There are things and ways of experiencing at sea that can’t be replicated on land. I’m pretty sure that after being at sea for weeks and weeks that a persons’ whole brain, body chemistry and nervous system is different. From that perspective sailing is alchemy. There’s a quiet kind of freedom that comes with stretching a bit further than you normally do and a long ocean passage creates an opportunity for a sense of transcendence.

In addition to the  joy and excitement of sailing, an ocean passage allows time to ponder, write, study and tend to things that matter. It provides time to ask questions and wait patiently for answers. It provides time to pause and choose the right things every day. I have this slow dawning realization that I am simplifying everything. There is nothing more to do than wake up each day and take each moment as it comes.  Everyday there is beauty and excitement in the interplay on the edge of something potentially dangerous.  The ocean is a roller coaster with no tracks. You do not know with any certainty what is coming next and I suppose this is true of everything. Being out here has allowed me  to see the world as a better place to feel spacious and not defeated in the face of a very challenging and negative  global political climate. 

The undeniable perspective on a boat puts me firmly in my place which is small spec on a small boat on a big ocean on a spinning globe which is a small spec on a big spiral galaxy. It’s a very humbling and helpful perspective.  I decide I will worry about things less and will prioritize joy and connection.

I have begun to articulate some large goals.  The risk in this is of saying something out loud and not achieving it but the reward is  now showing up as support from kindred spirits to keep moving forward.  I have learnt so much, still, I want to know more.

What went down on Hiva Oa.

When we were anchored in the bay on Hiva Oa, in addition to finding Pete I also saw another boat in front of me that I recognized called Quetzal.  Quetzal belongs to a man called John Kretscmer. I only know of him through his writing, he is one of my sailing hero’s and I have read most  of his books. I was fortunate enough to run into him and have a very inspiring conversation with him. He has just sailed from Antarctica up past Patagonia and arrived in Hiva Oa a couple of days ago. Talk about a serious and accomplished sailor and what a lovely man, he was so keen to share his knowledge and stories. I could have spoken to him for hours, total rock star in my books.  If you haven’t read any of his books I would highly recommend any of them and he is a wonderful writer. 

We spent a couple of nights at anchor on the boat then went to stay in a house on stilts on the side of a steep mountain in the tiny village of Autona overlooking the bay. If Bella Coola had a twin village in French Polynesia it would be Autona. So much of it looks and feels like Bella Coola. A small village surrounded by towering mountains, at the edge of the ocean. Interesting culture and friendly people. I discovered later that even the airport has the same look and feel. 

The first day and night off the boat was brutal. I couldn’t sleep due to the lack of motion and when I did mange to sleep, woke up every few hours for my night watch. The next day I felt quite wrecked but Stefano and I decided to do a big hike in 30 degree heat straight up a mountain to see Paul Gaugain’s grave and some ancient Tiki sites. At a certain point I just sat down on the side of the road like one of the feral dogs feeling slightly defeated by the heat, the fatigue and how underwhelming Paul Guagain’s grave site was.  Stefano launched into a long story about something, I don’t remember what but it was all I could do to say “ uh huh, yes” and pretend that I was listening . Once we got back to the house on stilts I crashed out for an hour and a half and thankfully woke up feeling that the world is a beautiful place again. 

There’s a little translucent gecko living on the ceiling of the house on stilts. Stefano wants to catch him and move him outside but I let him know that he’s eating all of the insects that might bite us in the night. I think his name is Fred and he was clearly here long before us. Fred gets to stay on the ceiling and I am happy about that but Stefano seems to flinch each time Fred darts across the ceiling or behind the curtains .

The languages spoken here are Marquesian and French.  I haven’t spoken French in at least two decades so I am out in the world speaking French badly and trying my best to be understood. It’s the effort that counts I tell myself and when I don’t know a word for something I am throwing in made up words and find that people smile and nod anyway.  Probably thinking what a simpleton, just smile and nod and she will go away. People are so very kind and slowly some more words come back and somehow there is a level of understanding. 

In the evening we had a huge dinner with all of the other boats along with a cultural presentation of Marquesan drumming , singing and dance. It was an amazing performance  and what a powerful group of people. I had goose bumps for an hour. Most of the adults here have traditional Marquesan and Polynesian tattoos and they are stunning, seriously bad ass, full sleeve, full leg, full torso, full face tattoos that look like incredible works of art.

Stefano left this morning and things have been quiet today. I realise that we have been in a very confined space in each other’s company for almost 5 weeks and we got on famously. It was fun and easy and the small bubble that was created by the three of us on the boat has naturally burst as we move back into our land lives. 

I have one final dinner with Joerg and the two new crew. After dinner and goodbyes I walk up the hill to the little house on stilts where we have been staying . I slip past a sleeping guard dog in the darkness and specifically get onto my tip toes to be as quiet as possible. At this point I do not want to be bitten by dog or shark but have tolerated my fair share of nono (small black flies) bites, which I think is a fair compromise. The ocean roars loudly here as it approaches the shore and crashes onto the black sand beach where nobody dares to go. Obviously there is nothing between this island and the wild open pacific ocean. It roars  so loudly day and night reminding  me what this ocean is and what it can be but I feel we are somehow acquainted now and I like to think even on friendly terms but I realize another time, another season, another boat  could be completely different . 

On my last day I decided to rent a car to try and see most of the island . I had way more of an adventure than I had banked on, I’m not sure where to even start, but it was quite a day.  Late the evening before I had sent a what’s app message to a number that I saw outside the shop. Shortly after I get a response  back we made a plan to meet on the street beside the shop the next morning. ( there is only one shop in the village).  Right on time a smiling Marquesan woman shows up in a Renault Clio and we drive back to her office/reatauranut/ house to do the paperwork which didn’t  involve much other than me paying for the car and organizing where it will be dropped off and where to refuel. I am asked for my drivers licence as an afterthought and I have a yellow piece of paper that is a temporary licence while I wait for my new  one.  This is perfectly acceptable and I am shortly on my way. There are no maps so all I have is a photograph of a drawing on the wall. Off I go kangarooing out of the small parking area in first gear. It’s been a while since I have driven a standard car and on the right hand side of the road but it all comes back quickly. 

 My first destination is the village of Puamau where there is an ancient tiki site. The road is unbelievable. I count 48 switch backs before I stop counting and some of it is dirt road with nothing to stop you sliding off a steep cliff. It starts to rain and there are small rockslides all over the place. Out of nowhere a mini bull dozer appears and starts to move the rocks that have fallen. It is pouring torrentially. Two things occur to me at the same time, 1) I haven’t even checked if there is a spare tire and 2) this really looks like a road that could easily just wash away and be out of commission for weeks, as I watch piles of mud being washed down the side of the hill.  Most rationale people would likely turn around at this point but I was determined to see the island and live with the strong belief that the world is a safe place and bad things don’t happen to good people. I make it to the ancient village site of Puamau. The drive there was nothing short of epic and I was feeling quite pleased with myself for not being washed off the road, hitting a chicken, cow, horse or going off the edge of a cliff. The site is interesting but with little information there I probably miss a lot of the significance so will have to read more about it when I am home.  I get in the little car to start the return journey and the roads are now very muddy and very slippery. The car gets stuck on a muddy/grassy section of road and I manage to back down so I can take a proper run at it. I gun it and try to get up the muddy, puddle filled hill. The car slips and slides and eventually the wheels start spinning. I back down again and this time really gun it, I have a plane to catch tomorrow and don’t want to be stuck in some ancient Marquesan burial site overnight. I am making progress and then I’m not, the car slides and the front wheel goes over the bank and with one wheel now mid air there are only 3 small wheels on the ground.  F$$k I think, now what?  There is nothing in me that panics although there probably should be. I walk around the car and look over the bank and realize that I am not going to get out of this alone. I start  walking down the muddy hill to the nearest house which is probably a kilometre away. There are several trucks parked there and I think I am in luck except there is a big dog tied in front of the house and he lunges on his rope and starts barking aggressively .I try to talk to him but he was serious and had a house to guard. I try yelling bonjour several times in the direction of the house in case there is someone home. I give up and keep walking down the mud road almost wiping out several times as I go.  In about another kilometre I reach the house of a wood worker and he is in a shed. I tell him that  “J’ai une petite problem avex ma voiture a case , esque, il puet ma aide? “. Miraculously I am understood and 

in no time we are heading up the hill in his small jeep to where my car is off the road. We park and as he approaches he is shaking his head and tutting and I take this to mean that this is a problem of no small significance in the middle of nowhere. He appraises the situation and tells me to wait and he gets in his car and leaves. I am left standing in the mud, with legs covered in mud looking at this car with one wheel off the road.  It’s baad, I think and am working out plan B and C in my head. He re appears 15 mins later with a rope, a shovel and a pick axe. We are sliding all over the shop in the mud. He digs under the car where it is hung up and tries to move back or forward but just spinning tires and mud flying everywhere. There is no way of pulling the car out forward as it is just too slippery and would be impossible to get the wheel up the bank. He squeezes his car past mine and so is behind on the hill. We put a rope through the two open back windows and tie it behind like a bridle and then to the back of his car. He gets in the rental car and he asks me to get in his jeep and drive forward ‘doucement’and so I do. Once the slack is out of the rope I give a bit more gas and see the little Renault start to move and then the wheel is pulled up back onto the road. Total miracle! I follow him back to his house and offer to pay and he is happy with that .I don’t have the cash that he wants so there is another conversation to try to plan how I can get the money to him given he lives in the middle of nowhere on an island in the middle of nowhere. By a string of coincidences it turns out that where I am staying is his cousins house and just below this house is a tatoo artist and that is his nephew. He asks if I can leave the cash with his nephew when I get back to the village and I am happy to do that.   Before heading back to the village I visit another small settlement called Hanaapaaoa at the foot of yet another massive mountain. 

