This is the part 4 of crossing the Atlantic on a Columbia 29. Click to read Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 .

The departure for the last leg of my solo sailing across the Atlantic Ocean was set for Sunday. I was expecting headwinds for the first miles out of Horta. 900 nautical miles of ocean waters separated me from an unknown yet exciting future.

Sara became increasingly insistent and concerned about my departure. That sounded a bit strange, as until that moment she had been very patient with my slow pace. Why suddenly all this fuss?

I was a bit nervous to start again, both adamant to be underway but also strangely scared.

Like all liminal spaces transitions are perhaps the most difficult part of sailing. Landfalls and departures require a transformation, a change in routines that always exerts a toll. I am a slow guy and a slow sailor. Moving from rock solid land to fluid water it’s never a immediate passage for me.

FIRST MISTAKES

I decided to pass the Island of Pico on the North side. This way I thought I would avoid the headwinds and waves for the beginning of the trip. As I left the harbor and turned North for few miles I realized it was poor planning. The high rise volcano of Pico soon enough blocked the southern winds. I found myself in a windless zone.

I changed my mind again. I backtracked and started fighting the headwinds going South. This time I had more miles to cover and grew a bit frustrated of my poor foresight. I ended up spending the good part of the day outside, trying to make the boat go South, tack after tack. The wind decreased and the ride got smoother but it was increasingly more difficult to make a good angle to clear Pico to the South.

As I said transitions are often difficult, settling in any rhythm requires patience and time.

Even if the full moon was shining like a projector making it a very bright night, I started in my nap routines as soon as it got darker. As usual I would wake up every 20 minutes to check my position and to see if it was time to turn the boat on the next tack.

I was down in my bunk when a noise, a knock on the side of the hull, wakes me up.

It alerted me 100% as any suspicious noise would do in the middle of the ocean. It was a sound I shouldn’t be hearing.

I ran out in the cockpit with no clue of what I would find. Then I saw vertical cliffs and half submerged rocks in front of me, visible in moonlight

The boat is knocking gently on a submerged rock, invisible yet so evident and present, stopping her motion forward.

I couldn’t believe my eyes and I switched the motor on and put it in reverse in sheer panic. The boat started to get away from the hard spot.

It felt like a dream and I couldn’t really believe what I was witnessing.

I crashed into the island of Pico because I overslept on the alarm clock.

The wind conditions were light and the boat on autopilot sailed placidly. As the wind decreased near shore Tranquility drifted slower and slower until she hit a solid spot.

I couldn’t even hear waves crashing on the shore, I just saw the gentle surge around the cliffs so clear in the bright moonlight.

As soon as I reached deeper waters I steered away from danger. I ran down below to pull up the floor boards and check every inch of the bilge in search of water rushing in. The bilge was as dry as ever and the internal part of the hull showed no damage.

I continued to frantically check the bilge. In the following minutes a dilemma started to a surface to my consciousness: Do I need to go back to port to check the hull or should I continue the trip?

Nothing seemed to change and the bilge stayed dry. I realized that the boat was in good shape and that the impact was very mild, even though against a very hard rock. I imagined that the boat only got few scratches on her thick hull.

It was a huge scare. Not being able to better assess the damage made me feel uneasy, for the better part of the night.

Despite this lack of information somehow it was clear to me what I needed to do.

I decided to continue. I had this gut feeling that everything was ok despite the potentially fatal mistake I just did.

Many times I have been spared from catastrophic outcomes in my sailing adventures. It is hard to understand why some people get through countless mistakes unscathed while others pay the highest price for the first, minimum error. I can say there is no fairness on the Ocean.

It’s impossible be estimate how much luck and time on earth we are given. I could only be grateful for the near miss as I am for other situations I lived through. One time during the hardest storm I ever faced the wrong wave could have spelled disaster. Another time I almost drown during a spearfishing session before friendly hands from indigenous people picked me up and dropped me in their canoes.

I was given another gift, a second chance: That half submerged rock gently stopped Tranquility from total wreckage. I committed the classical sin of the solo sailor and I had been spared.

