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.

Hi everyone! This is L, Anna’s friend, with a brief update. Anna is having a whale of a time, but internet connectivity is rather lacking.

In Anna’s words, via a quick email, “blogging from the Atlantic has been challenging but I am documenting the journey and will post it retroactively when I am back. In the meantime, we have survived our first major storm, during which all the cabin doors blew off and several boats pulled out. We regularly have dolphins swimming off of our bow and I am finding ocean racing to be quite magical. I am loving this.”