Looking at this table we can clearly see that the time it takes to cross the Atlantic has decreased exponentially. Some big developments were of course the steam engine that allowed for bigger and much faster ships to travel the Atlantic while also bringing a lot more cargo.
If we look at the Sailboats in this list, we can see that the more hulls you have the faster it goes (if you want to know more about how that works, check out this article)
There is not a significant difference in time to complete between the catamarans and the trimarans in the short run, but in a circumnavigation of the world, the difference can be huge.
A monohull on the other hand is slower, this is mainly due to the amount of drag this type of hull has.
This table compares different types of boats under the same conditions and adds an airplane as a point of reference.
Here are the records for the fastest crossings of the Atlantic in a Sailboat.
5d 14h 21min 25s | Comanche | Monohull | 2016 | 21.44 knots (39.71 km/h) | |
3d 15h 25min 48s | Banque Populaire V | Trimaran | 2009 | 32.94 knots (61.00 km/h) | |
4d 11h 10m 23s | Sodebo Ultim | Trimaran | 2017 | 28.35 knots (52.50 km/h) |
The 2880 Nautical miles(5330 Km) long route starts at Ambrose Light in New York and finishes on an imaginary line between Lizard Point and Ushant of the coast of England
As you might have noticed, there aren’t any numbers for catamarans since the classes are divided between monohulls and multihulls. Since trimarans (three hulls) are faster than catamarans (two hulls), there is no real point in racing a cat.
What you also may have noticed are the ridiculously high speeds these boats are doing. Bear in mind that these are racing boats optimized for speed and made to smash world records.
There’s a big difference between the 28 knots a racing trimaran will make and the 9 knots a cruising catamaran will.
Crossing the Atlantic can be done in almost any sailboat or ship. As a matter of fact, it has already been done in small rowboats and open catamarans, so everything is possible.
If your question is what boat should I use to get a somewhat comfortable and safe trip, well, then we have something to talk about.
Choosing between a monohull or a multihull has more to do with personal preferences. Some people really like the stable platform of a catamaran, and others dont think it’s a real way of sailing and wants to be heeling over to its side to fully get that true sailing experience.
For me? Catamaran every day, speed, and comfort, but I’m also not a purist sailor in any way. I’m an adventurist, and the boat is merely a way to experience adventures.
The size I would say matters, bigger usually means it’s safer and can handle bigger waves, although it might be harder to handle on your own I something happens to you or your crew mid-sea.
Most people seem to cross the Atlantic with a boat in the 35 -45 ft spectrum, which fulfills both requirements!
If you are interested in digging deeper into what sized boat you should get, check out my article on Best Sized Catamaran for Ocean Sailin g
Other aspects you might consider are the size in terms of space onboard , how many people are you doing the passage with, the more people, the easier operating the boat will be. This assumes you have a well-trained crew that you know well.
And what are you going to do once you get there, is it the end of your trip or is the beginning. If you’re doing everything just to cross the ocean and then get someone else to bring it back, that’s one thing. But if its the start of a long adventure, the requirements are different. You are going to want more space for scuba gear, and other toys.
I do think the most important aspect is that you have a seaworthy boat that it’s capable of withstanding weeks on end with sailing in many times rough conditions.
This means that your equipment spent has to be the most expensive and handy, but it needs to be in good condition, and you need to be able to handle your great in every weather.
Not including your average stuff when sailing, such as life vests, etc. There are some great that you might not be on your everyday say m still that could be of high importance during such a formidable sail as this.
Westward route: europe to the caribbean.
According to Jimmy Cornell, a well-known sailor and circumnavigator that has made his own research on the subject, Las Palmas is one of the biggest ports of departure for sailboats crossing the Atlantic.
Around 75’% of the sailboats that arrive in Las Palmas on the Canary Islands will depart for an Ocean crossing.
Getting to The Canary Islands, you should not be in a hurry; there are many very beautiful places en route. No matter where you are coming from this is a good stop well worth a visit.
Coming from the north of Europe, you have France, Spain, and Portugal. Entering from the Mediterranean, you have Italy, Croatia, Greece, and so many other interesting places that you shouldn’t miss unless you’re on a very tight schedule.
Once you reach Las Palmas, you can either go straight towards the Caribbean island of Barbados, or you can do a stop along the way at Cap Verde.
A stop at cap Verde makes sense in many ways; for one, it makes the transatlantic trip more manageable by dividing it into two sections.
The second reason is that it gives you the possibility to stock up on fuel and water that you might have used more than you thought. Since Cap Verde is well developed when it comes to receiving boats doing this type of passage, there is no technical expertise on the island.
From Cap Verde, you can also take a direct flight to Portugal and onwards if the need arises.
Even though you might not plan to stop here, the recommendation is to at least plan your sailing, so you pass close to the islands, so if something happens, you can head to Mindelo port and fix it.
Another good reason why you would go close is that the further south you go, the better chance you will have of catching those sweet tradewinds that will take you safely and enjoyably to the warm waters of the Caribbean.
Sailing west is the preferred option for any sailor and especially if you are on a boat that doesn’t sail perfectly upwind, such as a catamaran.
Sailin g west and using the tradewinds is perfect on a catamaran, the sail will be faster and more comfortable than a monohull of the same size.
Looking at the 2019 ARC (Atlantic Rally for Cruisers), a 55ft french catamaran outclassed the 65 ft professionally sailed monohull with a 10-hour lead. All this while doing yoga on board, something that I can promise was not happening on the monohull.
The stable platform of a catamaran with the wind on your stern makes sailing west on a transatlantic passage perfect for Catamaran.
Coming back to Europe, I would argue that the same principles are still valid: to stop at or pass by islands close enough to have the option of going into port if need, and using the tradewinds to your advantage.
Considering this, most people leave the Caribbean from Tortola, Britsh virgin islands, or St Marteen. These make great starting points for the eastward journey since they are the last point where there is plenty of fuel, spare parts, and food for the long and sometimes arduous trip back to Europe.
Though it is not necessary, many sailors make a halt at Bermuda; this is a good start to fix anything broken or wait for the right weather before your head on to the next part of your trip.
The Azores, the same goes here, you can skip it, but staying close to it adds safety and comfort if needed, and I would also stop by just to enjoy the islands. It’s a beautiful place and good for a few days of low-intensity cruising.
If you still have some energy left after the trip from Bermuda, one option is to head for a place called Horta. The place is well remembered for its hospitality towards sailors heading towards Europe.
Once you have refueled on diesel and energy, it is time to head for northern Europe. This is usually done by sailing north until the 45th latitude and then heading east.
Choosing a route has a lot to do with your intended purpose of the trip, are you going for a speed record, then going more north might be an option, and accepting the risk might be ok for you and your crew.
If you are going west but more interested in doing it safely and are able to spend a little more time out at sea, then the southern routes mentioned above with a departure date around November and December.
Going west on your way to the Caribbean, you’ll notice the days are getting warmer and longer; this is because going west, you also travel south towards the equator where the days and nights are equally as long be it summer or winter.
This weather window is to avoid the hurricane season in the Caribbean that ends in late November, these are the main risk and must be considered in your plan.
Taking into consideration the information above with trade winds, the possibility of breakdowns, and the collective knowledge of the area.
The best route for a westbound Atlantic crossing is from Las Palmas (on the Island of Gran Canarias) to Barbados Via Cap Verde. The best route going east is from St Marteen to the Azores Via Bermuda.
This is, of course, based on the assumptions we have discussed above, and it might not apply to your skillset or aim of the crossing.
You can definitely cross the Atlantic on your own (short-handed). As a matter of fact, many do every year. Of course, this demands more of the sailor since there is nobody to ask for advice or to help while underway.
Neither is there anyone that will help you with handling sails or maintenance while underway; because of this, it is more dangerous and more difficult to solo sailor sail short-handed as it is also called.
The usual way is to either bring a crew of your own, recruit a crew from the port of exit, or find one online via crewseeker.net.
Sailing in big oceans is never a hundred percent safe. This is why it is an adventure if it was absolutely safe, where would the attractiveness and the excitement lie?
Looking at the data, there aren’t many accidents happening, and of those, there are even fewer that are deadly or leave the crew injured for life.
There are also ways to make it safer; we have discussed boat size and crew skills; other route selection factors are vital. It might not be the quickest to cross the Atlantic, but the southern route seems to be a safer bet.
Prepare yourself, your crew, and the boat, and the chances for accidents will still be there, but they will be small and manageable.
Spending two to three weeks in the middle of the ocean can definitely be lonely, but it can also be the absolute opposite. If you’re sailing with a crew, you will share the same small space with everyone else, always bumping your elbow. If the weather is rough, you may all be a little tired, which also adds to the group dynamics.
But even if you would get sick and tired of your crew, there are ways to call back home. You might have a Satellite phone, which is expensive by the minute but a lovely way to hear the voice of a loved one back at land. Much better than a text message through Email.
Sending emails has been a pretty straightforward process since the SSB radio started to be utilized. This type of radio is very simplistic and has good reception up to thousands of miles .
The nice thing with this radio is that it allows for data traffic, which means not only are you able to receive weather updates, but you can also contact your family through Email.
Yes, there might not be a coast guard or anything nearby, and you might be way out to sea, but there is help to get. Since every ship is listening to some set of frequencies, usually, the first step is to call for a Mayday on that channel.
If you’re not getting anyone’s attention, then they might still see you on the AIS, Automatic Identification System, which makes anyone around you know where you are.
Many times the crossing is done together with a lot of other vessels; this gives comfort as they might also be able to help in case of emergency.
