What do you love about being a superyacht Captain?
Sharing skills and mentoring has always been simple for me. It’s like having a co-major in university—it’s always been a favorite thing of mine. A (Michael Dailey): I’ve been told I would have made a good father, but I don’t have kids. Honestly, I probably would’ve slapped them around a bit, so they wouldn’t be the misbehaving type. A (Michael Dailey): That’s part of my background. I grew up in a world where kids were seen and not heard. You spoke when you were spoken to—otherwise, shut the **** up. Nobody wanted to know what you had to say. Pretty straightforward, but the rules were clear.
I always knew when I was stepping over the line. A (Michael Dailey): That’s what I mean by being old school. And between that and the autonomy, I could take guests places they never knew existed. A (Michael Dailey): I belong to a little club called Put the Fun Back in Yachting. There aren’t many of us left. Regulations and political correctness have changed things. A (Michael Dailey): It’s become a business. It’s a job. Too many people don’t see it as the lifestyle it really is. They see it as just work, and that’s how they treat it. That, to me, is what’s been lost.
Have you seen the superyacht industry change much in the last five years?
I have. Boats are getting bigger and bigger, and that misses the point. You can’t take these over-100-metre yachts to half the places you’d want to go. Part of the reason for having a yacht is changing, just like the demographics of the people paying for and building them. A (Michael Dailey): I think those same people are increasingly disconnected from the reality of owning a yacht. You can teach them about yard visits or stage payments while building a boat, but how do you take them into a lagoon in the Tuamotus that their yacht could never fit in?
That would be the sweetest place they’d ever see, and they’d never experience it. That’s a huge disconnect. A (Michael Dailey): More and more of today’s clients are Americans. The Russian percentage has dropped off, at least for now. When I started, it was mostly old European money. Those people knew how to treat staff. Then came the nouveau riche Americans, and now we’re in the dot-com era—tech savvy, but not really connected to the real world. There’s a lack of common sense.
what big challenges does the superyacht industry need to solve in the next 10 years?
Before I answer that, I’ll finish with the last question. Since COVID, there’s been a lot more gouging by shoreside infrastructure. Costs are rising way out of proportion to the quality of service. A (Michael Dailey): There’s also more and more management interference with the captain-owner dynamic, which is a shame. Younger guys are running boats without much real-world experience. They’ve worked their way up quickly—deckhand, then school, then a license—and if they’re lucky with contacts, they get a big job.
But they’re beholden to management companies, which are always trying to sell the owner a new or bigger boat. A (Michael Dailey): To me, it feels less about the owner’s ultimate experience and more about middlemen taking their slice. Don’t get me wrong—management companies were the best thing since sliced bread for captains. I didn’t have to deal with payroll, invoices, crew holidays, or travel. At one point, I thought, Wow, what do I even do now? But the balance has shifted too far.
ay, so what are the three big challenges the industry needs to solve in the next 10 years?
First, we need to make real progress with mentoring programs. The lack of it is appalling. There’s no structure, not even informal. The closest thing is an MCA packet deckhands fill out before courses—it’s just a checklist. That’s where it stops. A (Michael Dailey): Second, the industry’s image with climate activists is rough. Yachting gets painted as a massive contributor to climate change. But most yachts are underway maybe 10% of the time. Otherwise, it’s basically like a floating hotel, using the same amount of power people would in their homes.
In fact, we purify our own water and process our own sewage, which most houses don’t. But the public image is still negative. A (Michael Dailey): Third, privacy and security. Why are yachts more scrutinized than big estates in Palm Beach or London townhouses? Their lights are on, their toilets are flushing, yet yachts are treated like they’re uniquely damaging. That needs to change.
What trends in design and technology have affected your day-to-day operations in recent years?
Exotic designs and finishes keep increasing. They look great but require way more man-hours to maintain. The problem is, designers aren’t expanding crew space to match the workload. So the same number of crew have to do twice the work. A (Michael Dailey): Some design choices are just impractical. Hidden life rafts, for example—many boats can’t even remove their own rafts without a shoreside crane. Or glass elevator shafts that require permits to clean. Two stewardesses might spend an entire day inside an elevator shaft, unable to do anything else.
What are the most challenging parts of your job, and has that changed in recent years?
Crew morale is always near the top—managing the expectations of both crew and guests. And yes, it has changed. Today’s crew are more entitled, with fewer practical skills. A (Michael Dailey): They may be educated, but they lack basic experience. Mom did their laundry while they were at university. They never had paper routes, babysat, washed cars, or mowed lawns. Some can’t even change a bike tire, but they expect fast internet and luxury living because they saw it on Below Decks. That show alone is a red flag—it makes them want drama, not hard work.
