Chartering a Path to Paradise in the Caribbean : Living on a yacht for a week was the perfect way for four friends to escape ship crowds.

We watched, mesmerized, as the yacht sailed gracefully toward us. All 51 feet of it sparkled white in the tropical sun; its sails billowed majestically; its little rubber dinghy bobbed lightly behind, pulled along by a rope like some inflatable pet. We could see four tanned passengers on board, laughing, sipping tall drinks and lazily observing their bearded captain as he maneuvered a giant wheel and shouted commands to a woman hauling up an anchor at the front of the boat.

What a luxury it must be to sail the blue-green Caribbean on a yacht. How magnificent to cruise from island to island, with nothing more important to decide than whether sailing or snorkeling, windsurfing or beach walks should dominate the day, and from which beachside bar to sip the evening’s pina coladas.

Actually, we knew exactly how it felt, because we were watching that gleaming white yacht from the deck of its twin. We were four friends who had opted for a chartered yacht, with crew, in lieu of a cruise-ship vacation. For one week last November, the Tortola-based, 51-foot sloop Silver Spirit was our home and vehicle in the British Virgin Islands. Its crew, Steve and Emily Imbrogno, were, respectively, our captain and cook.

Had we been expert sailors, instead of nautical neophytes, we might have chosen a bareboat (crewless) charter, but even the pros sometimes opt for a paid deckhand or two to step in when mechanical crises crop up or when the rigors of relaxing require one’s undivided attention.

We had chosen a sailing yacht instead of a cruise ship because we wanted an intimate vacation with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of mellow. We were willing to forgo boundless buffets, swimming pools and floor shows in exchange for a fanciful float for just us four.

Believe it or not, chartering a yacht--including a crew of two, all meals on board and drinks--need be no more expensive, and is often cheaper, than a cruise.

Though prices vary according to charter firm and boat size, our one-week, off-season charter for four ran $1,430 per person. Taxes, tips and air fare (about $669 round trip from Los Angeles to Tortola) were extra, as were hotel accommodations on Tortola before the sail--$85 double occupancy per night.

The charter would have been even cheaper for six people ($1,010 per person), the maximum our three-cabin boat could accommodate. We chose (wisely, we later agreed) to limit our group to four; the rooms are cozy for a couple but not necessarily for our two singles.

We had selected the British Virgin Islands because they were reputed to be, for the most part, less developed or crowded than many other Caribbean resort areas, yet well-endowed with lush landscapes and fish-rich coves for snorkeling.

(Apparently that view is widely shared; there were 30,000 yacht charters last season in the region.)

In addition, the British Virgins are all within a few hours’ sail of each other. Instead of seeing vast stretches of empty ocean--the status quo on many other Caribbean routes--we were always within view of lumps of land, which made the scenery consistently interesting and provided calmer waters than deep-sea sailing might have afforded.

As a bonus, the islands have some truly funky watering holes, from the swank to the ridiculous.

Although some 50 islands make up the British Virgins, only a dozen are inhabited. We had chosen a fairly traditional route encompassing seven of the most interesting islands: Tortola (our starting point), Norman, Peter, Jost Van Dyke, Virgin Gorda, Mosquito and Anegada.

But our itinerary could change with the winds, the surf and our mood. Should we feel like some extended sailing--with cooperating winds sweeping us along for several hours--we would choose a different heading than if we hankered for a quick (hence, usually motorized) trip to a beach for reconnoitering (“gunk-holing,” in the local lingo) on foot or by island taxi. At night, we might opt for an isolated anchorage in a quiet cove or a harbor mooring from where we could dinghy ashore for a good “jump up”--dancing.

Our only minor setback was that although we had planned to anchor offshore at Virgin Gorda and dinghy up to The Baths, a natural grouping of mammoth boulders and rocks that form dramatic beach-side caverns and pools, rough seas forced us to moor the Silver Spirit farther north, at the sheltered Virgin Gorda Yacht Harbor, from where we taxied to The Baths.