If all this fails, you probably also will have your EPIRB, Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon , which is a gadget that can be activated through certain triggers such as water, tilt angle, or manually activated.
Once activated, it sends an emergency signal at different frequencies and relays the information back to shore for someone to come help you.
Owner of CatamaranFreedom.com. A minimalist that has lived in a caravan in Sweden, 35ft Monohull in the Bahamas, and right now in his self-built Van. He just started the next adventure, to circumnavigate the world on a Catamaran!
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Three owners joined their superyachts to cross the Atlantic and found more than they expected in the vastness of the ocean, they tell Caroline White .
Crossing oceans is a necessity if you want to get your yacht to the good stuff on either side. But, of course, the owner doesn’t need to be on board – that’s what paid crew (or even a yacht transport ship) are for. The conventional view is that two weeks and 3,000 nautical miles of rolling Atlantic – with bad weather or a technical failure the only likely source of excitement – make the Atlantic milk run a chore, a bore, even a little frightening: a venture you’d probably want to get a pay cheque out of.
But three owners defied this received wisdom to see other possibilities in joining their sailing yachts across the pond, from Europe to the Caribbean. Ilia Rigas and her daughter Nepheli, owners of 50-metre Almyra II , started from Syracuse in Sicily, while Nina Vibe-Petersen, owner of 54-metre Parsifal III and 52-metre Q , started from Gibraltar on the latter. Both yachts left in November last year to arrive in St Barths.
“Our goal was to do a circumnavigation,” says Rigas. “This is the reason we bought a Perini . We thought okay, let’s do the crossing, let’s go to the Caribbean.” She was inspired, in part, by the poem Ithaka , by the great Greek poet C.P. Cavafy, about how the value of a great journey lies in the journey itself, rather than the destination.
For Vibe-Petersen, a physical ailment brought with it the impetus to seize the day. “I was planning to do it with my family, but nobody ever had the time. And then last year I broke my shoulder, and I felt so helpless. I was like, I have to do it now. And then some of my friends said they would love to go with me – they’re not used to sailing at all, so that was exciting.”
In terms of prep, Vibe-Petersen stocked up on craft materials, while Rigas made sure they had a wealth of movies queued up – both on the reasonable assumption that they’d have long, empty days to fill. Nepheli, meanwhile, didn’t think too much about it at all. “I have a few friends that have done it and some of them didn’t have the best experience,” she says. “So I shied away from really thinking about it or discussing it until I was on the boat. I was trying to focus on the moment and not overthink anything.”
Initially, at least, this trepidation was well-founded, as Ilia recalls. “The weather turned bad when we reached Gibraltar and some crew left us out of fear, leaving me in charge of the ship’s kitchen,” she says. “I had reservations about cooking for the crew and loved ones, but I managed to brave the situation, wading through the unfamiliar kitchen and huge waves with nothing but grit and determination. Even with all the uncertainties, I found some much-needed time to relax. I started practising yoga, walking on the treadmill, and looking at the sea’s vastness while listening to the white noise of the ocean.”
Vibe-Petersen and her friends also tried yoga on deck but, “we were just rolling around”, so they put on loud music and danced: “that was really fun”. The endless sea and sky, far from requiring distractions, proved hypnotic, even addictive.
“There’s no light pollution and the stars almost hang,” she says. “You think you can actually take them with your hands. It’s just so beautiful and so peaceful to be there – I think we got less sleep because we wanted to be up and see the sunrise, and then we also wanted to see the sundown.”
In the end, the crossing experience confounded apprehensions for the owners of both yachts. Rigas, who heads the sustainability department of a FTSE 250 energy company, usually has scant time alone with her thoughts. “Normally, I cannot concentrate because my life is so hectic but here, without anything else, I could focus; I could read a book, play backgammon, things that I cannot normally do in my daily routine. And that’s what I loved.” In effect, the difference in situation changed the way her mind worked, “Automatically though, without really making any effort. Because you’re there and you cannot escape.” She kept a journal for the first time in her life, and it helped her reflect on: “my needs, what gives me passion, and what brings me down in life”.
Nepheli planned to catch up on work during the long hours at sea. But instead, she ended up on night watches with her father. “It was very quiet,” she recalls. “You could hear nothing but the sea and the waves. You’re in the middle of the Atlantic so there’s not much to see at night, other than the stars. Sometimes the sea was shining from the plankton. It was the two of us – no one else around. There were times we were talking the whole time. There were other times that we were completely silent. It was amazing.”
In the middle of the Atlantic, owners and guests also spend considerably more time in close proximity to the crew than they would normally. “All of us had a lot of fun with the crew and they were very engaged – they wanted to give us a beautiful first [crossing],” says Vibe-Petersen. “When we were halfway they dressed up and we were [as is traditional] baptised in rotten food and eggs; we also had to swim when we were halfway with all the crew, and had a lot of nice talks on the watches. I think everybody enjoyed that very much and yes, we became very good friends.”
On board Almyra II the owners strived for a relatively egalitarian lifestyle. “We were trying to prevent a disconnect between us and the crew,” says Nepheli. “All of us did six-hour shifts to support the crew – on a boat going 24 hours a day, everyone needs to help. At the halfway point we had a big party on board, with a lunch all together. It was very important for us to have the sense that we’re in this together.”
What about when they finally arrived in the Caribbean – were they itching to jump onto a powder sand beach? “Normally when I come to St Barths I’m very excited,” says Vibe-Petersen. “But this time we were almost crying; we didn’t want to get off the boat again.” Similarly, Nepheli recalls waiting gloomily for customs to clear them into one of the world’s most beautiful anchorages. It is perhaps Ilia, however, for whom the crossing was the most profound experience. “I think when you know that it’s going to finish soon, this makes it more magical,” she says. “I learned to appreciate nature more than before, watching sunsets, the shapes of the clouds.”
The experience was so affecting, in fact, that she did it again. “On my first crossing it took a while for me to realise that I had started with the weight of my city burdens on my shoulders. I had let the problems of my city life, my business life and the crew life follow me onto the ship, inadvertently impacting my experience,” she says. “I knew I wanted to cross again, but this time I wanted to do it all on my own. I left behind any responsibility, family or friends and embarked on my journey with the minimum-possible professional crew. By the second crossing, I felt content exploring and soaking in the different Caribbean cultures, ending the journey with the St Barths regatta. Having such an amazing racing experience made it all so much more memorable. I returned home alone, feeling energised and reinvigorated to take on whatever came my way.”
Throughout this second, pared-back crossing she was freer to do as she wished – she loved being out in the open, setting the sails, letting different music dictate her mood. “The repetition of my daily routine made me feel like I belonged, and I found myself laughing every morning. I savoured every ounce of time away from the pressure and guilt of free time found in the hustle and bustle of city life,” she says.
Aside from the thrill of adventure – exploring vast stretches of open water – this environment offers vistas and sunsets unlike any you can experience elsewhere. On a practical level, Rigas points out, a crossing tests a superyacht’s endurance, stability and navigation systems in the most extreme conditions. It also fosters team bonding and forges deep connections among those on board – no bad thing if you want to keep a well-loved crew for a long time.
She is evangelical about the experience, which afforded her self-reflection and personal growth. It could provide a valuable reset for busy owners before diving into a season in the Med or Caribbean. A superyacht offers plenty of experiences you can’t have anywhere else, and this, perhaps, is a lesser-known one. “I know people who have everything yet fail to connect with nature and themselves. It’s not about having; it’s about daring to take action and having a passion for life. Talking to interesting people and allowing their stories to inspire you to find new ways of living is what truly matters. Remember, where there is a will, there is a way – excuses will disappear.”
It seems that while there may be spectacular cruising grounds on either side of the Atlantic, there’s plenty of good stuff in the middle too.
First published in the September 2023 issue of BOAT International. Get this magazine sent straight to your door, or subscribe and never miss an issue.
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A yacht can travel both the Pacific and Atlantic seas. A sailing boat or a motor yacht may span the Pacific and Atlantic seas. It’s preferable to have a tank large enough to store the amount of fuel you’ll be burning.
Not all yachts, however, are capable of undertaking these journeys. If you intend to sail across any of these seas, be sure you have an ocean-going boat as well as the necessary equipment and abilities.
Some yachts will not have enough fuel to make the journey and will be transported aboard specially constructed freighters.
In this essay, I’ll go over some of the key facts concerning yachts that you should be aware of before embarking on your journey.
Sailing across the Atlantic takes roughly 3-4 weeks, but if you’re lucky, use shortcuts, and have a speedy sailboat, you can accomplish it in two weeks. It might take up to a month if you don’t get enough wind for a week or longer. It’s critical to know the shortcuts, optimize speed, and have cross-Atlantic sailing expertise.
In an 8-hour day, a powered boat of 35 feet in length can go over 200 miles at a speed of 25 knots. They can cover about 300 miles in a day at 35 knots. You can go thousands of kilometers if you have adequate gasoline or fill-ups.
A typical powered boat would require a tank with a capacity of roughly 5000 gallons of petrol and a fuel efficiency of 2.5 nautical miles per gallon to traverse the Atlantic.
This is based on a gasoline consumption rate of 4 gallons per hour at a cruising speed of 10 knots. Of course, this is at cruising speed. They can’t keep going at top speed for an extended amount of time (which would burn through the fuel faster).
The voyage (about 3,000 miles) would take 300 hours or 12.5 days at 10 knots.
Every year, sailing boats cross the Atlantic since the only fuel they use is to power generators that power aboard equipment.
