Atlantic Crossing West-East Live Tracker
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Here is our live tracker for our upcoming Atlantic crossing – this time from west to east. After sailing from Panama via Jamaica and the Bahamas to Bermuda, we spent a fortnight there relaxing. With the weather looking brilliant and beer prices of at least $11 threatening to drive us to financial ruin, it’s time to weigh anchor – and we’re really looking forward to a Superbock (a beer in Portugal). We’re sailing from Bermuda, a distance of around 1,800 nautical miles, to Flores, the westernmost of the Azores. This leg will take us about 14–18 days. This time, it’s just the two of us on the crossing across the pond. The current forecast looks good – let’s see what’s in store for us.
You can follow our progress live here. We’ll update our position twice a day and post a short blog entry about life on board once a day. We’d love it if you joined us for the journey!
Bermuda – Azores Day 1
Fri 12 June 2026 20:36:00 GMT-0300 (Atlantic Daylight Time)
After discovering yet another issue during yesterday’s rig check – which we were fortunately able to fix – we had even more to do today than expected. Tidying everything away, cleaning the hull, cooking, shopping, clearing out, and cleaning and stowing the dinghy. Instead of setting off at 12 noon, we’re not leaving until 5 pm – but never mind, we’re out at sea for at least 14 days, so a few hours don’t matter.
The weather couldn’t be better for setting off; with winds of 10–15 knots, we’re sailing on a half-wind course towards the NNE, making good headway at 5.5–6 knots in glorious weather. We were pleasantly surprised by Bermuda, and we weren’t entirely disappointed that the weather window took a little while to open up. But now it’s time to move on, and nothing but blue skies await us for the next two weeks.
Distance to Flores: 1771 nautical miles (routed), 1680 (direct)
Meals: Gazpacho, cold fried chicken, sandwiches
Portuguese man o' war: 1
Bermuda – Azores Day 2
Sat 13 June 2026 19:50:00 GMT-0300 (Atlantic Daylight Time)
The night begins with little wind – almost too little. At the same time, the swell is building. We have to get used to the rocking again. We notice this particularly when we spend a bit longer below deck. After midnight, the wind picks up slightly and we’re gliding through the water at nearly 6 knots on a downwind course.
The lights of Bermuda stay with us for a long time. The bright strip on the horizon is still visible up to 40 nautical miles away. Then it fades too. We haven’t yet realised that the Atlantic now lies ahead of us and that we’ll see nothing but water for about two weeks.
At breakfast, we hear the familiar high-pitched, short “beep, beep, beep” again. Just as on the way to Bermuda, tropical birds are visiting us once more. This time there are three fully-grown specimens, which circle us repeatedly and accompany us for over an hour. We’re already curious to see how often we’ll spot them again, as we’re now heading into increasingly cooler waters. Meanwhile, wrapped up in jumpers, long trousers and two blankets, we wonder whether we’re just spoilt or whether they’re snowbirds.
The wind and waves continue to pick up throughout the afternoon. It also starts to rain, so we reduce our sail area: we’ve now reefed the mainsail and jib to the second reef. We settle down below deck whilst it rains and winds outside. After dinner, we consider reefing further, but when the high-wind alarm, which we’ve set to 35 knots, starts beeping, it’s immediately clear what needs to be done. We reduce the mainsail again and have now set the third and final reef. We roll the headsail away completely. This brings calm back to the boat and we’re sailing 160 degrees off the wind. We’re caught between two thunderstorms and hope the lightning spares us. Our peaceful sailing is over in a flash and the Atlantic is once again showing us what it’s made of!
Daily average: 107 nautical miles (in 19 hours)
Distance to Flores: 1668 nautical miles (routed), 1604 (direct)
Meals: Deluxe ham and cheese toast, banana pancakes with Nutella, ramen
Portuguese man o' war: 5
Bermuda – Azores Day 3
Sun 14 June 2026 18:20:00 GMT-0300 (Atlantic Daylight Time)
The night was anything but peaceful, as we’d apparently unwittingly booked a light show – and an extra-long one at that. From 8 pm onwards, it starts to rain lightly and we see lightning on the horizon. In terms of sailing, we’re well reefed and with gusts up to 35 knots. The lightning keeps us very restless, especially as we hear the thunder getting louder and louder. When it isn’t lightning, it’s pitch black, so there’s no point in looking out. Below deck, we set up our new ‘command centre’: an iPad with Navionics charts including AIS (showing other nearby vessels) and on the other screen we display wind angle, wind speed, boat speed and course. With this, we are well prepared. It’s not until 4 am that we finally emerge from the storm. The most important crew member during the night was undoubtedly our autopilot, which steered us reliably even in that weather and spared us from sitting in the wet.
At breakfast, at least one tropical bird briefly keeps us company again. The grey weather doesn’t seem to be putting it off yet, even though for us it’s anything but tropical.
At midday, the sun actually comes out again and we take the opportunity to dry our wet jackets and life jackets. The wind and waves have calmed down again and we are sailing comfortably towards the east-northeast.
The wind is easing off a bit and is expected to die down a little during the day tomorrow before picking up again. We are now firmly in Portuguese waters. Portuguese man o' war are patrolling everywhere; fortunately, we’ve been able to pass through unhindered so far. There were 15 of them today. Portuguese man o' war are jellyfish with a sail and quite long tentacles (up to 40 m) and are reportedly very unpleasant to touch, though only extremely rarely fatal.
