Many great movies have a twist at the end. Without being a spoiler there is the shocking realisation at the end of ‘Sixth Sense’ that Bruce Willis is actually dead and then there is ‘The Village’ where you suddenly see an SUV driving through what you thought was an 18th century village. The voyage across the Atlantic Ocean has ended with a twist for Ruffian.

The clean up began after the cold front and it become clear just how wet everything was. Just to show how wet things had got in the night to combat the water seeping through Fiona’s ludicrously expensive Musto MPX offshore kit she had donned a plastic bin liner and deserved her morning title of ‘The old Bag Lady of Ruffian’.

Thankfully the sun shone for days as Chris Parker routed us around all the bad weather. To the north of us boats beasted their way upwind and south of us boats burnt precious diesel to motor though 100’s of miles of calms. This however is not to say that there were no traumas on Ruffian.

The traumas on Ruffian all proved to be of the domestic form and typically revolved around the washing up. Day after day we’d wash up in a bucket of seawater in the cockpit and day after day, as the dirty dish water was poured over the side we’d watch cutlery disappear and other miscellaneous galley items with it.

We then ran out of washing up liquid and thinking that the dirt would now remain on the dishes and not make it into the water we’d be able to see everything at the bottom of the bucket. This was not to be as yet more cutlery went over the side as well as critical components of the pressure cooker. With no pressure cooker there’d be no chance of creating another ‘Gary The Curry’ or the memorable ‘Ginger Mince’ of previous trips.

Cutlery and crockery were not the only things that needed cleaning on Ruffian. After 1500 miles the crew also needed degreasing. The water was still blue, the sun was still hot and we looked forward to a warm salt water shower. Off came our clothes and the bucket was filled. As soon as the bucket was full Iain was very aware that the water was anything but warm. To say that it was a shock to Fiona is somewhat of an understatement as she screamed with fright and Iain giggled with glee as it flowed over her.

It was then Fiona’s turn to soak Iain and nothing is as evil as a woman scorned. Poor Iain was soaked time and time again, usually when breathing in and usually just after he’d dried himself off. Never in the history of offshore sailing on Ruffian have nipples ached so much (Fiona) and willies been quite so small (Iain).

The typical approach to the Azores is from the North West, however we were now very much to the south west and getting more and more worried about how we could approach the islands. Once again we heard from CP and he described another ‘Quite remarkable weather scenario.’

The ‘weather scenario’ that CP spoke of finally enabled us, after 2000 miles, to point at our destination, but the ‘weather scenario’ wouldn’t last for long. Soon Ruffian’s story would have a twist and we’d be going upwind.

For miles green water flowed over the deck and we cowered like cowards under the sprayhood, but finally Flores was in sight. The smell of land washed over us and we looked forward to exchanging our sea sickness for land sickness.

Dolphins frolicked about Ruffian and escorted us towards the islands, but there was yet to be another twist. The harbour was shut due to the northerly swell and the next safe refuge was another 150 miles upwind. Resigned to our fate we waved goodbye to the dolphins and continued plodding along sheltering like cowards

Through the night we sailed and finally, rising into the clouds was our second island destination. The cliffs seemed to grow straight out of the seas and were capped with fields so green they looked like emeralds and all this under the gaze of a volcano that disappeared high into the clouds. As landfalls go this was dramatic in the extreme.

Once again the dolphins returned and finally after 20 days, 2700 miles, 2 ‘great weather scenarios’, 1 big twist and 2 cold showers we able to say ‘Obrigado’ and sup on European beer.

Fiona models the new Musto ‘Bin liner’ range.


Phew. Great drying weather.


Marauding squalls in the middle of nowhere.


E numbers and Iain. What a great combination.


Nice buns.


It’s hard keeping watch.


Technology ‘tastic.


Fast, fast, fast.


That’ll be another 1000 miles done.


We enter the realm of the dolphins.


Come ‘n get it ladies.


The magic iron sail is more thirsty than the big flappy ones.


The false summit of Flores. Only another 150 miles of upwind work to go.


We’re escorted into the Azores by the local wildlife.


The end is in sight after 2700 miles and 20 days.


And again the sunsets happen day after day.


That’s not a ‘normal’ route across the pond.*

*Each purple dot represents 24 hours of travel. (That’s a lot of hours).