STEADY SAILING

Sailing away from land had a relaxing effect on my worries. The route to Tenerife had no fixed obstacles in front of me for more than 800 miles. For many miles I kept full jib and staysail sheeted to port and one reef in the main. Tranquility sailed on a steady groove at about 5 knots.

I was enjoying again the day to day routine of taking a sailboat to an unknown point beyond the horizon. Sailing has a stern discipline, what’s relevant is the task at hand. We could regret what just happened and worry for what’s coming next, but it’s the immediate circumstances that require most of the focus. Despite the scary encounter with the island of Pico, I was having a good time.

I spotted few vessels near the Portuguese archipelago and monitored the local radio frequencies. I was also able to receive weather forecast on the VHF channel from the maritime authorities. It was fun to try to understand the Portuguese message before the English version would come up. My performance was however rather poor despite the similarity between Portuguese and Italian.

After 34 days of ever changing weather conditions I enjoyed steady sailing conditions. Those moments make you appreciate what an incredible piece of art is a well prepared sailboat.

I had a good winds forecast all the way to Tenerife. It blew at first from the SW and later from the NNW. Only near Madeira the winds drop considerably. Even if I transited an abundant 100 miles to South the effect of its high rise were noticeable.

I’ve enjoyed taking sights with the sextant during the passage. I thought I had a good hang of the process, but I had to keep going back to the books and double check my steps. The most important thing I realized is that I almost never pay attention to the position of the sun. Very few of us do. I certainly didn’t need to, as the GPS system was telling my position instantly on a chart any time I felt like checking.

There is almost always something more important going on in my mind that makes it irrelevant to notice the whereabouts of the sun. After all, it tends to come back everyday, and the seasons seem to keep repeating on and on and on. And when in doubt about what time it is I look at my watch first.

However those observations slowly matured into the realization that I was going with everything else. It was somehow mind blowing that by observing and measuring myself goingwith the universe I could find my position on this planet.

We always go with everything else, in a synchronous choreography.

Teilhard de Chardin said in the most eloquent way: “The whole universe is the only true atom; the only truly indivisible whole.”

Mile after mile sailing in the ocean I was learning that moving around on a vessel powered by winds and currents was giving me a profound sense of belonging. In a way, it is not incorrect to say that I was using the movement of the whole universe to go meet Sara in Tenerife.

APPROACHING TENERIFE

When I finally rounded the northern tip of Tenerife after 8 days at sea I enjoyed the fresh wind sending me at full speed toward my target. I admired the rugged mountainous coast of the island and I kept a respectful distance, especially after the scary encounter at the beginning of the trip.

Funny enough I experienced the strongest winds of the entire crossing right at the arrival. I was sailing close to shore in the channel between Tenerife and Gran Canaria to get to my final destination in Puertito de Güímar. There the trade winds accelerate due to the “funnel effect”. Locals call this the Wind Acceleration Zones (WAZ). In this area wind speeds climb to 30 knots and gusts approach 40.

I had to jibe my way south as the wind blew parallel to shore. Soon my sails were reduced almost to the size of handkerchiefs.

Three miles from the entrance to Puertito de Guimar the fresh winds turned into a stronger gusty breeze. Elliott on my satellite messenger warned me about strong gusty conditions. My reaction was abit cocky: “well, I will deal with it”. I wasn’t expecting such and exciting arrival.

It was a beautiful sunny day and after a journey of more than 3500 miles across the North Atlantic I was approaching the most difficult part of all: Landfall in an unknown port. Obviously Puertito de Güímar was right in the middle of one of those infamous acceleration zones.

LANDFALL

As I was sailing solo I grew a bit nervous while getting mooring lines and fenders ready. I also needed to get my anchor back on deck and ready. I remove and store the anchor down below during each longer ocean passage. It was no different for this stroll from Horta. I wasn’t planning to use the anchor as I was headed to a pier, but it was still my emergency brake so it was good to have the option.

My Columbia 29  “Tranquility” was sailing with a fraction of jib out, the staysail and a deep reefed mainsail. The wind speed further increased while approaching landfall forcing me to furl the jib away and douse the mainsail while constantly keeping an eye on my windvane autopilot that was subjected to rounding up to weather during violent gusts. Walking on deck while the boat danced over the lively white caps of the confused seas carrying a 20lbs anchor was exciting to say the least.