After this I head back to the village to get the cash and head to the tatoo hut. At the door there is loud blasting music and I can hear the voices of two men. I knock  loudly and someone shouts entre. I open the door into an almost pitch black room and I see a very striking, fully tatooed Marquesan man with a client mid tatoo on the table. I tell him in bad French that I would like to leave some money with him for Thierry wood worker of Puamua and he tells me that it’s his uncle. I stare for probably too long at his beautiful face tattoos on his beautiful face and then head back out into the sunshine.  

It was only 3pm and there was still one more place that I wanted to go to so I get back into the little car and head to the end of the road at the other end of the island. It is the western most part of the island accessible by road and there are two small areas I want to visit. Tahauka and Taahoa  there is a church and another tiki sight that I want to see. Everything here is up very steep hills and multiple switch backs. This whole day I have probably seen 4 or 5 people and a handful of cars. I am heading up a hill further and further into dense jungle and see that there is a rope across the road. Soon I see that there is a horse tethered on the right hand side of the road but it has crossed the road and is grazing on the left so it’s tether line is stretched across the road blocking it. I’m not driving all of this way and being stopped here by a grazing horse  I thought and besides there was no way I wanted to back down a single track road of hairpins. I got out of the car and approached the horse asking if he would mind moving back across the road but he wasn’t having it. I get back in the car and think about my options while horsey keeps munching foliage. After a minute of thinking I realise there are no other options other that getting horsey back across the road. I approach the horse and his ears go back. I pull slightly on the rope but he digs in. I have some small experience with strong willed four leggeds and patience is a must. I go to the other side of the horse and he starts to move away from me across the road. I jump in my car and carry on. This day is beginning to feel a bit like raiders of the lost ark, what will be next I think. I make it to the ancient tiki site at the foot of towering mountains that are shrouded in mist. I take some photos and then head back down the road. Horsey is back on the wrong side again but the rope  is on the ground and so I very slowly drive over it without having to do any horse whispering or complicated horse maneuvers.  

Last stop I go to see the very picturesque church at the end of the road on the edge of this windswept island. There are some people inside and they are singing. It sounds out of this world, angelic in this setting and I think,  thank the lord and baby Jesus that I made it here safely and  didn’t go off a cliff.  

So that was my last day, an adventure up to the last minute. It certainly didn’t disappoint. After one last goodbye to the south pacific I went back to the house on stilts and washed the car that was covered in mud top to toe. 

It’s been a blast to be out in this wild and wide planet for a while. Now heading back to the Barnacle.

See you on the beach or on the water.

Anna  

PS 

If you would like to see more pictures I will be sharing more on Instagram at annarichley

We made it! We crossed the Pacific Ocean on the longest ocean leg of this world circumnavigation. We sailed 3279nm in 19 days and 22 hours. Yesterday we arrived in the small bay of Autona on Hiva Oa just after 11am. We crossed the finish line at  the mouth of the bay leaving 3279 wild nautical miles of pacific ocean at our backs then dropped our sails for the first time in almost three weeks. The island is remote, windswept, lush and green, the  mountains around the bay are so steep and rise up directly from the bay, it is breath takingly beautiful.  There is a small village nestled at the foot of the mountains where it meets the ocean. It’s an ideal low key re-entry back to land life and not bustling by any stretch. There is a laid back vibe in the small village. The sort of place that you could easily just stay for a while.

I always feel very mixed about the end of a long ocean passage. The sailing has been really fun and I can’t imagine anything better than sailing all day all night for 20 days. I will miss the raw alivenss as we would fly through the darkness under the stars with a full moon rising behind us and later the hint of a moon behind in the night sky.  I wish I could have shown you the  shooting stars to many to mention and the wake of phosphorescence leaving a trail of light behind us as we sailed through the night and the sky filled with a million stars. Even when things were challenging I was never not loving this.  It’s felt like nothing  outside of us on this boat has really existed or felt  real for the last few weeks. Paradoxically, it has gone too fast but at the same time it feels I have been  away for a lifetime. Slowly my focus extends beyond the periphery of this boat and rest of my life comes back in to soft focus. My last watch in darkness  was at 3am until 6am and I was greeted by my last pacific sunrise for now.

As my watch ended I could just start to make out the faint shadow of our island in the distance. Each mile as we got closer the wilderness and remoteness of these islands becomes apparent.

As we got closer I was certain that the wind was carrying a scent from the land and it was sweet and inviting even though for the past 3 weeks I have been fully at home on the sea. I never tire of the  saltwater landscape, the wonderful sunrises, sunsets and clouds that are ever changing, the swells that are mesmerizing and the dawn on the pacific when it feels like the world is just waking up. In truth we have been up together all night long immersed in this incredible moment by moment changing and unfolding. It never looks or feels the same hour to hour or day to day. 

Of course there is relief in having arrived safely back on terra firma. Although I swear every bit of land I stand on right now is moving. I am aware that the ocean doesn’t care who you are and crossing oceans can be a dangerous and unpredictable business.   It was all about the sailing but it was so much  more than just the sailing. Moment by moment on the journey with very few distractions I became reacquainted with something fundamental. An undeniable connection to everything around me. It was magical to find this place and to re awaken to this reality that we are never not connected or inter connected to all that is going on around us. Through all of this crossing, I have felt that I am the right person, in the right place doing the right thing and that feels pretty damn amazing! 

We arrived in the small bay on a very remote wind swept island after spending 3 weeks crossing the pacific and guess who we drop anchor right next to?  Pete!!  He comes over for a catch up and I introduce him to the Kincsem crew. We share stories of our memorable sail from Halifax then down to Bermuda and the Caribbean. His boat looks like it’s been through the underworld or in oworld war 2 and he has put on a lot of miles since I sailed with him last year.  What an amazing day and evening and a lovely end to this long trip to serendipitously find friends in far flung places, my people of the sea. This morning Pete left and pointed his boat in the direction of Australia. I have not doubt we will meet again in another far flung place. 

At the end of a long ocean voyage my questions to my self  are often the same, what did I learn?  What’s next? Where and when is my next sailing fix coming?! I am already working on all of these things. My world is still rocking and I suspect it will be for a few days to come.  We have 4 days in Hiva Oa to explore and slowly sink back into land life. The boat will continue on through French Polynesia for 7 weeks and then to Fiji. It will be a small torture to watch them set sail and to be stuck on land. 

I want to say, thank you for your interest in the journey, for your questions, your kind words, your words of encouragement and support , your news and photographs from home. I am more grateful for this that I can put onto words.I am also grateful to my two wonderful  fellow sailors on this crossing. We always had each others’ backs and it was a  fun and easy in this trio.  

Now on land when I close my eyes all I see is sunlight on the water and hear the sound of the water rushing past the hull.  

I will send a final update before I leave the island and I have my land legs back on.

With a whole lotta love and gratitude.

We are still sailing and haven’t stopped since March 5th when we pulled up our anchor in the Galapagos, man that feels like a lifetime ago. We are  into our third week at sea.   Lots of people have asked me if we stop, no there is no stopping, there is nowhere to stop even if we wanted to. We haven’t seen land or another boat for over two and a half weeks now. It’s a beautiful big blue planet out here my friends. We are surrounded by an endless 360 degree horizon and a dome of blue sky above us.  When we reach the horizon there is just more another endless horizon in front of us.  We have been sailing due West for over ten days  so every evening we are sailing into the sunset, each one is incredibly beautiful and different from the next as the cloud and light is constantly changing.

 It’s just after midnight and we are ripping along through the darkness in a straight line for Hiva Oa.  We have a lovely 23 knots of wind on a broad reach which is so welcome after a couple of really hot light wind days. It’s pretty amazing to think that you can cross an ocean and circumnavigate our entire planet using just the wind and some sails. Here’s what you do, after a couple of years of meticulous preparation, you just go down to the marina, get on your boat, pull up your sails and sail around the whole damn world. I can totally get my head around this. I realise that not everyone is cut out to do this but there is something critical in my make up that drives me to do this and the idea of this excites me no end.

Here’s what’s been happening over the last few days. The shallow water alarm has just gone off and I check the charts and see that we have 4000 metres of water below us. Either we just went over a really big dense school of fish or we drove right over the top of a whale or the electronics are acting up. Hitting sleeping whales or UFO’s is a real concern on ocean passages. UFO’s are unidentified floating objects, they could be containers or whales or anything else that may be floating out here. It’s impossible to see any of these things in the dark. When I was sailing from Bermuda to St Maarten with Pete, two days out from Bermuda during the day time we spotted a huge fin whale in front of us, it was spouting at regular intervals and moving very slowly. As we got closer we realized that this was a giant sleeping whale that was snoring! We sailed past quietly so as not to wake her and watched her snore and spray as we head off into the distance. Most of the body was submerged and would be impossible to spot at night. Many a boat has been sunk after hitting a sleeping whale. 

Not sure what got me on that tangent but sufficed to say, out here we are small specs at the mercy of all the elements, the wind and the waves and whatever the ocean may decide to conjure up for us. Today the wind dishes up a few extra knots and throws a couple of extra metres of swell for good measure and I thrive on these elemental surprises. This makes for really exciting sailing hour after hour. After hours of night sailing at the helm in these conditions I am so high sleep is not easy and I can barely wait to get up on watch again.

Ocean crossings are full of challenges and promises. Every day is a learning day on a boat. No matter how many miles you have under your belt or how experienced you are stuff always comes up that you haven’t encountered before. I am in the orbit of people far more experienced than l and they are still all learning. I welcome all of these challenges as opportunities for learning and dive right in. I doubt whether my own progress and confidence in sailing in all conditions could be made without these steady unpredictable tests.These days it feels like the safest place on earth might actually be the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

I continued to try and further my understanding of celestial navigation and realise that this probably sounds quite boring but it is actually strangely mind bending and invites pause to think and absorb massive ideas about our place in the universe that could blow a circuit if not digested slowly. Let me share some random facts about celestial navigation with you. There are 57 navigational stars, one of them is called Betelgeuse but I call it Beetlejuice, I think it’s my favourite one. It is 290 million miles in diameter! Let’s all  just stop and think about that for a minute. It is the reddish star that marks the left shoulder of the Orion constellation.  The southern cross has been clearly visible on most nights on this crossing. In  the pitch black as we surf down waves I look out hoping to catch a glimpse of Beetlejuice and know she is out there somewhere. Stefano gives a long winded explanation of how to do the calculations again and this time I think I caught 12 words before I just started staring out to sea looking for dolphins. He’s a very patient man. 