When the weather isn’t cooperating, some fuel may be utilized to power the boat.A fast boat traveling at 25 knots takes roughly 4–5 days to cross the Atlantic Ocean. In a sailing yacht, though, it would take longer (which also depends on the winds).
We have a lot more information on which boat types are capable of crossing oceans. If you’re thinking of taking a boat journey across the oceans, this is a must-read.
Read more: Boat Fuel Tank Vent Open or Close (What to do?)
To cross the Atlantic, you’ll need a boat that’s at least 30 feet long, whether you’re sailing or motoring. For safety and comfort, your boat should be at least 40 feet long. Although the experience of sailing or motoring across the Atlantic is vastly different, both require a boat of this size. If you plan on having a crew on board, you may need a boat that is much larger. Why do you need a 30 or 40 foot boat when you can cross the Atlantic with a lot smaller boat? The simple answer is that attempting to cross in anything smaller may be extremely risky and inconvenient. Here are a few reasons why you should get a boat at least this size:
You don’t want to be stranded in a tiny boat as the waves start to rise. In the Atlantic, boats significantly larger than 30 or 40 feet are often sunk due to bad weather.
If you go any smaller, you run the danger of being sunk in a storm. Make the mistake of assuming you can organize your vacation around the possibility of bad weather.
Storms may appear out of nowhere in the unpredictable Atlantic Ocean, and any vessel could be caught off guard, regardless of the season. Although not every 30 or 40-foot yacht is seaworthy enough to cross the North Atlantic, this size is a minimum need for ocean navigation.
Even if you want to conduct as much open-ocean fishing as possible while crossing the Atlantic, you’ll need to have supplies. You should have enough food and drink for everyone in your crew to last the whole voyage.
Keep in mind that crossings can take longer than expected, so make sure you have adequate supplies to account for delays. You’ll need to reserve gasoline if you’re crossing in a motorboat or if you have a backup motor for your sailboat.
You may need a larger boat if you need to store a lot of provisions for your voyage. Too much weight can cause your boat to sink in the water, making even a seaworthy boat much less seaworthy. A boat that is too low in the water might be swamped by waves more quickly.
Before you load up your boat and set out on the water, be sure you know how much it can securely handle.
Until you’ve spent a few weeks out on the open sea aboard a 30 or 40-foot boat, it may appear to be rather large. If you want to enjoy your passage, you’ll need a boat large enough for everyone on board to have their own space and stretch their legs at regular intervals throughout the journey. Even with a one- or two-person crew, 30 to 40 feet is required to achieve this aim.
You might be surprised to learn how much gasoline it takes to cross the Atlantic in a powerboat. Simply storing all of that fuel aboard your yacht can take up a lot of space.
Fuel should not be utilized for longer than 90 days in most cases. This should be enough time for you to cross the Atlantic, but it could not be. You may preserve fuel for up to six months or even two years if you use a fuel stabilizer or don’t mix it before use.
Fuel storage will require a large portion of your entire storage space. For the same journey, you could require a larger motorboat than a sailboat.
The advantage of crossing in a motorboat is that, while it may require more storage and gasoline, utilizing it instead of the wind for movement may make your route much more predictable. A speedboat can move in nearly any situation except particularly severe and inclement weather, but a sailboat must wait for the wind to be right to make headway. As a result, you won’t need as many resources to prepare in case you don’t arrive at your location on time.
It’s difficult to imagine a more thrilling experience than sailing the Atlantic Ocean on your own boat. You will most likely have a very pleasurable vacation whether what kind of boat you choose, as long as you choose a boat of at least 30 or 40 feet and plan wisely.
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Travelling an Atlantic Crossing on someone else’s sailing boat is not a straightforward endeavour and an adventure to be taken lightly. Finding a boat is one thing; finding the right boat, crew, and captain match is what makes all the difference. There are some things to be mindful of.
Almost every day, we receive a message from someone who would like to sail across the Atlantic Ocean as a crew. We’ve created blogs, a book , a course , a film , resources , local provision contacts, a story collection, and an active network you can tap into to make the Atlantic sailing dream real. Many of our members have done it and are looking to do so.
Last but not least, we teamed up with Twister again for voyages across the Atlantic Ocean, which you can join!
Here are some waypoints to get you across the Atlantic ocean, happy safe and meaningful. Above all, we like to make ocean adventure accessible, and memorable and impactful.
Find dozens more tips and stories from Ocean Nomads network members who sailed across and shared their lessons learned on the ocean nomads member network and in the Ocean Nomads Crew course.
Do you want to make the crossing to gain sailing experience? Learn as much as you can about seamanship? Travel from A to B and reach a certain destination by sail? Meet sailors living on sailboats to learn from? Just be away from all of it by crossing an ocean? Or simply chillax on a downwind sail and anchor in pretty bays? Search accordingly. There is a huge variety of sailing vessels and styles, sailing routes, of which only some will match what you’re looking for for your next great trip.
Share what you are looking for in the Ocean Nomads network and our community captains create personalized connections to people and resources that can help you further.
Be confident you’re ready to set sail for an ocean passage. You owe it to yourself, captain, and fellow crew. If you’re not sure about the full Atlantic Crossing, start with a trip near shore or a shorter offshore passage to figure out if an ocean passage is for you.
You can join Ocean Nomads on a short passage in Greece after summer and dip your toes into the possibility of sailing across the Atlantic. Or jump on board with one of our 70 vessel members .
The voyages we organize are the fastest way we can facilitate a new heading in your life . Literally ;). You get to meet, live, sail with fellow ambitious ocean lovers and be introduced to ocean travel hrough experiencing it yourself. And all the connections, learnings, and next opportunities that come with it, perhaps even a transatlantic crossing. Paula, Nadiem, Thomas, Pim, Sael, Anna, are a few of our example members we’re so proud of who joined us on a trip as one of their, if not their first sailing experiences, and then made their Atlantic Sailing dream happen .
To be ready to expect the unexpected, careful investigation and preparation is essential for a happy and safe ocean passage, especially when planning a transatlantic adventure. Learn about the Atlantic Ocean passage, seasons, distance, destinations, weather, costs, and crew tasks. This will help you find a relevant ride at the right time and place. Know when the tradewinds kick in and where the prevailing winds are, what’s the Atlantic circuit, how many nautical miles it is from east to west and west to east, the different north Atlantic routes, which safety equipment is essential on board and as a crew member, and so much more to be aware about.
Explore the ‘ Sailing across the Atlantic as Crew ‘ Resource on our member hub for the basic bearings, ask your questions, atlantic ocean crew opportunities, and we do our best to pin point you in the right direction for a potential transatlantic crossing.
Map of Atlantic Crossing Sailing Routes
Sailboats deal with seasons, routes, weather, breakage, and all sorts of variables. By thinking about scenarios in advance makes it easy to change course and comply with Captains’ calls peacefully.
Be happy and confident with whom you cross the Atlantic
We’ve met too many people who thought to ‘just’ hop on a boat and sail across the Atlantic. Unsurprisingly, many of them did not succeed in having a pleasant experience. And that’s a pity. Because it should be a beautiful voyage of a lifetime to never forget. On the Atlantic Ocean, you live, work, eat, and leisure together for weeks. Non-stop across the Atlantic. Life at sea is like camping in the wild with a bunch of strangers. Only you can’t walk away… Inform yourself, research and prepare for your transatlantic voyage dreams. It’s part of the fun! It is essential for feeling and being as safe as you can. A transatlantic sail is next level adventure sailing.
Research the boat, captain, and crew carefully. The people you share the crossing the Atlantic ocean adventure with either make or break the experience. Realise that anyone can buy a boat without experience or license. Exchange messages, ask questions, and talk to each other on the phone, preferably with video. Meet-up, fix things together and go for a test sail. Don’t let your eagerness to make a trip override your instinct and judgment. Be 100 percent sure and clear about expectations and intentions.
And network! Sailing the Atlantic is a big deal and a big dream for many skippers and boat owners. They would like to undertake this adventure with people they feel good with, people they know, or are referred to by others. We for example have one member, Wolfgang, who is now already selecting crew from the Ocean Nomads network for next year. Also we have a few Atlantic sailing crew opportunities for this year! And a partnership to sail the Atlantic on tallship Twister. It takes the time to get to know the potential crew before they set sail. Have a foot in the door early so your chances are increased to be welcome on board.
Find an extensive safety and happiness assessment checklist & tips what to look out for in the Ocean Nomads Crew Course
Ocean Nomads Crew
We learned that, in the end, it’s all about the people you share the experience with. That’s a big reason we started Ocean Nomads : to connect more adventurous and conscious-minded ocean explorers to each other. We have had more and more boat owners particularly reach out to Ocean Nomads because of the amount of ‘noise’ and unmatching crew requests via the many Facebook groups and crew websites. Ocean Nomads members are seen as serious and well-informed crew members, especially those who took our crew course. We want you to spend the least amount of time online ‘(re)searching and the most time adventuring out there!
Throughout our expeditions, we walk the extra mile to bring together a unique mix of inspirational individuals, talents, and knowledge on board. We release the power from the individual talents and knowledge into the group, for maximum learning experience. We select participants based on motivation, drive, mindset, and readiness to navigate a transatlantic route. For legs of longer than 10 days we additionally interview on the phone to make sure expectations, mindset, and values are aligned.
Sail with us in Greece october 2024 for the next meet-up and mingle opportunity and experience the beauty of sailing, and learn everything you need to know for a transatlantic. Many sailing nomads will join and are happy to share their lessons learned.
