The Tot club, invited as guests by Chris and Amanda on SV Trumpeter, is a ritual that hasn’t skipped a day for thirty years. Officially the Royal Naval Tot Club of Antigua and Barbuda, is a group of folks who get together each evening to toast, his majesty, the King and late Queen, and reinstate the Royal Navy’s tradition of a daily tot of rum. Simply put – a social gathering, some formalities, and rum. Naturally sailors but that of a tight knit and abiding group is apparent. On the grass patch at the dockyard, Chris introduced us to the circle of fifty-odd folks our first evening, this followed by a reading from the Royal Navy history pertinent to that day, and then rum. Fortunately for us and thanks to the current sailing events, a tradition for Tot members who visit Antigua from the U.K. is to bring over an English dish. That evening was a large bacon and egg pie with homemade relish – I was in heaven and feeling my English roots. 

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Back in Jolly Harbour, Antigua we had left our cosy spot and an ostensible community of sailors in Falmouth Harbour. Partly to position ourselves better for our departure north and because it is cheaper to clear out of the country. For the days to follow, the boat was put away and cleaned, tanks filled, the fridge full to the brim and the weather was looking good. Emma, whom we have spoken of previously and owns another Navy 44, was in Antigua to sail her fathers boat. We finally met and caught up, spending a lovely evening on Caprivi with herself and Pat. We exchanged some more boat paraphernalia with Andy on Principles – soft shackles, flags, antibiotics, carbon fibre poles etc. Somehow his boat has been a source of supplies for us this past month and Caprivi, I think, the same to him! I had also forgot to mention a thanks to Wayne for bringing over our old propeller and a propeller-puller from Key West, which was basically a 40 lb chunk of metal in his suitcase.

Five months in the Caribbean has been a treasure. It surprised us with its diversity, terrain, culture and sailing playground. We hope to make it back one day. And as you could imagine, we were dragging our feet a bit, for at least, I was in mourning – in mourning for the weather, the bath warm waters, and the easy livin’ that we were about to depart. On our last evening I coax Ben into one last swim under the moonlit skies. Nothing makes living on a boat more worthy than a warm midnight dip. Bliss. We lift anchor around 1130am with just the main out to the side before veering north. I duly noted it being our last downwind run in the trade-winds, even if only a mile. Many other cruisers were using these winds to continue west; we were on a northern trajectory. It may be a while before we get pushed westward by the ubiquitous and important trade-winds again. 

Immediately we were on a brisk reach, dancing from the top of one wave to the next. By afternoon the seas had eased, we had a reef in the mainsail and genoa and the working staysail up. To starboard another sailing vessel appeared to be heading in the same direction, which once out of Barbuda’s shadow, is the only direction – due north to a tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic. I declare an unofficial race, if only in my own mind. 

Surprisingly we quickly caught three fish – the most we’ve caught in the Caribbean. First up a bonito, we cut away the darker meat and cook her up straight away for a snack but before it’s even cooked through, a mahi mahi is now on the line – likely thanks to the bonito for the bait. And then another, a cero fish. Ben asks for some more bait but it proved fish don’t like their food medium rare, seasoned and ladened with butter. It took a while to clean up but we were satisfied for days. 

By midnight seas were calmer as we continued to slice through the water in 13 kts apparent wind with the moon rising to starboard. Morning logbook notes: [calm, easy watches, no trimming, just cruising]. Day one logged 179nm and our sailing friend was now 7 nm behind us. This surprised us as we identified the boat as a light racer/cruiser, likely having participated in the regattas and hence should have been well ahead of our 29,000lb girl. 

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[22 15.504N 62 55.942W  May 12 – Goodbye drone.

Day two: 137 nm. Light wind sailing from 3 to 10 kts true on the beam. Asymmetrical has been keeping us in the mid 5kt speeds. Fish tacos and some rather bliss sailing in calm seas. This morning homemade sourdough bagels and iced coffee! 

We mourn the loss of our drone as Ben attempted to launch it off the stern but nothing happened when he tossed into the air, and plop it went in our wake. Something more dramatic would have been easier to take. 

Calm night, sailing near wind speed. 

Sailing is perfection]

The logbook excerpt details day two, and yes we lose our drone. And precisely, nothing happened as Ben tossed it into the air to launch. He’s done it multiple times but a connection warning must have come through just as he threw it up. Nevertheless, it’s one of those risks and definitely been worth it for the footage. As the days wore on and winds became lighter, the temperature inside was rife. Hot, hot, hot with squalls on the horizon stealing the energy away, and seas glassy. The asymmetrical was doing what she could. We motor for an hour to find some wind and enjoy mahi mahi, rice and salad for dinner. A reefed genoa is back out and we have 7-10 kts on the beam – good sailing. 

