May 10th
26 miles to the waypoint.
7.1 knots boat speed.
In three and a half hours (give or take depending on the ratio of helm focus to chatting and tea drinking) we’ll bear north, around the edge of Wexford and into the Irish Sea.
Our new bearing will take us on the final spurt of our journey to Largs – only a couple of days later than anticipated. And with that, we’ll have left blue water sailing behind, having crossed an ocean. Like bankruptcy, or the eruption of an Azores volcano, the end of our journey will have come two ways: gradually and then suddenly.
Crossing an ocean has meant different things to each of us on board: adventure, challenge, fun, learning new skills or applying lifetimes of experience to a singular goal. And we’ve had all of that in spades over the last month or so. We’ll all have our favourite moments when we look back on the trip. Admittedly, for many of us those moments will be more heavily weighted towards the early legs when the conditions were sometimes just right, occasionally a bit too much, but seldom not enough. Those legs fuelled themselves – the adrenaline hit of time spent sailing driving you from one watch into the next at pace.
Since leaving the Azores though, we have at times resembled the painted ship upon the painted ocean. Motor on, the sails dropped down. In the absence of any albatross, the hellish crimes were more concerned with who had snuck a sneaky shower or finished the milk. The wind then developed a sense of humour, resolute in its determination to meet us head-on whichever way we pointed the ship. Motor purring, we were using more fuel than anticipated, necessitating a fuel stop before Largs.
At times I think we’ve all slipped towards a completist mentality. We had all set ourselves a target that had roused quizzical eyebrows each time we told someone of our holiday plans. The mindset shifted towards getting the job done.
But then, in piercing moments of clarity, the absurdity of that position becomes clear. Whether it’s steering the ship by the night sky and realising you recognise the tableau above you. Watching crewmates grow in confidence to take the lead as we make our sail changes. Feeling the gears of teamwork grind more efficiently when we get things right. Taking advantage of the flat seas to learn about celestial navigation or route planning. Taking instruction from the skipper or first mate and clocking that you don’t have as many questions as you did a couple of weeks ago. Applying the theory you learned a couple of days previously when you hear the vessel you’re monitoring is not under command. The laughter in the galley as we prepare the next meal. The conversations with new friends that take place in the quiet moments. The comfort with each other to sometimes let those quiet moments be quiet.
I’m sure we’ll all weigh up what the journey means to us once we’ve gone our separate ways from Largs. But for now, we’ve got two more days to enjoy those moments.
Today I helmed a ship as we closed in on the Irish coastline I spent my childhood summers on, giving a new perspective to land I know well. I sat with friends and watched dolphins dance alongside us, and seals pop their heads up to check us out. I exploded a bottle of pancake mix on the only clean trousers I have left and laughed about it. I finally got to enjoy ship’s puttanesca with the olives and the capers in place.
Despite the impishness of the wind and the hum of the motor, it’s been a good day. Hopefully, once we reach our next waypoint and turn northwards, the final couple of days on board will unfold gradually.
Revenge of the 6th!
For all those following our adventure, all onboard are safe and well. We just seem to have been stifled by the wind (or lack thereof… or direction thereof, or both thereof). Unfortunately, it’s slow going occasionally and sometimes frustrating for those on the helm to maintain course with such fickle winds.
Of course, this sometimes also leads to random conversations and conjecture about lots of different things like the weather, or politics (usually avoided if possible), and the like. It can get rather random, and recently conversation focused on the Generator space, a place where Thorben and I disappear from time to time to do boat stuff. To those in the Rubicon 3 know, this area is affectionately known as “Narnia”, and this is because you have to enter through a door that is behind the wet locker where we hang all our foulies. Generally, it is only the Skipper and Mate who go in, as it is a machinery space—health & safety etc. etc. etc….
This has led to the suspicion amongst the crew that:
There is a lion in there;
We have a rum store in there;
We have a fully stocked bar with a barkeeper/doorman called Ramon (who won’t let you in if you’re not on the list);
We have a hot tub, sauna, and resident masseuse;
And lastly but not least; it is an existential portal that links to Bluejay’s and Starling’s Narnias and all the Skippers and Mates meet up and have noisy parties! Apparently, we only run the generators and watermakers to drown out the sound of the pumping trance music being played!
Paraphrasing another nautical saying, all I can say is: apparently the devil makes work for idle minds… or are they closer to the truth than you think?
I leave this one with you all, but if you have any other ideas about what really goes on in Narnia, please let us know.