“Expedition ON gave me everything I was looking for. It has opened up so many possibilities to meet new people with similar vibes, including connection, companionship, purpose and being one with nature.” – Cay Chandler Netherlands – Canary Islands ‘21
The ocean deserves our greatest respect. Sailing remotely is an endeavour not to be taken lightly. Especially when joining a smaller sailing vessel, when assessing the options and figuring out if a boat is a good match, talk to the captain, learn about the vessel, the miles sailed on the vessel, and other crew joining. Don’t let your eagerness to make the trip override your investigative spirit, instinct and judgement. Discover the strengths, weaknesses and interests of the captain, crew and boat. Put your critical hat on and do your homework. It’s not ‘just’ a ride.
In doubt about a boat to join or not? Share it in our community and get in touch with fellow sailors. We’re happy to help assess and figure it out.
Know what the captain or organization is expecting from you. What are you expecting from the captain and the Atlantic crossing? It makes it easier for you to prepare, anticipate, and avoid misunderstandings.
Ocean Nomads expeditions are hands-on active expeditions, with next level participation in the offshore legs. We have a professional captain and crew who’ll be showing us the ropes. Everyone on board is expected to take part in the running of the ship, including helming, watchkeeping, cooking etc. It’s part of the fun, experience, development and epiphany moment creation. That said, we’ll be many hands on board so there’ll also plenty of room to chill, relax and simply BE.
You don’t need much at sea. As a general rule, if you can live without it during a yachting trip, leave it at home. Storage space is worth gold on board. If you have already committed to a boat (and are sure about it!) before leaving your home base, ask what’s already on board, so you don’t have to bring it. Less is more; less is more; less is more!
Find an extensive ocean sailing packing checklist and considerations on the Ocean Nomads network.
Captains usually have their hands full preparing the boat, so it’s likely that as crew you will be part of the provisioning team. A well-fed crew is a happy crew, so properly organise, plan and execute provisions for the boat. Your health and happiness for the next few weeks depends on it. A big part of your contribution (or destruction!) to a healthy ocean starts with the packing and provisioning preparation. Find a resource on Happy and healthy provisioning is key for a successful voyage, whether it be a short trip or a transatlantic crossing. , and ocean friendly vegetarian and vegan recipes on the Member Hub.
The ocean is the heart of the planet. Water covers more than two-thirds of the Earth’s surface. Ocean plants produce most of the oxygen we breathe, and the deep waters are home to wildlife and some of the biggest creatures on earth. It provides us with food, jobs, life, play, yachting, and sailing! It gives us everything; without it, we cannot survive. By experiencing the ocean first hand on a boat, you will be amazed by its beauty, gain a deep respect for its power, and also see its decline. Here’s a blog on why the ocean is so important.
As ocean users, it’s our responsibility to become part of the solution, not the problem. Many solutions are in the hands of governments, policymakers, and corporations, but we don’t have time to wait for politicians to prioritise the ocean in their agenda. We can travel oceans, do good, save money, and have fun. When we plan, prepare and make conscious decisions, we can minimise our negative footprint and maximise the benefits for the place we visit and for the planet as a whole. We are responsible for the life depleting in the ocean, whether on a transatlantic journey or a local cruise. All together, we can also bring it back! Collectively, our impact can be major. It’s our responsibility to become part of the solution, not the problem. Governments and businesses respond to the choices of the public. By making conscious decisions as a consumer, you can influence what will be on the market tomorrow.
The pursuit of a healthy ocean and lifestyle are one and the same. Connect to nature, prioritize play, say no to plastic, fix, create, simplify, use what you got, and only what you need, buy little and buy local, explore more, team-up, walk your talk, stay curious, stay wild, stay pure, eat plants, spread kindness, be aware of your privileges and act accordingly, use your superpowers, and have breakfast from the pan now and then. You’ll save some dishes. And water, which is essential for any yachting adventure. And time. If we all try some of this, a little, every day, a healthier ocean and you is the way.
Explore more and meet-up and team-up with fellow ocean nomads to contribute to a healthier ocean on our member network . Together we can!
“Our actions over the next ten years will determine the state of the ocean for the next 10,000 years.” – Sylvia Earle
BONUS TIP! DON’T BOOK A RETURN TICKET 😉
An Atlantic Crossing goes hardly as planned. Avoid stressing the captain because you have a plane to catch. Above all, chances are you’ll be hooked and you want to keep going. Don’t book a return ticket, chances are you want to keep going. If you sail from East to West to the Caribbean, you have a paradise cruising ground ahead of you where many sailors are happy to take you on board on sailing voyages. We’re here to help you continue and accelerate your ride towards a more sustainable ocean nomads lifestyle.
At the end sailing across the Atlantic as Crew is common sense, following your instinct and one big adventure! But being well-informed and prepared is key for a happy, safe, and meaningful experience. That’s why we set up Ocean Nomads and now also partner up for sailing adventures across the Atlantic ocean that you can join! To connect more of you to the ocean, happy, safe and meaningfully! And to each other!
Enjoy & Ahoy!
This content has partly been originally published in YachtingWorld.
Are you planning on Sailing across the Atlantic as crew? What questions do you have? Would you like us to help you decide if it’s a good match or not? Join the conversation in the Atlantic Ocean space on the Member hub! As a community we are here to support each other and make the Atlantic Ocean crossings dreams real.
We’ve created blogs, a book , a course , a film , resources , local provision contacts, a story collection, and an active network you can tap into to make your ambition to sail across the Atlantic ocean a reality. Become part of the crew!
Make it happen! Soon, Safe & Sustainable.
A: A transatlantic sailing adventure is a journey across the Atlantic Ocean, typically from Europe to the Caribbean, covering a vast expanse of water and often involving trade winds, ocean currents, and challenging weather conditions.
A: The duration of a transatlantic sailing voyage can vary depending on the route taken, weather conditions, and the type of vessel used. On average, it can take around 2-3 weeks to sail across the Atlantic Ocean.
A: Essential safety equipment for a transatlantic sail includes life jackets, a life raft, flares, a VHF radio, EPIRB, and a well-equipped first aid kit. Having all necessary safety gear aboard is important to ensure a safe journey.
A: Sailing conditions on a transatlantic voyage can vary widely, from calm seas and favourable winds to rough waters and strong currents. During the journey, sailors must be prepared for different weather patterns and sea states.
A: The best time to sail across the Atlantic Ocean is typically in late November or early December when the trade winds are favorable for an east-to-west crossing. It is important to pick a time when weather and sea conditions are most suitable for the voyage.
A: The Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC) is an annual transatlantic sailing event from Europe to the Caribbean, attracting participants from around the world. It offers a unique opportunity for sailors to experience a challenging yet rewarding voyage across the Atlantic.
A: Various types of vessels can be used for a transatlantic sail, including yachts, traditional tall ships, and exclusive sailing cruise ships. Each type of vessel offers a different experience and level of comfort for sailors undertaking the journey.
A: Yes, solo travellers can participate in a transatlantic sailing adventure either by joining a crewed vessel or by sailing solo. Solo sailors must have the necessary skills, experience, and equipment to undertake such a challenging voyage.
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I'm checking my map here, and I'm just curious: how long does it take to cross the Atlantic? In this article, I'll answer the question for the most common sailing boats and routes.
So there's a short and a long answer. If you want the short answer, here it is:
How long does it take to sail across the Atlantic? The Atlantic takes about 3-4 weeks to cross. If you're fast, take shortcuts, and get lucky, it can be done in about 2 weeks. If you're out of luck and are without wind for a week or more, or use a slow ship, it can easily take up to one month.
It really depends on how you plan to travel, what type of ship you're sailing, its size, and -of course- your skills and speed. So there you have it. It takes three weeks. But why ? If you're in the least like me, you're not at all satisfied with this answer. You'd want the long and detailed answer. If so, read on.
Why does it take three weeks, how to cross the atlantic, how hard is it to sail across the atlantic, what are trade winds and how do they work, related questions.
Of course, there are multiple possible routes. For sailing, however, it is advised to make use of the tradewinds (read on for details). The easiest route from East to West follows Portugal - The Canary Island - Cape Verde - Windward Islands. The total distance of this journey on a map is about 6,800km.
A boat rarely sails in a straight line. It most likely will cover more distance due to a curved or S-shaped journey. A good rule of thumb is to add 15-20% on top of the theoretical distance. In real life, you'll travel about 8,000km. This comes down to about 20 days of sailing in good weather .
Please note that sailers prefer to speak of distance (nautical miles), rather than time. You never know what the weather brings. A Nautical Mile is exactly 1.1508mi or 1,852m.
Want to know how far a sailboat can sail in a day ? Check out my other article on the average sailing distance in different conditions (new tab).
Well, I don't suggest you go and cross the Atlantic after reading this article. Sailing open seas is for experienced skippers. I'm including this part to give you a detailed idea of how to do it, and what the journey consists of.
There are two main routes , from east to west and from west to east.
You'll see that both of these routes seem like enormous detours (which they are), but they are the most forgiving sailing route and have worked for over centuries. The routes are dictated by the trade winds. I'll explain them further on.
You first need to reach the port of departure. If you travel from Europe to the Americas, you want to sail South-East. Your port of departure will most likely be the Canary Islands, offshore from Western Sahara. Then you will set sail to Cape Verde, offshore from Dakar. Or you'll sail directly to the Windward Island in the Carribean.
The distances of this route are:
This brings your total travel distance around 4000NM and travel time between three and four weeks.
Quickly learn how to use a boat compass with my short beginner's guide here (new tab)
First, you need to reach Bermuda, serving as your port of departure, since it has the best westward winds. Mostly you'd be sailing from somewhere in the Carribean to Bermuda. Then you will set sail to the Portuguese Azores, and from there you'll set sail to the Portuguese coast, and then your final destination.
