We spend 19 days on Barbados and wonder every day why there aren’t many more Atlantic crossers calling at the island. The number of ships clearing in at Port St. Charles in the northwest of the island is quite small. At the other anchorages along the coast as far south as Oistins, we are the only cruisers for miles around, except for a friend’s boat. It is a very quiet and relaxed start into the Caribbean waters and grounds.

Farewells, changes and new beginnings characterized the year 2024 for us. In February we packed our life as it was into a few square meters of storage space and built a new home on the boat. Many things turned out as we expected, some things went differently and some things surprised us. The experiences and events were so condensed that it is already difficult to remember everything. It felt like this year’s journey offered as much story material as maybe ten years of vacation traveling. To summarize the year in a nutshell, we have selected a few facts and figures that might give at least a small insight into our long-distance cruise in 2024.

We’ve already shown what the hydro-generation or regeneration feature of our electric motor is capable of at various boat speeds in controlled conditions, but how does it work in practice over the long term?

Day 1:
Untying the lines and refueling. While one fuel canister after another was being dragged onto the boats around us, we allowed ourselves the luxury of not having to fill our tank (550 liters) completely. We didn’t have to carry any water canisters either. The water tank gets filled by our watermaker on board immediately after the start. This means we have no chlorinated water in the tank and can drink the tap water. Between the islands of São Vicente and Santo Antão, the wind blows us out to sea in a jet in perfect weather. Off we go! Then the first night. It is as restless as the start is beautiful. The waves are erratic and the little wind causes us to rock so much that the sails are constantly flapping violently. We are already exhausted. At least no one gets seasick.
First day’s run: 128 nautical miles

B
ucket lists differ from person to person. But from November onwards, many people gather in Gran Canaria and other Canary Islands with the same goal: to cross the Atlantic Ocean in a sailing boat. To experience the vastness of the ocean, to feel their own insignificance. To face the elements and one’s own ability to deal with them. To fall into a time whole and count shooting stars. The small list item ‘Atlantic crossing’ brings all this with it.

We spend our last time in Europe in the Canary Islands. They are the last step on the way to the Caribbean. From the Canary Islands, the ships either sail directly to caribbean waters or make a stopover on the Cape Verde Islands. We have opted for the stopover in Cape Verde and are preparing for this leg in the Canary Islands.

We head for the southeastern tip as we have reserved a mooring at Quinta do Lorde. Sailing by the calendar begins, because moorings are rare on Madeira and later on the Canary Islands. Firstly because there are very few harbors and secondly because more and more boats arrive there on their way across the Atlantic. The hurricane season is coming to an end and the window of opportunity for an Atlantic crossing is opening. More and more sailors with ARC flags can be seen. It’s as if the organizer of this transatlantic rally has blown the horn and everyone is getting ready for the hunt for the nautical miles.

Porto Santo is a surprise. The satellite images show a large pile of stones in the vast sea, which at first glance seems rather unattractive. At second glance, the scenery in the anchorage bay next to the harbor turns out to be outstanding. Below us, crystal clear water at over 20 degrees, in front of us a nine kilometer long sandy beach.

When dorsal fins come into view, the sailor’s heart usually rejoices. Soon dolphins will be accompanying the boat, showing off their artistic skills. Near the Spanish and Portuguese coasts, however, the heart starts racing. Wasn’t that the black dorsal fin of an orca?

The northern end of Portugal begins south of the Río Miño. For us this means a change of flag. Green and red now fly happily in our rig.