer to home in the future, our next adventure will be to explore the coast, coasts, rivers and canals of Europe. So we've designed a 32-foot epoxy plywood boat called "Oddity". Although capable of ocean navigation, its mast can be quickly lowered, making it a river boat capable of negotiating low Air draft bridges. It is fitted with a 10 mm metal shoe to protect the keel, so that if it is caught in winter in a remote area, it can safely be dragged ashore behind a tractor.

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"We've never regretted choosing a high-performance boat capable of doing much more than its duty."

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For the purposes of this article, I'd like to focus on the features that led us to purchase our wonderful Garcia Exploration 45 "Pearl of Penzance". Although we didn't end up taking the roads less traveled, we never regretted the choice of a high-performance boat capable of doing much more than its duty. Just like peeling an onion, we had to peel away many layers and options before we had the revelation of what would be the right boat for us.

The purchase of Pearl was a very substantial investment for us, forcing us to sell what we had and devote ourselves fully to this project. The children had left home, which gave us the right to leave, but we were also aware that aging parents and, hopefully, the arrival of grandchildren, would one day force us to return to our beloved Cornwall. With this in mind, we felt it was important to choose a boat that would retain a good resale value and remain something of an asset. Taking this aspect of the boat's life cycle into account proved crucial to the success of our project, because when it came to reselling "Pearl", it was done in the blink of an eye.  

It was also pleasing to note that, although my wife Tracey was a novice, our selection criteria complemented each other. I wanted a solid, practical boat, offering total safety, plenty of redundancy and rigged to exacting standards. As we had a small window of opportunity, it was imperative that this boat met our needs, rather than us having to constantly look after it. Tracey, for her part, focused on the need for a house with all the necessary comforts, from double glazing to fridge, freezer and hot water for the shower. But above all, our boat had to be light enough to walk in the small airs and have a "pilot house", as she would never understand the point of a craft designed to take you to exotic places, but in which you would be staying in a cave below.

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Aluminium and centreboarder, a beneficial combination

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Over the course of my career, I've sailed on all kinds of boats built in fiberglass, carbon, wood, steel and, in the case of "Pearl", aluminium. Each of these materials has its advantages, but if you want to live aboard a boat with big ambitions,aluminium is the best choice. It's a light, strong material that protects itself with an oxidation layer. You can, of course, paint it, but in my opinion, this negates the advantage of oxidation and opens the door to unnecessary maintenance efforts. Indeed, "Pearl" was initially coated with a lacquer paint that we eventually had sandblasted bare, and we've never regretted that choice.

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One of the best decisions we made was to opt for a centerboard boat rather than a Lifting keel.

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Because of the confusion that too often reigns, I feel obliged to draw a brief comparison between these two formulas, focusing in particular on the question of the righting moment. An absolute fundamental which diminishes as you lift a Lifting keel. In contrast, on board our centreboarder, we were able to surf the Atlantic swell with the confidence provided by a ballast that offered constant stability, whatever the position of the daggerboard. Being able to raise the daggerboard downwind meant that the boat wasn't fiery and became stable in direction, almost docile even. This made sailing more comfortable, and in fact eased the strain on the whole boat, including the autopilot and power consumption. What's more, we gained an extra half-knot by fully raising the centerboard when motoring.

As we didn't have to lift tons of ballast, we benefited from the same simple system as on a dinghy, with an end reaching into the cockpit and allowing the daggerboard to be lowered by hand or raised by winch. This elegantly simple system is both reliable, as it eliminates the need for a complex hydraulic system, and easy to use, as it eliminates the need for a keel compartment right in the middle of the living area.

Our draught was 1.15 m centreboard up and 2.90 m centreboard down, giving better upwind performance than I had envisaged. When this system is well designed, it allows you to benefit from the best of both worlds, and as it happens, the advantages of a shallow draft are numerous. In a busy anchorage, this no-man's-land between the mooring area and the shore seemed reserved for us. If the anchor of one of the boats at anchor were to slip, its trajectory would take it away from us. Of course, this possibility of approaching the shore is open to a boat with a Lifting keel, in which case its crew will have to put up with the disordered fore-and-aft movements caused by a reduced righting moment.

One of the joys of sailing aboard "Pearl" was having access to magnificent small anchorages, off-limits to deeper-draught boats. If we hit the bottom with the daggerboard in the down position, it simply pivoted and, far from creating a violent shock, acted as a sounding rod. We could run aground to carry out maintenance tasks, or slip between the rocks to ride out a gale, with the confidence that comes from knowing that the righting moment is always at its maximum. In fact, lifting keels and full centreboards are two separate worlds, and we've always been happy to be on the right side of that fence.