Your total sailing time will again be between three and four weeks, though this journey will take a bit longer that the westward journey.
Timing also plays an important role in the planning of your journey. Your main concern is to avoid the hurricane season, which lasts from June to November. Most boats leave in November, arriving just in time for Christmas. But the trading winds are stronger in January, making for a faster crossing.
Want to see a handy map with the best sailing season across the globe? Check out my article on sailing seasons here (opens in new tab).
The crossing of the Atlantic is quite a journey. It's the seconds largest ocean in the world, after the Pacific. It covers about 41 million square miles, which is 20% of the Earth's surface. Conclusion: it's big, and you want to be smart about it.
In short: it's as hard you allow it to be.
Sailing across an ocean can seem pretty daunting. I haven't done the crossing myself (yet), but from what I understand, it's actually pretty dull. Bluewater sailing is mostly long stretches of blue, in light airs, cruising at 5 knots. So, in general, it's not super hard.
However, it can get pretty lonely at times. Being alone for 20+ days, with nothing but water and air, can take a toll on you mentally. Most sailors agree that this is the most difficult part of crossing the Atlantic.
It does take some nerve to cross an ocean. Open sea can get quite rough, and when it does, the waves are higher and the winds blow harder than anything you're used to inland.
You should be prepared for these kinds of changes. The most important thing is that you're able to quickly take down a reef. So you should have a simple rig, that allows you to adjust to sudden changes in weather.
If you don't have the experience necessary to deal with heavy weather, you could make (fatal) mistakes. You need to have the confidence that you are in control of your sailboat.
If you want to get into sailing, I recommend you read my article 9 Ways to Learn to Sail for (Practically) Free here .
Also, make sure to bring enough fuel.
How much fuel should you actually carry? It's easy to calculate . Find out how in my article on fuel usage here (opens in new tab).
But what about storms? - A solid boat with a good, capable crew can deal with almost any kind of weather.
I think that if you have the knowledge, experience, and proper gear, it's not difficult. However, if you're unprepared, inexperienced, and unsure about your own capabilities, the great blue could get the better of you.
Luckily our ancestors from the sixteenth century and up were plenty smart. They found the Atlantic had very reliable 'wind roads', which they could use to relatively safely sail to the Americas. These are called trade winds , and they're so useful precisely because they're very predictable. Each new season we can be sure the trade winds bring us to the land of the free. And so they have been used by merchants for many centuries.
In the North Atlantic, only the east-to-west blowing winds are trade winds.
You might think that, since we've used them for trading so much, so we'd call them after the trade. But it's actually the other way around. The word derives from the Late Middle English trade , which means path or track. The winds were first called trade winds, and then we've named our commerce after them . In the eighteenth century, the word trade comes to mean 'commerce'.
In the dead center of the Atlantic basin, there's a large area of high atmospheric pressure. We know it as the Azores High, and it stretches all the way to Bermuda. Hot air rises in tropical regions below, after which it cools at higher altitudes, and comes down near the poles. This indefinite transaction creates wind.
Because of that, there's a dead zone in the center of the Atlantic, where there's or no wind at all, or hurricanes. The reason the winds are so predictable, and nearly always blow in the same direction, is due to the rotation of the earth (this is called the Coriolis effect). The current also moves in this direction, creating a comfortable ride.
If we line up our routes with our trade winds, you'll notice they line up perfectly.
You can learn more about the prevailing winds and their origins in this excellent article at Yachting.com.
For passages like these, you need sound navigation gear. It doesn't have to be expensive. Here are my top 3 items:
For more details on each one, head over to my recommended gear section .
How long did the Atlantic crossing use to take? In 1492 it took Columbus two months to cross the Atlantic. In the 18th and 19th century, it still took on average six weeks. If weather conditions were bad, it could take up to three months.
So why are we faster now? The wind hasn't increased (or maybe it did, how can I possibly know?).
Why does crossing the Atlantic take less time nowadays? It's mostly due to improved sailing technologies; the shape of the hull, the overall efficiency of boats, and, of course, improved navigation techniques. And sailing boats nowadays use an engine to keep going once the wind lays down. Which, you can imagine, will make quite the difference.
I really enjoyed reading this article and learned a few things. Maybe one day I will embark on such a journey. :)
Great Easy text! Thank you so much! I am thinking and reading about this journey a long time.. I might do it.. nice article!!
Enjoyed your article, which I read because I need to cross the Atlantic but don’t want to pay the carbon cost to the planet. The future of sustainable tourism and travel will have to return to using these ancient “tracks”. This will be among the messages of EarthMedic.
Good information and written so a novice can understand it.
I have never sailed in my life but I am planing to learn and go from Florda to Batumi, 🇬🇪 Georgia. Great article btw!
Great article really put in terms a beginner sailor can understand, especially the Trade winds. You have a great site and I enjoy reading everything
Thanks for sharing. My Pake and I enjoyed sailing and spent never enough time on the water. My family is originally from Marrum and Holwerd. I look forward to one day sailing across the Atlantic.
I really like your blog posts and wondered if there is any chance to get in touch either via e-mail or https://yachting.com/en-gb/ to cover/share some of the content and cooperate?
Many thanks for considering my request. :)
I’m a healthy/fit retired person that has dreamed of taking on a challenge of a trans Atlantic sail East to West. What a great tale it would be to buy a sailboat in France and sail it back to the States. My sailing experience has been mostly in the BVI’s.
My question is: Since I don’t possess the necessary skills, how would one go about hiring a experienced skipper to make the trip with me.
Thanks so much, very informative, I will be reading again…
Great article.
Very enjoyable read! I would like to cross myself but my other half wants to go the other way!
“The most important thing is that you’re able to quickly take down a reef.” Usually we say, “to reef” or “put in a reef”. This made it sound like you’re actually taking OUT a reef. Or shaking out a reef. Which is what you do when the wind lightens a bit. :)
it is so inspirational
There is some good information in your article, but also some heavy errors. I have done multiple Atlantic crossings since the 1950’s. The worst error is that you don’t have you own crossing experience, which means you are only relaying second hand information. Reliance on electronics is only for fools. You mention GPS and back up GPS. The only back up is charts and a compass .. if you keep sailing west, then eventually you are going to reach land. I sail with a fifty year old Shipman 28 and all I ever use are charts and compass. Not even a sextant .. and I’m still alive. It is essential to have knowledge, tools and materials to do repairs. Ocean crossings create a lot of wear and tear, particularly with sails. Now, there are far too many spoilt idiots in supermarket level boats, especially catamarans of dubious quality and suitability who give up (and cry about it on social media) or need to be rescued.
I totally agree with Hugh Telley. All second hand info and assumptions from a writer with no experience. Too much pretty this and pretty that. Living in Nederland i’ve never seen the “great lakes” of Friesland.
You may also like, how long does it take to sail around the world.
My big dream is to one day sail the world seas with my wife. But I was unsure how long it actually takes. So I got into it and wrote this article.
Andrew Bedwell is planning to smash the record for sailing the smallest boat to cross the Atlantic. His vessel, Big C is just over 1m/3.2ft long
The smallest boat to cross the Atlantic was 5ft 4inches, sailed by American sailor, Hugo Vihlen in 1993.
Many have tried but failed to break this record. But sailor Andrew Bedwell believes he can regain this most unusual of crowns for Britain.
The 48-year-old solo skipper is no stranger to sailing in small craft or pushing the limits.
In 2015, he finished the Jester Baltimore Challenge aboard his 23ft Hunter 707, Outlaw .
The following year, Andrew sailed around Britain singlehanded in his 6.5m (21.3ft) Mini Transat 241 Blue One.
Big C will be sailed using dual furling headsails, outriggers and an A frame mast. Credit: Andrew Bedwell
This was eclipsed by his most extreme challenge to date – sailing 241 Blue One from Whitehaven in Cumbria to Iceland and into the Arctic Circle and back in 2019.
The yacht has no creature comforts – which Andrew actually prefers, being of the Roger Taylor school of ‘back to basics’ sailing.
He slept no more than 20 minutes at a time on a beanbag (the boat had no bunk) and had a bucket as a toilet.
In May 2023 he plans to push himself further and attempt the record for the smallest boat to cross the Atlantic.
The 1,900 mile voyage will start in St Johns, Newfoundland and finish off Lizard Point in Cornwall.
He expects it to take 60 days (that is what he has told his wife) but admits it might take longer, as he will be at the ‘mercy of the weather ‘.
‘There will be days when the wind s are not favourable and I just have to chuck out a sea anchor which is mounted on the bow and just furl everything in and sit there. These will not be the pleasant days,’ he noted.
For now, Andrew is concentrating on finalising his vessel – Big C, which was designed and built by Liverpudlian sailor Tom McNally, a legend in micro-yachting who died in 2017 from cancer.
Tom McNally with his boat Big C which he planned to sail across the Atlantic and back. Andrew Bedwell has now modified the boat to make his own record attempt. Credit: Lorraine McNally
Tom set the smallest boat to cross the Atlantic record in 1993 in his 5ft 4.5 inch boat, Vera Hugh . It was broken by Hugo Vihlen.
Andrew, who has run a boat repair business, has modified Big C himself. The boat is built out of GRP with a foam core. He has modified McNally’s plans, making the boat smaller and essentially custom building the vessel for his height.
Even so, at 6ft tall, he still can’t stand up in the craft when the dome is down and will have to follow exercises provided by a physiotherapist to keep his legs functioning.
‘When my backside is sitting on the floor, my head is literally an inch away from the dome at the top and being just over a 1m long, I can only stretch my legs out about two-thirds of the way,’ explained Andrew.