Each day we watch the weather like hawks and download the updated weather every 12 hours. We study and compare several models to determine the best route. You can typically add 10 knots to any wind speed prediction for the gust and a third to wave height prediction. The various models all say different and sometimes conflicting things, “shit in, shit out” says Joerg, he doesn’t mince words. I’ll tell you the weather I say, nice and sunny 14 knots of wind from the south east, 3 metre swells, not a cloud in sight. I will give you an update in an hour I tell him and we laugh .You can spend hours poring over the models trying to make a best guess about where the most favourable conditions are. Let’s just sail I think. 

Working on the bow this morning I almost got lifted clean off the deck and tossed out to sea when I was holding onto the partially furled Code 0 while Stefano was dealing with some tangled lines. A gust came up and filled the sail threatening to lift me off the deck. That’s how easily it happens I thought and stupidly I wasn’t clipped on.  One of my friends was asking how we stay safe on deck.  We never leave the cockpit without wearing a life jacket, harness and tether. The boat has lengths of webbing secured to the deck called jack lines that you clip into when moving up to the bow or working anywhere on the deck. There are also “D” rings at various places all over the boat and in the cockpit that you can clip into.  In the middle of the night when it’s pitch black we would not go out of the cockpit or onto  the deck alone without letting one of the others know that we were going up and having the, keep an eye on you.

It’s been hotter than the Gobi desert and none of us has slept more than 5 hours in the last 60. We are rolling 20-30 degrees from side to side in this swell. Joerg is starting to get irritable. The water is the deepest blue colour you have ever seen.  It constantly invites me to swim but Stefano is quick to warn about sharks and he appears to know a lot about them.  He launches into telling me about pelagic sharks versus reef sharks and how out here there are mostly likely only great whites, bull sharks or tiger sharks.  These are all the nasty ones that bite with bulls beings the worst according to Stefano because they have bad eyesight and are not discerning so they will bite anything and ask questions later. He says that if you swim off the back of the boat you would just be like a bit of shark bait and a bite would likely be fatal.  Needless to say after this shark education it puts me off any swim so we sit in the cockpit in 32 degrees of heat, sweating like water fountains. Stefano then tells a story about a bull shark that found its way into a lake on a Florida golf course after a tidal surge and lived there for 10 years, only in Florida I think.

The huge primary electric winches on port and starboard have stopped working. Joerg is trying to problem shoot the issue and he starts speaking to himself in German and I’m pretty sure there is swearing in there somewhere. His hair is all sticking up at the back and he looks like a mad professor or someone who has been too long at sea. I jump in to help although I know nothing about electrical systems I look up Amel 55 and problems with winches. I google problems with electric winches in general and start to locate the fuses, the relay and the dual function control box. There are fuses for the winches in 3 separate places and all look good. Joerg studies the electrical diagrams for the boat but we have failed to find the relay for the starboard side winches. There is a lot more swearing in German. A message is sent out to Amel and the Amel owners group. We spend close to four hours trying to fix the winches but to no avail. Time to switch gears and the next task is to replace the prop on the port side Watt and Sea. The Watt and Sea is a hydrogensrator that is fastened to the transom of the boat that generates power for the boat. That along with an impressive bank of solar panels and a wind turbine supplies all of the energy needs for the boat. The replacement of the prop is really straightforward and this is another task that I can now comfortably do. For now we are ignoring the fact that we haven’t managed to fix the winches and will come back to it later. Perhaps when it not 32 degrees out . Joerg mulls things over and comes back at them from a different angle.  Impressively, he seems able to fix pretty well anything and I enjoy learning from this. I do a deck walk to  regularly check all of the lines, fittings and sails for wear and tear and chaffing. Given all of the  forces on all of these components there is surprisingly only a couple of areas of real wear. There is soft shackle around a carbon eye in danger of breaking and I whip a carbon eye into a dyneema loop in the hopes that it lasts longer than some of the other shackles that we have. 

It had been non stop for a few days, completely relentless changing sails and sail configurations but in the last few hours  the wind has dropped and the boat is slowing down. This infuriates Joerg. We had 24 hours with little wind and flapping sails in 30 degree heat, you could go really go cracker barell waiting for the flapping to stop and the wind to come back. I was covered in so much sea salt and sweat my phone didn’t recognize my face anymore.

One of the food lockers smells like cat food and I am rapidly going off food as much of it is also going off in this heat. Stefano discovers that a box of a dozen eggs is completely worm infested despite the fact that each one was washed in bleach before being put on the boat. Every piece of fruit and veg was washed in bleach, all food was removed from

any cardboard packaging and paper labels were removed from tins. All of this to prevent insects and cockroach eggs being brought on board. We have now run out of all fresh food so will be digging into the cat food locker to find something to form into a meal until we reach land, it’s incredibly unappealing.

During the day, the water is the colour of deepest teal and as the sun sets it starts to turn a darker blue until night when it is inky black and shiny like someone painted a mirror on top and then sprinkled silver glitter all through its depths.  There is no moon visible tonight so it’s pitch black as we hurtle through the darkness towards Hiva Oa. There are only 340 miles to go as I write this and I have to say I feel mixed about this amazing journey ending.

That’s all from me for now, I hope all is well in all of your worlds.

It’s Sunday today but it was just Monday. 12 days have now passed in a blur of sail, sleep, sail, eat, sail, dream,sail. Time does weird things on a boat, day blurrs into night and night becomes day Wednesday becomes Sunday and time bends around objects in a way that it makes you question your sanity.  The world coalesces into what it should be wind, waves, sails and a hull, sunrise, sunset, moonrise and moon set and next thing you know you have been sailing non stop for two weeks out of sight of land. 

Sleep usually comes in 2-4 hour snatches and I am dead to the world during those hours. Even when sleeping I am dreaming about sailing. 

We eventually found the well established trade winds and a hit a steady tide of 0.7-.1.2 knots running with us. The sailing has been out of this  world and we often had 4 full sails up which is a whole lotta horse power. For several days there was a steady 14-18 knot wind from the east and we were moving along nicely at 8 knots in a south easterly direction.  

The motion of the boat is different now we are sailing downwind. The wind is blowing from the East and we are heading West under a poled out Genoa, a poled out Code 0 and the mizzen staysail. It’s fast and very rolly. We have a following sea. This is the stuff of sea sickness if your sea legs aren’t on right.  With the two huge poles out amidships on port and starboard and all of their operating lines along with all of the lines from 4 sails and several preventers, the cockpit quickly looks like a snake pit.

We are diligent about keeping the lines cleaned up so that they can run cleanly when needed.  This is a constant task. 

We are twelve days into the crossing and we passed the half way mark on Friday. We were 1200nm north of Easter Island and that was a tempting destination for us to head to. Like all long ocean passages most boats are dry boats but there is typically a small celebratory drink at the half way mark. We all have a G and T and toast each other, the boat and the Pacific Ocean on deck as the sun is setting.It would have been intoxicating even without the G and T. 

12 days in and I have just realized that I forgot to bring a hairbrush. I’m not sure what that says about me other than I have had more important things to focus on.  When I sailed from Halifax to Bermuda last May it was freezing cold and we had toques on for days and nights on end. I was wearing 8 layers on top and slept in 3 sleeping bags and still couldn’t stay warm. My friend said at a certain point that she felt like a sick cat that had forgotten how to groom itself. That cracked me up for days. I couldn’t look at her without laughing after that. When I sailed across the Atlantic to St Lucia, I practically had dreadlocks by the time we arrived after 3 weeks at sea and being totally salt soaked the whole time. Things are not that bad yet. 

We have easily settled into our life on board. It’s very collaborative and fun and there is an ease. We share all of the tasks equally. There is kindness and consideration for each other and an easy navigation of our differences. We are now a well functioning crew. There are hours each day when we are all in the cockpit or working together to make sail changes and maneuvers. Conversation between us comes easily as does hours of being quiet together. I can tell already that we will come out of this as friends. As you can imagine. the dynamic on a boat can make or break an ocean passage. By choice I am doing much  of the work at the bow and am becoming much more comfortable with the dance of strength and balance on the bow of a boat in big swell and enjoy being on the foredeck trying to problem solve the stuff that inevitably goes wrong.

Although we haven’t seen another boat for 10 days, I’ve been in touch with my friend Pete who is 5 days ahead of us. We have been swapping notes about wind, current and wildlife sightings.  I feel quite blessed to have a web of kindred connections that span the world and are out there on different oceans or different parts of the same vast ocean.  Pete is a real character. We sailed from Halifax to Bermuda then Bermuda to St Maartin. We met so many boats in Bermuda heading back to Europe from the Caribbean leaving before the hurricane season. We were stuck there for 6 days riding out a storm. I almost jumped ship.  We were  the only boat heading south right into the eye of the hurricane season and got there only days before the first hurricane really hit. I was with him in St Maartin when he ran the boat aground 3 times and he was pretending like it was to teach us how to get out of a bad spot if we found ourselves in that situation. In the end he just wanted to park next to the boat that had the most  rum on it.  We got invited onto that boat and that’s a whole other story. 

I tried to take a photograph of the parasailor in the moolight for you because it’s was so beautiful it was unreal. There’s a moment when you are trying to take a photograph in low light and the phone says “hold still”. Are you freaking kidding me! I’m on a boat heeled over at 20 degrees with 8 foot swell on the beam.  Hold still hasn’t happened for 10 days.  Anyway this is the best I got before it got too dark. 

Even in the darkness with my eyes closed I can feel the sort of wave that is coming. I can tell by the wave that comes before it if  next one is going to be one that picks up the stern and twists us around as we accelerate down its back. I practice hand helming in these conditions in the dark learning again not to get disoriented or over correct when twisting down the back of waves.