Daily average: 133 nautical miles
Sailed miles: 240
Distance to Flores: 1547 nautical miles (routing), 1506 (direct)
Meal: Deluxe ham and cheese toast (again, we have to use up the toast), banana pancakes with Nutella (the remaining 3), potato hash
Portuguese man o' war: 20
Bermuda – Azores Day 4
Mon 15 June 2026 19:19:00 GMT-0300 (Atlantic Daylight Time)
What a difference 24 hours can make. There’s hardly any wind or swell, and after a beautiful sunset we’re treated to a starry night. We’ve booked a visit to the planetarium today, just in time for the new moon.
In the sky, for the first time in a long while, we see old acquaintances that had disappeared below the horizon in the southern latitudes, such as Cassiopeia and the Summer Triangle (consisting of Vega in the constellation Lyra, Deneb in Cygnus and Altair in Aquila). What’s more, both the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper are higher up in the night sky again. The Great Bear is on display in all its glory, and the Dragon and Scorpion are also particularly easy to spot. Oh, and then there are the shooting stars. During his watch, Peter sees the biggest one he’s ever seen and briefly expects the end of the world. The shooting star left a trail almost a finger’s width long!
We’re not quite heading in the right direction, but then again, we’re not going very fast either. As there’s so little wind, we have to bear away further, because a half-wind course is faster than a downwind course. As a result, however, we’re heading north-northeast instead of the direct course to the Azores (ENE), which isn’t too bad though, as the Azores lie both further north and further east of us.
Around mid-morning, the wind picks up and we find the Gulf Stream. At first, it’s pushing us nicely southwards, but by evening it’s supposed to give us a strong push in the right direction. At least, that’s the theoretical forecast. However, we don’t feel any increase in wind and the sails keep flapping. Eventually, we give up trying to head north, as the Gulf Stream is pushing us far to the east and we’re making very slow progress. We jibe again and accept that the Gulf Stream will take us further south than we actually want to go. In theory, it should turn northwards soon, at which point it should push us back in the right direction. We will see…
Daily average: 101 nautical miles
Sailed miles: 341
Distance to Flores: 1441 nautical miles (routing), 1414 (direct)
Meal: Sandwich with carrot and horseradish spread, baby spinach and a fried egg; gnocchi with spinach, tomatoes and feta; Asian cabbage, carrot and cucumber salad with sesame seeds
Portuguese man o' war: 50
Bermuda – Azores Day 5
Tue 16 June 2026 20:12:00 GMT-0300 (Atlantic Daylight Time)
For our first night shift, we luff and sail northwards for three hours at 7 knots, carried by the Gulf Stream, to be better positioned for the next currents and to make the most of this free ride northwards. After all, we’re still about 2 degrees of latitude – or 120 nm – away from Flores.
Note on latitude and longitude:
Latitude lines run parallel to the equator, extending north and south towards the poles. On the vertical axis of the Mercator projection, 1 degree equals 60 nautical miles. One degree has 60 minutes. Accordingly, a Minute vertical change is 1 nautical miles.
This calculation does not apply to the horizontal east-west axis, as lines of longitude run from pole to pole and are therefore not parallel due to the spherical shape of the Earth. Consequently, the distance between two lines of longitude is greatest at the equator and shortest at the poles (where they all converge).
At the midnight watch change, the wind has also picked up to 15 knots and, for the first time, the sails aren’t flapping, so we decide to carry on sailing with the first reef in. However, the wind has other ideas and, after two hours, Ines wakes me up early to put the second reef in the mainsail. The wind is blowing at 20 knots and the swell has built up a little too. Still half-asleep, I look at her from my cosy, snug sleeping nook and need a good five minutes to snap out of my dream world. The temptation to go out to the mast, where it’s windy, cold and very likely wet, is about as great as most people’s desire to go out and shovel snow at 3 am when it’s -10 degrees. I overcome my inner reluctance, put on my oilskins and lifejacket whilst the boat is rocking quite a bit, and head outside. The reefing goes like clockwork – we’ve done it a few times now, after all. Afterwards, Ines lets me crawl back into my cosy den for another 1.5 hours.
When my watch begins before sunrise, it’s cloudy, dark and cold. It’s rocking more again today. As on the last few days, I place a Comfortseat on the cockpit floor – you can’t slide around there – cover myself with a cosy blanket and use the second one as a cushion. I set an alarm for 30 minutes and close my eyes. Not a minute later, water is splashing into my face from the side. I scurry back inside. Even after its ‘rise’ in the morning, the sun still hasn’t made an appearance. Since I didn’t get any sleep last night, I’m making my morning coffee at 6 o’clock so I can look a bit more awake whilst staring into space.
During Ines’s shift in the morning, the sun does manage to peek through briefly, but the rest of the day is grey and cloudy. We’re due to be hit by the tail end of a weather front that’s passed north of us this evening. That means the wind is set to pick up, as are the waves, and it might even rain – hopefully no thunderstorms.
We spend most of the day below deck sleeping, reading, crocheting or simply watching the coordinates on the radio change (yes, Prinzi, ‘rawdogging’ at its finest). Vaquita heads steadily eastwards; only now and then does a cross-wave turn the stern or bow out, causing the port side to dip deep into the water before the autopilot brings us back on course. It’s tiring, of course, and makes things like cooking and moving about on the boat a bit of a hassle, but it’s not dangerous otherwise. By evening we’re well reefed (both sails on the third reef), making good mileage and ready for the tail end of the front, which is due to pass through during the night.