‘I do appreciate the nice things in life but I prefer to rough it and making my life harder for myself; this seemed the ultimate challenge, especially as it is my 50th birthday next year. There is no toilet on board so in fact my only comfort on board Big C will be a flannel, which will be heavily tied on to the outside and hanging overboard.’
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The boat has 12 watertight compartments – eight internally and four externally – as well as open and closable vents. Once fully sealed, Big C only has 40 minutes of air inside before Andrew would pass out.
Food has been worked out by a nutritionist and will be made by Andrew’s wife, before being packed into the craft.
‘I don’t want to say vile, but the food is not the most flavoursome. We will pack it outside of Big C in the external tanks to increase stability and internally, using the external food first.’
Big C ‘s keel will hold 5 litres of drinking water and there is a manual watermaker to top up the tank which will be operated by Andrew’s right hand.
Power will be provided by solar panels on the back of the craft, and there will be a hand-cranked generator which will be operated by both Andrew’s left and right hand.
The main compartment will have AIS, VHF radio and a small chartplotter to keep power consumption down.
Big C will begin sea trials in mid-June ahead of the challenge in May 2023. Credit: Andrew Bedwell
Big C is a ‘downwind, tradewind vessel’. She has twin rudders (in case one breaks) dual furling headsails, outriggers and an A frame mast.
‘We have twin furling headsails, you can furl them or unfurl them. I can unfurl them from inside, I can sheet them from inside. We will be relying on the tradewinds,’ said Andrew, who is from Scarisbrick, Lancashire.
In heavy weather , Andrew will use a full harness to strap himself to Big C . He will also have a full support crew to track and guide his passage.
Andrew Bedwell will be trying to break the record set by American sailor Hugo Vihlen in 1993 in his 5ft 4in boat, Father’s Day . Credit: Tom Meaker/Alamy Stock Photo
Big C will start sea trials in mid-June, and Andrew has several longer passages planned before the record attempt.
He is also looking for sponsors. He had hoped the drinks firm, Red Bull would back him but the firm declined saying of the challenge it was ‘inspirational, but mad’.
‘My 9 year old daughter thinks it is incredible. I hope she is proud. My wife thinks I am absolutely crackers,’ said Andrew. ‘But you have to push yourself. Life is about challenges and there are an awful lot of people going through life thinking ‘I wish I had done…’ I’ve gone the other way and say I will do it.’
The Big C Atlantic Challenge will be raising money for Cancer Research in tribute to Tom McNally.
Liverpudlian Tom McNally was intent on setting records for the smallest boat to cross the Atlantic.
He achieved his goal in July 1993 when he sailed the 5ft 4.5 inch boat, Vera Hugh , from Lisbon, Portugal to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida via Puerto Rico, despite a cracked hull and having run out of water and food.
The boat was partly built out of an old discarded wardrobe and the hatch was made out of an old washing machine door.
Tom beat the world record set by American sailor Hugo Vilhen in 1968 after he crossed in April Fool, which was 5ft 11in.
But Tom’s glory was was short lived when Vilhen sailed the 5ft 4in Father’s Day from Newfoundland to Cornwall in 105 days, reclaiming the crown in September 1993.
Tom McNally designed Big C himself. Credit: Ajax News & Feature Service / Alamy Stock Photo
Undeterred, Tom tried to take it back.
In 2002 he attempted, but failed, to cross the Atlantic in the tiny 3ft 10.5in Vera Hugh – Cancer Research. Having sailed 800 miles from Gibraltar to Gran Canaria, the boat and all his equipment was stolen from the harbour at Mogan.
In 2009, he planned a double Atlantic crossing in his purpose-built 3ft 10inch boat, The Big C , to raise money for Sail 4 Cancer.
His route would have seen him sail from Cadiz to the Canary Islands, and on to Puerto Rico. Tom was then planning on sailing north along the eastern seaboard of the USA before heading back to him home port of Liverpool.
Sadly, illness thwarted his plans.
After battling cancer for more than eight years, Tom McNally died on 12 June 2017 at the age of 77.
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Ashli Babbitt’s mother and the wife of a notorious January 6 rioter are at the center of a new mythology on the right. They are also my neighbors.
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This story starts with, of all things, a dog walk. My partner, Lauren, and I were doing our usual loop—past the playground, onto Third Street—when we saw the car again. A black Chevy Equinox with Texas plates, a luggage rack, and, on the back windshield, an exuberant profusion of slogans: FREE OUR PATRIOTS; THE THREE PERCENTERS, ORIGINAL; and J4J6 , among others. We’d seen the SUV parked in the same spot a couple of times over the summer and Googled the slogans (J4J6 = “Justice for January 6ers”), but assumed, based on nothing, that it must belong to someone’s parents who had come to help them move in for the school year and would soon go back home.
Check out more from this issue and find your next story to read.
Our neighborhood in Northeast Washington, D.C., is mixed-race, mixed-income, and, like the rest of the city, about 90 percent Democratic. On a map someone made on TikTok that overlaid Washington neighborhoods with New York ones, Northeast D.C. equated to Brooklyn. Surely the Chevy wouldn’t even stay long enough to get dirty. But now here we were in early November and the car was still there, silently taunting us on our dog walk.
“There’s that fucking militia-mobile again,” Lauren said—loudly, because she is loud. Strong language, but perhaps justified: The Three Percenters—according to the National Institute of Justice, the Southern Poverty Law Center, and the Anti-Defamation League—are one of the largest (though loosely organized) anti-government militias, and adherents regularly engage in paramilitary training to combat perceived government “tyranny.”
But what Lauren had failed to notice was the puff of smoke curling out of the driver’s-side window into the darkening sky. Someone was in the car.
“Justice for January 6!” shouted a voice from inside. The voice, hoarse from smoking, sounded joyous and self-satisfied.
“Well, you’re in the wrong neighborhood for that, honey,” Lauren said, equally self-satisfied.
“We live here now,” Smoker answered. “So SUCK IT, BITCH.”
And that’s what launched us into all this. Not the “bitch” part; we probably deserved that for being such unfriendly neighbors. No, it was the “We live here now.” Who was “we”? Why were they living “here,” in Northeast D.C.? Why “now”?
The big event Smoker was shouting about—the violent assault on the Capitol on January 6, 2021—was by then almost three years in the past. The House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the United States Capitol had made its case to the American public and adjourned. The thousand-plus January 6 suspects were making their way through the federal court system. The marauders had done their damage, and justice was well under way. So what exactly did our new neighbors want? Our walk home was tense; unwelcome memories returned.
Read: What I saw on the January 6 committee
If you live in Washington, January 6 was not just some abstract chaos unfolding distantly in the nation’s capital. That afternoon I was at the optometrist, getting new glasses for my youngest child. The optometrist, normally a goofy Norman Rockwell type, came out of his office gray-faced, his equipment still strapped to his head. “There’s an attack on our city,” he said. “Everyone go home.” People were texting about guns and pipe bombs and what streets might not be safe to walk on, and we had no idea what would happen next. I rushed home, where I found my other two kids and some of their friends watching TV. They were very aware that what was playing out on the screen was happening 15 minutes from the house.
For the next few weeks, we lived under curfew. Streets were closed. Armed troops surrounded the Capitol. I remember biking around downtown D.C. and seeing stores boarded up, National Guardsmen everywhere, very few regular people on the streets, and thinking, Where am I? Lauren bought a baseball bat for protection. (It still sits by the front door, gathering dust.) So, no, we did not welcome supporters of January 6 insurrectionists creeping back to the scene of the crime.
After our exchange with Smoker last November, Lauren and I would pass the Chevy Equinox and wish it would just disappear. Instead, what happened was this: A couple of months and many halting interactions later, Lauren was invited to come to the house where Smoker and her compatriots live. We ended up spending the next year wandering through their world, an alternate universe blooming with new American heroes and myths, the main one being that January 6 was not a fire to be extinguished but embers with which to ignite something glorious. Our neighbors, it turned out, are luminaries in that world, hallowed martyrs whose mere existence inspires men to say they will fight and even die for their country—by which they mean they will fight and die for the rightful restoration of Donald Trump to office. Their names are invoked reverentially, albeit often strategically (which is not to say cynically), by self-described patriots, MAGA superstars, and Trump himself.
From the January/February 2022 issue: Trump’s next coup has already begun
By late summer of this year, we looked during our dog walks for our neighbors on their screened-in porch and waved hello as we passed by. Sometimes their kittens (Donald and Barron) peeked through the screen. We knew that the kittens were a source of joy for the house’s residents, but also that they made one of the women panic because she couldn’t stop worrying that a heavy door in the house would swing hard and kill them. Doors bring her nightmares.
Sometimes I wonder why Lauren and I chose to get closer to a group of people aiding and abetting the unraveling of our country. Journalistic curiosity? That was definitely a primary motivation. We are both podcasters, and we were thinking that we should start recording this experience. Anxiety about the future? When we discovered who they were, Trump was just starting to look like he had a serious chance of getting reelected president. (Our podcast series, We Live Here Now , starts rolling out on September 18.)
But there was another reason, one that crystallized for me only when I witnessed the following scene: I happened to be present when another D.C. resident I know, who was alarmed that champions of the J6ers had moved into the neighborhood and had tweeted some trollish things at them, ran into one of them in person. I expected some human instinct to kick in—maybe a moment of sheepish eye contact, or a neighborly nod. It didn’t. The troll said the exact same things to her face that she’d said on Twitter. They were very cruel things about her child—things no one should say to anybody, ever.