The morning after I took the parasailor in the moonlight portrait we were sailing along minding our own business when a nasty little squal came rampaging through and the sail was ripped almost clean in two, it was left hanging by its seams at either side. Thankfully it happened while Joerg was on watch and surprisingly there was no real amount of swearing.  He did yell “all hands on deck” loudly as Stefano and I were both below deck. We were on the deck in a flash and spent the next hour and a half wrestling the massive ripped flailing sail down and setting up our new sail configuration. 

The full moon was eclipsing as I was on watch the other night. I felt certain that I could hear a faint howl in the distance  and I like to think it was a chorus of seals but it was most likely just the wind howling in the shrouds which is not nearly as interesting as the seals. I was on watch when the Earth lined up between the Moon and the Sun, hiding the Moon from sunlight. As I was looking  out into space I could  see so many more stars than earlier in the bright full moon light. I was thinking it had to get dark in order to see everything more clearly, to see what was there all the time, ah ha! and this is true of life as well. Oh my god, it’s stunning out here under the stars sailing along and a total eclipse clearly visible behind me. Every inch of the sky in every direction is studded with stars, it’s a bit mind blowing, trippy almost. 

Saturday morning and we are sailing DDW ( dead down wind) and the swells are making for a very rolly ride. We are all slightly sleep deprived because it’s hard to sleep when you are being tossed around in a bunk and we have been quite busy with sail configuration changes so there’s been very little down time even when not on watch. I have become quite used to bracing  myself sideways in my bunk to minimize the rolling but this is next level being tossed about .

Today we spent 3 hours working in the cockpit to repair the huge tear in the parasailor. It took all three of us to pull the huge sail out of the bow sail locker and drag it along the deck to the cockpit where we do the work. It is completely blown across the middle. It looks like the menacing grin of the joker in Batman.  We debate whether to use sail tape or glue or both and end up just using sail tape of varying colours and sizes and cutting out all of the frayed sections. If this sail had been taken to a professional sail maker to repair, it’s very likely they would just laugh and write it off or say the whole bottom third would have to be replaced painstaking panel by painstaking panel. Not us we just forge ahead and patch this puppy up. Stefano launches into an extremely long story about battlefield surgeons. I say to Joerg and Stefano that I’m pretty sure this sail should be called “Patch” by the time we are done. We won’t say let’s get the parasailor up, we will say let’s get Patch  up and flying. You will be able to see us from a mile off with this parasailor that looks like hell but is still flying against all odds. 

It’s been the temperature of a microwave today and I can see that Joerg is tired.I  think I’ve figured it out that his mood is directly tied to a) how much wind we have b) how fast the boat is going and c) what position we are in the fleet. Right now we are managing to exceed the polars of the boat and have done so all through the last few nights  and we have moved up the fleet again. Anything over 100% of the boat polars and it makes for a very happy day on the boat.  We only have 1200 nm miles to go now and I wish it was longer but to put it in perspective that is the equivalent of two Newport to Bermuda races or two Sydney to Hobarts so still plenty of sailing left 

It’s night again here and I am on watch till 3am as we fly through the darkness leaving a trail of phosphorescence behind us. All is well. 

With a whole lotta love and gratitude. 

For hours I have been watching a pair of red footed boobies circling the boat. I don’t remember the last time I slowed down enough to really watch birds closely and for long enough to understand something new about them.  I have watched this pair circling and soaring then fold their angular wings neatly back to make themselves into an arrow shape and plunge into the water. They are interacting with the boat and they land on the pulpit to rest after soaring and diving. I am mesmerized by their ease and grace. I can almost feel what it is like to be in that bird body. I get to see the shape and design of their wings and how they move them to soar, dip and dive. I’m not  sure how they communicate but they are as well choreographed as the Bolshoi ballet. 

For a short while they are joined by a third, the third is a different kind of bird and they all seem to know this. The two similar birds (they are red footed boobies) sit on the front of the boat, the beautiful white bird sits on the back of the boat, this is their pecking order.

When I come on deck for an early morning watch I can see that they have an elaborate cleaning routine feather by feather in preparation to hunt for flying fish. Once ready they leave the rail where they have been hitch hiking for the last few days.  Off they go after the flying fish. Diving headlong into the blue water and they come up having swallowed breakfast. They come back to the rail and start clucking at each other and it sounds like a contented conversation about a good breakfast. They resume looking out to sea and some more feather grooming. 

We snatch sleep in between watches so see each other at watch hand overs and we always eat lunch and dinner together.  After dinner the two not on watch head to bed for some sleep. By 6.30 it’s pitch black. All the interior boat lights are off and all of our instruments get switched to night mode. We operate with red headlamps so as not to ruin our night vision. 

It’s midnight and I have just come on deck for my midnight to 3am watch. Stefano is keen to explain to me how the celestial navigation calculations are done. We have been practicing taking noon sights with the sextant but the calculations are a whole other beast and he has now figured out how to do them. I’m still half asleep so it goes way over my head.  I think I heard maybe 6 words and then my brain totally left the room. I will ask him to explain it again when I am more awake.  Still, I am quite amazed by this 300 year old piece of equipment that allows us to use celestial bodies to navigate. 

We are well into the trade winds now so things are a bit more predictable and steady. We have 15-18 knots of true wind from the south east The apparent wind angle puts us on a beam reach sailing along nicely at 7.5- 8.0 knots. The weather is stable enough that we have been flying the big Parasailor through the night.  We are confident that tonight will not bring us any squals. If anything unexpected happens all three of us will be on deck in the dark to get the parasailor down.

The moon is getting fuller and shining on the stern. It makes the night sailing even more enjoyable. Over the course of the night it will make a journey across the sky and illuminate the starboard side of the boat. The sky is very clear tonight and I can see the southern cross very clearly. I think about the early Polynesian navigators and how they used this to guide them across this ocean. 

Our hitch hikers are still with us and will spend the night sleeping on the rail. I am so amazed that they can sleep on the rail of a rolling boat. The balance part of their brains must stay awake. 

In the morning the hitch hikers start their feather cleaning and diving and we get the massive mizzen staysail up with the para sailor. We are essentially flying two big spinakers and the boat feels like it’s just taking off. We are gaining places up the fleet. As the wind shifts we look at the polars for the boat and add or change sails and trim them for any change of sailing angle. The sunrises and sunsets have been spectacular but for now the sun is out and the sailing just keeps getting better and better. 

The forces at play on a sailboat are massive and stuff breaks or wears out all the time.  The Amel 55 is so well built that so far we have been quite lucky. However, yesterday  the bilge pump broke down and so Joerg takes it out and I help him take it apart.  The bilge pump removes accumulated water from the bottom of the boat. Eventually without it functioning the boat will sink. It needs to work or alternatively you pump large quantities of water out of the bilge by hand which is not sustainable on a boat this size. The rubber diaphragm has torn and luckily there is a spare on board. We replace it and then go to put the pump back in its place and reconnect the hoses and wires.  Joerg swears a lot and gets easily frustrated. It turns  out the top was on the wrong way, there are a series of errors and omissions and long story short, we took the thing apart and put it back together again 4 times, more swearing than you could imagine. We finally get it done and it’s high fives all around. It is safe to say now I know how to take apart a bilge pump, replace parts and put it back together again and I’m pretty happy to have this skill.

 It’s been really busy on the boat the last few days with frequent sail changes to keep out speed up.  We are sailing along under two big kites and for now are really lighting this ocean up. 

We have covered just over 1000nm and have 2000nm to go. Yesterday we crossed a time zone and we will cross another two before we reach the Marquesas. I am on watch as the moon rises behind us and it is getting fuller and fuller. There is nothing better than sailing under a sky full of stars,  through the darkness and moonlight reflecting off the sails as we slip through the water. 

I continue to feel very grateful to be out here crossing this ocean even when things get rough on the boat with the elements battering us, in the bright light of day on this beautiful blue planet it is difficult to be anything other than optimistic and joy filled. I am in my element.

Prior to leaving we were studying the weather models and were all worried by what we saw at the time. Every model showed two thick bands of squalls. We had a several conversation about what route we would take and how best to avoid these two bands and potentially days and days of quite challenging and unpredictable conditions. 

We have just spent two days and nights sailing right smack through the centre of these bands of squalls.   I’m still not sure how,

when or why the decision was made to bite the bullet and just head into this line, but we did. It made for some challenging, fun and intense sailing. If you were a person who bit their nails they would have been totally chewed off in the last two days.   

Here’s how it all went down. Early  in the day, before we hit the first squall line we  were making an easy 8-9knots with 4 sails up and the boat was balanced nicely. We had the Genoa, a stay sail, the main and mizzen sail all up. It’s a lot of sail area and you can feel the horsepower. We were on a beam reach so the boat was heeled over about 20 degrees and there was  an 8-10 foot swell hitting us on the beam. So it’s pretty roly poley on board in these conditions and this is where lots of accidents happen if you are not holding on.  You can not let go for a minute or you will be slammed unceremoniously into whatever is to the north of you. This was a different motion from the first few days where the conditions were much more sedate.  We  all lost our appetites and grew quiet. There was  a low grey cloud covering the whole sky and then the squals lining up, gloves on ready to push us around and see what we were made of.

Late in the day as it was getting dark we had the big code 0 up and the wind climbed to 27 knots, we almost broached when we were hit by a gust and a wave on the beam at the same time. We needed to get the sail in and down so I  went up on deck with Stefano to wrestle it down. Again way easier said than done, trying to furl and wrestle a massive sail down onto the deck of a boat that is bucking like an unbroke bronco.  Then there are the lines that are flailing and the noise of a sail being flogged in the wind. If you sail I know you know what this is like. It was also getting dark so it was pretty full on but we managed and the feeling of accomplishment was huge. 