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A boat that creates fond memories

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Tracey wanted the cabins to be separated by the galley and saloon. For our part, we needed a large double bed accessible from either side, and a generous bathroom. On the other side of the saloon, another Double cabin, and yet another with two separate berths. This layout proved attractive, as jet-lagged visitors could lie down without disrupting our daily routine, which starts with a nice cup of hot drink. Generous, easily accessible storage was a matter of course for both of us, along with a separate technical room for tools and spare parts.

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"We have the concept of this boat: a comfortable and safe dream-fulfiller".

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Here we have the concept for this boat: a comfortable and safe dream-fulfiller, but how big should it be? We opted for 45 feet, which we felt was big enough to accommodate visitors and go anywhere, but small enough that we could easily manage everything with just the two of us. We didn't want to be dependent on a crew, so it was important that all manoeuvring should take place in the cockpit. A cockpit that offers both shelter from the elements and entertainment for sunset lovers like us.

So many accidents occur when boarding from the dinghy, dropping anchor or mooring alongside another yacht. That's why I wanted to have good visibility so I could control everything from the helm. But also an open, safe transom for boarding, a good, sturdy anchoring system and a bow thruster. It all added up to two and a half years of the most rewarding experience of our lives. I was once told to spend my money on memories, and in our case, the good memories clearly lay in having chosen the right boat.  

It was a trip full of highlights, during which we got to know our wonderful boat, a Garcia Exploration 45, and began to familiarize ourselves with our new life on the water. There were tears at the start, as we sailed down the English Channel in December. We had set up a red-card system so that anyone could ask to close this chapter of the adventure without facing any questions, on the basis of a simple intuition. In those first moments, Tracey had decided to keep hers close at hand, in her back pocket, knowing that the other option was to stay at the marina in the middle of winter, for up to three weeks. Motivated by the presence of a favorable weather window on the other side of the Bay of Biscay, we opted for the long crossing, which would of course begin with strong headwinds. We were going to endure shock treatment in the short term, hoping to reap the benefits in the long term.

The first night was very rough, but we played to the strength of the team, so I was able to cover the worst of it. In the early hours of a dark, cold and turbulent night, we rounded the tip of Brittany and were finally able to set sail. As we entered our new life, Ushant and the mainland seemed to fade away and bid us farewell. A hearty breakfast put the night behind us, while the clear skies and rising sun indicated that it was time to take the new spinnaker out of its bag and hoist all the canvas. The ensuing thrill set the tone for the next two and a half years: we'd made the right decision.

It would be wrong to say that our adventure began in Ushant, because the truth is that it began a few years before we first set foot on the deck of "Pearl". On reflection, it seems that an adventure has three parts: anticipation, participation and conclusion. The first two are wonderful in that they offer complete immersion in a new, exciting and life-affirming world. The last part can be rewarding, but it can also be a bitter experience if you haven't considered the full life cycle of your adventure from the outset. Ending this cycle, as we did, with an easy sale of your boat at a satisfactory price can be the icing on the cake, as it paves the way for the next chapter.

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Making the right choice

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The success of these three parts depends on the choice of boat, so be careful not to be seduced by pretty stories, marketing promises or the prospect of a too-quick conclusion. Strip away your idea of a cruise and really think about what you want to achieve. Make sure you both get what you need based on your different aspirations. We've seen partners crushed by a one-sided choice.

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Take your time, go for a walk, share a bottle of wine, read, chat with others, watch YouTube, go on a charter vacation - whatever it takes to be radically honest with yourself and with each other.

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This clarity of vision, and this alone, will ensure that you choose the right boat: from then on, your plans can evolve, whereas the boat cannot. So make the right choice.

In our case, we were fortunate to be able to draw on my past experience as an ocean racing competitor who had built many boats. This in-depth knowledge enabled us to see through the smoke and mirrors of glossy marketing. Your boat may be beautiful to look at, but the truth is that it's a piece of engineering. A machine in which you live and nurture, as you set out to take her to the destinations of your dreams. Most boats are designed for weekend cruising, with lots of bunks, not enough storage, tanks too small, a structure too light and ultimately the need to coexist with those who haunt marinas. We wanted a well-designed boat that could take care of us, be reliable, withstand storms and be a comfortable, welcoming home.

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Should we meet the boat's needs or should the boat meet ours?

