For every right there is a wrong. For every yin there is a yang. For every joy there is sometimes sadness. We were overjoyed to be back in Europe and in the Azores having battled our way across the Atlantic, but were saddened beyond belief at the knowledge that Fiona’s Mother, Pamela, had lost her battle with cancer and slipped away quietly.

The first order of the day was to sort out ‘getting home’ to support family and help pick up the pieces after such a devastating loss. We had the usual trains, planes, automobile and hotel rigmarole, and as was usual, at the final hurdle all our bank cards were stopped. Although we were cashless we were still lucky enough to have just enough to fill up on Portuguese custard tarts until our cards started working again and then it was all stations go.

With eye’s dabbed and logistics sorted we could now turn our attention to poor Ruffian. Although our Atlantic crossing was pretty uneventful Rachael had taken great umbrage at all the work she was expected to do and there was the detritus and smell (Iain was on board after all) of a month at sea to sort.

For miles poor Rachael had been complaining bitterly and every time she extended her arm it sounded like she was screaming. According to Raymarine, Rachael couldn’t be serviced or dismantled; we therefore took to the task of dismantling the undismantleable and servicing the unserviceable.

After an hour wrestling with Rachael Mid Atlantic Yacht Services worked their magic. In no time they had butchered all our rams and had somehow soothed Rachael and her friends. Instead of screaming she was seductively cooing, Iain mused that maybe this is what happens to all girls if you put ‘lube’ in all the right places.

We still had a couple of days before we had the flight home and so we set out to explore this very ‘new’, in geological terms, island. We ventured out into the realms of the last eruption and were greeted by an untamed, moonscape. Thick dust covered every surface and had buried everything. It had left the lighthouse a mile inland, built sheer cliffs and enabled this little island to support a population far beyond its size. The power of Mother Nature was remarkable in its destructiveness and in its ability to generate new.

The impact of the volcanoes was also present on every beach. Instead of the usual fine golden sand the beaches of Faial were as block as soot. The black beaches made for a very foot warming experience and as we sprinted down the beach we were pleased cool our feet in the north Atlantic. In time the numbing effect was somewhat overrated and we yearned for the warm waters of the Caribbean that we’d grown so used to.

With the trip home looming above us like a cloud we took to the final, almost compulsory task, in Horta, of leaving our mark. All around Ruffian the walls floors and rocks were adorned with boat logos and everywhere we looked we would see friends. Amazingly, right next door to Ruffian was Alan & Mary Phypers logo from Stella and so we took to the ground with our best paint and artistic flair.

After leaving our mark in Horta it is now time to head back to the UK to lay to rest a remarkable lady who has left her mark on 4 remarkable girls and together they’ll get through this difficult time.

Open ocean to enclosed marina in 1 easy move.


Every surface is painted.


And every inch in covered in the fabled ‘Pete’s Sport Bar’.


Ancient boats are still sailed in the Azores.


The greenest lands of them all.


That’ll be a really useless lighthouse a mile from the sea.


Fiona lays waste to the land around her.


The newest land in Europe.


Black sand beaches.


Is this some sort of bizarre fairground ride?


Pico towers over us asking to be climbed.


The Ruffians leave their mark.


Surrounded by friends.