Hummingbird out.
May the 4th be with you, Hummingbird!
‘Feel the Force, Luke’ – who can forget those immortal lines spoken by Sir Alec Guinness, one of the greats of British theatre and the silver screen? I use them here mainly because yesterday was the 4th of May, and the aural juxtaposition seems to amuse people. The allusion is, however, apposite, in that for the last 24 hours, it seems that about the only thing that would get us moving faster than a slow walk on a Sunday afternoon would indeed be the intervention of the elusive Force used to such effect by Luke Skywalker in his struggles against the evil Empire.
But, sadly, the only force we had available was the Perkins engine inserted into the belly of the Hummingbird. However, this was not always so. Having achieved the considerable feat of crossing an ocean, we arrived in the port of Horta in the Azores, with the intention there to briefly re-provision and be on our way on the final leg of our passage to Largs, in that fabled land of porridge where Haggis roam free in the hills of their birth before joining neeps and tatties, as is their ancestral fate. However, the vicissitudes of Mother Nature meant that plans to leave after one night were dashed. We had an inkling that this might be the case when we relaxed in ‘Pete’s Bar’, an iconic hostelry on the edge of the port, frequented for over a hundred years by sailors passing through, as evidenced by the plethora of sailing memorabilia attached to the walls, some from notable sailing royalty such as Eric Tabarly and Tracey Edwards. When speaking to other yacht crews, mentioning that we were leaving on the morrow, they responded with incredulity, showing us images of terrifying winds forecast on their wind apps. Thus it was that we were unsurprised when our skipper, the fearless Thorben, informed us that we would be waiting until the front moved through – I for one was fine with that. If it was too blowy for Thorben, it was far too windy for me!
In the event, we waited in Horta for three nights, allowing us to find out that although quaint and smart, with welcoming people, the island had limited tourist facilities, particularly when it was windy and raining. The indefatigable Marcus, with true Swiss resolve, hired a minibus and a few of us went on a trip across the island, only to find that it was closed on Tuesdays, apart from the volcano visitor centre on the site of an eruption in 1957 that extended Portugal’s empire by about two miles. We also learned that we were in fact standing at the most westerly point on the European tectonic plate; therefore, we were at the most westerly point of Europe, geologically if not politically, since there are more westerly islands in the Azores archipelago, seized during Portugal’s colonialist surge, but they are on the North American plate – funny the things you find interesting when it’s raining!
Anyway, given that the Azores are closed on a Tuesday, we found ourselves back at Pete’s Bar, meeting again with our comrades from the night before who were relieved that we were still on dry land. Whilst many of us rearranged hotels and flights (given that our delay on the Azores meant that our arrival in Largs was likely to be delayed), others sampled the fine ‘Gin Do Mar’ produced by Pete.
A useful aphorism in life I find is the saying by Thomas Aquinas (though don’t quote me on that because I don’t have access to Google) ‘…this too will pass’. So the worst of the storm front passed and we prepared to leave Horta. We were still expecting high winds up to 35–40 kts, which was serious stuff, so the storm tri-sail and storm jib were rigged, and we sailed out of Horta with rather fetching orange sails, which I thought looked lovely in the morning light. Before long, we were relieved that we had gone to the effort of putting up those pretty sails, as we embarked upon a high-octane white-knuckle sleigh ride, holding on to the wheel as Hummingbird surged on, solid and reliable, if noisy when she hit walls of water some over 5 metres high. Great fun, if a little hair-raising, and not a little frustrating when trying to dress on a floor at an almost vertical angle.
But soon, this too passed. The winds have dropped, and what winds there are, are in the wrong direction—from the north, which is where we want to go. And anyone who knows anything about this sailing malarkey knows that doesn’t work. So, as I write, with the First Mate, Alex, desperately trying to kick me out of the chart room so that he and Thorben can do some navigation nonsense or something, we are motor sailing in the general direction of Ireland, hoping for a wind shift so that we can get sailing properly again. Maybe we should be using the Force—May the 4th be with us, given that most of us have no idea what day it is anyway!
SW
May 3rd
A BRAW BRIGHT MOONLIGHT NIGHT
I joined Hummingbird and her motley crew midway through her Atlantic Transit from Key West to Largs, Scotland.
Although I regularly check up on the R3 – FB page, the offer of this passage popped up at a fortuitous time for me.
Upon flying to Horta, on the island of Faial in the Azores, I was introduced to the existing crew, Skip & Mate.
