The Captain's Logs.

September 2025. So, the boat is safe in Tazacorte. Bruce and I have a couple of days (reward for his Mal de Mere bravery) exploring and I stayed on a couple of days after Bruce left, got her on the hard, had one day of exploring before I had to get home to look after commitments and family. This post is those first few days, Trip 1, and then Trip 2 when I return in January.

Time and tide wait for no man, and we are going Beyond again. The boat is repaired. After much debating and thought we have decided to not go north to the UK but instead our course is La Palma in the Canaries.

And, finally, we are in Horta. Thrown the hook. Waited for dawn to not have to negotiate a busy harbour in the dark. Going to customs. Buying fags. Going to sleep. When I wake, a million things to do.

What AI can't do is speak from the heart. It doesn't have one. It can't be authentic. If you have ever used it, you have noticed how it sucks up in the most annoying way. Disingenuously, by whoever programmed it, it pretends and sets up a conversational tone as if between friends. AI girlfriends will do the same. It can't do genuine. It can't do authentic. It can't do compassionate. It cannot mimic the heart. Which is why it can't out-blog SvBeyond.com.

God is out here. And he called me out here. It sounds a bit mad to say it but, being truthful, it's what I feel. I am here to hear. Maybe it’s because I am detoxed off social media and screens, YouTube, Netflix, Prime, Spotify, replaced by the sounds of the wind in the sails, the waves breaking against the side of the boat, and silence.

Becalmed!  I asked Sam about the overall weather situation. He described it in his own words like this: "Imagine a massive pit of no wind in between Bermuda and the Azores.” That's about right.  In six hours I have drifted forward 10.9 miles. Multiplied by four, that's a 44 mile day.

Finally.  I am off to actually cross the Atlantic. My pit stop in Bermuda has been useful. For one, I got the critical repairs done and unearthed some unseen issues. Beyond is better equipped now for the big crossing. Second, I met some sailors also waiting for repairs and weather. Reassuring that it's not just me on Beyond facing these challenges. And third, meeting Auke who is heading back towards the Netherlands after, competing his Transatlantic circuit - a real inspi

So, afternoon in Georgetown, Bermuda. I am sitting in the cockpit and I have a little bit of sailor's blues I think. I achieved something, for me, amazing which is to sail across an ocean and do a six day passage to Bermuda from New York. Why depressed? Well, I wasn't expecting the breakages. I wasn't thinking I was that inexperienced. I wasn't realising quite how high the learning mountain was and how low in the foothills I was. And that, maybe, I am past being able to

The boat is fine. It's not over powered. The wind is steady, maybe even moderating a little. I settle down and enjoy how the boat is coping with the sporty conditions. Beyond, she really is a seaworthy boat in the sense that she rides the waves well. There is a comfortable quality to her movements. It's not sharp or jerky, like my old catamaran, but actually gentle and kindly. And then a bigger crash. The whole foresail has come down.

On sleep, not hitting other boats and ships, and the immense scale and mystery of the sea.

The sail down the East River is empowering. There is a lot going on, ferries, ships, other sailboats, motorboats and of course I am having to deal with all of it myself. I have a favourable wind and I am able to hoist my sails and have a very nice beam reach down with Manhattan to starboard.

We 'discovered' that Manhattan is only a small part of what makes New York epic. Additionally you have Staten Island, Brooklyn, and three other boroughs, and then sailors can reach Long Island Sound to the north east. We were struck by how much there was to discover every time you zoomed in to a particular area. The same in the Chesapeake, the same everywhere you discover this sense of wow as the landscape unfolds.

Like I wrote in the previous log you never feel totally ready. There are still outstanding things on the list of work. And you have to leave anyway. Or you never will.

The final refit work in Baltimore before we go sailing. In April I flew in to Baltimore to finish the refit work on Beyond. This is a short log of the work. Halfway through my 17 year old son, Cody, joined me to help - the carrot was the sail to New York when complete.They always say you shouldn't sail to a schedule but it's hard to manage in modern real life. I had not booked a return flight because I was sailing home. But my wife was joining us in New York, so we had a rea

How to trust your dream and cast off. In the quiet moments, maybe under a starry night, you ask yourself, ‘What do I want to do?’ And things pop into your brain. Huge things. Frivolous things. Ambitious. Selfish. And we start to analyse. Is it realistic? Is it worthy? I it meaningful? Is it nonsense?

Whatever happens next, do not comply. This is the time to stand, not cower.

A seasoned sailor, aged 64, and his trusty crew of sons want to embark on a voyage of a lifetime – starting with the refurbishment of a beloved boat. Well before we hoist the sails to navigate the waves and seas, we have to go through the trials and triumphs of boat refitting.

Each issue suggested hours of untangling someone else’s intentions. I felt a mix of excitement and dread. This wasn't just maintenance; it was a puzzle, each piece hinting at a larger story of the sea. And all of it nibbled at my confidence that I would be able to pull it off. Like so many projects before you start. But this I knew. Just start.

All my life I wanted to sail. And all my life I was pulled into different directions. Working, business, marrying, providing for a family. Truly, I have no regrets. The best thing I ever did was marry my lovely wife and have two boys with her. But...

Many of us start sailing from an early age. It might be a father, a grandfather, an uncle, or anyone.  For me, it was my dad.