Daily average: 133 nautical miles
Sailed miles: 474
Distance to Flores: 1340 nautical miles (routing), 1297 (direct)
Meal: Quesadillas, Mediterranean pasta salad with pesto, fresh tomatoes and capers, curry with tofu and courgette
Portuguese man o' war: 58
Bermuda – Azores Day 6
Wed 17 June 2026 19:07:00 GMT-0300 (Atlantic Daylight Time)
Tonight is the exact opposite of yesterday. Peter wakes me up towards the end of his watch, just before midnight, as there’s less wind than forecast, so we can shake out a reef. This time I’m standing in the cockpit, still a bit groggy, but the cold air quickly wakes me up. Whilst we’re at it, we jibe straight away, as the wind has shifted slightly and we want to stay on a north-easterly course.
Today’s watch is an exciting one for me, as the World Cup match between Austria and Jordan kicks off at 1 am. I can’t actually watch the match, but at least I can follow it via the live ticker. So here I am, sitting below deck in front of our command centre, in the middle of the North Atlantic, with the book by Kirsten Neuschäfer – who won the Golden Globe Race 2022 vintage sailing regatta – in one hand and my mobile with the live ticker for the Austria match in the other. It’s quite bizarre!
The Golden Globe Race is the exact opposite of that. The original race took place in 1968 and was the first non-stop single-handed round-the-world regatta (strangely enough, solo sailors are called ‘single-handed sailors’, even though they have two hands). It set off from England into the South Atlantic, heading west round the Cape of Good Hope in Africa, Cape Leeuwin in Australia and Cape Horn in South America, before returning to England. Back then, of course, there were no technical aids such as GPS, weather reports via GRIB files, electronic chartplotters, let alone the internet at sea.
At the time, there were nine participants, but only two more or less completed the race: Sir Robin Knox-Johnston and Bernard Moitessier. The former finished officially and was therefore declared the winner. The latter disagreed with the commercial philosophy behind the race and, although he was in the lead, changed his mind and, after completing one lap, sailed another half-lap to Tahiti without finishing the race. As a result, the £5,000 prize money went to Sir Robin Knox-Johnston. He is thus the first person to have sailed solo and non-stop around the world.
Accordingly, the rules for the revival of the Golden Globe Race (to mark its 50th anniversary in 2018 and for the second edition in 2022) are as follows: classic boat types, no GPS but celestial navigation, and solo sailing non-stop around the world. In 2022, 16 competitors (including just one woman) lined up at the start, and only three managed to complete the race non-stop without assistance: Kirsten Neuschäfer from South Africa won ahead of Abilash Tomy from India and the Austrian Michael Guggenberger, who had very little sailing experience. The race lasted more than 10 months. That’s in a completely different league.
Back to football… To be honest, I’m glad I’m just following the match via the live ticker rather than watching it, as it’s more than nerve-wracking, so I keep escaping into the book and Kirsten’s descriptions of the wild South Pacific whilst we sail comfortably, yet swiftly, across the North Atlantic. After over 100 nerve-wracking minutes, Austria finally wins 3–1. So I can settle down in my bunk with peace of mind and start the best watch of all (the sleep watch).
I (Peter) try not to go outside at all at the start of my early morning watch today. I look out, assess the situation and set an alarm for 30 minutes. So I doze off until, at 5.30 am, I catch sight of a magnificent sunrise and make myself a coffee. It’s still quite chilly to start with, but as the day goes on, the sun breaks through and becomes really intense. The wind is gradually dying down, so the only thing to do is hoist the gennaker, our largest sail for light winds. Whilst we’re still trimming it, I suddenly spot four sleeping whales gliding peacefully past the boat, fin to fin. It looks as though they’re holding hands so they don’t lose each other in their sleep. Definitely the highlight of the day.
The wind is now borderline too light, and it looks as though we’ll have to resort to our ‘fossil eater’ (engine) for the first time tomorrow. On Friday, however, we’re due to have good wind again. We’ve covered a third of the route today.
Daily average: 148 nautical miles
Sailed miles: 622
Distance to Flores: 1186 nautical miles (routing), 1146 (direct)
Meal: Omelette with feta and spinach, leftover pasta salad, iceberg lettuce, Snack with pumpernickel, Gouda, cream cheese, and ham spread
Portuguese man o' war: 72
Whale sighting: 1
Bermuda - Azores Day 7
Thu 18 June 2026 19:56:00 GMT-0200 (South Georgia Time)
Yesterday we sailed the gennaker almost until the very last breeze. At 11.30 pm, with a brisk 6.5 knots of speed in 8-knots of wind, the wind veered too far south for us to maintain our course. We took it down with the help of our deck light and were able to carry on sailing briefly under the jib. By 1.30 am, it was all over. Ines kept trying. It’s pitch black, cold and wet. She manages to steer the boat roughly in the right direction at a leisurely 3 knots. Towards the end of her watch, she has to admit defeat to the wind, which is too light for us and coming from the wrong direction. I stow the headsail, set the autopilot to a half-wind course and go to bed, setting an alarm for 30 minutes. We drift up and down; it’s not until early in the morning, after sunrise, that we can sail in the right direction again. It’s so cosy that we set up the table inside and cook breakfast on our induction hob. With toast, tea, coffee and soft-boiled eggs, we have breakfast at the table as if we were in a quiet marina, whilst we glide along at 4–5 knots.