With a few Andys, a couple of Erics, a few Swiss, a Swede, an American, a Canadian, an Englishman and an Irishman living in Wales, it was all a bit overwhelming for me, who is at the best of times hopeless with remembering names, especially after 24 hrs of non-stop sleepless travel!
With some pretty fierce winds just north of the Azores, the weather gods gave me some grace, with an extra day or two in port to get familiar with my crewmates. A wee adventure to the volcano and a few meals out helped integrate me to the crew before setting off.
Some of the Q’s asked of me were – Why (part of) this leg, why another ocean passage, and why back towards home in Bonnie Scotland?
Well, there are a number of reasons:
- Seize the day!
I had very sadly said “Fair Winds” to a great friend, neighbour and fellow sailor just the week before. She was taken from family, friends and colleagues, all too soon, and way too young.
So I am partly doing this in memory of Lydia – May she rest in peace – and also because of the stark reminder – that life is short – don’t dither – get on with it!
- Life is for Living.
I work to live – not live to work! Winter in the Northern Hemisphere can be tough – the desire to escape from that work routine, winter, and envelope myself in nature again was strong. Breaking that nine-to-five routine and immersing myself in my passion was loudly calling, and thanks to my good friends, I was able to escape with business covered for me.
- Why back to Scotland?
As a passionate Scottish lass and sailor – I cannot wait to show my new friends my sailing grounds, and hope that they will enjoy what they see and come back – just to sail in Scotland.
(As we are all now friends and I’m sure will remain so – adventure sailing creates these bonds!).
- Ocean Sailing – Again ???
There is absolutely nothing quite like being a speck on the ocean, sailing under only the power of the wind and the sails, understanding and appreciating the majesty and glory of the stars and planets above you, to reset, rebase and release from the humdrum of “normality”.
- Seize the day!
The sun, the moon, the planets, space station, shooting stars, DOLPHINS… the rise and fall of the sun and the moon, the daily rhythm of nature – all healing powers!
No news, no Wi-Fi, a watch system, co-operation, collaboration – friendships born, cooking & cleaning shared, chats, laughter, fun and a common goal…
If you haven’t done it yet – get a move on. It is awesome!
Fair Winds
Eileen
May 1st
We are finally on the final leg of our journey, Horta to Largs! The weather gave us an extra couple of days in Horta. The crew took full advantage, including a couple of great meals, and for some, a car rental with sightseeing around the island. Still, we’re all anxious to get started on our final leg.
We’re getting tested early on this leg with high winds and heavy seas while sailing close-hauled. This has necessitated many manoeuvres that would make a ballerina jealous as we dart around below decks on watch change or prepare meals. The crew has become even closer as the sea state demands we work together on tasks that, under normal circumstances, we might accomplish on our own.
While ashore, I had the opportunity, as part of watch leader training, to assist the captain in re-provisioning for the last leg. Finding food when all of the labels are in Portuguese, and food that is easy to find at home cannot be found. Procuring food in quantities sufficient for eleven crew members is a challenge, but once you fill a train of shopping carts, you have to move on to getting the food aboard and stowed. Next time we should just buy twenty-five boxes of energy bars and call it a day.
Stopping now as the boat is moving the laptop in three directions at once.
Eric P
April 24th
Day 21 of the trip — not that anyone is keeping count. The days blend together, broken up into 3-hour watches with 6 hours of sleep, chores, and more sleep in between. I try to mostly sleep at night and stay awake during the day, but a short nap after lunch can easily turn into deep sleep. We all have our preferred watches, and the rolling schedule brings you back to your favourite every three days. Some prefer the night watches — clear skies, bioluminescence, and shooting stars — while others favour the day, with the occasional sightings of dolphins and whales.
We all prefer sailing to motoring, of course, and fortunately the winds have mostly been with us so far. Long watches offer plenty of opportunity for conversation. As we get to know each other better, it’s tempting to move from the safe topics of life back home to more contentious ones — such as the nature of gravity and Swiss politics — all of which have, so far, remained in good spirits.
Before this trip, I had only sailed smaller boats: a 14-foot catamaran on the sheltered waters of Kaneohe Bay, and a 30-foot monohull in the archipelago north of Gothenburg. Moving from that to ocean sailing on a 60-foot Clipper can be humbling — but it also offers new perspective. The forces involved are exponentially greater, and more people are needed for everything from hoisting sails to reefing. You learn to act as part of a team, making the best use of each member’s strengths and weaknesses. You can feel very small in a sailboat in the middle of the Atlantic, but seeing how well the boat performs even in strong winds brings a real sense of security.