The night before as we were approaching this band of squalls  we had a lot of rain and we didn’t manage to get all of the hatches closed in time.  My bunk got soaking wet with little chance of drying in the near future.   We had a few waves over the side so we are now all salt soaked.  The watches in these conditions take  more concentration as the wind will shift 40 degrees in a second without warning. 

Night falls and we are in squall central. I am determined not to be intimidated by these aggressive pushy little clouds, with their flat bottoms and mickey mouse ear tops. They like to batter us about they are so unpredictable. As much as you can see a squall coming or see that you are heading into one and you can prepare yourself and the boat by reefing sails or reducing the number of sails you have up, securing everything that can fly around, they blaze in like an angry bear coming through a storm and wreak havoc in their path. It’s the not knowing what they will bring that keeps me on edge .

Last night was a shit show and I was thrilled and scared in equal measure . I came on deck at 3amfor my watch when this vicious little squall hit us on the tail from the east.  As much as I am trying not to be intimidated, the fact is, for now, squalls do scare me a bit.  They are even more scary at 3.30am when it’s so dark you can’t even see your hand in front of your face and you are sailing the boat by yourself. You can’t see the sails and you can’t see the size and shape of what has just swallowed you up. You don’t know when you will get spit out the back it could be 5 minutes it could be over 20 minutes long. 

I resist the urge to call downstairs to get one of the others to come up and help. The boat gets spun around and I have no idea what direction we are facing, sails are flailing and I am afraid of an accidental jibe. There are no references when it’s pitch black and it’s easy to get into chasing the compass to get back on course and before you know it you have over corrected and you are en route to Hawaii rather than Hiva Oa. We do have preventers on both booms but an unplanned jibe in these conditions is just downright dangerous and can pull down the whole rig. The squall passes and gives me a bit of time to regroup before the next one. It’s only 4.12am so I have a few hours more of this.  I am flooded with adrenaline to the point of vibrating. A small inner voice is saying, you got this, you got this.  Through nights like this I am learning to not be knocked off centre by nasty storms in the darkness. It feels no small feat to stand up to the Pacific Ocean and what she decides to dish up. 

At 6am Joerg comes on deck for his watch. When my watch is over and I am  an adrenaline, seratonin  cocktail shaken not stirred. 

Today is a whole new day. The sky has largely cleared and there is a steady  16 knot wind from the south east. We have pulled the big para sailer up and we are flying along at 10 knots in sporty conditions. Here in the para sailor on a more sedate day. 

It’s sunny and warm and we are sailing on the rhumb line. There is a nice swell and white caps all around. The sun is dancing off the tops of the waves and it looks like there are a million jewels glinting on the water. These are the sorts of days that sailors dream of. 

That’s all I got for now. Back to sailing. 

So much of this is now familiar.  The provisioning, the last minute boat projects, the getting to know the boat and the crew, connecting with other sailors and the requisite amount of partying before untying the lines.  

At the 11th hour we had a bit of a plot twist. One of our crew of 4 had a family emergency and left this morning on a flight to Scotland. There are only three of us on board for this crossing as getting a 4th person to the Galapagos in the time we had was an impossibility. We are all quite gutted that Iain has to leave and at the same time have to get our heads around just being three on the boat when all of our planning has been for four.  Our system of watches will stay the same but without a fourth our watches will come around sooner. During the day 0900-2100we will do 4 hour watches. Overnight we will have 3 hour watches, all of them are solo.

This is my fourth big ocean crossing. The day of leaving and casting of the lines and raising the sails and heading into the deep blue is always so magical.  I’m not sure I even have the words for this and if I try it would probably not be the right words . Some experiences are beyond boxing in with words. There an excitement, mixed with anticipation, joy a euphoria even as we head out into the open ocean.

At some point, on each crossing all of that gives way to a seasickness that lasts about 24-36 hours.  I often get seasick after the first 24 hours. Crew mates comment on a hue of green that I turn. I throw up continually until there is nothing left but bile.  I spend hours on the helm and am afraid to move, its purgatory…and then as if it were never there it passes and I feel completely amazing and this is called “getting your sea legs”.

My experience has been that it is always worth pushing through because on the other side of throwing up bile and wishing to be put down, I feel completely at home and in my element on the ocean and all of the sea states she will throw at us. 

Despite knowing that a comfort on the sea comes in time, the first night out is often challenging and last night, our first night was challenging on many fronts. With a start late in the day, the afternoon quickly gives way to a disorienting inky blackness. The distant thunder from earlier in the afternoon moved much closer and much louder. It was so loud that it sounded as if the planet had cracked open. It was pouring torrentially as it does at the equator. Then the lightening started to flash across the sky like a well orchestrated reminder that we are in gods territory now. The lightened was so close we could all feel the static in the air. Every hair on my arm was tingling . The whole sky lit up with each flash and Joerg reminded us not to touch or hold on to anything metal on the boat. The wind direction changed by 40 degrees and we had to get our Code 0 furled quickly.

Predictably the furled jammed and someone had to go forward on the bow in the darkness to investigate . I volunteered to go. Ordinarily in a storm in the rain and pitch black I would be happy to let the skipper go but I am seeing all of these opportunities as needed trainings. I clip on and head up to the bow, except it’s not that straightforward. We were starting to get the swell from the trade winds so the boat was bucking around, it was more a stagger in the pitch black darkness and the driving rain to the bow and I was thinking, lightening please don’t strike. We are all too aware that if you go overboard in the pitch black and the boat is travelling at 6.5 knots, there is no way that you are going to be found.

The furling line had twisted and kinked and was jammed in one of the guides. The kink was an easy fix but the crossed lines required re running them so we did that. Having your furling line jam is never good at any time but the timing of this was particularly bad and felt like the first of many tests.

Our journey will be roughly three weeks depending on what the wind serves up.  We will sail hour after hour, day after day and week after week until we hit Hiva Oa in the Marquesas.  

I am just off a 3am- 6am watch so will head now to sleep for a while.

 Yesterday was the start of  a very in depth orientation to this 55 foot sailing machine.  We spent the morning going through  many of the systems as well as learning all of the procedures for: fire on board, water ingress, threat of collision, person overboard and abandoning ship procedure. In the afternoon we start to look at all of the rigging and lines. I get sent 70 feet up the mast for a mast inspection and am grateful to not be up there in a swell or 25 knots of breeze. Here is the view from just over half way up the mizzen mast.

After more boat orientation and preparation we talk about going to dive and snorkel with the sharks.  At the last minute I make a decision to not get into the water with a bunch of unknown sharks.  Ordinarily I think it would be fair to say that I am relatively brave and adventurous even, but a primal instinct kicked in and  very clearly said no and I listened.  Truth be told  I didn’t feel like getting a limb bitten off right before we set sail as that would have been just downright inconvenient. 

There are 29 boats that are sailing around the world together on a 15 month voyage.  It has been really fun meeting the sailors from the other boats on this around the world voyage, making new connections and discovering mutual friends.  The paradox is at these moments it feels like the world is small and in a days time when we loose sight of land and all other boats for weeks at a time it feels unfathomably huge. 

Each leg of this circumnavigation is run as a race and Kincsem was third on the last leg so the pressure is on for us to win this longest leg across the Pacific.  Joerg likes to push hard and the crew are keen racers so game on! One should not underestimate what 2 determined Scots, and an Italian can accomplish on a boat.  Pair that with a German skipper and its dynamite. The leg from the Galápagos Islands to the Marquesa Islands is one of the longest stretches of open ocean in the world, roughly 3000nm( 5556 kilometres for all of the landlubbers). We have been studying the weather routings and the current information and at this point anticipate that it will take us about 21 days. As critical as all of this meticulous preparation is, I am itching to go.  

Tomorrow we pull up anchor and will leave the Galapagos at our backs and head  South to try and pick up the trades before heading West. We have seen a massive band of squals on the weather models that we have been studying. If it’s accurate, one day out we will be in the thick of a band of squalls that will last for several days.  When I am alone at the helm in the dark and a 45 knot squal blows through I know I will miss my fellow “squal Ryder “ from my first Atlantic crossing. We saw 52 knot winds at its peak.  My friend and I still talk about those nights crossing the Atlantic when we were squal ryders flooded with adrenaline, killing ourselves laughing in the pitch black as the boat was surfing down the back of huge swells. 

That’s all I’ve got for now, will connect back once we have untied the lines. 

There is something very exciting about a one way ticket. You are not going back or you are at least not going back the same way you came or even not going back as the same person. The possibilities are endless and it crackles with the potential of things waiting to be discovered and adventures waiting to happen. I am aware that moment by moment we each go out into world and create our own reality and I can feel magic unfolding. 

I arrived in Baltra, Galapagos on a one way ticket much to the consternation of the Ecuadorian officials who, understandably want to make sure that everyone who arrives here does in fact leave. Thankfully I had a letter from the skipper of the boat to say I am joining his boat and we are setting sail on March 5th.

It was a long journey here, I changed flights in Huston and then a few hours overnight in Quito before a hop westwards into the pacific and to Baltra. It feels very far flung and there has been lots of time to think. 

So many of the recent events and news on our small planet has been increasingly grim and disheartening.  I recognise this as a very privileged position but an escape from all of that and an extended time sailing on an ocean will be the perfect antidote to all of the madness. 

Most of you probably know that the Galapagos islands span across the equator. I am now in the Southern hemisphere on Santa Cruz. It was lunch time and siesta time when I arrived and so saw two seals having a siesta as I boarded a ferry and an iguana with a yellow neck munching on some leaves. Shortly after I saw a pelican and several frigate birds and dozens of seals. There is wildlife everywhere!

We have a couple of days before setting sail so in addition to the endless list of last minute boat tasks we plan to visit the Charles Darwin Research station, go and see the giant tortoises and do some snorkelling with sharks!

Its beautiful here right on top of the equator and I feel quite excited to start a sailing voyage that begins with the coordinates 0.6.255° S, 90.33.72° W

I think you came to hear about a sailing trip across the pacific but this is how it all starts. 