By early afternoon, the wind dies down completely and we have to switch on the motor for the first time. Today won’t be a record-breaking day. We enjoy the peace and quiet, put our watches forward an hour – it takes a while to find a place that’s in our time zone. The one we find is incredibly far away: South Georgia – not the country, but the island off the coast of Antarctica. We give ourselves a wash again and clean our shoes, as our shoe cupboard has got completely wet and the shoes are consequently damp and smelly. The temperature is a bit too chilly to call it a ‘spa day’; for our spoilt, sun-tanned tropical bodies, it’s more like an ice bath. It’s a bit of a luxury complaint, though, as at least we have hot water from the engine. Whilst we’re enjoying our farmhouse toast, we spot a whale. It’s a bit further away, but we can see its blow and its back when it surfaces. We wouldn’t mind to get used to these daily whale sightings. Let’s see what the night brings – according to the weather forecast, we’ll have to keep the engine running until midday tomorrow.
Daily average: 96 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 718
Distance to Flores: 1,105 nautical miles (routed), 1,062 (direct)
Meals: Toast with a soft-boiled egg, curry with soy mince, pumpernickel farmhouse toast with bacon and pepperoni
Portuguese man o' war: 83
Whale sightings: 2
Bermuda - Azores Day 8
Fri 19 June 2026 19:53:00 GMT-0200 (South Georgia Time)
We can sail until almost midnight; it’s one of those days when the swell and the course are just right, even with the light wind, and I (Peter) only switch on the dino eater when we’re travelling at 1.5 knots. The night is accordingly peaceful, apart from the monotonous hum of the engine. At 7 am, halfway through my morning shift, I switch the engine off again just as the first hint of a breeze picks up, because with the light breeze coming from astern, the charred dinosaurs are blown straight into the cockpit – and they don’t smell too good. In total, we’ve clocked up 12 engine hours. As forecast, the wind is slowly picking up. It’s not until around midday that we’re sailing properly fast again, heading towards our destination at 6 knots.
There are loads of birds flying around the boat at times, and that’s how we know we’re in the Gulf Stream, because where the cold water of the North Atlantic meets the warm Gulf Stream, there are plenty of fish. It’s a real feast for the seabirds. Speaking of birds, a tropicbird comes to visit us again today, albeit only briefly and without its characteristic ‘peep peep’.
In the morning, I (Ines) spot something white in the water far behind our boat and immediately think it’s a whale’s blow. I look more closely and see a whale leaping out of the water. So I wasn’t mistaken after all! It leaps out of the water a few more times, splashing down onto the water with its body. Immediately, the birds fly towards the spot where the whale has landed in the water. Clearly, they’re all hunting for fish. This makes it the third day in a row we’ve spotted whales.
The wind is only expected to pick up slightly overnight, so we’re confident we’ll make good progress today at a fairly leisurely pace.
Daily average: 102 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 820
Distance to Flores: 1,005 nautical miles (routed), 959 (direct)
Meals: Quesadillas, Asian tofu and cabbage stir-fry with wok noodles, a snack of pumpernickel, cabanossi and cheese
Portuguese man o' war: 114
Whale sightings: 3
Bermuda - Azores Day 9
Sat 20 June 2026 19:46:00 GMT-0200 (South Georgia Time)
The night passes quickly; it’s still raining late into the evening and the cockpit remains wet all night. We therefore spend our watches indoors. In the morning, the tracking shows an average speed of 5.8 knots for the night watch, and that in very comfortable conditions.
During the night, we also reach the halfway point of our journey – so we’ve already covered half the distance to the Azores! In the morning we thank Neptune for the smooth crossing so far and share a small sip of rum. We’re promising Neptune a bigger one if the weather holds up for the second half too.
We wait eagerly to see if we’ll find the Gulf Stream as forecast; according to our routing, we’re due to reach the main current around midday, which should give us a push with peaks of up to 2.7 knots. The weather is hazy and then foggy too. It’s not until around midday that the sun breaks through. Our speed does indeed increase steadily, and just in time for the start of the next 24-hour leg, the chartplotter shows us speeds of over 7 knots over ground, mostly 8 or even 9. We’re sailing 120 degrees close-hauled in 13–18-knot winds, and the Gulf Stream is actually pushing us along at over 2 knots. We’re enjoying the exhilarating ride with little swell and sunshine, and can watch the miles tick by. Simply perfect conditions!
Just before sunset, some dolphins come to visit us. They’re the first ones we’ve seen on this crossing, which makes us all the more delighted. They, too, seem to enjoy the high speed at which the Vaquita ploughs through the water, as they keep playing in the bow wave, only to veer off quickly and then swim back again. Yet another wonderful moment that this way of travelling brings.
According to the forecast, the wind is set to pick up slightly tonight and the current is expected to continue until tomorrow afternoon. At the moment, we’re well on our way to setting a new record for the 24-hour etmal – we need to beat 178 nautical miles.
