We made it! Firstly a BIG thank you for all your wishes and gratulations that are still coming in to the iridium satellite powered ‘boat’ email which, out of habit, we daily power up! We look forward to recharging here in Le Marin before returning home to Switzerland and seeing all our dear friends again soon!
Mr ST after successful transatlantic crossing.
We’re both fine and very, very content, as are skipper Yvon and dear co-crew Edwin and Pauline. Apart from a few bruises (all of us from hitting furniture and table edges in rough weather), heavy scrapes and bashed thigh (Mrs ST falling down the trapdoor in galley), rope burns (Mr ST not wearing gloves) and deep cuts (Mr ST pierced by his fish filleting knife), we thankfully have no dramatic injuries. It’s incredible to see land in the distance after almost three weeks of ocean and the closer we get to the Le Marin bay – to signs of civilisation and other boats – the more our spirits pick up. For all of us, the mental, physical and emotional discipline we powered up to keep going could finally relax and there are radiant smiles and a buzz all around the boat.
The crossing from Las Palmas to Martinique took 18 days, a bit longer than expected but the 15 knots of wind we saw in the last three days kept everything fun and exciting. The final run along the coast of Martinique was amazing with Quarterback giving her best and accelerating to her new home base, hitting speeds of up to 13 knots.
Pauline, Edwin & Mr ST
On coming into Le Marin, we first stop by the diesel dock to fill up the tank (we’d consumed 260 litres of diesel) and then onto the Autremer Concept dock where a small group awaits us with waves and hugs. Stepping off the boat onto land doesn’t feel odd at all. No giddiness or rubbery sea-legs. But suddenly everything is so quiet. Many of you asked how it felt on the boat. Well, imagine the worst airplane turbulence you’ve experienced. Now imagine it never stops over the course of 18 days. The bouncing, swaying, tilting and surging – that’s exactly how it felt. In the last days though, it was the constant noise that was hardest on our nerves. Sounds of wind rushing and whooshing, waves crashing and water sloshing, ropes hitting the hull. We expected the constant motion to be challenging and it was, but the incessant acoustic stimulation was most strenuous, the sounds of sailing are so loud and they never stop. Now at last, the noise stopped. The Le Marin marina is huge, it’s full of life, people and boats coming and going but it seems our ears are padded with cotton wool, everything sounds so quiet and calm.
We then leave Quarterback, bundle into cars to Yvon and Anne’s beautiful caribbean hilltop house for a delicious lunch of all we had been craving in the last days at sea: a big bowl of fresh green salad and barbecued Cote de Boeuf!
Skipper Yvon & Mr ST
The rest of the afternoon is spent packing up our belongings, emptying cabins, transporting all the leftover food and disposing rubbish before heading to our small nearby hotel to rest for the next few days before we return to work. Still buzzing from our experience and so used to the lovely rocking motion in our boat cabin bed, it’s hard to fall asleep and when we do, we’re soon awoken when the alarm rings for the midnight watch!
Now a day on, we’re still finding our feet. The feeling of drunken giddiness and walking on shaky ground is stronger than on the first day. After a delay, its all coming out, though not sure what ”it” is; feels like a delayed case of severe jet lag.
The transatlantic crossing is undeniably a significant undertaking on many levels. We each experienced our very personal challenges in various moments and have powerful images that will remain throughout our lives.
We’re now enjoying the warm temperatures here in Martinique, the lush greenery, the air heavy with the scent of flowers, colourful tropical birds visiting us on the veranda to peck at our croissant crumbs and we’ll spend Christmas Eve on the plane flying back home. That’s how we choose it and it makes us very happy.
We wish you all a very Happy Christmas and will be back!
“My day begins at 23:55 when the alarm wakes me for the midnight start of my watch. From 20:00 to 08:00, we split the night-watch into to 2 hour shifts amongst 3 of us. After a brief handover about any changes in wind direction, sails and speed I settle down at the navigation table, make a logbook entry and check the AIS. The AIS system identifies us and any other vessels within the vicinity and provides us with the other vessel’s course, speed and whether we’re on a collision course. Nevertheless, there are still boats out there not fitted with it so we do a 360 degree visual check every 30 minutes. Now and then a tanker or fishing boat will appear on the AIS display at 20 miles out, but we never see them, have never needed to adjust our course and haven’t seen another boat for the past 5 days. If Mrs ST joins me and the weather is calm, we watch an episode of the Vikings on DVD, otherwise I settle down with my book, check sails, and gaze at the moon and stars in the night sky. Suddenly I hear much squealing and commotion from one of the cabins, the door slides open and a waft of fish drifts out. A flying fish has flown into the cabin through the hatch and landed on Pauline’s face. Its now flapping around on the bed, shedding scales and general fishiness before Edwin can grab it and toss it back to sea. The flying fish are up to 20 cm long, bigger than we’ve ever seen and nights are accompanied by regular bumps as they land and flap helplessly on deck before we rush out to nudge them back into the sea. At 02:00, I hand over to the skipper and go back to bed for 4 hours of sleep till my next watch. I’m usually out within minutes.