I am heading out for a quick jaunt across the pacific ocean. Enough friends have said how much they enjoyed reading about  previous ocean crossings on my blog so I am resurrecting it to share stories and pictures for this upcoming Pacific  crossing.  I will try to share occassional videos on Instagram

On Feb 27th, I will be flying to the Galapagos to join 3 others and an Amel 55 called Kincsem to sail across the Pacific Ocean to the Marquesas, Hiva Oa in particular.  It’s  3000 NM jaunt so similar in length to the Atlantic crossings that I have done. 

I will meet up with the two other crew (both from Scotland) in Quito, Ecuador and then we will all fly to the Galapagos together.  We will have a few days in the Galapagos to explore, meet the wildlife, possibly have a wild life? and provision the boat.   I will spend a chunk of time familiarising myself with every system on and every inch of this 55 foot sailing machine. We will cast off on March 3rd and be at sea for about three weeks.

The Amel 55,  an ocean cruiser and seems to tick all the right boxes when it comes to safety, comfort, reliability engineering and speed. I anticipate that German skipper has every bolt tightened within an inch of its life. It’s a cutter headed ketch rig and (for non sailors that means we could have 4 sails up) has  just about enough sail area to cover ahalf a tennis court which will be really fun and fast in the right wind and downright scary when a 50 knot squall blows through at 2am  and you want to reduce sail in a hurry. I will let you know how that goes.

Sailing a cutter headed ketch is new territory for me and so I will be on a bit of a learning curve initially and specifically think about best sail plan in various conditions on that sort of rig. You could probably wrap a small apartment bock in that much sail.

I sailed from Halifax to Bermuda and then down to St Maartin in May last year on a Van De Stadt 45 called Supertramp.  She has also just arrived in the Galapagos so I have planned a reunion with my kindred spirits of the sea on Santa Cruz. Its nice to fly half way around the world and find good sailing friends, oh man and we have some stories from that trip!

 Although we have not yet met in person I have spend months on zooms with my fellow Scots planning for our leg across the pacific, both have sailed on Kicsem before. We are products of the same culture and history so trust that nothing will be lost in translation.    I already have a sense that we “get” each other.

Ok all from me for now as I go and make the final preparations to leave.   I look forward to sharing this journey with you and will be in touch again soon.

As I tell you about our last full day it is going to sound like the stuff of fairy tales or that I had been too long a sea and was hallucinating this day but this really happened. 

 It was sunny and warm but was also a day of sporty conditions. 22 knot winds and white horses and rollers as far as the eye could see. From the tops of the waves we could see forever in every direction and then would head down into a trough before riding up the back of the next wave. It was fun and invigorating sailing. The sort of day that allows you to forget all of the hard stuff, to feel that all is perfectly  well in the world and wish you could sail every day. 

A few days before the beautiful big blue spinnaker had been torn when an unexpected squall came through in a fit of rage. Somewhere between the wind shift, the increase in wind speed the rounding up and some mad flailing and flogging two tears appeared in the fine material and we have not been able to use it since. 

For the last few days we have been flying a code C sail at an apparent wind angle of 150 degrees.  We know we are asking a round peg to fit into a square hole and we have done everything we can to assist this.  The sail has shown a dissatisfaction with this arrangement and has quietly and repeatedly tried to resist being something it isn’t. We persist with bending it to fit our needs and now have a somewhat happy arrangement.

We are on a beam reach headed directly for Grenada, we are moving along between 9 and 11 knots in 22 knots of breeze. The sun is shining and the ocean is an unimaginable blue.  The flying fish are putting on a real show this afternoon.  Several little groups of them come by always entertaining to watch their flashing silver torpedo bodies, and their antics before an eventual unplanned crash into a wave. This is the sort of day that sailors dream of.   We are all on deck taking this all in. 

As if this isn’t enough in itself, it starts with one dolphin swimming in the wake behind our boat.  Soon there are four or five, this is so thrilling to see as they accelerate to get to the bow.  Only a minute later there are more than 10 and as we look behind the boat again there are dolphins everywhere, absolutely everywhere!   There are 50 or more accelerating through the water making their way to the bow wave and leaping out of the water and under the boat.  We put Optimistic on autopilot and we all make our way to the bow to watch. There are literally hundreds of dolphins that come and swim along with us.  This is the most incredible up close display and interaction with nature that I have ever had.  (Well at least equal to the baby rhino interaction I had years ago in Royal Chitwan in Nepal). Over the next 10-15 minutes these wonderful creatures continue to swim along with us and then past us to their next destination.  I sit right at the bow and lean over.  There is a palpable joy in the air, they have changed the day energetically and we are all charged with the same absolute joy that they have transmitted.  There are so many and we are so close to these dolphins that we can hear them communicating with each other.  There are constant clicks and whistles.   I feel as if I am floating and then they are gone as quickly as they arrived.  We see some final silvery backs in the sunshine and it is all over. We all feel quite lifted by this experience but it is a bit like someone turning the lights off when they go. 

It’s hard to focus on anything else for the next while, I am in awe of this dolphin visit for hours.  I can not think of a better experience to have on our last day.  

We round the last point on the island and the finish line comes into sight. This point of an ocean journey is a real mix of emotions for me excitement, relief, disbelief, a tinge of apprehension.  There’s a pull of the land and all of the comforts and ease that there is on land. I experience an equal almost greater and opposite pull of the ocean.  Although not yet on land I already yearn for the simplicity and perfect beauty of crossing an ocean on a sailboat.   

We cross the finish line at 3.55pm and do all the things we need to do to prepare to dock. We drop our sails and turn on the engine. We prepare dock line and fenders put on shoes. As we are heading into the harbour a sailboat is heading out to sea and I almost wish I was going that direction as well.

When we arrive at the dock we are met by a cheer and a crowd of other boats and sailors who have recently arrived come to greet us. I step off the boat feeling slightly dazed and wobbly.  We are handed rum punches that could knock out a donkey.  Someone takes our picture and I can see we all seem slightly lost without our routine of watches and tending to the boat and the sails.

We will spend the next week enjoying the Caribbean sunshine, completing boat projects and exploring Grenada before we scatter in our own directions. I am already thinking about my next ocean voyage. 

We have been sailing under the big kite for hours and there is a relaxed, happy vibe on the boat. Besides keeping the boat moving as fast as possible we have a domestic life on board that is organized through our system of watches.  We are either on watch, cooking, fixing stuff, sleeping or doing the bosun duties for the day. 

We have a bosun each day who is not officially on watches that day but completes a list of boat tasks including: checking for chaffing, checking shroud guards for damage,checking water tanks, fuel tanks, solar panels, condition of sails, water maker, goose neck fitting, blocks at mast base, blocks for gybe preventer, furling drum, jib cars, Jack stays, steering gear, hydrovane, fuel cans, generator, engine, batteries and wiring, VHF and seacocks. 

 In addition the bosun is responsible for cleaning the bilges, galley, heads, floors, saloon, rotating fruit and vegetables and doing boat laundry.  Bosun also charges the torches, reviews the routing for the day and night and updates the GRIB files.  Every 5 days one of us is bosun.  It’s a busy day with lots of good learning about what it takes to run and maintain a boat at sea. 

Someone each day is designated the cook for lunch and someone else for dinner.  Our watches are organized in 2 hour chunks. We all seem to be hungry all the time.  We spend time together talking about food and what we will cook and look forward to our next meal.

When not on watch we are helping with repairs.  There’s downtime for those not on watch or doing bosun duties so we have a boat chess tournament going and there is at least in game of chess a day and yes the board is magnetic.

The boat is rarely quiet, it creaks and it groans.  There are tremendous forces at play on multiple areas at at given time on a boat.  The noise of 13 tonnes of boat and gear blasting through the water at 9 knots in a swell is hard to describe.

Today we heard news on the VHF of an accident on one of the other boats. The boat made a sudden unplanned maneuver and two of the crew were thrown across the boat. One sustained a concussion and the other has an open ankle fracture.   A vessel of opportunity was 10 hours away and they were going to try to get the injured people off to help get them to the Caribbean faster.  We later heard that it was too rough to make the transfer so the injured person is stuck with an open fracture on a rolling boat in big seas. I can’t imagine how painful that must be for the person and the crew .

Our routines turn hours into days and days into nights.  We sleep in snatches and I find myself happily heading up on deck at 2am after a few hours sleep to sail under the moon while the others sleep. 

There are so many numbers and calculations involved in what we do each day.   For those interested in this level of detail here is a little snap shot of our sailing by numbers. As I write this we are on a heading of 260 degrees and the wind speed is 24.5 knots with a TWA of  090 degrees. Our speed over ground is 7.2 knots.  Total miles covered from Mindelo is 1006 nm. Total miles to go is 1100. Rhumb line to Grenada is 270 degrees. We are currently only about 10 nm south of our rhumb line. The wind is predicted to drop to 15-18 knots early next week and change in direction in which case we plan to fly the spinnaker for the last few days if the angle is right. 

We use the data to guide us and guide our decisions as well as provide feedback about how our decisions were either the right ones or need some modification based on what the data tells us. At the end of the day the data is less important to me than feel and direct observation and experience. I can feel when the boat speeds up, when it slows down, when the wind shifts or if there is a gust.  I can feel and see if we have the wrong trim or the wrong sail for the angle of the wind. 

Of course the numbers can never capture the wonderful feeling of the force of the wind in well set sails and the sound of the hull happily gliding through the water.

As exciting as the numbers sometimes are they don’t convey things like the exhilaration of sailing the big kite through an ocean swell and the sheer joy in the power of Optimistic as she ploughed through the water heading 270 degrees.

All of the watches have a different quality and feel to them.  We have collectively decided that 2am-4am is the hardest, fatigue settles in like an uninvited guest and it’s hard to shake off.   A two hour watch feels like 3 hours and time stands still when you are alone at the helm or alone watching a line of squalls size your tiny little 45 foot boat up.

