For years, our life aboard Liberdade followed a pattern so familiar, it began to feel almost like a tide of its own—steady and predictable. Late fall meant heading south. Spring meant returning north, back to our home on land. It was a rhythm built over time, shaped by weather, distance, and the simple pleasure of living half of the year aboard a boat designed for long-distance cruising.
We followed the sun, as many cruisers do, easing south ahead of winter’s chill and retreating north as the summer heat settled over the southern states. Those years were full of miles and memories, and much of what we learned along the way found its way into these pages.
Then, in 2020, that rhythm changed.
We had taken the boat to visit friends in St. Petersburg, Florida, while also thinking it might make a good winter home. We’d visited the city on a previous cruise and liked it enough to think it might become just that. The idea was to flip the seasons. We would winter in a Florida home, and summer would become our cruising season. Instead of working our way down the coast in the fall, we would be heading north in the spring, following the warming weather toward New England.
After finding the perfect house, the switch was complete, and Maine became our summer destination, its rugged coastline and cool, quiet harbors offering a different kind of beauty from the tropical waters we had grown to know so well. This shift opened a new chapter for us aboard.
Cruising north in the summer has a different feel from heading south in the winter. First off, once north of Cape Cod, the seasonal cruisers thin out considerably, which means anchorages are quieter. The daylight stretches long into the evening, with the light lingering well past dinner. Maine, in particular, drew us in. Each harbor feels distinct, and every turn in the coastline reveals something unexpected.
As much as we grew to love those northern summers, we found the trip from Florida’s Gulf Coast to New England twice a year took time that we would rather have spent in either place. The distances were long, the timing tight, and the migrations—while rewarding—demanded weeks of travel at the beginning and end of each season.
So, we made another adjustment. To make the north–south transitions easier, we began leaving the boat at a halfway point in North Carolina. The idea was simple: shorten the runs and spend less time moving the boat and more time either at home or cruising Maine.
We also found that another change was taking place—as our time in St. Petersburg increased, so did our circle of friends there. Much of our winter life was centered around the St. Petersburg Yacht Club, where an active community of boaters gathers not just to talk about cruising, but to live it. These are people who know the Gulf Coast waters intimately. They plan short trips on a whim. They anchor out for the weekend. They head north to Tarpon Springs or south toward Boca Grande. Some make the longer run to the Keys. Many cross to the Bahamas in late spring, settling into island life for a few months before returning home.
In listening to their stories, it occurred to us: We were surrounded by some of the finest winter cruising waters anywhere, and our boat wasn’t there to enjoy them.
While Liberdade sat hundreds of miles away, positioned for summer cruising up the East Coast, we were spending our winters in a place where boating is a year-round lifestyle. The Gulf Coast in winter is calm, warm, and inviting. The waters are protected. The distances are manageable. The destinations are varied and plentiful. And we were watching it all from the dock.
The closer we became to these friends, the more we missed having our boat close at hand. There’s something about living near the water without your boat nearby that creates a sense of absence. As we heard people talking about weekend cruises, quick overnight trips, or impromptu runs to a favorite anchorage, we realized how much we were missing.
So once again, our life aboard is evolving. We’ve brought Liberdade home. This fall, we’ll have our boat home with us in St. Petersburg. Not for a visit. For the season.
It’s a shift that feels both new and familiar at the same time. For years, our cruising life has been defined by long-distance passages and seasonal migrations. But this next chapter will be a little different—a closer, more local exploration. Less about covering miles and more about discovering what’s been right here all along.
The Gulf Coast offers a style of cruising that’s distinct from the East Coast. The runs are shorter. The waters are often calmer. The pace is relaxed. Instead of planning multi-day passages between major stops, we can ease our way along the coast, moving as little or as much as we like.
For us, this will be a different kind of cruising. There will still be longer trips. The Bahamas will likely remain part of our lives. But the focus will shift. Winter will no longer be a season of waiting for the boat. It will be a season of using her.
Instead of renting a car and driving north to meet the boat, we’ll be able to walk down to the marina. And rather than planning extended passages around tight seasonal windows, we can head out for a few days whenever the weather looks good. A quiet anchorage for the weekend. A short cruise with friends. A sunset run along the coast.
It’s a return, in a way, to the kind of boating that first drew us in—not just the long passages and distant destinations, but the everyday pleasure of being on the water.
Looking back, it’s interesting to see how our cruising life has evolved over the years. We began with long southern winters and northern summers ashore. Then we flipped the seasons and discovered the magic of Maine. We learned to adapt and find balance in the miles. Each phase brought its own rewards, its own lessons, and its own sense of discovery.
One of the things I’ve come to appreciate most about this lifestyle is that it doesn’t stand still. It has changed as we have. We’ve learned that the way our life aboard looks now, likely won’t be the way it looks in the future. For Dori and me, this isn’t about cruising less. It’s about cruising differently.
Liberdade has carried us through all of these seasons and all of these changes. She’s been a home, a means of travel, and a constant companion through many tens of thousands of miles of cruising. Bringing her to St. Petersburg feels less like a departure from what we’ve always done and more like the next natural step. For years, we’ve measured our cruising life by the miles beneath our keel. Perhaps this next chapter will be measured by more days on the water, spent with friends close to home.
This article originally appeared in the October 2026 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.
