Land ho! – Santo Antão, the northwesternmost island of Cape Verde.
On the early morning watch shift, after six days at sea, I caught my first glimpse of a rugged coastline on the horizon – Santo Antão, Cabo Verde.
Cabo Verde (or Cape Verde) is an island country in the central Atlantic Ocean off the coast of West Africa. The nation consists of ten volcanic islands lying west of Cap-Vert, the westernmost point of continental Africa. It is remote.
“Bird Island” in Cape Verde is a rocky islet near Mindelo on São Vicente, famous for its lighthouse and seabirds like Cape Cormorants.
Our destination is Mindelo, a port city on São Vicente, and it is the only city in Cabo Verde with a sizable modern marina. After 1.5 days of motor-sailing due to a malfunctioning headsail furler, we made landfall at Mindelo Marina.
The raw beauty of Mindelo immediately captivated us. It is evident that Cabo Verde is a developing country. Its historic significance in the Atlantic trade from Africa has greatly declined in modern times. Although it gained independence from Portugal in 1975, Portuguese influence remains in its colonial-era buildings, culinary traditions, and music. Speaking of music, it filled the streets every evening after sundown.
Colorful colonial houses line the shores of Porto Grande harbor against a backdrop of rugged mountains.Porto Grande HarborWe enjoyed an incredible sunset and a nice meal at Marina Mindelo Floating Bar on our arrival dayCall for a celebration for making 900 NM safe and sound (left to right: Cindy, Robert, Pau and Claudia). Not sure why, but the two guys in the background of this picture remind me of the movie The Matrix. Central Market
We, however, were not mere tourists; we had important tasks to accomplish here! To repair the furling mechanism, we first needed to remove the headsail, which, as it turned out, was more challenging than we had anticipated. Every sailor knows that the ideal condition to remove sails is on a windless day. But in Mindelo, Feb offered no such days! The consistent trade winds we depended on for sailing across the Atlantic Ocean were working against us in this incident. For the first three days after our arrival, the winds blew steadily at 20 to 25 knots. After staring at the wind instruments for 3 days, we finally devised a plan to tackle the sail removal and repair at sunset on Day 3. Long story short, the four of us managed to bring down Juno’s massive genoa sail just as the wind dipped to 12-15 knots for a very short moment. The onlookers cheered our success, and we high-fived each other with great relief.
The next challenge, we did not have the exact screws for the repair and could not source them in Mindelo. This problem was solved by the clever captain. He managed to find some stainless steel screws from a local hardware store and altered them with a grinder to fit the purpose. Pau and Robert completed the repair and were confident that it would last us for the crossing.
We cast the dock lines after a short four-day stay in Mindelo and resumed our Atlantic crossing. This unplanned visit to my first African country left a deep impression on me.
I want to use the words “smooth sailing” to describe the rest of our Atlantic transit journey, except that “smooth” is not the correct adjective. The late northern Atlantic storms were active in February and March of 2025, which generated a north swell that constantly hit us on the broad side, causing Juno to roll in an uncomfortable side-to-side motion. It often got worse during sunset, as the east-to-west trade wind softened, and cooking for dinner was quite an arduous yet comical exercise. Claudia was my cooking assistant, with the main task of holding down plates, bowls, and their contents. Dish washing was definitely a two-person job. Daily exercise consisted of balancing muscles while sleeping, holding on while moving around, and occasional pull-ups on the companion doorway. Days started to blend together. We saw no ships but one during the first 11 days at sea. We ate our last apple on the day before arrival! Great success in provision planning.
2/11/2025 the day before departure3/5/2025 the day before arrival
That one ship we saw became our “buddy boat”. As we were beating into the wind and waves rounding the southern tip of Santo Antão island, we caught a glimpse of another sailing vessel. We checked it out on our AIS and learned that it was a pleasure sailboat, the same length as Juno, heading the same direction as we were. We hailed them on the radio to say hi, and found out that this boat was also an Amel 54, heading to Martinique. What a coincidence! Throughout the journey, the two captains maintained daily communication about our positions and conditions until we reached Le Marin.
Morning coffee in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The best!
On day 13, we made landfall at Le Marin, Martinique, safe and sound.
Raising the French courtesy flag after checking into Martinique.