06:00 follows the same routine and I also power up the Iridium GO to download the latest GRIB files and display the weather chart on our navigational map. At the moment we’re struggling with less wind than we need and there’s much discussion of what approach to take, whether to adjust our course for an optimal wind angle for speed or to stay on the direct route with a high chance of calm patches and slower progress. Today the sun rises at 07:34 – Quarterback local time. We’ve decided its 07:34 because it’s a unique liberty we can take: to adjust our watches when we feel it suits our rhythm even though we may actually be in the next time zone. Every few days we have a 25 hour day and adjust the clocks. There’s no jet lag on this trip, we’re traveling 50 times slower than a plane would! Mrs ST and I take our tea out onto deck to enjoy the early light and continue to be amazed. We’ve been traveling for 14 days and have seen nothing but water and sky and changing clouds with daily visits from sea birds that circle us curiously before flying off. It’s interesting how you become much more aware of the nuances when your surroundings don’t vary too much.The different shades of blue the sea takes on, the types of waves, the cloud formations. You begin to sense your surroundings much more, that wind has picked up, that we’re moving faster, that crew are getting concerned/bored/hungry. Although the day seems uneventful and relaxed compared to our ‘normal’ life, there are constant decisions to be made. Based on weather forecasts do we adjust our route, what course to take, which sails to set, can we afford to use the engine and for how long? What will we cook today, what will we cook tomorrow, now we’re delayed will we have enough food? Speaking of food reminds me to fish and out goes the trawling line. The Fishnor super, non-breakable, carbon fibre rod for weight up to 40 pounds we purchased especially for this trip? It broke in my hand on the first day. Cracked at the handle under the foam padding with just the weight of the lure on the line. So we’re using the skippers rod and reel. I wonder what explanation the fishing supplies dealer at home is going to come up with.
The morning is quiet until the rest of the crew start waking up, we discuss the course over breakfast and set the sails as we unfortunately can’t use the spinnaker today. It took a 10 meter rip along the seam yesterday and needs repairing. The 120m2 sail is bundled up and over the next 2 hours we set about opening the seam stitching along the rip. Repairing it will take 2 days. The only boats I’ve been on where nothing has broken have been exhibits in museums across the world. If you sail you’re always prepared for something to break. I usually make lunch for the crew, if I don’t, you’ll soon hear the rustling of crisp packets and biscuits because though the fridge is stocked with leftover pasta from last nights’ dinner, hard boiled eggs and various charcuterie, no-one else seems willing to prepare a halfway proper meal.
We also have the gadgets to take care of. Mrs ST has her Delorme InReach Explorer which we use to send our position and track in 2 hour intervals so that friends and family can follow our progress. The Iridium GO has proven invaluable and reliable apart from all the gripes about the app. We’re down to one functioning iPad on board so all mails come through that and I make a ceremony of playing postmaster delivering the messages to the rest of the crew. We take great pleasure in getting an email and sharing bits of news. We hear that some acquaintances on a boat that left Las Palmas 2 days before us are 2 days behind us so we haven’t done too bad with our strategy.
When the sun starts to drop in front of us, we lie down in the trampoline and I light up a cigar, to enjoy with a piece of black chocolate and a glass of rum. Yesterday we spotted a family of small whales and today we marvel as a pod of dolphins swerve and leap in front of the boat.
Sunset is at 18:48 QT and we then start making dinner which tonight is the dolfin fish I caught yesterday, baked in the oven with rice and a dukkous sauce. My strategy is to do all the cooking, that way I never have to do the washing up.
There isn’t much to do after dinner. I feel I’ve seized the day and done as much as I can in our sphere. I’m usually in bed by 21:30 to catch some sleep before the next midnight watch and another day begins.”
Week 1: Las Palmas-Martinique.
Rough seas with wind up to 30 knots, big gentle blue waves in sunshine, day long torrential rain, outside a mass of wet, dense greyness, hard to make out where sea ends and sky begins. We’ve had it all and slowly had enough. The big-picture weather data (GRIB file) is analysed daily and based on this we decide to adjust our course. Heading south to escape the unstable weather, we finally get our first sight of those fluffy, gentle, cotton-wool, trade wind, cumulus clouds in blue skies that should accompany us to Martinique.
The sunshine is an incredible boost to morale as we now spend more time out on deck and soak up the sun. Mr ST promptly catches a 9.5 kg tuna on which we shall feast (sashimi, tartar, steaks) for the next days. Moving southwards we also hit a huge field of no wind (yayy, no movement for a change! But also oh dear, no movement…).
