We charter our own boats. That's the whole brand.
Not a cruise. Not a resort. Not a crewed charter where somebody else does the sailing and you sit on the back with a drink that has fruit in it.
Bareboat means they hand you the keys to a forty-five foot catamaran, walk you through the systems for ninety minutes, and let you go. Where you sleep is your call. When you leave is your call. Whether you make it to Anegada is between you and the wind.
Everything we make is for the week that follows.
Why the British Virgin Islands
It's the easiest hard thing in sailing.
Line-of-sight navigation between islands. Steady trades out of the east. Deep water almost everywhere and a mooring ball in most bays. You can be a competent-but-nervous sailor and still come home having done something.
And nine miles between anchorages does something to a group of people. Never underway long enough to get bored, never tied up long enough to get restless. Everyone ends up on deck. Nobody has anywhere else to be.
What we make
Clothes for the boat, and clothes for the eleven months afterward.
Garment-dyed cotton that softens instead of fading. Fleece for the cockpit after the sun drops and it gets cooler than anyone packed for. Caps that stay on during a fast tender run. Everything cut relaxed, because nobody wants a slim fit on day four.
Some of it names a place — The Baths, White Bay, Anegada. Those aren't souvenirs. You buy the anchorage shirt after you've been, because now the name means something to about six people on earth and you're one of them.
Who it's for
Anyone who's spent a week barefoot on a boat they couldn't quite afford, with people they'd do it again with tomorrow.
There's no list and nobody's checking. Buy the shirt or don't. We'll see you out there either way.
Questions, wholesale, or something worth running in The Logbook — info@bareboatyachtclub.com.