I especially enjoy the sunrise shift from 6am-8am. The day is full of promise as the sun rises, and the full beauty of the  Atlantic reveals itself.  As the sun slowly comes up there is a peaceful quality to the start of the day even when there are big seas and howling wind.  I have a moment of feeling that anything is possible. The boat is quiet and the others are sleeping downstairs, this is magical.  There are mental snapshots, like old Polaroids of moments I will remember from this journey,  this is one of  them. The daylight brings a relief and a feeling of accomplishment at having survived something.  

It’s always at night that shit goes  wrong. Yesterday was a lovely day quite relaxed sailing with the spinnaker up following a day of white knuckle helming with the spin in big seas and gusty winds the day before. 

We were all a bit tired from the intensity of the day before and yesterday felt really like a relaxed Sunday.  We had breakfast in the cockpit and then listened to music through the boats speakers. Fleetwood Mac Rumours which kept all music tastes happy.  Most of us spend the day together and in the evening our skipper surprised us with a Sunday roast which was wonderful.  For desert tinned fruit.  This meal has knocked the chilli lime chicken off the podium for first place meal of the crossing. 

As it grows dark in the evening we clean up and get the boat and ourselves ready for the quickly approaching darkness.  We look at our course and the weather and feel that we are too far south of the rhumb line and run the risk of sailing into a windless hole in the next 100 nm.    On this heading we will make landfall in Guyana or Surinam so a course change before nightfall is necessary. We make a decision to jibe before we are in complete darkness and talk through the strategy for this maneuver.  We only have one sheet on the big spinnaker so we will attach a rolling hitch to the sheet and tie this off to a cleat to take the load. We walk the sheet around the front of the bow and down to the port winch.  Slowly we bring the boat dead downwind then release the sheet from the starboard side.  The big kite momentarily flaps wildly and then unfurls like a leaf in spring on the starboard side of the boat. We adjust our heading to 320 degrees and we are now on our way northwest heading straight for Grenada.

Most of us head to bed at 8pm  when the sky is pitch black and there are a few stars overhead.  I am reading in my bunk when I hear the gusts and the bow of the boat start to lift out of the water. The power of a massive spinnaker on a 45 foot boat in 26 knots of wind is force to be reckoned with this evening. Quickly the boat starts to feel out of control as the squall blows  through. 

Within minutes we are all on deck and pull the spinnaker down and set the genoa.  This is a much more stable arrangement for a night of potential squalls. Our small drama seems no interruption to the long conversation between the sea and the sky.   Squalls come and go on this ocean whether we are there in the eye of them or not.

Before dinner when it is dark we turn some blue LED cockpit lights on in order to have some light when we eat.  The blue LED renders everything outside the boat completely black.  It’s really easy to image and soon feel as if we are a spaceship travelling through space, we are cruising thought the Milky Way clearly visible just above us.  The darkness beyond the boat makes it feel as if we are hovering through space and no longer on an ocean. I call down to the galley “turn the blue lights off were trippin’ out up here”. It all starts to feel a bit surreal,  probably trippy, I’m not sure if we are floating through air or water.

There is no moon tonight so the sky is full of more stars than we can collectively identify. We lie on our backs in the cockpit and do some star gazing under sail. We look through binoculars and can clearly see, Mars, Jupiter, the seven sisters, Orion’s Belt, andromeda and the horsehead nebula.   We feel mind blowing small, small beings on a small boat on a vast ocean looking up at an even bigger galaxy 2.5 million light years away.   That gives us all something to think about quietly for the next few hours.

We can see small squally clouds in the distance lining up to come our way and feel the effects of the first one quite soon.  The wind increases in speed by 10 knots and veers 20 degrees in seconds. Rattle, rattle rattle, gusting cold threatening wind for several minutes then it moves on ahead of us.

Night has fully enveloped us now and everything feels more immediate. We collectively make a decision to drop the main and sail under headsail only tonight to make handling the squalls that come more manageable.   

People soon disperse to find some sleep before the night watches. 

Darkness falls without much warning.  We still basking in the awe of an Atlantic sunset quickly find ourselves in a blue grey light and then shortly after that inky blackness if there is no moon. The sea becomes black and shiny like oil on black tarmac. Night is long on the boat.  The sea and the wind can start to feel a bit more threatening.  It’s always at night that things seem to go wrong or break.   Last night is a good example.  Things started as above. We had checked the weather and it was forecast to continue much as it had been during the day.  23-25 knots of wind gusting to 27knots.  We set up our sail plan so that we could maintain our route down the rhumb line.  We were wing on wing with a poled out Genoa and the main pushed out to the other side. 

I went to bed early so I could get some sleep before my 2am watch. At midnight I heard the sails flailing and the boat heeling over.   We had accidentally jibed and the boat was rounding up with a backed main. All hands on deck and we brought the boat back around and tightened the jibe preventer.  We continued with the wing on wing sail plan with reduced sail. 

When I came on watch I could see a series of mini squalls lining up in the sky ready to move in our direction.  When each of us come on watch we complete a full log, observe the clouds and sea state, wind speed and direction, sail plan and whisper quietly to each other in the darkness about anything of note.  The last watch then disappears downstairs into the red light below to grab some sleep before their next watch. 

My watch was a challenging one requiring sharp focus so as not to have the main accidentally jibe or the Genoa back. Each shift in wind I was turning us either a few degrees to port or starboard in order to keep the sails stable.  10 minutes before the end of my watch the wind veers 20 degrees to starboard and goes from 25 knots to 35 knots. The Genoa backed and I couldn’t get the boat around fast enough.  The sails were banging like a brown bear trying to bang its way out of a garden shed. There was a crack as the pole snapped and was then flailing about in the 35 knot wind banging into spreaders and stanchions.  Thank fully the skipper was on deck really quickly.  He clipped on and went up to the foredeck in the darkness to retrieve the flogging broken pole which is much easier said than done. 

The commotion woke the whole boat and soon all 5 of us are up to reduce sails and wrestle the flailing broken pole. We bring both sails onto the same side so we were on a broad reach on a starboard tack for the remainder of the night.  Wing on wing is a very precarious sail set to try to carry through the unpredictability of Atlantic squalls, there is no room for error.

There is no judgement or blame about being the one on watch when the pole breaks, it could have been any one of us.  The next day is a day long job to figure out how to fix and fix the broken pole so we can continue to have use of a minimally shorter pole for the Genoa. 

Later I think about how quickly the squall blew through and twisted us around 60 degrees before we could even blink.  I have  also thought a lot about the person with an open fracture and the crew trying to keep them comfortable.  We are all keenly aware that things change in an instant on the ocean.  

Sailing across an ocean is not an endeavour for the inpatient traveller. Our speed although a good 10 knots at times will average out to a solid 6 knots an hour.  Crossing a massive ocean under sail is a good way to re-calibrate your sense of time, purpose and perspective. 

We inhabit a world of sound, of wind, waves, water and endless horizons. An ocean crossing holds the potential of one of the most changing of journeys. It’s great to be back on the ocean among the salt and the stars.    And then the other part of this reality. There is nothing easy about even the simplest of day to day tasks on a boat that is sailing downwind through ocean swell.  You always have to hold on to something on the boat or you will be tossed and slammed unceremoniously onto the closest solid object and this will most likely result in an injury.

There is much sound, wind and waves and all the the creaking and groaning of the boat. There are textures of darkness shifting inky Black Sea, dark starry sky.  There is always lots to take in and this never gets old or boring.   During some of the days we are joined by a couple of birds.  Sometimes just one but today there are two circling and flying back past us and past each other in what looks like a well rehearsed ballet.

I sleep in the bow of the boat. I manage to wedge myself in a narrow part of the V to reduce being rolled around as much as possible. Wedged there right at the bow I am aware of the tremendous volume of water rushing past the bow and the constant sound scape of tons and tons of cubic meters of water that we are pushing through that then rushes along the hull and ripples out. I can also feel the bow dip down as we go down waves and the bow gets buried in water.   I drift off to sleep. Please don’t let us hit anything like a tanker, a partially submerged container or a sleeping whale are my final thoughts before I drift into a watery sleep.

The start of the second leg out of Mindelo saw 100 boats full of sailors restless from too much shore time jostling for the windward spot on the start line. 

I felt I could breathe again being back on the boat with the sails up. The forecast was for 20 knot winds gusting to 25 for the next 5 days which would suit us fine.

We got a really good start and were sailing on a heading of 270 degrees in 21 knots of wind on a beam reach.  We settled into our watch system and I was on the helm for 2 hours from 3pm- 5pm.  The wind moved forward and softened to 16 knots so we pulled up our Code C to try and get a bit more speed.   

The wind was very finicky as we were still in the Lee of the outlying islands of Cape Verde.   The big code C started flapping and the wind vane was spinning in circles at the top of the mast. The next 30 minutes was a frustrating flap of sails as the wind transitioned.   Once out of the Lee of the last island we faced something different all together.  The sea had built as had the wind.  The sea state was very confused and the waves were coming from every direction. The predicted 25 knot gusts were actually 34 knot gusts and the boat heeled and rounded up often. We were overpowered at moments and she was a careening crazy little horse waaay out of control. All around us we could see other boats struggling in the same way.  We heard one boat radio in to say they were turning back to the marina.  The wind strength and sea was a bit more than any of us bargained on right out of the start. We worked quickly to get the code C down and set a reefed Genoa and reefed the main until it was just a blade.   We continued to be on a broad reach as it grew dark.  One of the crew made dinner and a couple of the crew started to feel sea sick in the confused seas and both took a pale green hue and grew very quiet. I didn’t have the luxury of feeling sea sick or queasy with two crew already feeling a bit ropey. 

My next watch was 8pm -10pm and the wind continued to howl and gust amid confused big seas.  We had all been soaked earlier and waves broke over the boat. So now I took the helm salt cacked and soaking in the darkness. This already felt like a challenge less than 12 hours in. I reminded myself that the first 24 hours is always quite challenging and took some solace in remembering that daylight the next day always feels like a relief.  There was no going back anyway.

We did it!  We arrived into Grenada sunburnt and sleep deprived on Friday December 2nd at 3.55 pm.

