From uncertainty to triumph: Our epic sailing journey to Isla de Providencia

Our sailing adventure from the Virgin Islands to Isla de Providencia unfolds from planned routes to unpredictable waves. Experience the thrill of facing the elements, cargo ships, and the delicate balance between preparation and uncertainty. Join us as we navigate the vast ocean, maintaining our mental resilience and enjoying life on board. The journey is an emotional rollercoaster, from excitement to fear, with a heartwarming reunion at the storm’s end.

We spend days preparing for our next sailing trip. On the downloaded weather forecasts from Predictwind, we observe two major depressions that will significantly impact our route and the meeting point with our friends from Sailing Mabul.

While we all look forward to sailing to the Cayman Islands, we are apprehensive about the direction of the wind in the second phase of our journey. The wind is expected to shift from the west to the north, which is ideal for our friends starting their sail from Guatemala but a nightmare for us as it requires sailing directly against the wind to reach our desired destination. The inevitable confrontation will force us into a battle with the elements, constantly tacking and trying to sail as close to the wind as possible—a challenge for our boat. I can already hear the loud slaps we will make on the water and the vibrations through the boat. The likelihood of something breaking on board is high.

Additionally, the forecasts warn us of the emergence of extra high waves, adding more discomfort and uncertainty to our journey. This is not something you want. Seeking stress and constant alertness is not advisable unless absolutely necessary.

Two days before departure, we decided that the meeting would not occur in the Cayman Islands but on the mysterious Isla de Providencia. Our adventure takes shape, with a detailed plan for our route heightening the excitement. Now, we can focus on staying connected with the rest of the world amidst the vast ocean. Onboard, we have both Starlink and an Iridium GO. However, Starlink is not yet activated for use on open seas, and we are now considering whether to activate both Starlink and the Iridium GO or dare to rely solely on Starlink. After thorough research, we now know we can enable the ocean-use option before departure and deactivate it once we arrive at Isla de Providencia. As a safety net in this sea of uncertainties, we will also activate the Iridium GO. Who knows, it might be our lifeline if Starlink fails to deliver on the ocean waves.

Mental preparation for an extended sailing journey is also crucial in trip planning. We know the potential challenges and prepare for the more demanding weather conditions we will face on this crossing. This preparation automatically includes accounting for the significant movements of the boat, increasing the likelihood of seasickness. Additionally, extensive cooking onboard poses a significant challenge, with stories from fellow sailors about pots and pans flying across the galley. While these scenarios can occur, we strive to limit them as much as possible.

To be prepared for this, I spent a day in the kitchen before departure. I prepare ample portions of chickpea curry, green bean curry, Dahl, Chili Con Carne, and Biryani, which I then portion and store in the freezer. The importance of good food during the crossing is paramount, and this way, everyone can quickly warm up something even if the chef happens to be seasick.

Entertainment onboard is crucial, especially during our night watches during our crossing. Although it may sound strange, you spend about 9 hours a day more or less alone, and it’s up to you to entertain yourself. At that time, others are sleeping, and our day and night rhythms may differ. Everyone chooses which books to read, movies or series to watch, podcasts to listen to, etc. Before the journey, we download everything and ensure it’s available offline.

Departure day has arrived. We download the latest weather reports and make a final inspection around the boat for thorough checks. We carefully check if everything is securely fastened and stowed away while Jeroen performs the final oil checks. After these last preparations, we gave Neptune a generous sip of rum, embraced each other, and wished each other fun and success during the crossing. Our journey from the Virgin Islands to Isla de Providencia is about 1051 nautical miles, and we look forward to it. We lift the anchor, and the other boats, with whom we had pizza last night, wave us off. You never know if you’ll see each other again. Slowly, we see the pier and the sheltered bay of Fredericksted getting smaller.

The sun is shining, and soon, we have a broad reach, with wind speeds between 21 and 30 knots. It doesn’t take long before we set up our downwind poles. This allows us to trim the genoa further, making the boat glide over the water more gracefully and stable. The course is enjoyable, and despite waves of about 2 meters high, we experience little hindrance. You only notice that the back of the boat gradually rises and then smoothly rides the waves like a smooth slide. Our trusty fishing rod comes out again, and we are curious if luck will be on our side while fishing. Once we are sailing on the right course, everyone quickly relaxes. Pleasant music plays in the background as we chat and scan the deep blue ocean surface. The waves, turning turquoise with a white foam when breaking, contribute to the increasingly calm atmosphere on board. Groups of flying fish leap out of the water, perhaps chased by larger fish below, while above water, they also risk falling prey to the birds in the air.