A (Michael Dailey): Overall, skill sets are down and mindsets are disconnected. Many don’t know what an 8-hour workday even is. You tell them to leave their phones in their cabins, but sure enough, someone’s polishing with one hand and scrolling with the other. If you cut the internet for a day, you quickly see who takes it seriously. A (Michael Dailey): Finding quality crew is difficult, even though there’s more demand than ever.
Bigger boats are coming out of the yards, but I’d rather take a kid from New Zealand’s South Island or the Hebrides—someone who knows how to get **** done—than one who’s been coddled.
How do you handle the “pressure-cooker” environment with crew relationships, morale, and conflicts?
First off, I don’t think it should be a pressure cooker. If it feels that way, it’s because of bad leadership. Crap flows downhill—if leadership is weak, the crew and the environment will be too. A (Michael Dailey): I start with the mindset that this isn’t just a job, it’s a lifestyle. Not everyone’s cut out for it. That’s why probation periods matter—30, 60, 90 days. If it’s not a fit, no hard feelings, we part ways. But during that time, crew have to be properly mentored so they get the chance to succeed. A (Michael Dailey): I don’t allow conflicts to fester. The rule is simple: make yourself useful, get along, or move on. I don’t need to like you, but I’ll have your back. That comes from my submarine days—there wasn’t room for nonsense.
You’ve said you don’t tolerate conflict. How do you handle it when issues do pop up?
Every program has its issues, don’t get me wrong. But I’m pretty intolerant of conflict. If you can’t sort it, one of you is down the road. That’s my background—I grew up on a submarine. There wasn’t room for ********. I didn’t have to like you, but I’d save your ***. I expect the same back. You can hate my ******* guts, but you’d still be first in to pull me out of a fire. People can live together in those circumstances—you can share a cabin with someone you don’t like. If you want to be there badly enough, you work it out. Usually it gets sorted quickly.
Q (Jim McGrath): What actually helps you retain high-quality crew? I’m guessing mentorship is part of it. A (Michael Dailey): Mentorship, and making sure everyone understands how key they are. I’m a big part of the team—but so is the laundry guy, same as the stewardess who might spend a whole charter doing heads and never see the guests. I’ll do anything that needs doing—beds, heads, loading stores, radios, fueling with the engineers. If I can load the dishwasher, so can you. Pay matters less than people think. I know programs paying stupid money that still have the same problems.
You’ve got to look after people, give them time off, manage expectations, and be fair. The five-year veteran doesn’t get treated better than the one-year struggler. Same standard for everyone.
What mentoring outcomes have you seen?
A very high percentage of my first and second officers now drive their own boats—some pretty impressive ones. That speaks for itself. I’ve never been shy about sharing. In the commercial world I had to learn a lot the hard way because the old boys wouldn’t share the knowledge, so I’ve seen both sides. After the military I towed commercially and threatened the old guard who held bare licenses—I had big tonnage but not their specific experience. It was often, “There are the throttles, let’s see what you can do.” I know that side. I love driving boats, so letting someone else do it is hard—but I satisfy that by teaching, passing on what I know so they can do things safely they didn’t know they could do.
Thoughts on mental health and burnout—and how you support your crew?
I think “burnout” is ******** if you don’t start with snowflakes. If people understand this is a lifestyle, not just a job, they’ll know early if it’s for them. Broad brush: younger generations are less prepared for life. I learned to roller-skate without elbow pads and a ******* helmet. Learned to ride a bike with my old man jogging alongside, then he gave me a shove. I fell down and learned not to. Almost every SEA now allows for mental-health support; on most boats it’s available. I’m a fan of chain of command—tell your boss, bosun, or second. If they can’t sort it, it goes to the first officer. If it still isn’t handled, my door’s open. Don’t bypass the process, but I’m accessible.
How do you handle special or unexpected owner/guest requests—especially when you have to say no?
With owners, if I say no, it means ******* no. I rarely say it, but when I do, it’s not up for debate. Most requests are solved by throwing money at the problem. I once flew sushi from Japan to the Aeolian Islands—two charter flights including a seaplane—because the owner wanted proper sushi the next night. He never asked the price; he just wanted it done. I’ve said no to diving off the stern in a four-knot current—it’s my job to protect the paycheck. I won’t compromise safety or how crew are treated.
How are the new ultra-high-net-worth owners different?
They’re younger, but not necessarily more connected to reality. I lean toward older crew for the same reason—I’d rather hire someone pushing 30 who’s paid rent, held jobs, done their own laundry, and knows how to treat people. They’ve got something to say at lunch. Many of my owners are tech folks—different beasts. They’ll pull two all-nighters coding and can’t grasp why the person looking after them needs sleep. There’s more interest in going farther afield—more explorer yachts—but there’s still plenty of “see and be seen” off St. Tropez or St. Barts at Christmas.
