Using CBP ROAM to enter the U.S. by boat

Katy and I just re-entered the U.S (well, Puerto Rico, which has an unusual status, but basically counts...), and in doing so learned a few things about the process.

U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) has an app to simplify arrival of pleasure boats into the U.S (and territories, such as Puerto Rico and the U. S. Virgin Islands): CBP ROAM. It requires:

• a cell phone or tablet running Android or iOS
• an account at login.gov
• for vessels over 30 feet in length, a current DTOPS decal

You will also want some means of setting up 2 factor authentication: a text message to your phone, an authentication app, etc.

Start by getting a DTOPS decal (if your boat is big enough to need one). These have to be delivered to a physical mail address, but you can use the receipt number generated by the DTOPS web site temporarily until the decal arrives. In theory, you need to carry the decal on your boat; in fact, just having the decal number lets you register with CBP ROAM.

Next, set up the account at login.gov. If you are a member of a "trusted traveler" program (such as Global Entry or TSA Pre) you probably already have one.

Once you have done that, download the CBP ROAM app for your device and create an account. This entails setting up profiles for each vessel (including the name, registration, year, make and model, length, DTOPS decal number, flag) and each crew member (name, birth date, passport details, etc.).

Having all this set up, you are now prepared for a streamlined arrival process into the U.S.

• Open the CBP ROAM app, log in, and click the "Report Arrival" button.
• Select your "Mode of Travel" (put a check next to the boat you're on, and click continue).
• Wait while the app uses your devices location services to figure out where you are (more on this later).
• Enter the "Arrival Details" (where you're arriving, where you're coming from, and various declarations) and click continue.
• Select a boat "Master" from the people whose details you have set up, and click continue.
• Select crew in the same manner, and click continue.
• Review the information, and click submit.

You'll get an "arrival number", and after an indeterminate interval, your arrival will either be rejected (you'll get email telling you this) or you'll get a phone call from a pleasant CBP official. You'll be asked to confirm the information you provided via the app, and, assuming all is well, be told that -- you're in! It's great - there's no need to actually show up with passports at the CBP office.

HOWEVER - important detail. You must not submit an arrival request until you are "close" to your port of entry. I don't know how "close" is defined, but I do know that when I submitted a request for Culebra (in Puerto Rico) from just west of St. Thomas (about 15NM from Culebra), we were "too far" away. I tried again when we were entering the channel into Ensenada Honda (about 2.5NM from Culebra) and was successful.

This is way better than taking your boat papers, passports, and crew to an actual CBP office. Thank you, CBP!

UPDATE, September 2023

The app has recently stopped working on Android; there are many complaints on the Google Play store about this. For our most recent entry into the U.S., I had to download the app onto my iPad and us it from there. This meant re-entering all the vessel and passenger data, as it's stored on the device, not the CBP servers. Once I did that, I could create an arrival as before. 

 On the plus side - we were able to enter (from Canada) at Chatham, Massachusetts, which is NOT an official port of entry. Your mileage may vary...

Hmm - are the tabloids turning on Trump?!?

 Seen today in the checkout line:

Welcome to the western hemisphere

Katy, Idril and I arrived in Guadeloupe on January 2, 2022. We're currently (as of January 6th) in Marina Bas-Du-Fort on Guadeloupe. More once we have gotten a bit more settled. 

 And here's the promised update (January 16, 2022). 

 We left Santa Cruz de Tenerife in the Canary Islands on Saturday, December 11, 2021, around 11AM. The boat was loaded with fresh fruits and veggies, lots of UHT milk and gobs of other dry goods. The sturdier perishables were stowed in mesh nets under the arch at the stern.

We began by sailing southwest along the coast of Tenerife, giving us one last view of the mountainous interior.

El Teide

Happy to be on our way

Our track out of Santa Cruz

 We had fairly light winds for most of the trip, allowing us to use our Oxley Levante spinnaker for days at a time. We had tried to use this sail a few times before this crossing, with less than wonderful results; we were having a bit of buyer's regret about it. But it proved its worth on this passage! We could keep sailing essentially dead downwind in as little as 7 knots of wind, and we felt comfortable keeping it flying in up to about 18 knots. It took us a while to get it dialed in, but it was certainly worth the effort.

Notice our courtesy flags dangling limply on the starboard spreader...

The other sails we used a lot on the crossing were our main (prevented out, at angles between perhaps 135 and 165 degrees off the wind) and our trusty gennaker.

Sunset and gennaker

We didn't see as much sea life as we had hoped to on the crossing. In the first week, near the Canary Islands and Capo Verde, we had a few dolphin escorts. But our ever present companions were the flying fish -- the centerpiece of the burgee of the Ocean Cruising Club. They would burst from the surface, alone or in schools (flocks?), day and night. Some inevitably, and sadly wound up on our decks, especially at night, and we would find them in the morning, well and truly dead. :-(

Our constant reward for the passage was the skies - gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, and day after day of puffy white clouds surrounded by deep blue. The nights brought stars, moonlight on the water, and the Geminid meteor shower.

It was a long trip: 22 days, and, according to our chart plotter's log, close to 3000 nautical miles (over 5550 kilometers, or about 3450 statute miles). 

 

By the time we made landfall in Guadeloupe, we were both ready for it.

 

Land ho! La Desirade in the early morning light.

Unfortunately, Guadeloupe wasn't quite ready for us. We had made a reservation at the marina in St. Francois, on the eastern end of Grande-Terre, for "early January." Well, we arrived on Sunday, January 2 -- and the marina staff were all out on vacation. We had no idea where to park the boat, and as we approached the marina, our gearbox went wonky on us, as it has been doing for a few months -- always at inopportune moments. "Wonky" here means "sometimes doesn't go into forward gear on the first, or second, or perhaps third try." This is, er, a complication when attempting to maneuver in a tight marina in high winds. After several rather anxiety-filled minutes, we wound up squatting in a slip that belonged to a "day party" boat which we hoped would not return until the late afternoon.

SO - we spent a few hours cleaning the boat (it was thoroughly salt-encrusted after 3 weeks at sea), then cast off our lines and headed for the anchorage just outside the marina.

The anchorage was incredibly crowded, and we just could not get our anchor to set. On our fifth try, it held -- but we settled squarely into the entrance channel to the marina. When Katy attempted to raise the anchor, the windlass jammed. So here we were, stuck smack in the middle of a narrow, active channel, with an inoperative windlass.

I went below to the chain locker, and discovered that the chain had piled up into a pyramid sometime prior to the crossing, and then collapsed sometime during the passage, trapping the chain. I was able to just pull the chain out of the locker and pile it on the floor of the forward head until the chain was clear. Katy then got the chain back into the windlass's gypsy, and we were able to move again.

By this time, it was late afternoon, and we were just not in the mood to try this anchorage again, so we sailed about 8 nautical miles further west to Anse de Sainte Anne, a blessedly almost-empty anchorage, where our anchor held on the first try. We set the anchor, shut down the engine -- and then sat on the swim platform, dangling our tootsies in the warm Caribbean waters for the first time (at least aboard Idril). Relief!

The view from the swim platform

We stayed on anchor for 2 nights, getting a lot of sleep and enjoying sharing a bed again; while on passage, someone has to be on watch at all times, so we sleep alone.

On Tuesday morning (January 4th) we set off west again, bound for Marina Bas-Du-Fort in the middle of the butterfly that is Guadeloupe. 

Katy, with the southern coast of Grand-Terre behind her.

And here we are. 

Our course across the Atlantic

 

There's more to report, but this will do for now. Happy 2022 to all!

(More pictures, mostly of skies, here.)