The Azores Archipelago had proved to be such an unexpected delight that it was a wrench to realise that our stay must come to an end. It was now July, and we wanted to be safely back in home waters with time for a leisurely cruise back to Chichester by the end of August. The day after our excursions on São Miguel had been very wet and windy, but we managed to get our laundry done and a gas bottle refilled, and spent the rest of the day at our computers. The forecast promised better conditions however, and we made the decision to leave the day after next. Buying food for the final leg was easy because there are a couple of small supermarkets within an easy walk of the marina, and a well stocked covered market for fresh meat, fruit, vegetables and cheese. We also found a helpful wine merchant where we stocked up with a few choice bottles for celebrations when we reached home. We got everything ship-shape, paid our marina bill and reported to Customs and Immigration in readiness to leave the following morning.

We cast off at 1030 on the 4th July and motor-sailed with a light westerly wind down the coast of São Miguel. We passed several towns , and saw from a different angle the deep gorges bridged by spectacular viaducts that we had driven over a few days earlier. At the eastern end of the island there is a mind-bogglingly steep new road cut into the lofty cliff face in a series of hairpin bends, which descends to a huddle of buildings on a Faja at the bottom. Thousands of tons of rock must have been blasted in order to construct it. Rounding the south-eastern point of the island, we gybed and set a course of 026º to a waypoint that in theory would keep us in fair winds to the north of a developing area of high pressure. It was a lovely evening, and a north-westerly breeze gradually filled in as we cleared the land, allowing us to cut the engine at last. The moon rose at an hour before midnight, looking like an orange marble being blown out of the glassy calm sea.

The wind backed to the south-west and strengthened throughout the following morning, and we took in a couple of reefs after lunch. The waves were building and it rained steadily throughout the night as a weather front passed over. Early next morning, the wind gusted to 27 knots and veered 60º and continued at around force 6 with waves up to 3m in height. We were able to shake out one reef at the midnight change of watch, but the wind veered further until we were sailing close-hauled. By 0800 the wind had all but gone, and we motored for the next 11 hours across a sloppy sea. At around sunset, whilst quietly goose-winging at a speed of 4 knots, we became aware of a big fin whale swimming close alongside. Nervous of it still being there after dark, we started the engine for a few minutes to generate some noise, which succeeded in persuading it to move away. Until the moon came up, the night was completely dark apart from the magical trail of phosphorescent light that we left in our wake.

Next day, a Dutch container ship came past on a reciprocal course. Her AIS informed us that she was bound for Papeete, which made us think. Tahiti or England - where would we rather be heading? It would have been so easy to alter course towards Spain and be back in French Polynesia in under a year. If we could have hitched a ride on that container ship we would be there even earlier! For better or worse, we stuck to our plans, but altered course to take us a bit further south. We were in touch over the short wave radio with a couple of boats heading towards Ireland, and they were experiencing less wind than we were, so it seemed futile continuing north of the rhumb line to avoid the high pressure area. The forecast was for very strong winds over Ireland in a couple of days time, which was another good reason to stay south. A fresh southerly arrived on day 6, but the afternoon was sunny and we celebrated reaching the half way mark with a tot of rum. Meanwhile, a dozen short-finned pilot whales accompanied us for over an hour. We were still being treated to the daily spectacle of a kori shearwater gliding over the wave tops - the supreme master of low-level flying. We regarded it as our guardian angel looking after us for the final thousand miles of our voyage.

The strong breeze continued through to the next day, peaking during a squall at 31 knots as a cold front passed over, which also brought heavy rain for a few hours. The wind eased to force 5 the next day and force 4 by day 9, thankfully remaining in the westerly sector. After a couple of days of clear skies, day 10 brought fine rain which gradually turned into fog, reducing visibility down to about 3 miles. We crossed onto the European continental shelf at midday, and, with increasing numbers of ships, fishing boats and the occasional yacht in our vicinity, we needed to use the radar from time to time. The AIS detected a big Dutch yacht gradually closing from astern, but it wouldn't respond to our VHF calls so we had to alter course to let it pass, which made us a bit grumpy. We downloaded the 1900 shipping forecast through our SSB radio modem and it made gloomy reading: "NW Fitzroy, Sole: Southwesterly 5 to 7. Moderate, occasionally rough. Rain or drizzle, fog patches. Moderate, occasionally very poor." But our spirits were lifted when three dolphins suddenly leapt out of the water beside us. The fog thinned for a while next morning, allowing us to admire our trusty shearwater for the final time as it handed us over to the care of its British cousins - the gannets and fulmars. By midday we had just 100 miles to go, and later we heard over the VHF the reassuring voice of the Falmouth coastguard announcing the shipping forecast. During the course of that day we encountered strong gusts, periods of heavy rain, drizzle and dense patches of fog, but the wind gradually died and by midnight it was blowing less than 10 knots.

We had expected that our first sighting of England would be the Lizard peninsular, but when we reached the overfalls 2.5 miles to the south just before sunrise on day 12, it was totally obscured by fog. With a knot and a half of tide under us, we altered course to the north-east, passing close to a couple of lobster boats picking up their pots. We were pleased to discover that, since we'd been away, even the smallest fishing boats had fitted AIS transponders. We called up one that was invisible a mile away, and after the call we overheard him talking to his mate about us on the same VHF channel: "I dunno 'ow 'e knew we were 'ere, 'e could see me but I couldn't see 'im anywhere!" The fog began to lift, and at 0615 on the 15th July, Black Head appeared, 2.4 miles to the north - the first time I had seen England in almost four years. The lovely Cornish landscape from Coverack round into Falmouth Bay gradually came into view. We rounded the Manacles buoy and altered course for Falmouth, entering the harbour at 0845 with the trip log reading 1,248 miles. We were given a berth at the Visitor's Yacht Haven, walked up the gangway and stepped onto English soil. The Harbour Master's assistant in her office on the quay was duly impressed that we had just returned from sailing around the world, but something seemed missing. It felt strange, even a bit of an anti-climax, that we didn't have to go through the formality of reporting to Customs and Immigration having sailed from another country so far away. But of course the Azores, as part of Portugal, are in Europe, so, with nothing to declare, it wasn't required. We stretched our legs by walking the length of the still familiar main street, and at lunchtime headed to a pub for a pasty, with a pint of bitter for me and a cider for Amanda. It felt good to be back!