Our Atlantic crossing was 2200 nm and took 14 days and 6 hours days. Prior to that we travelled from the Canary Islands to Cape Verde and that was 850 nm.  In 20 days of sailing we have covered 3050 nautical miles and crossed 4 time zones while doing so.  

We saw land in the early hours of the morning. Barbados far in the distance and then Grenada.  There is a moment when we hope that all of our instruments and all of our navigation is correct and that we are pointing at the right island.  For a few hours there is a blue reflective tone that inhabits all of us as we wrestle with the bitter sweet reality of hitting land and the imminent onslaught of outside life crashing in on our perfect simple bubble and life of one pointed focus.  

We have some threatening looking storm clouds at our stern reminding us that you are never safe in harbour until you are safe in harbour. 

The island looks very inviting from the water and for the few hours that we are approaching there is a gradual acceptance of this chapter closing. We made it safely, happily and harmoniously with no significant injuries. We were kind to each other and functioned well as a crew. 

The shape of the island and the contours of the hills through the low cloud looks eerily like Mount Elphinstone and Hopkins as the land gently slopes down towards Granthams and Gibsons and out to the Bluff.  My mind plays tricks, in this light with this sort of cloud and a gently falling rain. I almost feel as if we are sailing towards home past Keats and Gambier directly into Hopkins. Something tugs in my heart and my throat suddenly feels tight, I could almost cry but I don’t. I miss my Hopkins Landing home, that perch with a magnificent view of islands and the north shore mountains. I miss some of the comforts of home and my land life and now look forward to going back.  

The next bit happens fast, we cross the finish line and take a group shot. We ready the boat by dropping the sails for the first time in weeks and turn on the engine. I quietly acknowledge and thank the sails, the rig and Optimistic for her calm capable, unflinching role in carrying us across the Atlantic under the power of the wind in her sails alone.  I am always in awe of how well built boats with the right sails set and pointed on a heading will take you where you want to go.

Tonight I am happy to be on land and will enjoy a shower and sleeping on a boat that isn’t being tossed around like a cork but will miss the wildness of the ocean and the incredible night sailing under the moon and stars and the perfect simplicity of life on a sailboat. This has been another incredible and rich voyage,  challenging on some levels and immensely rewarding on others.  I have made peace and even feel a familiarity with the Atlantic Ocean and now am very comfortable with what this ocean crossing entails.

Grenada is absolutely lovely. A picture perfect lush little island with everything we imagine the Caribbean to be. We have a few days here to explore and will do some diving, hiking in rainforests and swimming in pools at the foot of the many waterfalls. This is a fantastic place to make landfall after 3 weeks at sea but this journey was always about the journey not about the destination.

I wrote a blog post every few days at sea but was unable to post as we did not have a connection for this. Over the next few days I will be putting up the posts and telling the story of crossing the Atlantic on Optimistic.  

Thank you all for your words of encouragement, your support, your curiosities and interest in this journey.  This net of support has been the life raft and for that I am very grateful. 

November 11th 2022

Time does strange things when you are out on a vast ocean on a boat. It speeds up, it slows down, it bends around objects, it plays with the light and Tuesday becomes Friday.

I know this much, we sailed 24 hours a day.  We sailed as the sun rose and the moon set and we were still sailing as the sun set and the moon rose. 

We sailed under a full moon and then under the milky way when the nights were less bright. In the darkness we sailed happily along at 7.5 and 8 knots leaving a trail of phosphorescent star dust behind us.  We do solo watches so the night time is quite magical sailing Optimistic through the Milky Way leaving a  trail of glitter behind her. 

Every day there have been hundreds of flying fish flittering by at high speeds and bouncing off waves.  We have yet to see the creature chasing them from below the water but they seem to be fleeing for their tiny silver winged lives. I wonder where the three whales are who cruised by effortlessly the other day. 

We have tried lots of different sail configurations in an attempt to maximize our speed and keep moving up the fleet.  For several days we flew the spinnaker all day and all night.  All of your senses are heightened when sailing at night.  Flying the spinnaker in the darkness in 18 knots of wind and  9 foot swells on your own requires a laser focus and nothing else exists.  At times there are gusts and the boat accelerates, rounds up and heels over the big kite threatens to become a scoop full of water and pull us over unless we ease the sheets in time. It’s intense, fun and alive, an adrenaline, seratonin cocktail shaken not stirred.

November 10th 2022

Things break and things have broken as they do on boats and we have made necessary repairs. The skipper is infinitely practical and can fix anything. He is very generous with sharing knowledge and taking the time to teach how things work and how they are repaired so I am learning as much as possible.  Yesterday the rudder on the hydrovane broke and today a fibreglass repair to fix it.  

We have not yet got into really big swells but the sea is big enough that we are all covered in boat cuts and bruises. 

5 days in and we are well on our way to becoming an efficient crew. We are all settling into the routines and the life of the boat.  Sometimes even in this small space we pass each other like ships in the night going on watch or snatching some sleep before the next watch. We eat lunch and an evening meal together and talk about what we have learnt, how the day went and what the sail plan will be for the night.

When things go wrong our skipper breaks down a potentially difficult task or maneuver into calm logical well thought out steps.  The tone is set and as a crew we have handled some challenging situations really well together.  One night the snap shackle that holds the base of the spinaker and drum to the bow of the boat broke loose.  We were about to have dinner and it was growing dark when we heard a loud bang as the shackle popped and the big kite and drum started flailing in 18 knots of wind. There was enough  of a swell that things went flying and Peri Peri chicken was tossed all over the galley floor.  Two people went up on deck to try to wrestle the big kite and drum to reconnect to the bow. This was a dangerous situation in the growing darkness as the risk of being hit by the flailing furling drum was significant.  Two of us in the cockpit tightening and loosening sheets  as required and one on helm.   Eventually the kite is wrestled down and re-attached where it should be.  We decide to continue flying it through the night. Once everything is tidied and Optimistic is sailing happily again we settle into the cockpit and eat the remaining peri peri chicken in the darkness.  We talk about what just happened and how we dealt with it.  A difficult and dangerous situation was handled really well by all of us and I am feeling at ease and confident in our ability to collectively handle what comes our way.

November 8th 2022

We have been sailing at a steady 8 knots in wind that varies between 14-18 knots.  The last couple of nights we have sailed wing on wing with a poled out head sail and the main boom pushed out on the opposite side.  The boom is secured with a preventer and the pole is secured down at the deck and with a topping lift that keeps it very stable. 

During the day we have hoisted the spinaker and have pulled out a small amount of the jib on the opposite side to stabilize everything.  We are sailing on a course of 230 degrees which is practically right down the rhum line. Our exact position as I write this is 20 degrees 18’90 N  22 degrees 16’74W

We all had lunch together on the deck and are blessed with 3 whales who swam beside the boat and came up to the surface very close to us.  The first whale swam under the bow bumping the boat as she went under.  Long graceful backs breaking the surface before a slow arc down. 

We have steadily made our way up the pack and now seem to be in 16th position overall and 4th in our division.  At this speed our ETA in Cape Verde is early Friday morning.

We motored out of the marina at Las Palmas and 11am and got our sails up shortly after that.  We wanted to give ourselves a a few hours before the 1pm start to  practice so maneuvers and to settle in as a crew.  It was the first time we had all sailed together.   

It was really exciting to be heading out and it was an incredible sight all of the boats having completed their final  preparations and milling around the start line.   The wind was blowing 14 knots and the sun was shining on the houses on the hillsides of Las Palmas.

There was the usual start sequence then the start was announced by a cannon fired from  Spanish Navy boat that doubled as the committee vessel.    The next few hours passed quickly and the once compact fleet had already started to spread out.  The multihulls that started 15 minutes ahead of the monohull classes were now 8nm ahead of us.  We were doing a steady 6 knots in 13 knots of wind.   By the time the sunset we could only see a handful of boats.  The sky was clear and visibility was good as the moon came up and darkness fell for on our first night at sea.

My first watch in darkness was at 7pm until 9pm, the rest of the crew were all still up so it was not a solitary shift but felt good to have the company as I adjusted to the helming in darkness on an unfamiliar boat.   I tried to get some sleep before I was up again at 2.45am for my 3am-5am watch. It is only 2 days away from full moon so there was plenty of brightness throughout the night.

I would say that the first 24 hours was very kind to all of us.  The first 24-36 hours can be very challenging as there are so many adjustments that we all need to make in so many areas including: adjusting to each other, adjusting to a new boat, to sailing at night, to sleeping and moving around on a boat that is constantly rocking, dealing with seasickness and homesickness, adjusting to being cut off from communication and any loneliness that may bring, adjusting to working optimally and safely with 4 new personalities. All of this while sailing a boat across the ocean and all of the considerations and tasks involved in that.  Despite all of the adjustments this feels more like a homecoming than something foreign to me. Everything else that was concerning starts to slip away and the ocean becomes a deeper and deeper blue.

 Last night at 4am as I was on watch and was joined by a few dolphins who lept alongside the boat then sped off into the darkness. I took this as a good sign for a safe and happy journey. 

Tomorrow we leave Las Palmas for the first leg of our journey.  867 nautical mile trip to San Vincente.

Today we had a really busy day of last minute preparations including a briefing for the first leg. The Weather for leg 1 – Las Palmas to  Mindelo looks quite favourable.

Leaving Las Palmas there will be a ridge of high pressure to the NW blowing 15-20 knots which will be a great start.  We start at 1pm so will have just 5 hours before we are sailing in darkness.

A North westerly swell of 1.75-2.5 metres is predicted so it will be reasonably sporty right out of the gate.

The bad news we found out yesterday that the satellite is not working and so we will have no ability to communicate or get weather while at sea. 

First updates I send will be when we reach Cape Verde around November 12th.  

In the meantime if you want to track our progress you can do it here.  

https://www.worldcruising.com/arc_plus/eventfleetviewer

Vessel name is Optimistic.  More from Cape Verde.