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I'd say that, as far as we're concerned, it all hinges on a subtle tipping point. Should we respond to the boat's needs, or should the boat respond to ours? This may seem a strange statement, but it's based on meeting so many sailors who devote all their time, resources and emotions to moving their boats forward. It's interesting to note that many of these are new boats, not built to the required standards in terms of quality of life on board and choice of equipment. A minor repair in Europe can mean two or three weeks of costly frustration in foreign ports. Parts, having been held in customs, often don't fit because of a simple modification. It's devastating to see your dreams cut so short.

We hadn't been able to find a model to suit our needs, and had resigned ourselves to building our own boat, until I came across the Garcia Exploration 45. Delayed on my flight to Singapore, I had treated myself to an issue of Yachting World reporting on the launch of this model.

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I was bursting with excitement and called Tracey to tell her I'd found the boat of our dreams. It was only two years later that we sailed down the dock to the centerpiece of our new life, and it was beautiful, wasn't it?

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All those years of building a career, raising a family and being sensible were swept away. The time had come for us to give ourselves permission to do what many considered a folly. Standing on that pontoon to greet "Pearl", we at the same time put a few timid and cold naysayers in their place. We were like children again, and remained so for the next two and a half years, especially as we were mature enough to enjoy a sunset!

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A challenge to oneself

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Tracey was the bravest, having only done two night sails up to that point, so it was a big leap for her. In many ways, we were very different, in that I love the journey, whereas she loves the destination. She hadn't shown the slightest impatience at the idea of crossing the Atlantic. It was undoubtedly a challenge she'd like to have taken up, but for her the lure of exploring the other side was far superior. The promise of wilderness, new friends and the discovery of foreign lands held a powerful attraction for her. Since the children had left home, she felt she had freed up time that could, and indeed should, be devoted to meeting a new and stimulating challenge. A new perspective on life, probably.

I'd never been on a cruise before and had the idea in the back of my mind that it wouldn't be enough for me.

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Our Atlantic crossing was incredible, in that it allowed Tracey to blossom, even as we inaugurated a new way of life on the high seas.

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For someone who has never experienced this, it takes some time to forget the destination and live the day to the full. Life is the moment, and living in the moment is a wonderful state of mind. If there's one particular moment Tracey will remember, it was our encounter with a pair of inquisitive minke whales in the middle of the Atlantic. Charles and Camilla, these "whales", stayed with us for three days, sometimes just a few metres from the boat as they surfed alongside us.

My concerns on arrival in Antigua were misplaced, in the sense that I was completely absorbed by this new approach to sailing. We had read that long-distance cruising consists of twenty percent of time spent sailing and eighty percent spent at anchor or exploring during stopovers. Two and a half years later, we'd agree that, if sailing isn't really your thing, think of it as an enabler. Something that offers you a comfortable home, enjoying a breathtaking view normally reserved for millionaires. In fact, sailing offers you an incredible variety of millionaire vistas, while those mansions that swarm along the coast have no escape but to sulk, ringed by their manicured lawns, while you sail off into the sunset.

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A spirit of sharing

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Over time, empathy and patient accompaniment, which we preferred to criticism, bridged the gap between us in terms of sailing knowledge. We discovered, like a well-oiled machine, that we could undertake complex maneuvers in complicit silence. Tracey came to love sailing; the oceans no longer represented for her a fear of the unknown, and became a place that nourished her soul. Night watches may never be her favorite, but they've lost their intimidating quality. Our lives came into harmony with the seasons, as we followed the sun in its annual cycle. Date constraints lost their importance as our relationship with time took on a new meaning.

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The slower we travelled, the richer our experience became, as the flexibility we acquired opened up new opportunities: free to seize the impromptu. An eagle's nest, a perfectly contoured reef, the meeting of new people or nothing more than our own judgement of the beauty of this or that place: all these things simply helped us to be.

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One of our goals in this venture was to meet new friends, so we were delighted to discover that we had joined an incredibly generous community. In the two and a half years we've been cruising, we've made more lifelong friends of all ages and nationalities than in our previous ten years ashore. Each of us looks out for the other, so as never to find ourselves alone or stuck without a way out. It's common practice to share our experiences around convivial sunsets, which of course leads to the discovery of often fascinating stories. Anyone who, by definition, chooses to go on a cruise will be bright-eyed and infectiously enthusiastic. In fact, that's one of the main things we're missing right now, as we prepare to build our next boat with the aim of exploring Europe's coast, rivers and canals.

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