It was all fine with us. For the most part, we religiously pursued a go-with-the-flow gestalt, viewing each altered course not as a setback but as an opportunity for surprise discoveries.

Planning the trip was amazingly simple. Once we had chosen the British Virgins and the Florida--based Moorings charter company (recommended by friends who had used the firm), we simply phoned in a booking, filled out a questionnaire about our preferred water- and land-based activities and what we liked to eat and drink and sent in our payment.

Though we had imagined some rough-and-tough islander crew, Steve and Emily Imbrogno turned out to be gently bred mates from South Philadelphia. Two years before, they had sailed their own boat from Philly to Tortola as an experiment in sea living and gotten hooked. They had signed on with the Moorings (all the company’s crewed yachts are staffed by husband-wife teams), and the Silver Spirit became their charge.

The cabins, though larger than others I’d seen of the bunk-bed ilk, were not spacious--just a double mattress that you climbed onto from the doorway and which covered storage space below. More storage was in cabinets built into the outside walls and in three tiny drawers in front of the bed. Ventilation was provided by hatches above the bed and on the outside wall, and there was a tiny wall fan to stir up a breeze if the cabin got stuffy. Finally, each cabin had a minuscule bathroom that doubled as a shower. When you showered, everything in it--sink, toilet--got soaked.

I considered complaining when our pre-departure lunch turned out to be a rich and cheesy quiche--a clear violation of the “no fats” requirement we had listed on our food-preference questionnaire--but later was glad I’d kept quiet. That night, we rode roughshod over our “no sugar” specifications, blissfully devouring several bags of Oreos we’d discovered, left by a previous charter group.

After lunch, we sailed a short 45 minutes to Peter Island for our initiation into snorkeling the clear blue Virgin waters.

The anchorage--where we spent our first night--looked out on a steep cliff covered with thick green foliage (most of the British Virgin Islands are volcanic and mountainous). Between the cliff and our boat stretched a shallow coral shoal, perfect for snorkeling.

Emily and Steve dispensed snorkels, masks and fins, gave a quick lesson in breathing through the mouth (really, snorkeling is a cinch), and sent us off into the sparkling water. The reef abounded with orange sponges, delicate waving fan coral and clunky brain coral, and millions of Day-Glo fish in neon blues and yellows with black accents.

When Steve released bits of bread he had brought along, the water erupted in a frenzy of fish, darting at the feed, then quickly swirling away to a safe distance in the again-calm water.

The sea was bathtub warm, the life below so quiet I could hear little but my own breathing and, occasionally, the tiniest of waves breaking gently against the surface.

We needed that first, easy day to let it sink in that they would all be easygoing. For four workaholics, accepting the truly uncomplicated nature of the vacation we had chosen was hard work. There was a part of each of us that kept waiting for the point where we would have to do something--to make a major decision or at least a reservation.

Mornings, Iris rose early, donned a beach robe and wide-brimmed hat and perched herself by the mast to paint the seascape with watercolors she’d brought along. Soon after, Liz dived into the ocean for a swim around the boat, while I rose slowly, taking a dish of cantaloupe and a mug of steaming coffee onto the deck to greet the day. Karl dragged himself out of bed and into the sunlight, a book in hand, just as Emily had the anchor raised and Steve was steering us out to sea.

Late afternoons found Liz wrapped in a towel for a pre-dinner nap on deck, Iris and me reading books, and Karl playing soulful blues on the battery-powered keyboard he had brought from home.

This was certainly our favorite time of day. The air cooled, a gentle breeze kicked up and an orange sun coated the clouds and bathed the land, the sea and the sailboat in a golden glow. As dusk descended, the orange faded into a soft purple, then a deeper and deeper gray.

Meals were, except for the quiche affair, simple and healthful--per our request.

Breakfast was fresh fruit, cold cereal and coffee laid out on the galley table by Emily and eaten on deck in the open air.