Daily average: 149 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 969
Distance to Flores: 858 nautical miles (routed), 813 (direct)
Meals: Quesadillas, curry with soy mince leftovers
Portuguese man o' war: 124
Whale sightings: 3
Dolphin sightings: 1
Bermuda - Azores Day 10
Sun 21 June 2026 20:56:00 GMT-0200 (South Georgia Time)
As wonderful and fast-paced as yesterday’s day of sailing was, today’s was just as slow and nerve-wracking. But first things first. During the night, as expected, we were hit by the tail end of the tropical depression that had passed north of us. It wasn’t too bad, and we experienced gusts of up to 30 knots. The problem only became apparent in the morning, as the wind died down – far too quickly. The forecast had predicted that the wind wouldn’t drop below 12 knots until the evening, but we were already seeing that by 10 o’clock in the morning. The problem is that the swell is still there, and all the rocking is sapping what little pressure there is from the sails. The sails are flapping and we’re no longer making proper headway. We try to make progress using the gennaker, our light-wind sail. No sooner have we hoisted it than we’re down to less than 10 knots. We’re making progress, albeit with great difficulty, but we don’t want to switch to the engine just yet and so sail very slowly for a few hours. Unfortunately, this means we fail to beat our highest daily distance of 178 nautical miles and manage only 173 nautical miles (we always calculate from 12 noon to 12 noon).
The gennaker keeps collapsing, and when we decide to lower it, we notice that the line from the dousing sock has become tangled with the sail. As the gennaker is such a large and light sail, it has a dousing sock to make hoisting and lowering it easier. The sail is inside the sock, and both are hoisted up together with the halyard (a line that runs to the top of the mast). Once all the other lines have been secured, the tube is hoisted up using a kind of pulley system, whereupon the sail emerges and fills with wind. When lowering the sail, the process is exactly the reverse, and the sock is pulled down over the falling sail. The halyard is then lowered again, and the sail, together with the dousing sock, can be stowed back in the sail bag on deck. However, if the stowage line becomes tangled with the sail, the sail cannot be lowered so easily. We try to ease the halyard slowly to get the sail directly onto the deck. However, due to the nerve-wracking rocking of the boat, the hard plastic opening at the lower end of the stowage tube gets caught in the second spreader on the mast. Now we can’t get it up or down, whilst the wind keeps blowing into the sail. Great, that’s exactly what you don’t want. The only way to sort out this mess is to climb the mast and untangle it. So we secure the sail as best we can to stop it from inflating any further. In the process, the lightweight fabric tears in at least two places – luckily we’ve still got some special spinnaker tape to repair it later. To make matters worse, whilst stowing the mainsail, one of the lazy jack lines also snaps. These are lines stretched diagonally between the mast and the boom, which guide the sail when it’s being stowed and hold the sail bag in place. Inside the sail bag, the sail is neatly arranged against the boom so that it doesn’t dangle off the boom or need to be secured there separately. Now that one side of the sail bag is no longer held up, the sail is sort of half on the boom and half on deck. It’s not a big deal, but it doesn’t exactly help at the moment. I (Ines) try to haul Peter up the mast as quickly as possible, as it’s not exactly a barrel of laughs up there with the waves. But the line I’m using to pull him up has become tangled in the first spreader, so it’s back down again to untangle it and then back up. Once we’ve finally reached the second spreader, Peter is able to sort out the problem quickly and I can slowly release the gennaker halyard and bring it up on deck. To be on the safe side, I drop it straight through the hatch below deck so that no further mishaps occur. Things get particularly unpleasant again as I lower Peter down. A few big waves roll in, causing the Vaquita to rock quite violently. Peter clings to the mast like a little monkey to avoid becoming a wrecking ball. After that, I lower him as quickly as possible, but still in a controlled manner, until he’s finally back on deck. For him, it was definitely his own personal ‘Boris Hermann moment’ – having to climb the mast of his racing yacht during the Vendee Globe solo race in the South Atlantic. A climbing session in the middle of the Atlantic certainly wasn’t on our list!
Daily average: 173 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 1142
Distance to Flores: 687 nautical miles (routed), 642 (direct)
Meals: Pumpernickel with horseradish spread, ham and salad, the rest of the Asian tofu and cabbage stir-fry with wok noodles, pasta with homemade vegetable sauce and Parmesan
Portuguese man o' war: 132
Whale sightings: 3
Dolphin visits: 1
Bermuda - Azores Day 11
Mon 22 June 2026 21:44:00 GMT-0100 (Greenland Summer Time)
It is only the dino muncher that ensures Vaquita covers the miles until midnight. At 1 am, I (Peter) decide it’s time to get some rest – at least, that’s the plan. I stop burning the fossils and lower the mainsail. Slowly, with the sails flapping lightly but tolerably, we move forward. The swell has eased considerably and there are now more gentle rolling hills passing beneath us. As my watch draws to a close and I’ve finally conquered Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment – which I’d rate 1/5 stars as reading material for night watches – a green arrow on my iPad (an AIS signal from another vessel) prevents me from having a quick nap. A closer look at the plotter shows a CPA (Closest Point of Approach) of 20 m (that’s not a typo – it really is metres). So, tired as I am, I stay alert in front of the screen to ensure we comply with the International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea, because as a sailing boat out here on the open ocean, we’re the less manoeuvrable vessel and therefore have right of way. The MRC Belize, however, takes its time; it’s only 20 minutes before the potential collision that it noticeably adjusts its course – at least they’re kind enough to radio us to let us know. That brings my watch to an end. Stefan was right with his quote: “The Atlantic is fucking huge”, but it’s just like the world – somehow, surprisingly, you always end up meeting again.
