On a raceboat, when a gybe is needed, this is what happens. The tactician calls for a gybe, the crew boss calls setup for a gybe, the trimmer steps in, the mainsheet man throws the main, pole trip is called and then the pitgirl lowers the pole to the bowman who promptly pops in the new sheet. The guy in pulled on and the gybe is complete. This all takes about 15 seconds. This is what happens on Ruffian. A gybe is called. The crew asks ‘What today?’, and then retorts ‘Cripes. If we’re gybing then I think it’s time for another cup of tea to help me think about it.’ The whole process takes the best part of the day and is the activity of the day. This is the sort of sailing we like on Ruffian and we’ve had it for the best part of our crossing of the Atlantic between avoiding squalls, surfing down waves and recovering from the scariest experience we’ve ever had on a boat.

The shock of hitting the big black whale took some days to get over and until our confidence in Ruffian had been restored we were very much in a frame of mind to simply nurse Ruffian to the safety of Barbados. As the miles ticked by our confidence grew and slowly we put up more and more sail until in the final days of the crossing we were back up to full speed and full confidence, flying along with all the white sail that we have on the boat deployed and pulling. Full Main, full poled out Genoa and even our Storm Jib giving us just that little bit extra.

As our confidence in Ruffian grew day by day so did the problems with our batteries. We continued troubleshooting and again and again came to the conclusion that the batteries had simply died. If we ran out of wind we’d either turn on the engine and motor or we’d turn off all our electronics and drift. Fiona then woke up one morning with the bright idea that we should double check the fluid levels. After we’d emptied nearly 2 litres of distilled water in them (that’s an awful lot) we had some more power, not enough, but certainly some more. We could now take 10Ah’s out without everything malfunctioning, that’s a 500% improvement. We were now thinking that we’d make it to Barbados with having a donkeyathon or a driftathon.

As the miles ticked away so did the soles of Dominique’s boots. When he joined Ruffian we’d lent him a spare pair of Dubarrys which had been in store for a number of years and the storage had not been kind to them. Everywhere he went he left a little trail as his boots shed their soles. It was like living with Hansel & Gretel and you could always find him by simply following the trail that he’d left.

After 16 days at sea and with the sun rising in the east we saw the telltale signs of land. Our timing was going to be impeccable. We’d turn right at the southern tip in the early morning daylight and get to the port just after the friendly people at health, immigration and customs had started work. As we expected the wind died as we got into the lee of the island and on went the engine. With the iron sail deployed we completed the last 7 miles of our 2000 mile epic adventure by tidying up the boat, charging those pesky batteries and lapping up the views of white sandy beaches, fringed with palm tree’s whilst wavelets from the pearlescent sea kissed the shoreline.

With the countdown to Barbados at an end we had time to look back at some of the gems of memories that the past weeks had given us. Such as; sitting on the bow with the warm water splashing over our feet; looking over the wide ocean knowing that you and only you held that precise view; the daily updates from Dina2; getting texts on the sat phone that were laugh out loud funny (chest beard & Jaffa Cakes); sunsets and sunrises that made the sky look like it was on fire; and of course the dreamlike trade wind sailing in flat sea’s, blue skies, fluffy clouds, with warm sun and water that we have travelled so far both physically and emotionally to experience. This sail is one that we’ll never forget for all the lows as well as the highs.

Happy days downwind sailing.


What happened to the weather. We’d subscribed to the BBQ and Bimini club and wanted to avoid the oilies and rain brigade.


Sailing towards the sunset.


Larry felt quite sleepy after being on watch for 14 days.


Rainbows. Stunning but full of wetness.


Iain tries to get to the bottom of the battery problem.


There is always a happy recipient to Dominique’s excellent cooking.


That’s more like it. BBQ and Biminis club fully reinstated.


Iain’s bread making attains new highs.


Iain tries to get arty.


We put up every scrap of white sail that we had. Anything to catch up with Dina2.


The photography lessons are starting to pay dividends.


The usual pose. Dominique and his camera come out like clockwork with the sunset.


And yes another stunning sunset for our final night at sea.


Land Ho, after 2017 miles and 384 hours.