One ongoing theme of the project was collaboration, so I was unsurprised to hear from the builder (Rockport Marine) that working with Langan had been both ego-free-easy and fun. (I agree!) I headed back to Rhode Island excited to share my fresh perspective. But—after glancing at other posts on the Megayacht News site—I concluded that the best fit would be a dry walkthrough.

Lesson #1: Always reread the original brief before starting to write

I dutifully prepared a walkthrough and submitted it about 10 days before the deadline… which immediately sparked the following reply: “While the format and word count are fine, the angle isn’t quite right.” When Diane quoted from her original brief, I kicked myself for being too distracted—what can I say, it was June—to read it through again before starting to write. My bad.

The good news: what she wanted was the story behind the build, the why. So my next attempt was MUCH more fun to write (and therefore, to read), because it captures the collaborative approach that made the project so special. 

Lesson #2: What is written without joy will be read the same way

It wasn’t until after the second draft was accepted that I realized: Diane and I had just completed our own mini-collaboration—and like Ouzel, the end result was drastically improved by our ego-free-easy approach. I don’t get a lot of editorial feedback on my writing these days, so it was quite refreshing to hear a well-reasoned “no” to that first submission—and even more satisfying when the revision was accepted.

Lesson #3: There’s no substitute for a second perspective

A good editor sparks a new approach without micromanaging the end result—and that’s increasingly rare in today’s world of bot-targeted content creation. So here’s a big thanks to Diane at Megayacht News for first suggesting I go for a sail, and then helping me dig out the real story: The Unique DNA of the Sailing Yacht Ouzel.

PS: This was also a role reversal, since I used to edit Diane’s stories for YachtWorld. I can only hope she found my editorial input as helpful as I found hers!

Got an editor who helps you write better? Share your thoughts in the comments below; I read every single one, with gratitude. Thanks for being here, and see you next Thursday.

The post Collaboration and Ouzel: The Story Behind the Story appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Gus grew up in Rhode Island and has lived here full-time for the last forty-odd years, but through his travels to sail and coach he’s developed a worldwide friend base. His story of how the Gold Cup adventure came together sounded all too familiar; one American sailor contacted another Australian acquaintance, who found Gus a boat and housing. All he had to do was survive 22 hours of plane travel—in significantly less comfort, and at far more expense, than 50 years earlier.

The reward was three weeks of renewed Finn friendships, as well as finishing every single race of the Masters regatta (plus the final two races of the Gold Cup, which he calls “a stunt”). Trying to piece together the timeline led me to this video, which captures the ageless enthusiasm that is Gus (as well as a wee bit of Aussie spirit).

Seahorse has graciously allowed me to share a PDF of the profile with you, but to read Jonathan McKee’s column you’ll have to subscribe. Thanks for reading, and see you next Thursday.

Read Nonagenarians Rock

Previous Seahorse Profiles

World Champion Peter Commette: Intensity, Meet Insight

The Secret Sauce of Micky Costa

Also Super Lucky: Nevin Sayre and Sailing to Work

Upwind with the Uncategorizable Dee Caffari

Listening to the Legendary Butch Ulmer

Steve Clark Just Can’t Sit Still

Robbie Doyle and Sharing a Brain

Paul Callahan: Maximizing His Unique Potential

Giving Paul Bieker Some Seahorse Love

Betsy Alison: Using All the Tools

Jerry Kirby: All the Stories are True

Peter Harken: What an Amazing Guy

Buddy Melges: He Really Was a Wizard

Toppa Talks: One Job, One (Big) Dream

Circus Minimus: The Rich Life of Bill Mattison

Mark Reynolds: Hard Chines and Unasked Questions

Augie Diaz: Lucky AND Good

Dawn Riley: Setting the Standard

Clicks of Chance: Onne van der Wal

Just Say Yes: Stan and Sally Honey

Rod Davis: Why You Need His Wisdom in 2021

Rod Johnstone: An Amazing Legacy of Yacht Designs

A Final Conversation with Harry Anderson

Life Lessons from Dave Perry

Vince Brun Profile in Seahorse

Only One Jud (Smith)

The post Gus Miller: Five Decades of Finn Sailing for Life appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Author Kirsten Neuschäfer wowed us all in 2021–22 when she won the Golden Globe Race, a nonstop singlehanded lap of the planet that restricts competitors to equipment available in 1968. Now she’s written a book to explain all the preparation that helped her win that eight-month adventure—and I was surprised to find that it’s a fantastic read.