When I finally got the deck ready the staysail alone was pushing the boat toward the narrow entrance in the breakwater of the marina. I had a few minutes before I reached the entrance, when I would disconnect the autopilot and steer manually, and I decided to use them to worry about analyzing the situation. 

After dropping the staysail I had to make my way upwind into the basin. The entrance opened between two seawalls surrounded by sharp rocks and artificial boulders. On my lee side laid a rocky and shallow beach. 

I depended fully on my electric inboard propulsion to reach the dock and I was nervous.

I saved an aerial snapshot of the marina from Google Earth on my phone which I thoroughly analyzed. Sara on shore was coordinating a welcoming committee and she sent me precise instructions to where to head once I cleared the breakwater.

Even if I did my homework I was still nervous.

I had little doubt my electric motor would work. It never failed before. The main switch was on and I could read a voltage of 52.3v on the display. The batteries were more charged than when I left the USA. The wind generator and the regeneration from the propeller charged them for the whole 42 days it took me to cross the Atlantic Ocean. 

You study the landfall. You run many movies in your head with all the scenarios. You know you have done this countless time. You know how the boat responds in different conditions. Still there is no way not to be nervous, which is good, in a way it keeps the energy and focus up.

I turned toward the opening in the breakwater with the residual speed from the wind once the staysail dropped on deck. The familiar low humming of the motor started as soon as I pulled the lever forward.

The wind shoved against the mast slowing me down as I rounded up toward the entrance. I measured my progress watching the boulders on my beam. Tranquility was not moving and the bow threatened to fall off. I asked more amperes from the batteries, from 25 to 35. Now the bow was steady dead upwind but there was not much progress forward. I increased to 40 amperes, then 45 amperes.

With this extra push from the motor the boat got momentum and I slowly saw the horizon progress behind the breakwater. As soon as the boats gained speed I adjusted back the throttle to 35 amperes. 

Then something unexpected happened. On my port side I saw a guy in an orange safety vest waving towards me and pointing to an empty slip. I was going so slow that it would have been impossible to pretend I did not see him. I realized he was the dock master and he was telling me where to dock. 

Sara and Miguel Angel, a veteran member of the yacht club, were waiting for me on a slip in the opposite corner. They sent me the precise instructions to head toward a vacant slip that would require less maneuvering. Miguel Angel is a sailing authority in Tenerife and he thought that was a better option for a solo sailor arriving after crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

At first I tried to comply with authority and head toward the dock master. It wasn’t a difficult maneuver but the strong wind made it much more challenging. I  gave up when I realized it would be so much easier to go where I was originally expected. Despite the strong winds pushing tranquility toward a 60ft steel sailboat, I was able to turn on a dime and proceed towards the welcome party in the far corner.

As I was approaching the slip I gradually decreased speed until my fenders touched the pontoon and friendly hands grabbed my dock lines. I had safely landed and finished my long voyage.

SURPRISE WELCOME PARTY

Sara came toward me leaving behind a group of people I have never met before but that I knew very well after hearing so many of her stories. The first kiss and hug was for her. It was brief and strange, as there were so many things happening around. Neither of us was sufficiently relaxed to finally meet heart to heart.

As I secured the lines and organized a bit the mess of the boat two familiar figures came towards me from the sea wall down to the pier. My mom and dad!

All of the sudden I realized why Sara was so adamant that I got underway from Faial. She had already arranged for my parents to get on the island and she was concerned it would take me ages to make it to Tenerife. It was a great emotion and it was also the first time they saw me arriving anywhere on Tranquility, and for one time I felt proud of it.

The rest of that day is confused in my memory, but the excitement of being with Sara, surrounded by family and new friends in a welcoming place was the best I could ask for when I set sail from Georgia 47 days earlier. I made it in one piece, and lived one of the most vivid and beautiful experiences of my life. It took a total of 42 days of sailing to complete the journey and, incidentally, 42 is also the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. I take it as a good omen.