Smarter people, sure, but not always with the people skills of the older generation. Often someone more experienced actually runs their company. Being a captain is partly about educating owners—showing them what’s possible and how much fun they can really have if they’re open to it.
Do owners arrive with set itineraries, or do you shape them?
Both. Some ask, “Can we do this? Go there?” Sure—but if we’re going that far, I’ll suggest stops they’ll actually love. Others send a list via the PA and I figure out what’s feasible.
You’ve been around since before the MCA. How has that shift felt?
Back then, owners fought over American captains because insurers liked that we had licenses, even though there was little structure. A 180-footer was big, and some cowboys ran them aground or burned them. As yachts got pricier, insurers pushed for demonstrable expertise. Now there’s a flood of licensed captains with limited real experience. I tell them: don’t chase an 80-metre straight away. Go run a 40–50-metre and learn to run the whole boat. Then call me for a reference to the 80 after a year or two.
You can climb the ladder on 80–100-metres without ever really driving; your “experience” might be tenders. Schools pump kids out thinking there’s a 70-metre waiting for them. Licenses aren’t the same as experience, and I won’t put someone forward if they can’t handle the people side—that’s the crux of the job.
Regulations: how do you see the growing load, and how do you manage it?
It sucks. Like exotic designs, I see both sides and don’t mind most rules, but nobody accounted for the man-hours. Over the last decade the workload went up without adding bodies—just expecting more for the same pay. I’m American: rules are guidelines. Common sense handles most things. But you can’t fix stupid. Put someone in a position where they’ll bend or break rules and you’ll just get more regulations.
Environmental rules—impact on yachting?
They won’t change much. Most yachts already run efficiently. Everyone separates trash, watches plastics—it all still goes in the same bin ashore half the time, but compliance isn’t hard. Marine isn’t lagging—Tier III engines, etc. New builds meet current regs; repowers use modern engines. Do they help? Sure—use biodegradable soaps, keep things clean. Younger crews are more aware of what’s in products than kids were 10–20 years ago, and owners are too. Are regs consistent port to port? Not really. “Sustainability” gets thrown around. If you live off-grid in a cave, we can talk. Otherwise, yachts already distribute a lot of wealth—copper, nickel, steel, aluminum, thousands employed to build and run them. A 100-metre yacht represents serious money spread widely.
Tech and security—how has integration changed your role?
It’s easier to sleep. Navigation’s safer; more tools—provided they’re used properly. The sea is busier now, but overall it’s safer than ever. Cyber? Don’t bring sensitive **** aboard if you’re worried. Navigation spoofing happens (Black Sea, Persian Gulf), so anything that hardens systems is good. If someone somehow shut down generators and you went black ship mid-ocean, it’s not the end of the world. Autonomy and remote monitoring? Helpful, but humans are still needed—until the singularity. Better AMCS/AMS means you catch fires or issues sooner. I’m all for it—though I still like dials and switches, not keystrokes only.
Public perception and misinformation—what bothers you?
There’s way too much misinformation. Why did the industry let Below Deck define it? Would I hire from that show? No. Do I respect those captains? No. Forums evolve like any industry. You can’t control the narrative, and yachting doesn’t need to justify itself. It’s a private choice. Spend your money how you want. There are good groups—e.g., “Superyacht Captains” with no ads—peer references, intel on ports, agents, good/bad actors; W Med/E Med WhatsApp groups for weather and rule changes. I lurk more than I post.
Is the public’s view of superyachts mostly negative? Should the industry try to change it?
Not entirely. Some socioeconomic groups assume yachts are negative, but I don’t have time for keyboard cowards. If you want to talk perception, fine—know your facts. If there’s a negative, it’s a small, unimportant segment. Who cares what they think? Could image improve? Maybe—but who’s paying for that? People with private jets don’t think yachting has a bad image. Most folks don’t even know what yachting is.
If you could change one thing about the modern industry?
Make it fun again. That’s what yachting’s always been about. Too many think it’s just a job—that’s not yachting. We had a ****-load more fun back in the day. No one got killed, no one spent a night in gaol—maybe an afternoon—but we weren’t strangled by political correctness. A smart lawyer could even draft SEAs that set expectations realistically. If something I say offends you and it wasn’t aimed at you, **** ***. If I call the engineer a lazy ****, he won’t be offended—he knows. We’re so rigid and liability-driven now; take a breath and have fun.
Thanks for the time—anything else before we wrap?
I couldn’t do your job, mate. Different world now. Where I grew up, if you misbehaved at someone else’s house, your parents heard about it and you paid the price—so you didn’t misbehave. Once I scraped my knee, went home crying. My dad looked and said, “Want me to give you something to cry about?” Lesson learned—if I’d worn knee pads, it wouldn’t have happened.