Crossing the Pond: Bermuda to the Azores

With ample time to think, I've come up with a good way to visualize what our trip is like. However, we're roughing it compared to most sailors we've met, so this may not be the average Trans-Atlantic experience.

Imagine locking yourself in an empty room. You can bring with you two pictures: One of stormy seas, the other depicting a flat, motionless ocean. Also bring a few granola bars into the room.  Now stare at one picture for several hours. When you get tired of it, switch to the other picture. Tired of it? Switch back to the first. Eat a granola bar, then spin in circles 20 times until you're dizzy.  Now stagger around the room, shoulder pressed to wall, leaning at a 45 degree angle so you don't fall over. Now splash yourself in the face with cold water. Let the water soak into the carpet, and take a nap in it. Yay, sailing!

 We averaged 100 mile days for the first 1,200 miles of our voyage. Once again, despite a perfect weather forecast, high winds and rough seas were the norm. We're starting to question the weather man's credentials...this whole "sunny with a chance of clouds" prediction isn't cutting it.

As we pushed further east, we expected to receive calmer weather due to the Azores High, but conditions continued to worsen. Come to find out, we were feeling the distant effects of Hurricane Arthur! While clear of the danger zone, winds still pushed above 30 knots. Never mind Six Flags, we've got our own roller coaster ride.  Amanda nearly drowned by drinking water while the ride was in operation; rookie mistake. 

We encountered several interesting color shifts in the water from electric blue to dark teal for a few hundred miles in the middle of the Atlantic, then back to electric blue near the Azores. Dolphins are EVERYWHERE out here. We even dodged a few turtles!
 

Two hundred miles from the Azores, the ocean turned to glass.  Hot, static air brewed thunderstorms that towered overhead like a parthenon of the gods, majestic and forbidding.  By evening, columns of rain, black with density, poured from the sky.  Bolts of lightning struck the ocean.  Flashes in the clouds illuminated the colossus as it billowed higher.  Never in my life have I felt so small and helpless.

On day 20, we could make out the faint outline of land covered in a salty haze.  As we approached the island of Flores, the wind and swell increased. And increased. And increased.  Once again, we were in the middle of terrible weather, and once again, it was the exact opposite of predicted patterns. Winds around Flores normally blow from the Southwest, so we approached the island from that direction. After 1,700 miles, we were now within 15 miles of the island.  Fifteen miles!  And that's when the wind picked up.  From the Northeast.  For 2 days we hove to and drifted.  For 3 days we fought to make windward progress, only to get pushed back again. Five days and an extra 200 miles of zig-zagging later, we were again within 15 miles of the island. You can bet that we weren't letting it slip away a second time.