Andy F
April 22nd
So, just to update — our intrepid explorers have (after a couple of slow days out from Bermuda) found the wind… and then some!
I believe it was a Prussian general who first coined the phrase “No plan survives first contact with the enemy,” although it has also been attributed to Rommel and Montgomery. My interpretation of this is: always be prepared to change and adapt your plans in response to prevailing conditions and new information, and don’t doggedly stick to a strategy just because it seems easier to do so.
With this in mind, our initial plan — compiled by our most excellent Watch Leader candidate Eric P (we have two Erics onboard) with weather information provided by PredictWind Offshore and XYGrib — suggested we were in for an easy milk run to the Azores along an almost direct rhumb line. But no — just two days out of Bermuda, the weather gods threw us a curveball in the form of the ever-present Azores High, which created a rather significant wind hole along our route, with a large area of “light and shite” winds (apparently a technical term, according to one of our weather advisors). Taking advice from the Head Shed at Rubicon 3 (Ollie B), via our satellite connections, we headed northeast to find the eastbound edge of a weather system. However, this proved elusive for a couple of days, and at one stage it looked as though we’d be passing directly over the Titanic wreck site.
That too was not to be, and with a deepening low-pressure system moving towards us, we were advised to prepare for heavy weather. So we set about prepping the boat: rigging storm sails in good time, stowing, and securing all unnecessary kit and equipment. This time, the weather appeared as forecast, and with our bright orange trisail and Yankee 3 set, we started cruising at 8–10 knots in 25–30 knots of wind with a rising sea state. With her new heavy weather attire, Hummingbird took it all in stride, and our intrepid crew stepped up to the mark, helming watch by watch in some challenging winds and seas.
Chatting with the crew, all were amazed at how safe and responsive Hummingbird felt — surprisingly light and balanced on the helm. Despite three days of inevitable pitching and rolling, everyone seems to have found the experience of heavy weather sailing (almost) enjoyable, and very much part of the adventure they were seeking. I will say personally, they have all performed commendably.
Now, after three days, we are just passing through the strongest elements and have been threading the needle between heavier winds and seas — ably assisted by the ever-virtually-present Ollie B, our shore contact and weather provider. We anticipate the winds will ease over the next few days, with the seas following suit shortly afterwards. We have 700 miles to go to the Azores, and I think our intrepid crew will enjoy some hard-earned R&R.
In support of my opening quote, I’ll invoke another great military leader when faced with changing conditions and adversity: “We improvise, we adapt, we overcome.” — Gunnery Sgt. Tom “Gunny” Highway, Heartbreak Ridge.
Alex G – 1st Mate
April 19th
36° 27.9’N, 56° 30.3’W – 6.5 knots
Marcus Aurelius, the emperor and philosopher, cautioned us against fighting against those things in our life that we cannot control. For the crew of Hummingbird over much of the past 24 hours, the wind has been the essential element that has been beyond our ability to control. Despite the best efforts of both those who know what they are doing and those of us who do not, by dint of sail and course changes, we failed in search of the elusive natural power essential to reaching our goal, Horta in the Azores, some 1800 miles distant. Having left Bermuda last Tuesday in steady Force 4-5 breezes, morale amongst the crew was high despite some heavy rain squalls, and my public castigation for suggesting that diced bell peppers were an appropriate accompaniment to a mushroom risotto. The important thing was that we were sailing, and generally in the right direction, following the great circle route to intercept the Azores by a week on Friday.
Then it happened, the log – a document treated with reverence and updated with almost religious faithfulness each hour of the journey records that at 1100 on Thursday morning we were MOTORING! This isn’t what I paid for some of us bemoaned. Members of the crew had come together for various reasons to undertake this expedition, but were united in one aim; to sail across an ocean. Unfortunately, for that to be a realistic possibility, we needed wind, and there wasn’t any, anywhere close, no matter what we did. So against the incongruous audio backdrop to Cyndi Lauper extolling that ‘Girls just want to have fun’, the engine was switched on and we lumbered forward in an entirely predictable, entirely controllable direction – not satisfactory at all.