Aspiring writers hear a lot about creating a distinctive voice, and Kirsten’s personality definitely shines through. Like the race—and the book’s title—the many chapters tell her story in her own way. Early on, the occasional steps into the future (describing “scenes” from the race to come, long before they happened) seem like a distraction. But I quickly embraced them, because each one provides context/depth for the “now” of the previous chapter. 

Both highs and lows are described in language suitable for non-sailors, and the tone is positive—without sugar-coating the many difficulties. The book is her chance to reminisce, while calling out the many twists of fate and supporters that eventually led her to victory. And I love that she uses “we” throughout, pairing herself with her boat Minnehaha.

Two small quibbles: some of the dialogue is a bit repetitive, probably because it’s a stab at direct quotes (which often don’t read well). And for this editor, the use of “landed up” (instead of “ended up”) read like a typo at first—until I confirmed it as a common South Africanism.

What I did find particularly amusing was the “conversations” Kirsten had with herself when things got hard. Here’s one example, when frustrating calms in the Indian Ocean left sails slatting and stopped any significant progress:

It can make you crazy. It can even make you talk angrily to certain entities about their unacceptable behavior. They won’t answer back and they won’t listen to you either. They are entirely indifferent to your plight.

“Damn you, mainsail! Stop slamming like that! You’re driving me crazy. . . .”

“And staysail—damn you too! … Just relax, will you? Yankee! Don’t you start! You’re going to damage your foil!”

“Minnehaha! What’s your problem? . . . . Do you have to roll back and forth like a pig wallowing in mud?” 

“Wind! You’re to blame! . . . . Can’t you see that you’re hurting my poor boat?”

When you get no reaction, you might turn on yourself and get into ferocious arguments . . . .

“Okay, Kirsten, quit it. The wind and the sea don’t care about you. . . .  You’re a visitor, so show some respect.”

She pivots to the birds, who are “so natural and so perfect. . . . When there’s no wind at all, they don’t start blaming the sea and their boat and everything they can possibly think of.”

I followed the Golden Globe race “live,” but reading this story was a fresh perspective. For one thing, it made me realize how much more we spectators knew about the fleet’s eight-plus months of positions at sea than the sailors did. Because they were limited to pre-internet comms, Kirsten only learned she’d won from the many folks who came out to greet her at the finish. 

Though there are plenty of heart-racing moments—a mid-ocean rescue, a big storm, gear failures—the real story lies in a far less glamorous truth: that most races are won long before they start. Meticulous preparation is long on plodding progress and short on glory, but it’s absolutely required for the success of any enormous dream. 

Oh, and the title? Turns out, it’s what Kirsten would tell race officials on each required check-in. “I just wanted to be left alone,” she says more than once. Ironically, this refreshing lack of interest in self-promotion is one of her most crowd-pleasing traits.

I believe All Good, K belongs on every armchair sailor’s reading list, because it’s a testimony to both the simplicity and complications of ocean adventuring. “It often strikes me when I am at sea how much we humans are a land species,” Kirsten tells us in her prologue, “and that being on a boat surrounded by thousands of miles of open, heaving ocean is really not our natural habitat. Yet, I miss being there—out on the ocean. The ocean. The road to everywhere…”

Got a book that surprised you? Share it in the comments below; I read every single one, with gratitude. Thanks for being here, and see you next Thursday. 

The post Book Review: All Good, K appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

I often compare what actually appears inside each book I write to the visible tip of a large, mostly underwater, iceberg. You could say the same thing about a well-run regatta: most of the attendees won’t see all the time that went into meetings and emails long before they even added it to their sailing calendars. As the event approaches, I can only hope that all of our choices add up to a great regatta—especially now that the fleet has grown to twice the size we initially predicted.

Compared to my very first Snipe North Americans thirty-plus years ago, there are several constants. The event will bring together a wide range of generations and skill sets: from juniors to grand masters and pro sailors to weekend warriors. Each team’s definition of success will vary, depending on several factors: time invested, accrued boat wisdom, strength/stamina. And whoever wins will likely need just a little bit of luck—another aspect that could be compared to writing books.

