We’re sailing by the Gulf of Venezuela as we approach the Colombian coastline, a notoriously difficult stretch of water with frequent high winds, big swell and current. This night is no exception. It’s 0100 and Jim and I are both in the cockpit under a ceiling of stars. It’s Jim’s watch, but tonight is all-hands on deck.
Polaris is surfing fast down waves which have now built to over 4m. The wind has just reached 40 knots but, mercifully, is coming from behind. Swell breaks into the cockpit once again, soaking us both. We decide to put the tiny sliver of genoa away, and begin sailing under bare poles. Our speed drops from 16 to 7 knots, but it’s still too fast, we don’t want a night-time arrival.
Under the full moon that lights our way, I can see crests of white water battering the Colombian coast in the distance. Outwardly we’re both calm, although adrenalin is running high.
The speed is thrilling but we feel secure, Polaris is handling it just fine. So are we; we have done so many miles together on this boat that has kept us safe. I catch my breath to realise that it was just three years earlier that I set foot on Polaris for the first time, having never sailed before in my life.
‘I loved the quiet of solo watches giving space for reflection in a way I hadn’t experienced in years – if ever’
INTO THE UNKNOWN
My partner Jim has sailed his whole life, I had zero experience. Together we
