Offshore sailing doesn’t always have to be about survival. Sometimes it’s about preparation, planning, and the joy of the miles between two distant shores.
In June, I had the privilege of sailing a beautifully maintained 2024 Hylas 57 from the British Virgin Islands (BVI) to Annapolis with my two brothers as crew. This wasn’t a tale of storm damage, last-minute rescues, or patching systems with limited supplies. Instead, it was a celebration of seamanship, a capable yacht, and the kind of joyful passage too often overlooked in favor of high-drama adventure stories.
Brothers at sea
Those who know me understand that I’m not a full-time delivery skipper. Offshore runs aren’t my livelihood, but I believe they’re essential for keeping my USCG license current and my skills sharp. Boat design and systems evolve constantly, and there’s no substitute for using them underway in bluewater conditions on a 24-hour cycle. The Hylas 57 included a state-of-the-art lithium battery system along with generator, large inverter, watermaker, and hydraulic furling systems: power management and systems well designed and installed with an eye for service.
This passage north was the kind sailors dream about: a strong boat, a competent crew, and the steady rhythm of the Atlantic underfoot. Having my brothers aboard made it all the more special, as we don’t see each other often and rarely all three together.
Greg, who runs a network engineering firm, lives at 9000 feet in Black Hawk, CO. Rurik, the oldest, stayed closer to home—he recently retired after a long career with one of Annapolis’s premier yacht electrical companies. Both are seasoned sailors, but neither had been offshore in years. Reuniting at sea gave us eight uninterrupted days to share watches, swap stories, and reconnect. We even honored a daily ritual: at 5 p.m. sharp, we gathered for a cold beer, good music (Greg brought the library, Rurik supplied the bass-player’s taste), and conversation. For us, that was “engaging the trifecta.”
The offshore passage
Conditions were largely benign, but not without moments of excitement. One afternoon the splice on the spinnaker halyard failed with a bang, sending the kite diving for the sea. Recovering it took effort, but we managed with good humor and without damage. Once back on deck, we were able to secure it in its bag and stow it away in the large well-thought-out forward sail locker. From then on, we mostly sailed wing-and-wing, the big genoa held steady on its Selden carbon pole. The main secured with a brilliant preventer system Selden had the foresight to build right into the boom with cockpit control.
Meal prep was a shared activity, and we enjoyed several dinners that had been prepped in advance and frozen. This technique serves well in times of poor weather as a single dish oven reheat. An electric kettle and French press made small batch fresh coffee easy at any time.
Midway through, the wind dropped, and we motored for three days straight. The Hylas 57 carries an impressive 286 gallons of fuel shared between two tanks. Her Volvo D3-150 diesel with common rail injection includes a fuel flow meter, so it’s easy to set your rpm to a precise gal/hr consumption without any guesswork. We found 1.8 gph led to seven knots in calm seas. Apart from that, the sailing was spectacular—steady breeze, manageable seas, and long, easy runs that reminded us why we go offshore in the first place.
The boat and the plan
What made the trip smooth was preparation. Bullcat, the Hylas 57 entrusted to us, was in superb condition thanks to a diligent owner and thoughtful maintenance schedule. This was my third time aboard her, so I knew her well. Paul, the owner, had sailed her south with the Salty Dog Rally the previous fall and cruised her extensively in the Caribbean that winter. Systems were reliable, sails in excellent order, and the layout made everything easier—both the work and the living.
I’m a bit of a weather geek, though no professional. For a week before departure, I studied models and routing options with PredictWind, tweaking the Hylas 54 stock polars to better match my experience aboard the new 57. I also checked resources like Mike’s Weather Page (spaghettimodels.com), which I’ve found invaluable for real-time data while living in the Caribbean. But when it comes to crossing the Gulf Stream and long-range planning, I rely on experts.
As always, I turned to Chris Parker and his team. Their routing was spot on, with targeted entry and exit points for the Gulf Stream that saved us hours. Just as important, Chris kept us in the best of the available wind and guided us between two weather systems: conditions a Hylas 57 could have handled easily, but which made the trip far smoother and more enjoyable for the crew.
A full-circle moment
For me, this passage was more than a fine trip north—it felt like coming full circle. My Caribbean story began back in 2012, when my family sailed to the islands on our Wauquiez 43. We lived aboard, cruised widely, and raised our children afloat before eventually settling in the BVI. Those years instilled not just a love of the sea, but a deep respect for the systems that keep a vessel safe offshore.
We endured Hurricane Irma in Tortola, rebuilt from the devastation, and I threw myself into helping grow the marine industry in the BVI. Over more than a decade, I managed major marine companies: a Yamaha dealership, a boatyard during post-hurricane cleanup, a chandlery, and most recently a full-service yacht management firm. That work gave me a practical education in what truly matters in yacht ownership. I didn’t just read about boats in brochures—I saw them hauled, stripped, repaired, and relaunched. I learned which brands and builds stand up offshore, and which are better suited for weekends within sight of land. I learned which systems blend the best of simplicity and comfort for living aboard and off grid cruising.
Along the way, I expanded my own horizons. At one point I bought a Taswell 49 in Singapore and shipped her all the way to Miami: a journey that taught me as much about logistics and international yacht purchases as it did about sailing itself. We sold our beloved Wauquiez to a new owner who’s taken her deep into the South Pacific. We still living aboard the Taswell in the BVI. Today, I race a lightning-fast Diam 24 trimaran in St. Maarten, learning (at 53) the art of driving a multihull at over 20 knots.
Lessons for today
All of that history now informs my work as a yacht broker. My job isn’t just to match people with boats—it’s to help them find the right vessel for the life they want on the water. Because I’ve been on both sides of the equation—offshore sailor and yard hand turning wrenches—I know what makes a boat safe, reliable, and fun to own. Time spent in the Caribbean has taught me valuable lessons in ownership including insurance, storage, local laws and regulations, and hurricane prep.
I also know that not every sailor dreams of ocean crossings. I grew up gunkholing on the Chesapeake in boats under 35 feet, and racing dinghies well into my 30s and 40s. For some, the perfect boat is one that sneaks into shallow coves. For others, it’s a bluewater cruiser ready for a trade-wind crossing. My role is to help sailors find the right fit, with an honest eye on what truly matters for their plans. That might include a spacious well equipped powercat these days.
This passage aboard the Hylas 57 reinforced everything I believe about yacht ownership. When you invest in maintaining a quality vessel, the return isn’t just financial—it’s experiential. The Bill Dixon–designed 57 proved its pedigree in every way, delivering performance, comfort, and reliability that turned a good passage into a memorable one.
Good boats make good passages. Great planning makes great ones. This trip was proof—and a reminder of why I love helping others find their way offshore.
by Ted Reshetiloff
About the Author: Chesapeake native Ted Reshetiloff sailed with his family to the British Virgin Islands and made a new home there. He lives on the Taswell 49 Happiness and is a yacht broker with BVI Yacht Sales
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