Life on board took on a much more predictable and comfortable aspect, sleeping became easier, not being rolled by the heel of the boat or clinging on for dear life if on the other tack. Manoeuvring around below decks was far less arduous and hazardous, cooking became less of a physical trial and juggling act, but paradoxically, a gloom palpably fell upon the crew. Chatter was subdued, and laughter subsided. Even the visit of dolphins on three occasions during the day failed to raise the spirits beyond a ‘that lovely’, or ‘I wonder how deep they go’, or generating philosophical questions such as: ‘who would win in a fight, a Dolphin or a Shark ?’. Our watch that night from 0300- 0600 felt like being aboard a conveyor belt, chugging inexorably through Dylan Thomas’s Jet Black night. Not even the moon or stars made an appearance to light our mundane progress.
However, as I was woken by the dappled sunlight pushing into he small porthole of my forepeak, I realised that it was not just the arrival of the dawn that had woken me, but also the sounds of shouts and banging as the sails were raised once again. The engine was quietened, and Humingbird surged forwards in a strong Force 4 breeze.
Once I had eventually pulled myself from my bunk and began to bounce against bulkheads on my journey to the galley where with Ian and Swiss Eric we prepared a meal whilst wedged against the table and braced against the galley top, irritating, uncomfortable and often painful, but it was because were were sailing and Hummingbird was heeled over as she resumed her dash across the ocean.
I am sure that it was not just the sunshine, the irredecent water and the fluffy cumulus clouds that caused the surge in morale amongst the crew, we were doing what we came for – sailing across an ocean, and no matter how uncomfortable and sometimes painful that might be we were all doing what we came for, sailing again. Our smiles were not erased by the news delivered by Alex that due to high pressure on the great circle route to the Azores, that we were routing higher north to maintain favorable winds, adding 200 miles to the route – no problem – we will be sailing the whole way and taking the advice of Marcus Aurelius to attend diligently to those things that are within our control, in this case, keeping to a course of 055 and as close as possible to a beam reach. That’s what we signed up for.
18 April 2025
Hummingbird unterwegs: Drei Tage auf See von Bermuda Richtung Azoren
34° 45.7249N, 058° 27.797W / Kurs: Richtung Azoren
Wir sind nun seit drei Tagen unterwegs, von den Bermudas in Richtung Azoren. Der Rhythmus an Bord hat sich eingespielt, und alle haben sich gut an das Wachsystem gewöhnt.
Zu den Mahlzeiten, die jeweils von der zuständigen Schicht zubereitet werden, treffen wir uns gemeinsam im Salon. Zum Glück haben wir einige echte Kochtalente an Bord – das Essen war bisher immer ausgezeichnet und hebt die Stimmung spürbar.
Nach über zwölf Tagen an Bord der Hummingbird lernen wir das Schiff und seine Eigenheiten immer besser kennen – wie man ein Reff setzt oder die Segel wechselt, wann und wie koordiniert wird. Dank der klaren Anweisungen von Thorben und Alex klappt das bislang sehr gut. Jeder Tag bringt mehr Routine und Vertrauen.
Die Stimmung an Bord ist von Anfang an hervorragend. Jeder gibt sein Bestes, und das spürt man in allem, was wir tun. Ich freue mich auf die weiteren gemeinsamen Seemeilen mit diesem Team.
– Markus
Hummingbird Underway: Three Days at Sea from Bermuda to the Azores
34° 45.7249N, 058° 27.797W / Course: Heading for the Azores
We’ve now been at sea for three days, sailing eastward from Bermuda toward the Azores. The rhythm of life aboard is settling in, and everyone has adapted well to the watch system.
Each meal — prepared by the crew on duty — brings us together in the saloon. Fortunately, we have some real culinary talent on board, and the food has been consistently excellent, which lifts morale in noticeable ways.
After more than twelve days aboard Hummingbird, we’re getting to know the boat better — how to reef, when to shift sails, how to coordinate smoothly as a crew. With Thorben and Alex offering clear instructions, things have gone well so far. Each day builds more routine and confidence.
The atmosphere on board has been outstanding from the beginning. Everyone puts in their best effort, and that shows in every task we take on. I’m looking forward to the next sea miles with this team.
– Markus
Day 10 blog – April 17 2025.