Ines, who has chosen something far more suitable to read than that agonising and gloomy tale of moral remorse following a murder in 19th-century St Petersburg, finds in her book (Alles gut, K. by Kirsten Neuschäfer, winner of the Golden Globe Regatta) a source of inspiration that I find extremely beneficial. Kirsten, whom I’d place at the very top end of the adventure and action sailing spectrum, has no objection to storms of 50 knots or more, but – and on this almost all sailors agree – she’d rather avoid flapping sails. To prevent this, she simply sails as close to the wind as necessary to, as our current regatta rival Ulf would put it, avoid the pain in the soul. Ines does the same, which ensures I get an extremely peaceful night’s sleep. When I first catch sight of the Atlantic sun, I’m not sure whether I need to get up yet. Usually on this crossing, I wake up and realise I’ve only just slept for an hour or so. This time, Ines looks at me and tells me it’s about time I got up – after all, it’s already nearly 9. Oops. As I’m wisely taking my time getting up, I’m served breakfast; today must be my own personal day off.
From a sailing point of view, too, everything points to that, but I suppose I’ve earned it after yesterday. For the rest of the morning, we glide along leisurely, pushed a little by the current under our ‘replacement gennaker’ – that is, with the full jib set. We download the third weather report in a row, which tells us that there are currently 10–12 knots of wind where we are. Once again, with a good deal of imagination, we can just about make out gusts of up to 8 knots and wonder whether we’ve lost our bearings or whether Neptune has got a bit of a Jamaican hangover. By lunchtime, the wind finally picks up a little and in the afternoon we enjoy some wonderful sailing in 12–15-knot winds.
From a red-white-red perspective, the football clash against reigning world champions Argentina doesn’t go so well (Austria lose 2–0). Ines and I realise just how distorted our perception of time has become. The two hours of the match (we’re following the live ticker again) fly by for us as if they were just 10 minutes; after all, we’ve only covered a mere 10 nautical miles. Not that much, really, given the 1,800 miles we’re covering. We feel like sloths watching a hummingbird. The frustration at the defeat of our football-chasing compatriots is made up for by a visit from dolphins straight after the match. A whole pod, full of young, tiny marine mammals, pays us a visit and accompanies us for quite some time. The little ones dart back and forth after the bigger ones. A magical moment that quickly brings us back to the peaceful world of the vast ocean, where everything is just fine!
Daily average: 96 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 1238
Distance to Flores: 550 (direct – we’re ignoring the routing for now given the unreliable weather forecasts)
Meals: Quesadillas, leftover pasta with vegetable sauce, Inzersdorfer lentils with bacon (Peter), ramen noodles (Ines)
Portuguese man-of-war sightings: 139
Whale sightings: 3
Dolphin visits: 2
Bermuda - Azores Day 12
Tue 23 June 2026 20:04:00 GMT-0100 (Greenland Summer Time)
We’re making good progress both at night and during the day. The wind and waves are very pleasant, and so the day passes without us having done much. We cook up some quick tarte flambée-style dishes using tortillas in a frying pan, read, play Quixx, do some crochet and gaze out at the sea. All rather unspectacular.
Then Peter looks up at the sky and spots ‘a ring around the sun’. I take a closer look and quickly realise it’s a halo – a perfect circle of light around the sun. I remember reading something about it in our weather book and look it up straight away. The halo is caused by the refraction of sunlight through ice crystals and is an early indicator of an approaching warm front and low-pressure system. I read out the whole chapter ‘Before a Warm Front’ and we can also make out several other cloud phenomena in the sky that point to a warm front:
The cumulus clouds are thinning out as time goes on. Thin clouds (cirrus), consisting of ice crystals, are moving in from the west. We also see clouds that look like fishhooks. These are cirrus clouds located near the jet stream. Behind the sun in the west, we see a thickening layer of low-hanging clouds (altostratus).
All these signs suggest that a warm front will reach us in 12–36 hours. We’ll therefore take a closer look at the broader weather picture. The next major low-pressure system set to reach us is currently over Maine, and its outlying edges are expected to reach us in around 48 hours. We’re a little unsure as to whether we can actually see the signs of this so early on, but we can’t think of what else it could be.
We’re not expecting much wind until the day after tomorrow, partly because a high-pressure system (currently to the east of us) is expected to keep moving closer to us. We’re keeping our fingers crossed that we’ll at least get a chance to do some sailing and are already looking forward to the wind that the low-pressure system is set to bring on Thursday.
In the evening, we spot dolphins again. This time there are at least 25 of them, of all sizes. Once again, they’re happily playing in the bow wave, darting from one side to the other, and a few even leap completely out of the water. We’re standing at the bow and enjoying the spectacle. Dolphins are simply always a joy to watch. These nimble marine mammals are clearly having fun in the water and enjoying interacting with us. I always cheer them on and sometimes really feel as though they’re responding by leaping out of the water again or darting back and forth particularly quickly. In all the excitement of watching the dolphins, one side of our toast has now turned a bit darker, but we don’t mind.
Daily average: 127 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 1365
Distance to Flores: 426 nautical miles (direct – we’re ignoring the routing for now given the unreliable weather forecasts)
Meals: Omelette with feta, sun-dried tomatoes, courgette and onion; tarte flambée with sun-dried tomatoes, capers, onion and harissa; farmhouse toast
Portuguese man-of-war sightings: 146
Whale sightings: 3
Dolphin visits: 3
Bermuda - Azores Day 13
Wed 24 June 2026 20:38:00 GMT-0100 (Greenland Summer Time)
Unexpectedly, we only need three hours of dino juice in the morning to make headway and can sail comfortably for the rest of the time. At night, we even make good speed on a direct course. During the day, however, we have to tack downwind, as there is simply too little wind for a more direct course. At least we’re making steady progress in the sunshine with little swell.
