Imagine the scene. You are seven years old and sitting in the back of a Ford Cortina on your way to go camping in Devon. The journey feels endless and you can’t wait to get to the beach to build sandcastles and go frolicking in the sand. You sit on the back seat and keep asking the question. “Are we there yet?” All you want in the whole wide world is to ‘get there’. After days and days battling through a wet grey ocean all we wanted on Ruffian was to ‘get there’. Finally having sailed 1844 miles we are pleased to report that we have ‘got there’ and have arrived in the BVI’s where we can play in the sand like a couple of seven year olds.

We watched “Serafina” and “Want To” motor away from us and disappear into the distance and we knew that we were now totally at the mercy of the winds. We are after all a sail boat and classify ourselves as sailors, so what did we do? We sailed.

In the calms we drifted and tried every sail combination and as winds built and clocked left and then right; we sailed Ruffian to the best of our ability. Dealing with the wind was easy compared to dealing with no wind. In no wind Ruffian rocked and rolled and the slapping sails make sleep impossible. We also knew that we were a sitting duck if we happened across any traffic or inclement weather.

With no engine to get us through the calms we were getting further and further behind Chris Parker’s route to avoid bad weather. We had been steadily sailing south east and everything was happy until day 7 when we downloaded Chris’s forecast. In it he gave us an area 100’s of square miles that we should really avoid; and where were we? Right in the middle of it. Uh oh. We now knew we’d be in for ‘some weather’.

The ‘some weather’ we experienced was great for propelling us in the right direction but once again everything was getting soaked through. This came home to Iain one night after he awoke for his 3am watch. Instead of finding his kit neatly stowed ready to don, he found it all on the floor and full of water that was spilling out of the bilges. Picking his boots up, he despondently poured the water out of them and settled down to another few hours of improving his trench foot.

Iain wasn’t alone in having wardrobe malfunctions, Fiona also suffered. She was starting to get worried about her personal hygiene as every time she looked around she had a terrible waft of stinky sailor. As the skies changed from complete darkness to light grey she realised where the smell was coming from, she had managed to get one of Iain’s filthy dirty socks stuck to the Velcro on her lifejacket which was slowly spreading it’s stench to the inside of her nostrils.

The miles were clocking down and now we had to think about what we were going to do about entering the bay in Virgin Gorda. Conventional wisdom would have us getting to the reefs off Anegada at dawn and then get through the reef strewn entrance at Virgin Gorda at lunchtime. The problem with this plan was that the wind was due to peter out and then we’d not be able to make the entrance at all. We were stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. We made the decision to push on and we’d arrive when we arrived.

For 2 days we had some of the greatest fun mile busting rewarding sailing with ‘Geordie Lad’ up for hours on end. This was great relief as it came after days and days of grey seas, grey skies, incessant rain and the biggest waves we’ve ever sailed in, things had got so windy we considered 25 knots a lull.

Finally we were 20 miles north of the first set of reefs at Anegada but at dusk and with a building wind with line of squalls all around us. This was not going to be your textbook night entry.

Mother Nature with her, winds, squalls and rain is not all bad and she gave us a treat that very few people ever have the opportunity to witness. As a squall passed over us and the full moon made its presence known the sky was lit up, now by a rainbow by a moonbow. We looked in awe as we could see both sides of the moonbow touch the sea and its faint colours looked eerie against the black backdrop of the squall.

As Ruffian approached our destination and we could start to see the twinkling lights of land, all we had between us and another successful ocean passage were the breaking waves and the reef guarding the entry to the sanctuary of North South in Virgin Gorda. We looked at our paper and electronic charts which didn’t quite agree. We did however spot enough red and green lights to give us confidence that we could safely make the night entry.

We surfed through the lights with white water and huge waves everywhere, then suddenly with the reef behind us the sea turned into a millpond and the wind shut off. Calm descended over us and the final challenge was to either anchor or pick up a mooring ball under sail. No problem. Things were about to go from good to great.

In the distance we could see two little white lights hurtling towards us at great speed. Like knights in shining armour, Craig from “Il Sogno” and Rob from “Serafina” tied their ribs alongside Ruffian and guided us effortlessly onto a ball. We could finally open that cold beer that was waiting for us, catch up on all the news of the fleet and congratulate ourselves on completing another safe and successful ocean passage

Ruffian had performed brilliantly. We were the smallest boat in fleet, by some 6 feet, to have made it in and the only boat without motoring. Yet we were just hours behind boats some 20 feet longer than us and we would have to wait for days before anyone close to our size tied up in the paradise of the Caribbean. Well done Ruffian and well done TEAMRuff.


It’s so nice for the feet to finally be able to take socks off. Not quite so nice for the nose however.


In the calmer weather things can start to get back to normal.


Down comes the star spangled banner.


And yet another front catches up with us.


Giving us all our fair share of rain.


Oh the joys of reefed sails.


The water finally starts to turn an azure blue.


That’s more like it. Squeaky clean and dry in the sun. This is what we’d ‘booked’.


Geordie lad working his magic.


Only our second sunset at sea and on our last night.


1844 nautical miles in 12 ½ days, a tad over 6 knots an hour – pretty spectacular for a 34 foot sailboat.


Yep. The instruments confirm that was quite a windy sail.