034° 43.291N, 059° 42.694W / Course: 80° @ 6.8 knots – midway between Bermuda and the Azores (Crew Member)
“Woke this morning to the smell of bacon being prepared in the galley. Breakfast has been an on your own kind of thing, but frequently folks have taken the initiative to prepare more significant offerings for their crew mates. This morning it was bacon and eggs along with beans on toast. Who would have thought, beans on toast as a breakfast offering. One of the great things about this voyages is the opportunity to meet and bond with people from around the world. I have found that most of the people who are put in the galley are too modest when it comes to their ability throw together a meal in tight quarters, limited to the ingredients available. It could be that after a night of surfing down big rollers we are all too hungry to engage our taste buds, but prefer to think that when given the chance to do something for their crew mates that they go above and beyond in demonstrating their commitment to the morale of the others on board. The Captain and Mate are especially thoughtful in their care of the people on board. Last night, at four in the morning a hot dish of popcorn mysteriously appears in the cockpit while the crew on deck are busy surfing the waves.
Sailing today was exceptional. We’ve had some tremendous days so far, but today we had perfect ocean conditions. A following sea and Force 5/6 winds have made driving the boat feel more like riding a sixty foot surf board. We had the chance to see speeds approaching twelve knots under sunny skies with just a few cirrus clouds to aid in keeping us on our course.
I joined the crew as watch leader to check off one more item on the RYA Yachtmaster Ocean check list. I couldn’t have picked a better voyage and set of crew mates with which to make the trip. Getting the opportunity to actively participate in provisioning, menu planning, passage planning and continuous updates to the plan has made me much more comfortable voyages yet to come.
Day 7 April 13 2025 𝗟𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗶𝗻 𝗕𝗲𝗿𝗺𝘂𝗱𝗮!
After 7 days of open ocean sailing, Hummingbird has arrived in Bermuda – the first stop on her Atlantic crossing having set sail from Key West April 06. The crew was treated to steady winds, mesmerising nights under a canopy of stars, and many flying fish skimming across the waves. Spirits are high after an incredible passage.
We’re here for 24 hours to refuel, refresh, and take in a glimpse of island life before setting sail again – next stop: the Azores(maybe – weather check to come). The Atlantic adventure continues.
Day 6 April 12 2025 en route to Bermuda
031° 52.249N, 064° 43.609W / Course: 50° @ 5.4 knots
We continue to zigzag our way across the North Atlantic, although our helming has gotten better, and now a mere 200 nautical miles separate us from the upcoming moment of stepping on land — the home of the Bermuda Shorts.
Cruising along at a leisurely 8 knots on Reef 1, Staysail, and Yankee 3, the sun and the rain are jostling for prime position, both getting their turn. The routine of the watches ticks on, with slight adjustments as more gear is required according to the conditions of the moment, as we skid past the low front with the precision of a baseball player making it to second base.
Conversations — after this many rounds — have moved beyond the art of drying socks. More meaningful and thoughtful revelations are beginning to emerge as trust builds, and we continue to enjoy each other’s company.
Happy Sailing!
Day 5 Blog – off the Eastern Seaboard of the USA
030° 34.670N, 067° 35.785W / Course: 64° @ 7.0 knots
In the first screenshot, you can see Hummingbird’s progress north-eastward through the western Atlantic, en route to Bermuda. The second image highlights a well-defined south-westerly flow, resulting from a pressure gradient between a high-pressure system to the south and a developing low further north over the mid-Atlantic. This flow is channelled along the northern edge of the subtropical ridge.
Hummingbird is routing to take advantage of this favourable south-westerly wind corridor, indicated by the green area south of the blue band (approximately 15–20 knots). This avoids the stronger, more turbulent headwinds (shown in dark orange to red, 25-30 knots) to the north, which are associated with the tighter pressure gradients ahead of the frontal boundary. By staying south of this developing system, we’re maximising speed and comfort, while minimising exposure to adverse weather.
Day 2 Update from onboard written by Padraig
028° 49.321N, 073° 29.634W / Course: 79° @ 6.9 knots
The day started at 3am on a calm ocean as we made steady progress on our way to Bermuda. After receiving handover we took turns on the helm, keeping lookout and drinking hot chocolate under the light of the moon. As 6am neared the moonlight dissipated and we were left under a blanket of stars to guide the ship towards.
I was awoken from my post watch nap by the welcome sound of our skipper asking if anyone fancied a bacon butty. Bacon and eggs on a gently rolling ocean whilst keeping lookout for ships and wildlife is definitely to be recommended. No repeat of the pilot whales, dolphins or flying fish weve seen so far, but there’s still another couple of watches for that today.
With there being less need for adjustments so far today we’ve had time to practice knots and learn more about the situations we’d use them in.
It looks like we’re about half way to Bermuda and making good time, though the last couple of days have definitely been ones to enjoy being in the moment for.