We’re in the home stretch now, and I can’t wait to welcome friends old and new to such a great sailing venue. Meanwhile, I’m renewing an ancient sailing vow: to thank all the mostly invisible volunteers who make it possible for the rest of us to go sailboat racing. Like a well-edited story, the best regattas make running them look easy—because of all the work that happened long ago, beneath the surface. 

Got an iceberg analogy about writing or sailing (or something else entirely)? Share it in the comments below; I read every single one, with gratitude. Thanks for being here, and see you next Thursday.

The post Why Running a Great Regatta is Like Writing a Good Book appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

1. Sparked by joy, scared by need

Most of my best ideas have come to me while away from my desk, often on a “field trip” for something unrelated. Actively looking for inspiration seems to frighten it away.

2. Housed within an active body

Physical activity always seems to spark something mentally unexpected. It could be as big as a fresh link between seemingly unrelated topics, or just a reminder to reach out to a long-lost friend.

3. Born out of a seemingly unrelated conversation

When I look back on what’s sparked my best ideas, most originated in a casual chat with Paul or a close friend. Even the folks we know best often surprise us, and talking face to face with another human—about pretty much anything of mutual interest—can wander wonderfully off the beaten path.

4. Found on the water

Whether it’s a morning paddle around the harbor, an afternoon of wing foiling, or watching sunset from a tranquil cockpit, time on the water is for me a consistent source of happiness. And happy, relaxed minds are more likely to take the leaps that lead to the next big—or small—inspiration.  

5. Seasonal

Fall is my most creative time of year, a valid reason to celebrate the end of summer!

Other perspectives

Elizabeth Gilbert posits in Big Magic that ideas float around the universe, awaiting the right host—and quickly flitting off if they are ignored. That resonates with me, and I do think we can help attract (or repel) inspiration through our own behavior. As I said in my 2016 book review, “It’s when we don’t know what our next passion will be that we must trust our curiosity.”

And here’s one of my favorite quotes from Farnam Street: “What you find interesting is a better predictor of success than what you’re good at. Curiosity isn’t random; it’s a compass.” For more kernels like this, sign up for a weekly dose of their Brain Food.

What inspires you most, and when are you most receptive to ideas both large and small? Share your wisdom in the comments below, or send me an email. I read every single one, with gratitude—and who knows where our discussion might lead any one of us! Thanks for reading, and see you next Thursday.

The post 5 Ways to Attract The Next Small Idea appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

From 1988–2008, Nevin supported MVCS by organizing the annual Vineyard Windsurfing Challenge. In 2024 he completed the same course solo, on a wingfoil. Going it alone allows him to pick his day within a one month window, which this year opens August 10.

After following (and donating) the past two years Paul and I wanted to contribute in a more unique way, so in June we spent a gorgeous afternoon filming Nevin at play on his home waters. It was a chance to put my rusty video production and boat-driving skills to work, as well as a great opportunity to admire Nevin’s board tricks—and Paul’s on-the-water filming skills. You can watch the result below.

One in four Vineyarders rely on Community Services for support, so we were happy to play a small part in helping to publicize this unique challenge. Last year Nevin completed the course in just under five hours, and I’ll definitely be watching the live tracker on whatever day he chooses.

Please contribute if you’re able to do so—before, during, or after. Here’s the link. Meanwhile thanks for reading, and see you next Thursday.

Read more about Nevin

Inspired to Learn Better (Wingfoiling with Nevin)

Also Super Lucky: Sailing to a Seahorse Profile

The post Wingfoil Challenge Around the Vineyard appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

In a Class by Herself

The Yawl Bolero and the Passion for Craftsmanship, by John Rousmaniere; Mystic Seaport, 2006, 165 pp. 

A beautiful and quite readable book about a famous yawl and her various owners. Lots of sidebars and points of entry into the text, with a nice balance between technical info and human interest.

Kialoa

Dare to Win in Business, Sailing, and Life, by John B. Kilroy; Seapoint Books, 2012, 448 pp

For almost five decades, various Kialoas dominated big-boat results in the world’s biggest races. Though there are plenty of sailing stories, this is really the owner’s autobiography. Surprisingly short on photos.

