Sailing into the Unknown: From Cape Verde to the Caribbean

Well, darlings, there are days when you wake up and know that something extraordinary is about to happen. Today was one of those days. I opened my eyes at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling inside me like a perfect storm. You know the feeling—the one where you’re teetering on the edge of adventure, and you just might topple over into the unknown.

The night before, I was confiding in my newfound friend about this very cocktail of emotions. We were chatting, and I was laying it all out—my anxieties, my nerves, and the looming dread of this ocean crossing, which, by the way, is the longest we’ve ever attempted. Now, I know what you’re thinking, “She’s a sailor, isn’t this supposed to be old hat for her?” Ah, but here’s the thing: any sailor who tells you they don’t feel a teensy bit of anxiety before a big crossing is either lying or should be cast in the next superhero flick.

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I’ll be honest, I felt a tad silly admitting my nerves. There I was, a supposedly ”seasoned” sailor, fretting like a newbie. But my wise friend quickly quashed that nonsense. “Stop feeling silly,” he said, “Everyone gets nervous. No one talks about it, but we all feel it.” And he’s right. Why don’t we talk about this more? It’s completely normal to feel a bit jittery before setting sail into the big blue yonder. If anything, it’s a sign you respect the sea—and that, my friends, is never a bad thing.

In the days leading up to today, my time was filled with a delightful mix of exploring, provisioning, eating (of course!), and making new friends. But as much as I loved the comforts of Cape Verde, the call of the ocean was growing louder by the minute. We had a whopping 14 to 19 days of sailing ahead of us, heading straight into the middle of nowhere. I mean, seriously, this is the kind of thing that sounds utterly mad if you think about it too much.

And speaking of madness, about 96 boats were leaving Cape Verde together, like some sort of seafaring flash mob. Some of these sailors have done this passage before, others are just as green as the unripe bananas we packed. But no matter the experience level, everyone is in for the adventure of a lifetime. There’s something almost magical about knowing we’ll all be out there in the middle of nowhere, together, yet so incredibly alone.

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Before we knew it, 10 a.m. rolled around, and it was time to let go of the mooring lines. 😱 Yes, that emoji is exactly how I felt. Watching those 96 boats dance around each other as we all crossed the starting line—it was a spectacle I won’t soon forget. It’s like being at a ball where everyone is trying to cut in at the same time, and yet somehow, no one steps on anyone’s toes. Simply marvelous.

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Lunch came around faster than you could say “anchors aweigh,” and while Ian and the crew were busy navigating our way through the flotilla of boats, Michelle was in the galley whipping up something delicious for us. Honestly, I don’t know how she does it, but Michelle is an absolute wizard in the kitchen—or galley, as we say on the high seas. There’s nothing like a good meal to steady the nerves when you’re surrounded by 90+ other boats in open water.

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With our bellies full and our spirits high, we all settled into our watch system. It was official—we were on our way across the Atlantic, heading for the Caribbean. The adventure had truly begun, and there was no turning back.

So, here’s to all my fellow sailors out there. May your passage be safe, your seas calm, and your spirits high as you sail through the middle of “nothing.” And remember, it’s perfectly okay to feel a bit of that pre-crossing jitter—it just means you’re alive, and ready for what’s to come.

Grenada, darling, here we come!