Quick stats for the Atlantic Crossing
Total distance traveled: Las Palmas to Mindelo ~900 NM; Mindelo to Le Marin ~2200NM; total ~3100 NM
Total sailing days: 6+12.9= 18.9 days
Total engine hours: 49 hours; mainly due to motor sailing for 1.5 days before reaching Mindelo
The Maspalomas Dunes are sand dunes located on the south coast of the island of Gran Canaria. Robert flew the drone for the first time. Nice soft landing!
With a favorable weather window ahead of us, we bid farewell to La Línea and embark on the first leg of our Atlantic crossing with a small dose of trepidation and incredulity and plenty of excitement.
Aside from a few intense hours spent navigating heavy tanker traffic in the Strait of Gibraltar1 and keeping an eye out for orcas, the trip from La Línea to Gran Canaria Island was uneventful. Robert and I followed a three-hour watch schedule from 6 PM to 6 AM, taking turns napping during the day whenever we felt tired. This routine worked well for us, and we didn’t feel overly fatigued when we arrived in Las Palmas after covering over 700 nautical miles in four days.
Las Palmas, the capital and largest city of the Canary Islands, is well-known for hosting the Atlantic Arc Rally. Every November, about 150 cruising boats depart from here to Rodney Bay in Saint Lucia. Lucky for us, when we arrived in early February, the majority of the trans-Atlantic sailing boats had already left for the Caribbean, and as such, we had no trouble securing a marina slip in the popular Las Palmas Marina.
Many cruisers paint their boat names and graphics on rocks along the promenade next to the marina before their Atlantic crossing to commemorate the event. We found a rock painted by a different Juno.
As Robert and I prepared for our Atlantic crossing, many people asked whether we were considering bringing additional crew for the adventure. Most popular sailing books recommend having at least four sailors for the 3,200-nautical-mile (or 3,600-mile) journey, which typically takes about three to four weeks. The challenge for us was that we didn’t have any sailing friends available to join us on this trip. Additionally, we had heard cautionary tales from fellow sailors who had experienced horrendous situations when bringing on crew members they did not know well. After weighing the pros and cons and bolstered by the confidence we gained from two successful multi-day passages, we decided to prepare for a two-person trans-Atlantic journey.
It always feels great to step on land after a long voyage. Once Juno was safely docked at the Las Palma Marina, I stepped off the boat and went for a walk. As I opened the dock gate, I almost ran into a young couple who were putting up a flyer on the bulletin board next to the marina gate. I glanced at their flyer and realized they were looking for a boat to cross the Atlantic. I wished them good luck and continued on my first walk after four days at sea. When I returned to Juno, I saw the same good-looking couple chatting with Robert on the dock. That’s how we met Pau and Claudia.
We soon learned that Pau and Claudia were both in their thirties and from Barcelona. Pau had left his job as a lawyer to become a sailing charter boat captain, while Claudia had recently taken a sabbatical from her stressful job as a fashion designer to sail with Pau for a year or two. Their goal was to hitchhike their way to Asia. Unfortunately, the family they had been sailing with on a brand-new catamaran unexpectedly decided to postpone their transatlantic plans for a year or two after reaching the Canary Islands. This last-minute change left Pau and Claudia in a difficult situation.
For those unfamiliar with sailing routes, the most common circumnavigation route is the mid-latitude trade wind route, the same path that Columbus took to reach the Americas. Therefore, to travel from Europe to Asia, Pau and Claudia must first sail west across the Atlantic to North America, then continue west from there to the Pacific Ocean and Asia.
Pau and Claudia seemed genuine, mature, and trustworthy, and they also had solid sailing experience. Our chance encounter with them reopened the closed question: should we take additional crew members for the crossing?
That night, Robert and I invited Pau and Claudia to dinner to get to know them better. We hit it off wonderfully, and soon after, we invited them to join us on our Atlantic crossing.
Since we began our cruising life, we have experienced several serendipitous encounters that have greatly enriched our travels, and meeting Pau and Claudia was one of the highlights.
Over the next ten days, we kept busy finishing the necessary preparations. Robert and Pau worked together to fix a wiring issue with our wind instrument, which required a couple of trips to the top of the mast. At the same time, Claudia and I gathered extra food and supplies for our crew of four. With Claudia’s local knowledge, we stocked up on Jamón and my all-time favorite cheese – Oveja con Trufa (a hard sheep milk cheese with truffle). We also completed several maintenance tasks to ensure that Juno was in top condition. Las Palmas is a lovely city. This is one of the places I can see myself living in and being happy. People are wonderfully friendly, the climate is sunny and mild year-round, the town offers all the modern conveniences, an excellent bus system, and a lower cost of living, yet it remains quaint and relaxed.