Somehow, the feeling of nearing our destination always depends on the length of the journey. On our 1,800-nautical-mile journey, it feels as though we’re almost there once we reach the last 400. That’s complete nonsense, of course – 400 miles is about four days’ sailing at our current daily average, so it’s still a respectable crossing. Our minds are playing tricks on us, and we’re trying not to fall for it.
We’ve had a very quiet day with a few sailing manoeuvres; otherwise, we’ve mainly been reading and moving back and forth between the sun and the shade. The weather is currently just like it is in March in the mountains. If you sit in the sun, it beats down almost brutally; in the shade, and especially at night, it feels as though the wind is blowing straight over from an icy ski slope. Unlike at the Quellbodenhütte – our favourite ski hut, where we know exactly where to find that sunny yet sheltered spot – we haven’t found it yet on the Vaquita. That could, of course, be because the sun shines in different places depending on our course and the time of day, and the wind direction isn’t constant either. However, we’ve discovered our diving ponchos to be a handy extra layer of clothing. They’re like a large hooded blanket and can be easily pulled over everything and quickly taken off again.
At night, despite jumpers and diving ponchos, it’s now too cold to sit outside on watch, so we barricade ourselves inside by the tiled stove – or rather, by the diesel heater – we haven’t switched it on yet, but last night we were on the verge of doing so. You can also tell that the water temperature has dropped below 20 degrees, as the floor of the boat is getting very cold. It’s a bizarre thought when you consider that we’re at the same latitude as Morocco, whilst people in much more northerly parts of Europe are currently dying from heatwaves. You can see how much more spread the effect of global warming is in an ocean as vast as the Atlantic.
Daily average: 113 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 1478
Distance to Flores: 317 nautical miles (direct, but it’ll probably be closer to 340)
Meals: Quesadillas, Rice with asian sauce, loaded nachos
Portuguese man-of-war sightings: 161
Whale sightings: 3
Dolphin visits: 3
Bermuda - Azores Day 14
Thu 25 June 2026 19:52:00 GMT-0100 (Greenland Summer Time)
We manage to sail through the night relatively well. At 3 o’clock in the morning, I (Ines) witness a beautiful sight: the (three-quarter) moon slowly sinks into the sea. Just like the sun a few hours earlier, it turns orange and illuminates the clouds with its last rays. The only thing missing is the play of colours that the sun conjures up in the sky during the currently long sunsets. After that, the stars gradually come into view. The Milky Way is clearly visible, stretching from north-east to south-west above us. In such clear conditions, free from light pollution, some constellations that are usually easy to spot here – such as Cassiopeia – are no longer so straightforward to recognise, as there are so many stars jostling for position. I even have to turn to my beloved star app for help to find the otherwise distinctive Summer Triangle. There are simply too many twinkling stars in the sky. The only thing I’m denied is catching a glimpse of a shooting star, but then I’m known for always looking in the wrong direction when everyone else sees one. Nevertheless, I’m enjoying the starry sky in all its splendour.
At the shift change at 4 o’clock, the time has come: the wind is once again blowing directly from the west – we need to head due east – and is very light. No matter what I (Peter) do, the sails flap, the boat rocks pitifully and we’re slow, even though we’re already on a broad reach. I still manage to sleep very well on the side. Which Ines thinks is a bit too good, given that I overslept my last alarm and had to end my 30-minute snooze-and-wake cycle at 6.30 am, much to my annoyance. Before going to bed, I’d downloaded the AIS data for all vessels within a 300-nautical-mile radius and hadn’t spotted anything dangerous, so I was able to sleep relatively peacefully. When the second alarm went off, I was sailing with full concentration in a harbour in the Azores when suddenly the alarm on my iPad went off. Annoyed, I switched it off and carried on sailing. The annoying alarm wouldn’t stop ringing… I woke up and realised why. “Do something about the flapping sails!” Right then, I’d better go out now. I can sail closer to the wind, which means we’ll be heading even further in the wrong direction, but the flapping will improve. For the sake of those resting and my own nerves, but at the expense of our progress, I adjust the course by a few degrees and make myself a coffee.
The route we’ve covered today looks like a primary school child’s drawing of a mountain panorama. We jibe at least every two hours, hoping that on the next leg we’ll make better headway towards the east. To no avail; we’ll probably have to wait until we’re hit by the tail end of the low-pressure system this evening, as expected, when the wind picks up a bit and shifts first to the south-west and then to the north-west. Well, apart from the fact that we’re heading towards our destination at a moderate pace, with a moderate detour – which, all things considered, means we’re making relatively slow progress – we can’t really complain. The sun is shining and, alongside countless Portuguese man-of-war (over 170!), we can see a shark swimming in the distance. Some people, however, are still a bit bored and are taking their ‘annoying bear’ to the max, much to the chagrin of the others on board. Who’s playing which role is today’s reader quiz. Please post your answers in the comments – the winners will get a kiss from ‘annoying bear’, so think carefully.