Nights are spent in 2 hour watch shifts, gazing in amazement at stars, the moonlight turning the calm sea mercury silver. Days are spent reading, checking wind data, eating, lulling in the sun. When a second fish is caught we take advantage of the brief stop and all plunge into the deep, warm water (26.4 degrees) splashing and laughing, joyous at the incredible sensation of swimming in 5000 meter deep water in the middle of the atlantic!
And yet no wind. The easterly tradewinds are still even further south of our position and we have to resort to the dreaded engine to make distance throughout the night. Today, 14:30 UTC finally there! The first gusts of 10 knots East wind, spinnaker is raised and we bear further westerly on course to Martinique. These are wonderful days.
Quarterback, the new Autremer Concept’s ship NEEL 45 Trimaran in route to reach the base in Martinique from La Rochelle is hitting a cold front 200 nautical miles south west of Portugal, the skipper and the crew decide to keep sailing to Las Palmas, Grand Canaria.
4 days and 3 nights Quarterback sails in a strong 35 knots wind with a maximum burst of wind recorded at 70.2 knots.
The GPS records a 25 knots max speed over ground for the boat.
This is footage of Mr SlowTourist’s shift captured with his head mounted Go Pro while the other members of the crew are resting a bit.
All through the storm, the ship keeps behaving like a charm in a very safe a comfortable way which kept the crew really happy.
Quarterback will arive in Le Marin, Martinique around December 15th.
As managers, we’re practised in minimising risk, finding solutions, responding to the unexpected and optimising operations. Suitably prepared then you’d think for our current challenge. Or are we…? René Schneider, our resident nautical expert and one of the one of the most inspirational people we know took time out of his busy day for a chat with Mrs ST about the reality of such a sailing passage.
ST: The crossing of seas and oceans has held a particular fascination for centuries and it’s still one of the great adventures and challenges. It’s a draw that’s hard for land-lubbers to imagine. You’ve crossed the Atlantic three times, how would you describe the experience?
RS: The impressions crossing the Atlantic are barely describable in words. The vastness, to be removed from the rush and stress, the bustle of everyday life. The play of light on the broad periphery, sunrises and sunsets, clouds or short violent thunderstorms, moods, emotions that remain deeply rooted in you. The moment of casting off is magnificent! Knowing it’s not only for 1 or 2 days before you enter into a port again. No, the sails are hoisted, the course marked out over the Atlantic Ocean. There’s no land in sight, 7000 metres of water under the keel and 3000 sea miles front of the bow. It’s an awesome feeling!
ST: How do you recommend preparing for a crossing?
RS: Prepare yourselves psychologically for a unique experience. You need to possess the motivation and be physically and mentally healthy. Be in unison with your co-sailors, the wind, waves and the boat. Prepare for the diversity of a day that covers 24 hours without stress and pressure to perform within the meaning of everyday life. Instead, all senses are challenged by the elements of wind, waves and the sound of speed through the water. The unique images that are perceived only on the open sea are life-changing.
ST: You’ve been following the weather and Quarterback’s track over the last few days in very heavy, adverse wind of up to 50 knots. Based on your experience, what are crew and boat going through and what are the consequences?
RS: I think the last stage to Las Palmas is very racy. In my judgment, they have a hard sail close to wind. Over such a duration, it drains your strength and takes a toll on nerves. Mr SlowTourist is a fighter with sense, brains and brawn and he knows that “after the rain comes the sun”. Certainly the recovery stop in Las Palmas will be very valuable and it’s probably wiser to spend a day longer in port. It’s important that you really have the pull and desire to sail away. He’ll be looking forward to enjoying the downwind speed of the trimaran on the Atlantic Ocean.
ST: The strong W wind has prevented them from making much way as they bear SW. What do they need to do to stay on course to Las Palmas?
RS: Eventually they’ll have to adapt to the wind and drop off course. We saw this last night and it may lead to a delay in the ETA. According to the weather situation, the wind should come in more from the north again and they’ll be lined up for a better course and run southwards.
ST: One often reads about floating containers or potential collision with sleeping whales, what are the greatest dangers really for the second passage across the Atlantic to Martinique?
RS: There is always a residual risk and knowing you both, I’m convinced you’ve considered all aspects of this undertaking. However, the probability of collision with a container is very, very low, as the Atlantic passage is not on a Maritime route.
And certainly Lorenzo has one scenario drummed in deep on his mental hard disk – always wear a life-jacket/harness and always clip on.
ST: You were also Lorenz’s sailing instructor and coach, have guided and accompanied him through his various qualifications. Any advice from the sailing instructor to his former pupil?
RS: Advice? Mr ST is one of the few people with whom I would cross the Antarctic. His incorruptible cheerfulness, broad knowledge, intellectually and technically, are the best conditions for your undertaking. And the very best: having YOU on his side! I am convinced you will master any situation.
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