View from the top of Juno’s mast in Las Palma Marina. The boat next to us is an Amel Supermaramu; her owner is a Swedish couple who just completed their circumnavigation.A day trip to Maspalomas and a lovely lunch at a super cute Thai restaurant: SA•WAD•DEE MelonerasAn apple a day keeps the doctor away! We put up a big fruit hammock in the salon for fruits. We kept bananas and papayas outside, as we learned that bananas cause other fruits to ripen faster. This may be why many sailors still believe that bananas bring bad luck to a sailboat and strictly forbid them on board.
On February 12, exactly 90 days after Robert and I arrived in Barcelona with 16 pieces of luggage and boarded Juno, we set sail to leave Europe and head west toward the Caribbean, with Martinique as our destination. Our sailing plan was to follow the traditional sailor’s adage for crossing the Atlantic: “head south until the butter melts, then turn west.” We intended to only sail “close” to Cabo Verde before turning west to catch the trade winds.
Crew morale was excellent, and everyone adapted well to life at sea. Robert and Pau deployed Juno’s whisker pole for the first time and experimented with various sail configurations as the wind strength and directions varied. We established a watch schedule routine and prepared delicious meals every day. Entertainment at sea includes reading, listening to audiobooks, playing guitar (both Pau and Robert play), watching sunsets and dolphins, playing chess, and fishing.
Robert and Pau are setting up the whisker pole for downwind sailing. On day 4, we were visited by a large pod of spotted dolphins! What a treat!On day 3, we caught our very first fish – a Mahi Mahi. We made fish tacos, and they were delicious.
We had set a fishing rod in trolling mode, and shortly after catching our first mahi-mahi, we hooked another mahi-mahi! Unfortunately, it managed to escape just as we were pulling it up. What a bummer! After losing that second fish, our fishing luck took a turn for the worse. Soon after, we hooked something BIG! Whatever it was that bit the lure took all the line, and Pau and Robert had to take turns trying to reel it in. All hands were on deck, and there was a rush of excitement in the air!
In an instant, before any of us could react, we heard a bang and a whoosh, and then silence. No line, no rod—everything had disappeared. The fish had taken the fishing rod! Robert had set the rod in the holder for a second to put on his gloves. The pressure on the rod was so great that it caused the holder to flip at its mounting hinge. Now, this poor big fish had to drag a 600 Euro fishing rod that Robert had gotten for Christmas. The worst part – we would not be able to fish for the rest of the passage. Ugh!
This video clip captured the start of the battle against the unknown big fish. Unfortunately, we did not have any recording of losing the rod.
We were still feeling down about losing our rod when the wind increased to over 25 knots and night fell. The sea became rougher, with 2-3 meter waves hitting us broadside, causing an uncomfortable side-to-side motion. It was time to reduce sail and prepare for the night watch.
Yet another heart-sinking surprise for the day, we couldn’t reduce the headsail! The furling motor was turning, but the sail wouldn’t roll in. Pau put on his foul-weather gear, clipped on his personal flotation device (PFD), and ventured to the foredeck for a closer look. What he found was concerning: the screws securing the roller furling mechanism to the motor had come loose. Four stainless M8x20 hex screws were supposed to hold it in place; three had now been lost to the sea, and the last one, fortunately, landed on the deck near the windlasses and was recovered.
In the dark with a rolly sea, we managed to get that one screw partially back in and furled the sail completely; however, it was now considered out of order until we could perform a permanent repair. The genoa sail track extrusion had slid down into the motor adapter, and we couldn’t replace the screws without lifting it back up about 10-11 inches. Repairing the furling mechanism would require removing the sail, which was impossible at sea. Without a functional jib sail, Juno’s speed and balance would be significantly affected, and we still have at least 75% of the distance to go before we reach the Caribbean!
Fortunately, we were still on course south towards Cabo Verde. Mindelo, here we come!
The Strait of Gibraltar is one of the world’s busiest maritime choke points, with around 300 large ships daily connecting the Atlantic and Mediterranean, carrying significant global trade, and featuring major transshipment hubs like Algeciras and Tanger Med, requiring strict adherence to Traffic Separation Schemes (TSS) and vigilance due to strong currents and dense traffic. ↩︎