Dorade

The History of an Ocean Racing Yacht, by Douglas Atkins; David R. Godine, 2012, 222 pp.

An in-depth history of the most famous ocean racing yacht of all time, built in 1929 and still racing today. 

NOTE: Return to Blue Water, a VERY different book about the same boat, came out in 2025.

Windward Passage

A Maxi Yacht in her Sixth Decade, by Randall Peffer; Wooden Boat, 2023, 335 pp.

Like the boat, this book is larger than most; almost too hefty to hold. It digs deep into the history of a well-known racing yacht, including the famous story of a keel poured on a Bahamian beach. Lots of quotes from crewmembers and so many photos, there’s an appendix of extras.

Schooner

Building a wooden boat on Martha’s Vineyard, by Tom Donlop (photos by Alison Shaw); Vineyard Stories, 2010, 158 pp.

Gannon and Benjamin have been building wooden boats on Martha’s Vineyard since 1980, and this glossy book documents their biggest project: the 60-footer Rebecca. Many years later, she dropped anchor right next to us in Maine—and Paul captured her beauty.

Boats are a vehicle for stories, and each of these books has a distinctive personality. Along with everything I learned writing The Heart of Hound, their examples will help me find a balance between words and photos that best honors Running Tide. Reading is research, because we all stand on the shoulders of those who wrote and sailed before us!

Got a favorite boat book I didn’t mention? Share it in the comments below; I read every single one, with gratitude. Thanks for being here, and see you next Thursday.

The post 5 Big Books About Boats (and their Folks) appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Body Asymmetry 

One cool aspect of wingfoiling is that we can continue to do it into our less agile years. But it does show up any physical limitations: a left shoulder that doesn’t rotate as well as the right (which doesn’t rotate as well as it did 20 years ago), and hips that much prefer a left-foot-forward stance. From top to bottom, I’ve learned to favor my more flexible side.

So when I first set up to try a tack from starboard to port, both feet and brain froze: “I can’t do this.” It felt all wrong, and none of what I’d already learned seemed to apply. But not-trying would definitely not move me up the learning curve, so I kept at it: Trying new foot positions. Pestering friends who made it look easy for tips. Falling a lot, and trying again.

Baby steps to breakthrough

As the water warmed up to summer temps, I began to make a few “dry” tacks: coming off the foil, but not falling. That’s a bigger step than it sounds like, because not-falling = much less fatigue. But progress soon stalled again.

A few weeks ago, I was mentally composing a post entitled “Wingfoiling Progress: Slower than I’d Like”  when I “suddenly” foiled right through four tacks from starboard to port. Each one felt easy!

What was I doing differently? Well, nothing really… it was just all the practice finally paying off, combined with a perfect day for foiling: flat water, consistent breeze, and a small wing that was a lot easier to pass overhead. (Thanks to Paul, there’s even video proof.)

Any long-term goal requires patience

Just like learning to foil, learning to jibe, and of course learning the port to starboard tack, learning to tack from starboard to port required many more failed attempts than I expected. And even though breakthrough days are far more fun to write about, I need to remember the cumulative value of those failures. As I put it in 2022, “all that effort is what eventually makes the rare breakthrough days happen.”

Got a new skill that’s taking more time to learn than you expected—or better yet, a breakthrough day? Share it in the comments below. I read every single one, with gratitude. See you next Thursday!

The post Lessons from a(nother) Breakthrough Day appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

Just to clarify, I didn’t write this headline: it’s the complete title of a book I just devoured by Rebecca Lee. Although most of my reading consumption is fiction, how could I resist the cover’s promise of “A glorious madcap tour” and six chapters that all start with the word “Bad”?

Lee is a senior editorial manager at Penguin Random House, a job she describes as project management for books, so she’s weeded out a lot of “bad” in her time; her first book was entitlted Words Made Good. This time around she’s dug deep into literary history for stories about what she calls “glorious blunders.”

I found myself laughing out loud at her subtle turns of phrase—and reaching for a highlighter. Here are a few quotes that especially stood out.

