We’re not very good at lefts and rights on Ruffian. It all went a bit astray, nearly 3 years ago, when we got a bit lost at the entrance to the Mediterranean and turned right to the Caribbean instead of left to Greece! After 1000’s of miles we thought that we’d fixed that problem. Leaving America we turned the correct way out of the Chesapeake and got it spot on again across the Gulf Stream. However, when we were in the middle of the ocean, 100’s of miles from land, our directional affliction turned on us again.

Leaving the Chesapeake we felt like rockstars at the start of a Rolex sponsored race. Boats were all around us, choppers flew low over head snapping shots and shipping avoided us like we were all carrying a particularly virulent version of the plague.

Down the coast we blasted and across the Gulf Stream. For the first time in our experience the Gulf Stream crossing was magical. Dolphins played in our bow-wave, the sun shone and sisterships ‘Anahata’ and ‘Zipporah’ whooped with joy at the majesty of their surroundings.

The joy was not to last and the seas turned to a glassy calm and all those boats that we’d level pegged with showed us their exhaust. We tried to keep up by burning diesel and all we achieved was creating a slightly lighter boat by emptying the diesel tank.

Slowly plugging away at the miles Iain become more and more convinced that there was something wrong. Why oh why were we going so slowly? Was the gearbox on its way out? Did we have something caught on the skeg? Over the hours he convinced himself that there must, at the very least, be a giant squid attached to our bottom and which was slowing us. There was nothing for it but for him to don a rubber suit in the middle of the ocean and go do battle with the beast of the deep.

With dusk falling and images of Jaws filling his mind, Iain dived into the water ready for the battle of his life. The torch, like a light sabre, cut through the murk and revealed nothing more than a bottom in dire need of a scrub. His presence had clearly scared away the creature of the deep and he emerged damp but victorious.

Day after day we followed the weather forecasts and plugged away at the miles. We went south to avoid tropical depressions and east as a cold front battered us, but one component of the forecast remained constant. In time we’d be going upwind for 100’s of miles and then have no wind for 100’s of miles. This was not the milk and honey trip we hoped for.

If the thought of going upwind was bad then the reality was way way worse. Green water coursed over the boat, and we lived life on the lean. The mere act of making tea was turned into a death defying event and watches were spent sheltering rather than watching. Things got so bad that Fiona dug out things that came ‘free with the boat’ and out came the dodgers, emblazoned with Ruffian’s previous name, ‘Marie Victoirie II of Falmouth’.

The dodgers, helped us dodge the green water but there was no dodging the reality of our situation. This was supposed to be fun and this was about as much fun as driving rusty nails into our eyes. Going downwind, in blue water under a blue sky where shade is created by a powered up spinnaker is fun and this was not it.

We had a stark choice. Continue the nails into eyes game, beat ourselves to bits and then run out of wind, or change destination, and have what we usually do; A lovely time on a lovely little boat loving sailing across oceans. Once again we got our lefts and rights mixed up and suddenly we’d turned away from the Caribbean and were bound for Bermuda.

As we sailed away from the Caribbean we came to terms with our directional issues and had the most lovely time. We listened to the SSB and read weather reports about the torrid time we could have had if we’d carried on. The fleet that was in front of us were having a shocker and as we entered Bermuda, a little oasis in the middle of the Atlantic, we congratulated ourselves on a decision well made and were pleased once again that we’re not good with lefts and rights.

And they’re off. The SDR fleet departs.


Err. That’s not a very good start.


Hopefully it’ll be like this for the next 1800 miles.


Company across the Gulf Stream.


Along with a whole school of boats.


Larry pulls his weight.


Where has the wind gone?


No wind = Lots of Diesel.


Navigation happens both day and night.


Night after night the sky is on fire.


The nice weather can’t and doesn’t last forever.


“Whatever. Ya Motther Works in McDonalds on Minimum Wage.” Fiona rebrands the dodgers.


It’s all a bit leany overee. Hopefully that’ll not last too long.


We’ve caught lots of Sargasso sea bass.


That’s a very roundabout route to Ruffians eventual destination.