Outside the context of social media, the exchange seemed jarring and unnatural, like suddenly seeing your dog talk. And I thought to myself, Not that . We can’t allow ourselves to morph into our nastiest online selves, in person, with our neighbors. Of course, the path Lauren and I ended up stumbling down—giving space and attention to some potentially destructive people—had its own perils. But not that.
I should probably say who these neighbors are, or at least tell you some salient facts we learned about them before we really knew them. They are three middle-aged white women who did not know one another before January 6, 2021, and who are rooming together in a white brick townhouse two blocks away from us. Their rent is paid by donors who support their cause. Smoker’s name is Nicole Reffitt. Her husband, Guy Reffitt, was the first person to be tried for crimes associated with January 6. He had come to the Capitol with a handgun in his pocket and an AR-15 stashed in his hotel room. He’d told his fellow Three Percenters that he intended to drag Nancy Pelosi out of the building by her ankles. His 18-year-old son, Jackson, turned him in to the FBI. At his dad’s trial, Jackson testified: “He said, ‘If you turn me in, you’re a traitor. And traitors get shot.’ ” (Around us, Nicole sometimes refers to Guy as “such a lovebug.”)
The second house member was Tamara Perryman, whose boyfriend, Brian Jackson, pleaded guilty to assaulting law-enforcement officers with a flagpole. She goes by Tami, but her online trolls call her Nazi Barbie on account of Jackson’s many swastika tattoos. (He got them during a previous stint in prison, when he joined the White Knights prison gang. His attorneys say that he has since denounced his membership in the group but cannot afford to remove his tattoos.)
The anchor of the house, of this whole universe, is Micki Witthoeft, known in the J4J6 movement as Mama Micki. She is the mother of Ashli Babbitt, who was shot and killed by U.S. Capitol Police on January 6. Following instructions that she says Ashli gave to her in a dream, Micki has become a mother figure to hundreds of January 6ers who have been making their way through the D.C. courts and jail.
By the way, their house has a name, which Lauren discovered in HuffPost . She read Micki’s quote out loud to me: “We do have a team at the ‘Eagle’s Nest,’ which some would say was Hitler’s hideout.” Of course, the reason some would say that is because it was the name of Hitler’s hideout, or one of them. “But we’re American citizens,” Micki said, “and we won that war, and we’re taking back the name. So this is absolutely not an ode to Hitler.”
Micki rarely talks in any detail about the tragedy that landed her at the Eagle’s Nest. But she doesn’t need to, because those details are very publicly accessible. A handful of videos , available online, capture the moment from different angles. Ashli, who is small—5 foot 2—and the only woman in the scene, is at the front of a column of rioters. She strides down the hallway like she knows where she’s going. The rioters suddenly stop when they encounter a set of doors, with glass window panels, guarded by police. Through the window panels, you can make out in the near distance people walking across the hall. These are members of Congress, who, minutes earlier, were holding the vote to certify what the rioters consider a stolen election. They are now urgently being evacuated. Somehow the growing mob has ended up just outside the Speaker’s Lobby doors, with a direct sight line to these mincing traitors who are the target of their ire. Realizing this, their urgency grows.
The policemen guarding the door to the corridor, overwhelmed by the sheer number of rioters, abandon their post, leaving only indifferent wood and glass between lawmakers and the horde. But then in one video, a camera pans to the left and you can very clearly see two hands holding a gun on the other side of the door. “He has a gun, he has a gun!” someone yells. We’ll never know whether Ashli heard this; she is fused with the melee that’s yelling things like “It’s our fucking house! We’re allowed to be in here! You’re wrong!” and “Break it down!” and “Fuck the blue!” A rioter in a conspicuous fur-lined hat starts smashing a window panel. Then it happens. Ashli climbs through the window panel and ricochets right back down onto the ground, onto her back, bleeding from her mouth. Her hands are like claws grabbing at nothing and her eyes are blank. “She’s dead. She’s dead,” one rioter says. “I saw the light go out in her eyes.” There’s a sudden stillness, followed by a just-as-sudden light show of cellphones. Someone standing above her body introduces himself as being from Infowars, the far-right conspiracy-mongering site owned by Alex Jones, and offers to buy footage from someone else who was filming closer to Ashli.
Bits of all this footage will circulate, first among the rioters and then among the right-wing press. No headline ever explicitly reads “A Martyr Is Born,” but one might as well have, because that’s what was happening, starting in the hours after January 6. Early on, rumors spread that Ashli was only 25, then 21, then 16 when she was shot, pulling her further backwards into innocence. In fact, she was 35. Still, a young white woman in the prime of her life—a 14-year U.S.-military veteran, no less—shot dead by, as it turned out, a Black officer of the state. Pro-Trump message boards call her a “freedom fighter” and “the first victim of the second Civil War.” “Your blood will not be in vain,” one person wrote. “We will avenge you.”
Over the years, the myth will grow: She was polite, she was trying to help people, she was trying to stop the fur-hatted guy next to her from breaking the window. There will be books and posters and rap songs and T-shirts: Ashli Babbitt, American Patriot . Ashli Babbitt, Murdered by Capitol Police .
The officer who shot her, Lieutenant Michael Byrd, has described how, once his name was leaked to the right-wing press, he and his family had to move into safe housing on a military base because of the racist messages and death threats. The Capitol Police and the Department of Justice investigated him and cleared him of any wrongdoing.
To Micki, however, he will only ever be the man who murdered her daughter, who was left abandoned on the ground “to bleed out like a fucking animal,” or sometimes “bleeding out like a dying dog.” This isn’t true: Police started rendering assistance within seconds. One of the rioters pulled out a first-aid kit. Tactical officers yelled desperately for the rioters to clear a path so they could get Ashli to an ambulance. All of that is clearly captured on the videos. But Micki refers frequently to that image of her daughter lying on her back, bleeding out; it better correlates with Micki’s primary emotion since that day, which is uncontrolled rage.
The first news story that Lauren and I saw about Micki Witthoeft, new resident of D.C., ran in The Washington Post on January 7, 2023, months before we discovered that she was our neighbor: “Ashli Babbitt’s Mother Arrested on Capitol Riot Anniversary.” The photo showed a woman with shoulder-length gray hair and a beanie with an American-flag patch yelling as a member of the Capitol Police restrained her. He’d told her to get on the sidewalk, but she stayed in the street, blocking traffic. Cops handcuffed Micki, and had started frisking her when someone filming the scene shouted: “Micki, anything you want to say?”
“Uh, yeah,” she answered. “Capitol Police suck ass.”
Lauren can be awkward, and also short-fused when tested. I’ve seen her get into squabbles at coffee shops, red lights, hotel lobbies. So when she told me, one night just before Christmas 2023, a few weeks after our first interaction with Smoker—whom we did not yet know was Nicole Reffitt—that she wanted to go down to the D.C. jail to check out the nightly vigil that Micki holds there, I was a little nervous. But she’s a professional journalist, and she scripted her opening lines to Micki on her Notes app: “Hi. I’m Lauren and I make audio documentaries and I heard about your vigil and …” I stayed behind, and waited. A couple of hours later, Lauren came back and gave me her report.
The vigil attendees, along with a cadre of true believers across the country, believe that the people in the jail are “political prisoners.” Every night at 7 o’clock, these “true patriots” hold a vigil for all of the January 6 defendants who are being detained there, awaiting either trial or sentencing. And every night, they get a few January 6 inmates on speakerphone, and then they join together in singing the national anthem and chanting “Ashli Babbitt, Ashli Babbitt” in a ceaseless drone. The evening usually ends with people singing along to a recording of “God Bless the U.S.A.,” by the conservative, Trump-supporting country singer Lee Greenwood.
I’ve since attended a few vigils—and watched a lot more of them, because every night, three or four loyalists stream them in full—so I can tell you what they are like. For starters, not much to look at. About a dozen people gather on a corner—they’ve named it “ Freedom Corner ”—wedged between an access road behind the jail and Congressional Cemetery, where people who live on Capitol Hill walk their dogs. A table with speakers is set up in front of an array of American flags. Leaning against the table are some crosses set up by the handful of Chinese American evangelicals who show up every night, as well as drawings of Ashli and others who died that day , including rioters who died of natural causes or possibly were trampled by the mob, and a Capitol Police officer who was assaulted by insurrectionists. (The drawings are on posters that say, inaccurately, Murdered by Capitol Police .) Another table has snacks and coffee. Some camp chairs are randomly strewn about. Micki paces back and forth, smoking, silently overseeing the event. It’s been the same every night since August 1, 2022. And I do mean every night, rain or 100-degree heat. I imagine some cemetery dog walkers must have looked over and wondered, What is this little fringe gathering? But these days, fringe has a way of rerouting history.
The J6ers in the D.C. jail are held together in a single segregated unit. The population of the D.C. jail is about 90 percent Black—and judges were importing a bunch of guys whose collective reputation was “white supremacist.” But the consequences of putting them together were the same as they are when any group of extremists are housed together: They got more extreme. The groups of men who went through the jail suffered together, protected one another, and, in their ample free time, created a mythology—effectively a set of alternative facts—about who they were. They came to call their unit the “Patriot Pod.” Their surroundings told them one story: You are temporarily banished from decent society on account of crimes you have committed. But as they hung out together, they gradually built a different story about themselves: We are the decent society. It was the outside that was wrong. This view soon caught on more broadly, and right-wing media started to refer to the jail as the “D.C. Gulag.”
Every night, the men of the Patriot Pod call one of the Eagle’s Nest women’s cellphones, and every night, they broadcast those calls, featuring a mixture of comments from inmates and vigil attendees. Here is a sample from the first night Lauren was there, which, remember, was nearly three years after January 6.