Bad Taste: Welcome to Ick Lit

“Writing anything takes a certain amount of courage; showing it to even one person doubles the bravery needed, while publishing quadruples it, requiring nerves of steel and the ability to take criticism not so much on the chin as, well, all over your body.” After many examples of “bad writing” and a discussion of subjectivity, she points out that even when—especially when—writing breaks the rules, “the real joy is in the shared experience, the fervent discussion in the book club . . .  the unifying power of a collective ick.”

Bad Apples: Plagiarism, Plunder, Pretence and Pranks

Reading allows us to enter an author’s mind, “using words that are portals to new ways of thinking and seeing. . . .” And “more than that, as readers, a book is a jumping-off point for examining ourselves and learning something about our own inner life.”

Bad Blood: Veins to Pick 

The value and agony of reviews: “ . . . in a world where we’re all short of headspace, we need a sage guide to untangle where a book sits in time and space, and let us know whether it is worth our investment.” Later, she acknowledges that “all authors must now run the gamut of the World Wide Web—or the worldwide whinge. We’re all critics now.”

Bad Endings: Old Stories, New Chapters

In the final chapter, Lee points out that “Every new iteration of the book looks both backwards and forwards—adapting what has gone before, and adding a dash of new and emerging technlogy, often borrowed from seemingly unrelated fields. And because books are so culturally vital to readers, every upheaval . . .  brings us a kaleidoscope of emotions.” That provides context for her speculation on whether books will survive AI: “One version of hell is to live in an age where you will never run out of free, accessible content to read—but none of it will be any good.”

Why the beheading?

Lee loves posing rhetorical questions, which aggravated one visual annoyance in an otherwise beautiful hardcover: the tops of all question marks are cut off. Trusting her editorial attention to detail, I expected some explanation. Instead, the only reference to format is a footnote explaining that the book is set in Doves Type. A mystery!

Thanks to my newfound appreciation of how much books have evolved already, I optimistically vote “aye” for their continued survival. And while this one was was well outside my usual summer reading, I look forward to more literary wisdom from Rebecca Lee. Rogues will be available in the US on September 8.

Got a story about a favorite read—or better yet, an explanation of headless question marks? Share it in the comments below; I read every single one, with gratitude. Thanks, and see you next Thursday.

The post Rogues, Widows and Orphans: Mischief and Misadventures in the World of Books appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.

In addition to cheering on Hound (who won her class, again), I was closely watching the start of another classic: Running Tide. I remember admiring her way back in 1973 as one of the “big guns” at Block Island Race Week, one of my first serious regattas on Katrina.

Now, fifty-plus years later, I’m excited to announce:

I’ve been entrusted with creating a book worthy of this legendary race boat.

Running Tide Timeline

It all started in 1968, when Jakob Isbrandtsen commissioned a Sparkman & Stephens design that was built at what’s now called Royal Huisman. In 1970, Tide won her class in her very first Bermuda Race. She also won the next two SORCs, a three-week series around Florida and the Bahamas that was the pinnacle of ocean racing. 

Father and son Al and Beau Van Metre purchased Tide in 1972 and immediately painted her black. Together they won many more trophies—including the 1976 Bermuda Race and 1983 Annapolis to Newport Race. Once she was no longer able to keep up with newer, lighter designs, Beau sailed the boat to Europe and sold her there in 1988. She spent the next three decades baking in the Med—until 2018, when Beau brought her home again.

A much-needed refit included another coating of black paint. Which is why she looked so shiny-new, fifty years after that memorable Bermuda Race win, when she and Beau and the entire team returned to the island with a second in class. 

Stepping Aboard

A few days before the start, I had my first chance to admire the boat and to interview most of the Tide team. I also joined their pre-race dinner (which felt a little like Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, shaking hands with people I’d only read about or seen in photos). It was a special night of camaraderie that brought together two generations of crew: something old, something new, all working together to get the best out of what Annapolis locals call “the big black boat.”

Getting to know Beau and his team has made me even more excited to dig into Tide’s rich history. Over the next several months, I’ll try not to bore you with too many of her stories—while keeping you posted on project progress. 

Got a special memory of Running Tide? Share it in the comments below or send me an email. As I told several crew members, there’s no detail too small—and I read every response with gratitude. 

Thanks for being here, and see you next Thursday.  

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