22^nd– It was midnight, the rumble of the warming engine gently shook, charging the air with smoke and anticipation. Sailing clothes were on, position lights on, ropes coming off, and in that moment, Charlotte- who had arrived only hours earlier- questioningly held up a piece of broken plastic. The end of the autopilot had snapped off and was lying on deck. Shit.

In four hours we needed to be at Point du Raz for the ideal tide and currents for navigating around its rocky edge. Fixing it would have to wait. Slipping out of the harbour, Constanze waved a dramatic and romantic goodbye, as she danced along the pier to Italian Opera waving white tissues into the wind.

All three sails were up and we were going very slowly. The wind that had rocked us all day in the harbour died away, and a calm cold breeze led us quietly and tentatively from our winter nest in Douarnenez, as though if rushed we might change our minds. Once the course was set the wind picked up, and we rounded Point du Raz easily just as the moon swapped with the sun, holding golden watch over us.

Now, finally sailing south with wind from behind, the waves were uneven and unkind. The sails offered little stability, and one by one we were all sick. Taking it in turns we napped on deck, ate pasta pesto and finally fixed our friend the autopilot. Small pods of Dolphins came to cheer us up, and played around, entirely unbothered by the swelling and crashing, riding the waves alongside our blue green boat.

During those first 24hrs we covered 130 miles. The waves got bigger yet further apart, and we surfed joyfully down them sometimes at 10 knots. There was still some aprehension as it wasn’t clear how the weather would continue, and how accurate the forecast would be.

On the 23^rd we attached one of the front sails to the boom and took the mainsail down as it was unstable and in danger of swinging the wrong way into the wind. This worked perfectly, and with the two front sails in butterfly form we rocked on, between 6-7 knots. The autopilot was holding up like a champion, allowing us all some rest.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw something submerging from the water before dissapearing, bigger and darker than a dolphin. A pilot whale. Charlotte and I watched holding our breath as she surfaced 3 times before overtaking us and disappearing into the bright horizon. Such a beautiful animal- rounded nose and fin- incredible to imagine all creatures that we didnt see. It was all too fast to wake Niels or to photograph, and he doesn’t believe it happened…

That afternoon we crossed several sea shelves, under water canyons that went from from 400 metres deep to 4000. It’s totally incomprehensable bloody how tiny our boat is in comparison. Just to imagine the kind of deep sea creatures living there, 4 kilometers below us in the dark. How insignificant we are!

Here came the biggest waves of the journey, and there were times where we took it in turns to manually steer as the autopilot wasn’t strong or quick enough to steer into the next coming wave.

24^th– Fuzzy low cloud transformed into distant grey mountains, the first sight of land. From 6am- 4pm there was no wind. As we were unsure if the weather was going to turn bad by the weekend, we chose not to float around until it returned, motoring on instead for 10 hours. The dolphins didn’t mind the rattle and hum, forgiving us our lack of speed by swimming in circles around and under the boat, patiently willing us on.

I always find that the last day feels the longest, watching the land creep slowly nearer, trying to get phone signal to check the weather forecast and contact friends and family. In the evening, excited by the proximity to land and the end of the journey we all sat on deck enjoying the sunshine and calm water, eating our daily biscuit rations, sharing thoughts and stories.

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Quietly sailing south with you,

Silver sea and full moon blue,

Biscuits with ships on and chocolate with lips on,

 and the widest most  openist view

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During the early hours of the 25^th, around 13 miles from land we encountered many huge fishing boats, all of which kindly adjusted their courses to let us pass. Previously on the journey Charlotte had seen one fishing boat but otherwise we had felt all alone on the big old sea. By 4am there was signal and the weather forecast looked good. Our plan was to sail around A Coruña into Ria de Ponte Vedra to a find nice anchorage.

At some point during the last day, Charlotte and Niels noticed that there were many tiny pieces of something that looked like plastic floating on the surface of the water. Something might have fallen off one of the container ships so they fished one out with the bucket to investigate. Portuguese man of war jellyfish. Thousands of them. We didn’t know this at the time, and after poking it on top (where its plastic like ‘sail’ is sticking out of the water) we returned him, only afterwards realising how dangerous they are!

There were more sailing boats on the way which gave us a good feeling, we always wonder if they know something we don’t when we’re the only ones!

We motored on and off, it rained on and off, and we sat enjoying the trees and mountains that we had watched grow into focus on the horizon hours before. Finally around 5pm we arrived in the sunshine by a small town called Bueu.

Charlotte and I had a swim before it poured down with rain, and didn’t stop for days. The boat was tidied, sails and lifejackets packed away, beds made, and a celebratory shot of rum later we tumbled into the dingy and went to town.

Normal ‘land things’ were suddenly quite overwhelming. We’d just sailed 455 miles but crossing the road and choosing apples was almost too much for our tired little heads. I managed to piss off the fruit lady who wanted to weigh the vegetables herself, and when I dropped a Lettice leaf it was clear that it was time to leave. Back outside, blinking into the evening light it was unclear whether streets kept rocking and rolling because of the rum, or from sailing for so long.

During the crossing we were incredibly lucky. As a crew of three we could catch up on sleep and look after each other, the weather was fantastic, never too much wind, hardly any rain, and our nights were lit up by a full moon, guiding us south with her silver trail dipping into the sea.