By evening of day three the skies were clear with the milky way in plain view, and before the moon rose the bioluminescence delectable. Our sailing friend behind us would come and go from view, and eventually would forge ahead as the winds lightened up. As they did, we veered away from our rhumb line (the direct course to our destination) with the wind behind us now on our starboard quarter. 

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[29 05.507N 62 49.757W May 15 – HBD

Day 5: 134nm. This morning we put the asymm back up but now on a port tack and made good tracks. We switched up to the genoa to go through some decent rain and squalls, replacing with the asymm again to dry off. Now we begin our upwind leg as the wind is supposed to clock our bow and do a 360 by the time we get to Bermuda. We will continue to adjust.

Happy 97th birthday (NZT) to my grandad!

Eats: baked cookies and a pot of lentils.]

[30 48.859n 63 40.393w May 16 – slow po

Day 6: 113 nm. Yesterday was a cloudy, rainy day with smooth seas and easy sailing. We migrated inside; the duvet even came out. It felt like a day off.

We tacked back west and had a current against us for the night with 3 knots of true wind so we motor slowly til we find some wind. A full main and genoa have been up since 0230 hrs as we sail along at 3kts in 3kts of true. If we’re making normal speeds our ETA is first light so no qualms being slow.

Now seeing tropicbirds and other unknowns. Lots of Portuguese man-o-war with their sails up. Some whale spouts too prob going back to the Cape to feast.

Appreciation: classic rock and Ben installing a good sound system.

Eats: salty Mac n cheese, not much else]

By day five, after a good 12 hour spinnaker run, the motor gets an evening shift with our calmest seas yet. The morning brings clouds and rain as we migrate our watches to inside the boat. Along the way a few creatures were spotted. What appeared like a group of rays of some sort, maybe manta rays just beneath the surface. I saw squid fly through the air out in front, an odd sight from the typical flying fish. My favourite for sure are the Portuguese man-of-war, or bluebottles, bright blue jellyfish-like animals with an appendage that acts as a sail in the air to take them from place to place. A true vagabond. (We see a bunch of them on the shores of Bermuda; I wonder if this was their intended destination?). I also note what appeared to be a flock of geese-like birds, brown and white with orange feet. The Sibleys book doesn’t help with identification, perhaps they were a type of Boobie bird. 

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By this time, we began to taste our landfall and in the pitch black early hours, we slow down with just a double reefed mainsail while still making 5 kts downwind. By light, we follow formalities and call on the radio 30 nm out to announce our arrival. I take one last shower to civilise myself and then we hoist the asymmetrical for an outstanding run down into the channel of Bermuda. Before the town cut, we switch out to the genoa and proceed towards the narrow, man-made cut of St George’s harbour. 

We dock at customs and clear in. On our way to finding a place to anchor, we’re met with the entire ARC (a rally across the Atlantic) fleet heading out of the cut in full sail bound for the Azores Islands – 1800 nm east. It was a sight, and too, just as the local ferry was heading in so the boats had to comically squeeze in single file. Perfect timing for us as the anchorage was now wide open. After 985 nm (65 nm more than our rhumb line) and seven days, we plonk down on the seabed and embrace the stillness before we put the boat back together. A marvelous sail north and a mighty fine landfall to explore.  

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Unfortunately we didn’t get to peruse the island of Bermuda as much as we would have liked. By day three the skies opened and didn’t let up for two days. It’s soothing backdrop of rain flattening the turquoise lagoon amidst the swaying boats. The walking that we did do, reminded me of Ireland rooted in tropic settings. A British overseas territory by maritime history and lush flora similar to Key West but with wild nasturtiums flooding the roadside edge. Narrow roads littered in stone walls, marked with old churches, artillery and forts perched at the water’s edge made this a fascinating spot and we wish we could have dug deeper. Nevertheless, an expensive place to be with prices double to triple in cost. We stuck to a few beers and some chocolate on the park bench for our outings. 

Once the rain had dispersed we met two older gentlemen on a 70-something foot aluminium sailboat. They happened to be from Newfoundland, right where we were heading. Terry and Jack, 75 and 83, had just come up from the Caribbean. I don’t know how they handle the beast of a boat! As it turned out we would spend a few evenings in their cockpit that rivalled the total space of Caprivi’s interior, and over a few too many cocktails gained a wealth of knowledge about our next destinations, of which we had limited info. At what seemed a million miles an hour, we managed to keep up with the murmuring Newfie accents. In fact, they will be letting us use their dock and lent us some expensive charts that we were hesitating to buy! 

Keeping an eye on the weather for our next spring north was crucial. This next leg would take us through a myriad of changing systems that we would work around with the meandering Gulf Stream current. Although the best time of year to be in this body of water, it’s a challenging piece to get through.