s the Croatian fuel dock attendant flung the dockline back at our boat, I let out a memorable string of salty language. The bow thruster they kept wanting me to use was in a box, uninstalled on our Dufour sailboat that still had that new yacht smell. It was chaos trying to refuel on the last day of charter with everyone else, worse than any racing start line. And yet, here we were, going
Med Moor Madness
Mar 12, 2024
3 minutes
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