Ines is having a go at making brownies, but unfortunately she thinks the raw batter from the baking mix smells a bit off. When it comes to tasting the finished product, opinions are divided (between two people): “I told you so, they taste musty, you know what I mean?” “Hmm, they’re good at first, but afterwards they taste as if you’ve burped.” So we don’t agree on the exact flavour, but when Ines suggests I should feed the shark whilst she makes a new batch, I comply without further objection and the musty/burp-tasting brownies go overboard. We’re not expecting any dolphins today. For lunch, we’ll be having the best of US cuisine – something that might have been tempting in the South Pacific, but sounds rather dispensable when you think of Portuguese food - Bowl and Basket Deluxe Mac ‘n’ Cheese with cheese sauce, supposedly even made with real cheese (the mere fact that this is specifically mentioned on the packet speaks volumes about the quality) and, afterwards, a fresh batch of brownies which, by mutual agreement, we can’t describe in any more detail, but which at least taste better.
Daily average: 100 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 1578
Distance to Flores: 233 nautical miles (direct, but it’ll probably be closer to 260)
Meals: Quesadillas, Mac‘n‘Cheese, Brownies
Portuguese man-of-war sightings: 335
Whale sightings: 3
Dolphin visits: 3
Shark sightings: 1
Bermuda - Azores Day 15
Fr 26 June 2026 20:31:00 GMT+0000 (Azores Summer Time)
The morning is sunny and we have a sweet breakfast of brownies whilst dolphins pay us a visit. It’s a pod of about 20 dolphins. They’re clearly enjoying the fact that the wind has picked up and we’re travelling faster again. For about half an hour, they ride the waves alongside us, only to dart round to the bow next and swim in the bow wave. We enjoy the spectacle and are certain that the day can only be a good one.
From late morning, the wind shifts slightly and we’re able to sail relatively quickly in the right direction. This makes sailing really fun again, and it’s looking increasingly likely that we’ll arrive in Flores tomorrow whilst it’s still light. We set our watches to Azores Summer Time and message the harbour master to say we expect to arrive late tomorrow afternoon or evening. He gets back to us to say that, unfortunately, none of the three mooring buoys are free and we should get ready to drop anchor. Blimey, we’d been hoping to avoid anchoring on the stony seabed. Sadly, the marina in Lajes was destroyed in 2019 by a hurricane – uncharacteristic for the region – and the makeshift facility that’s been in place for years is now finally having to make way for a new marina. Consequently, there are very few options for sailors this year.
Luckily for us, the dolphins come to visit us once again in the late afternoon. There are even more than the first time – we reckon around 30. Wherever we look – right beneath the bow, but also to both sides – dolphins are swimming in the waves. Some are particularly acrobatic, showing off their best jumps or performing a sideways roll right in front of our bow. We also spot a baby dolphin and its mother; the calf is barely three-quarters of a metre long. Nevertheless, it swims nimbly back and forth in perfect harmony with its mother. What special moments the ocean has in store for us! After about 30–40 minutes, the last five particularly playful dolphins swim back to their pod.
We head back to the cockpit and chat about the wonderful natural spectacle. After about half an hour, something jumps up near the bow again. We can hardly believe it, but it’s another pod of dolphins. Three dolphin sightings in one day – now the hat-trick is complete. Once again, there are around 20 dolphins entertaining us.
In the evening, it starts to rain lightly and we head below deck. It’s cosy and warm down here, and it looks as though we’ll be doing what will (hopefully) be our last night shift from the command centre.
At one point, we do have to venture out of our cozy little hideaway again—to jibe. It’s still drizzling through the fog, and we want to keep our stay as short as possible. But what do we see in the water around us? That’s right—dolphins! We don’t know what kind of dolphin gathering is taking place, but it seems as though we’re right in the middle of their main migration route. This time the dolphins only stay for a few minutes, but we’re not upset—it’s not exactly cozy out here in the drizzle.
No sooner are we below deck than we see an orange-pink glow shimmering through the hatch. The fog has lifted on the horizon, and the sun is just setting. The last rays of sunlight refract beautifully in the subsiding drizzle. What a magnificent natural spectacle. To cap off this wonderful day of sailing, the distance of our route drops from 100 to 99.9 nautical miles. What more could we ask for?
Daily average: 104 nautical miles
Miles sailed: 1682
Distance to Flores: 141 nautical miles
Meals: Brownies, Fried rice with vegetables
Portuguese man-of-war sightings: 375
Whale sightings: 3
Dolphin visits: 6
Shark sightings: 1
Bermuda - Azores Day 16
Sa 27 June 2026 15:30:00 GMT+0000 (Azores Summer Time)
During the night, we make good progress in 15–20-knot winds and even reef the headsail again. In the morning, we’re once again accompanied by dolphins, who show off their jumping skills. Then the moment finally arrives: after two weeks, land is in sight for the first time! On the horizon, we see the hilly island of Flores and, a little later, its neighbouring island, Corvo. It appears green, steep and shrouded in clouds. There’s something mystical about it.
The final stretch proves to be quite a challenge. The wind is not only very gusty but also constantly shifts direction slightly. We have to sail close to the wind to stay on course for Lajes da Flores. In the lee of the steep cliffs on the south side, we strike the sails and motor the final three-quarters of an hour to the anchorage. After 14 days, 19 hours and 30 minutes, we drop anchor. We’ve managed to cross the Atlantic for the second time. This time, it’s just the two of us and our small but sturdy and fast little boat.
Etmal: 145 nautical miles
Sailing miles: 1827
Distance to Flores: 0 nautical miles
Meals: Madeleines
Portuguese man-of-war: 383
Whale sightings: 3
Dolphin visits: 9
Shark sighting: 1