Lunch was usually a salad or sandwich, while dinner was more elaborate--though never fussy. One night, Steve cooked tuna steaks on a hibachi hooked to the side rails of the boat; another night, stuffed chicken breasts; another, spinach lasagna. Our favorite dish was blackened dolphin--the fish, not Flipper--served with a green salad and a crisp, cold Chardonnay.

After each night’s dinner, we lay about the deck, analyzing world and personal crises (though seldom in that order) and watching the stars. There was Orion, there was the Milky Way.

Then, blissfully spent, we descended to our cabins to be gently rocked to sleep by our boat. Once, we were awakened in the middle of the night by a light drizzle coming in the open hatch overhead. Other than that, our sail was rain-free.

Some nights, we were all alone in our anchorage, with nothing but sea and sky around us. Others, we were part of a whole community of boats, from gutsy little day-sailers to yachts fit for a Greek tycoon, with a spiffy catamaran or trimaran spicing up the scene.

On Virgin Gorda, while Liz and Iris prowled the deep, Karl and I took a taxi tour of the island, visiting its tony resorts--$600 a day per room at Little Dix Bay, for example--and surveying some of the 20 beaches that make this island the British Virgin’s top draw for sun worshipers.

Only once did we encounter seas rough enough to cause discomfort--during our sail to the giant rock formations at Virgin Gorda’s Baths. The wind was fierce, the waves at an odd angle, making the boat pitch violently forward, then roll from side to side.

Our week afloat finished just as we had thoroughly settled into life at sea. Great vacations often seem over too soon, but this ending brought pangs that went deeper than most I have experienced--and lasted longer.

Our final day, we anchored off Beef Island, adjacent to the Tortola airport, and that afternoon watched in misery as planes took off. That night, we drowned our depression in pina coladas at the nearby Last Resort Bar, where Chocolate the donkey guzzled whiskey from a bottle while his owner told old jokes that probably drove Chocolate to drink in the first place.

Back on the boat, we lingered on deck as long as we could, stargazing, but we couldn’t fight sleep forever and anyway, doing so wouldn’t hold back the dawn.

By morning, resignation had replaced our fantasies of rebellion, and we quietly dinghied ashore for the five-minute walk to the airport. By the time our psyches struck back with some wild alternate schemes, we were safely up in the air, winging north.

Looking down on the deep blue ocean, the Silver Spirit still in sight--or so we imagined--we felt strange flying over the sea instead of gliding through it. Sailors out of water, we sought solace in a final pina colada, but the stewardess regretfully recited: “Coke, coffee or Diet Pepsi.”

Alas, our Virgin days were past.

GUIDEBOOK

Yachting in the Virgin Islands

Charters: Our one-week crewed yacht charter was with The Moorings, Suite 402, 19345 U.S. 19 North, Clearwater, Fla. 34624, (800) 535-7289. The company’s British Virgin Islands base is at Road Harbor in Road Town, Tortola. Call (809) 494-2332 (in Tortola, dial only the last five digits).

Costs: Prices vary according to charter firm and boat size, but a one-week charter on a crewed 50-foot yacht runs $1,700 in high season (now through mid-April); $1,430 through mid-December. The price is even cheaper for six people, $1,200 through mid-April, then $1,010.

When to go: Winter is the busiest charter time in the Virgins, hence the most expensive. We had been warned that our November sail could be quite wet, but we had excellent weather, with just a bit of rain. Avoid going in late August and September, when tropical storms and hurricanes are potential problems. Many yachtsmen swear by June as ideal sailing time.

Sailing Schools: Offshore Sailing School runs weeklong sailing courses out of Tortola. Write the school at 16731 McGregor Blvd., Ft. Myers, Fla. 33908, (800) 221-4326. Programs--some land-based, some live-aboard--$1,000-$1,700 per person, plus air fare.

Womanship, The Boathouse, 410 Severn Ave., Annapolis, Md. 21403, (410) 267-6661, runs weeklong, learn-to-sail trips for women only. Prices range from $900-$1,200 per person, plus air fare.