As the day slowly turns into night, we notice considerable shipping traffic around us, mainly cargo ships and occasionally a cruise ship that we see on our Automatic Identification System (AIS). Especially at night, it is essential to be extra vigilant. During my watch, I contact a cargo ship four nautical miles away. I informed them that we were the sailing boat, My Motu, on their starboard side and that our routes would intersect. I kindly ask if they have noticed us and what the best plan is to pass each other, in front or behind. It became clear to me quickly that they had not noticed us yet, and I received an urgent request to reduce speed because they planned to sail in front of us. I explain that when I surf down a wave, I reach a speed of about seven nautical miles per hour, but on average, I maintain six nautical miles per hour. As a precaution, I alter our course a few degrees to the west. 15 minutes later, at a distance of just under one nautical mile, the cargo ship safely passes in front of us, with the turbulent water behind their ship clearly visible

During the first five days of our journey, we can maintain our course without many adjustments to the sails. During that time, we managed to catch two fish: a barracuda, which we kindly released, and a mahi-mahi, which, despite our efforts, escaped two meters before hoisting it on board due to the relentless speed of our boat. Which was a setback, as this was our planned tasty meal. Disappointed, we quickly cast the fishing rod again, but unfortunately, we didn’t catch any more fish after that!

The nights are calm, and we enjoy activities like reading books, watching movies or series, and admiring the stars. Starlink works reasonably well, as long as the waves are not too rough, and we even manage to have a video call in the middle of the sea. On the sixth day, the weather changed, as expected. With speeds between 28 and 33 knots, the wind shifts to the west and then to the northwest. Waves, reaching heights of 3.5 meters with an interval of less than 3 seconds, ruthlessly batter against the hull. This makes the boat feel like it’s in a wild rollercoaster, being pushed about 40 degrees sideways. Even the side decks go underwater, which doesn’t happen very quickly on our boat, and at first, it’s quite nerve-wracking.

Watching those high waves initially triggers an immediate response in my body: my neck, shoulder, and jaw muscles tense up powerfully, like an automatic defence reaction against the overwhelming sea force. I struggle with the moment’s intensity, where my senses are sharp, and my mind is tossed back and forth between the past and the present.

I desperately try to keep my focus on the now, but the fear of drowning lingers like a dark shadow in my consciousness. It’s as if I’m transported back to that frightening moment under the windsurf sail on Lake Grevelingen, where I lay entangled in my own struggle, determined to break free. The memories of that suffocating experience gnaw at my inner peace while facing the restless waves.

In my thoughts, the echo of Jeroen’s saving action resonates just in the nick of time, intensifying my current feelings further. Hours pass, but it takes a while for me to adapt to the boat’s motion. Gradually, the initial fear transformed into a familiar feeling, and I regained confidence in myself and the boat.

Suddenly, a deafening bang cuts through the air, and our eyes register with disbelief the brutal attack of a wave that mercilessly pounds against the bottom of the dinghy, causing a strap to snap abruptly. In a flash, Jeroen straps on his life jacket and with determination to our newly acquired lifelines, he grabs a new strap and steers himself towards the battered dinghy. The threat of losing our valuable dinghy raises our adrenaline levels as Jeroen clings to his task, knowing that preventing a second strap failure is crucial.

With each approaching monstrous wave, my heart skips a beat, and I shout warnings to Jeroen so he can hold on and avoid the danger of being dragged into the raging sea. The fear of losing a crew member to the ruthless ocean is tangible, and the air is tense as we helplessly watch nature unleash its relentless power. Eventually, when Jeroen safely returns to the protective embrace of the cockpit, Rajesh and I feel a wave of relief wash over us.

Occasionally, something falls from its original place. We investigate what exactly has fallen and stow it in a safer place. Time seemed to crawl agonizingly slowly that day as if the waves were ruthlessly and deliberately trying to thwart every step forward, although reality suggests otherwise. Yet, we sail slower than on the other days. Inside the boat, even simple tasks like preparing and warming up food become a true ordeal. It is crucial to hold on firmly inside the boat while cooking and moving around; a brief moment of inattention can unintentionally lead to an abrupt launch. I remember one such incident while Jeroen fell victim to it twice.

During our night watches, calmly reading a book or watching a movie proved almost impossible, as the unpredictable sea constantly demanded our attention. We were forced to be constantly vigilant, with a sharp eye on the waves and our surroundings.

I had to contact two cargo ships by radio because we were on the verge of colliding. Again, the importance of our contact proved itself; otherwise, they probably would have overlooked us. Fortunately, both cargo ships adjusted their course and speed and safely passed behind us. This raises the intriguing question: is there always an attentive crew present in the navigation room of these giant ships?

After five days under a radiant sun and three days battered by storms on the stormy sea, we reached Isla de Providencia. An abundant rain shower greeted us as we approached, but even that couldn’t restrain the bubbling joy. Emotions came alive as we embraced our sailing friends from Sailing Mabul again, the camaraderie palpable. It was a joyful reunion, and we eagerly look forward to the next chapter of our shared journey.