They want to quiet our voice and we won’t let them … I never thought I’d see the day when people go to jail for thought crimes … Hypocrites … I saw things that were grossly exaggerated … The way I see it, I never really committed a crime … When exposing a crime is treated as committing a crime, you are being ruled by criminals … I was a strong-spoken electrician from New Jersey that was a patriot, and this is who you turned me into … When you have a government that has taken everything from you, what else do you have to lose? … Disgusted. I’m disgusted … If we don’t win in the next year—that’s it, that’s it! Who gives a shit? … [Automated recording interrupts: You have one minute remaining. ]
To get an idea of these calls’ impact, think about the distance, in myth miles, traveled by the “Star-Spangled Banner” as sung by what’s now known as the J6 Prison Choir. If you’ve been paying close attention to the election, you’ve probably heard it. Donald Trump walks onstage at rallies to a version of the song mixed with his own voice reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. The singing originated with the first batch of detainees brought to the Patriot Pod, in early 2021. D.C. was under COVID lockdown, and the detainees spent a lot of time in isolation, so this was their way of communicating. Every night just before 9 o’clock, someone would yell out the countdown to the singing—“Three minutes!”—which would echo down the hallway. They would sing together solemnly until they reached “and our flag was still there,” intoning “still there” with extra vigor. I asked Scott Fairlamb, who pleaded guilty to assaulting a police officer and was held at the jail in 2021, why those words got such emphasis. “Because we were still there,” he said. It was a reminder, he continued, “that we stood up for what we believe in, that we were still patriots no matter who wanted to deem us as less than that. It was something that really kept up my morale, and my love of country intact.” When he recalled the singing, his voice broke, even though we were talking a year after he’d been released from prison.
News of the singing in the Patriot Pod is what first brought Micki to Freedom Corner, in the summer of 2022. Nicole’s husband, Guy, was in the jail at the time, and told her about it. So on the day of Guy’s sentencing, Nicole and Micki just showed up at 9 p.m. outside the jail and sang along with the detainees. That first night, they got into a scuffle with some of the prison guards but eventually achieved a rapprochement, and then figured out how to broadcast the song to the world. Soon, the choir had a nightly national audience.
Then comes March 25, 2023: Trump’s kickoff campaign rally for the 2024 election, held in Waco, Texas, a site that for the far right is a reminder that the government is willing to murder its own citizens. As Trump stands with his hand on his heart, the J6 Prison Choir mix gets broadcast through the speakers, and scenes of the assault at the Capitol play on giant screens. The anthem has a scratchy, lo-fi quality, but that only amplifies its power. If you haven’t watched the Waco video, you should. Your mind might resist, but your body will understand why people succumb to demagogues. Trump says:
In 2016, I declared, “I am your voice.” And now I say to you again tonight, “I am your warrior. I am your justice” … For those who have been wronged and betrayed, of which there are many people out there that have been wronged and betrayed, I am your retribution. We will take care of it. We will take care of it.
To say that Micki Witthoeft orchestrated any of this would be absurd. Before her daughter died, Micki was a housewife from San Diego whose version of civic engagement was, as she says, “I vote. I pick up my trash. Yay me.” But by showing up in front of the D.C. jail night after night, she became imprinted on the national consciousness: Mama Micki holding in her arms her martyred daughter and sons. In January 2023, Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene gave Micki a shout-out at a meeting of the House Oversight Committee, saying that Micki’s daughter had been “murdered” and “there’s never been a trial.” Representative Barry Loudermilk praised Micki’s work on behalf of J6ers. Representative Matt Gaetz showed up at the vigil one night, apologizing to those suffering inside. And in September 2022, Trump called in to the vigil: “It was so horrible, what happened to her. That that man shot Ashli is a disgrace … What they’re doing here, it’s a disgrace.”
“ They ”: The “deep state” had shot Ashli Babbitt and covered up what really happened. The same “they” responsible for the death of the Branch Davidians in Waco were the “they” who left Ashli, who could have been any one of us, bleeding out like a fucking animal.
That night in December 2023 when Lauren went to the vigil for the first time, she introduced herself to Micki. She noted that Mama Micki had a quiet but commanding presence—as though she was in charge of the space, almost like, as Lauren put it, “a cult leader who doesn’t need to say a lot.” But Lauren and I wondered what Micki got out of being around people who had never met Ashli but chanted her name, over and over, night after night. Maybe that was the point. For a grieving mother, a nightly vigil was a place to suspend herself in Ashli time, with no past or future. Micki had a husband she’d been married to for 35 years, plus four sons and two grandchildren, one of whom she barely knew, because most of his life she’s been 3,000 miles away, on Freedom Corner. “It’s been suggested to me that maybe therapy would help so I could let some of this anger go,” she once told Lauren. “I’m not ready to. It’s my anger, and I’m gonna hold on to it.”
One more detail about the vigil: It was cold that December night, so Micki offered Lauren coffee and blueberry pie. Lauren doesn’t drink coffee and she hates blueberry pie. Still, the pie was another kind of beginning.
I had a dream about Ashli. I feel like she spoke to me in the dream. And she was like, “I’m a goner.” She had been arrested for shooting a red, white, and blue rocket around the moon. And she said, “They’re gonna execute me” … I have this cross-body leather purse. And I was like, “Get in my purse and let’s go!” And she was like, “No.”
In the months after Ashli’s death, Micki lay in bed all day, aware of the metaphor she was inhabiting. She and her husband were living in a boat moored in San Diego Bay, so her bedroom was half-submerged underwater, like her entire being.
She hadn’t even known that Ashli had gone to D.C. for January 6. They’d lived only 12 minutes apart but hadn’t seen each other that Christmas or New Year’s. Fuggles, the family dog, was old and afraid of fireworks, so Micki had stayed home with him on New Year’s Eve. Besides which, Micki and Ashli’s relationship could be scratchy. What if she’d been less worried about the dog? What if she’d known Ashli was going? “But I just would have said, ‘Have fun, be careful, who are you going with,’ ” Micki says. “I didn’t realize what was going on in D.C. was gonna be such a big frickin’ deal!” What if she’d gone with Ashli? What if she’d chained her to a chair? Slosh , slosh , slosh , like that, for months.
For a while, all Micki could manage was to get out of bed once a day and make a phone call to someone in Washington, D.C., which for her was something. In the past, when Ashli would talk to her about mask mandates or lost ballots or whatever, Micki would say, “You know what, baby, go get ’em!” But Micki herself had no patience for politics. She was of the You can’t fight city hall so might as well live your life school. “I’m gonna sit on my boat. I’m gonna read my book. I’m gonna eat my popcorn. I’m gonna pet my dog. I’m gonna stick my feet in the water.” But now here she was, dialing the 202 area code every day, doing the Erin Brockovich thing: Speaker Nancy Pelosi, Senator Dianne Feinstein, Representative Darrell Issa, the general counsel for the Capitol Police … “Hello, my name is Micki Witthoeft, and I want answers about my daughter.” She kept a running log of names and numbers in what she called her death notebook. “I know it’s kind of a morbid thing to say, but that’s what it was.”
Then one day her best friend, Wilma, stopped by the boat and told her, “You have to get up, get in the shower, and get the fuck outside.” After that, Micki’s life took a Thelma & Louise –ish turn: The men, including her husband and sons, sort of fell away, and she allied herself with forceful women. Wilma suggested a healing Mother’s Day trip, and Micki chose Sacramento as the destination. They loaded up Wilma’s camper van with Ashli Babbitt bracelets and flyers that Micki had made. The trip was kind of a bust. No one in the state capital really wanted to hear about Ashli Babbitt and January 6. But then—a small miracle. On the way home, when they stopped one night at a campsite, Micki got a text from a friend. It linked to a video of someone in Washington named Paul Gosar, talking about her daughter. “It was my first glimmer of hope that somebody is paying attention,” Micki says.
After that, the signs intensified. She and Wilma drove to Arizona for Reawaken, a MAGA-supported Christian-nationalist festival led by Michael Flynn, the former U.S. Army general and short-lived national security adviser to Trump who spouts QAnon slogans. “It was kind of like a weird mix of political advocates and Christian-revival stuff,” Micki says. “And when they were singing ‘Raise a Hallelujah’ onstage, the air was just electric in there.”
Gosar kept publicly invoking Ashli. (Gosar is a far-right congressman from Arizona known for his association with white supremacists and his efforts to overturn the 2020 election, but Micki wasn’t really attuned to all that.) He tweeted a photo of Ashli in her Air Force uniform with the caption “They took her life. They could not take her pride,” a paraphrase of a lyric in the U2 song “Pride (In the Name of Love),” which is actually about Martin Luther King Jr. He described Michael Byrd as “hiding, lying in wait,” to kill Ashli. And then he invited Micki to be his guest at a conference in Phoenix. “She has given everything—her daughter,” Gosar said onstage. “We need answers.” He shouted her out to the crowd, calling her by the wrong name, “Mick Wilbur.” But still, she had been called.
I said, “Well, then, just tell them you didn’t do it.” And [Ashli] said, “I won’t tell them I didn’t do it, and I’d do it again. And I’m a goner. These are the people you need to worry about.” So we were in a cell full of people. It was more like a cage, more like a chain-link cage. With just a whole bunch of people … I know she spoke to me in the dream. ’Cause I had not watched any television. Couldn’t listen to music. Couldn’t turn on the radio … It was about political prisoners.
For a while , Micki tried to be home with her husband, Roger. But in the emotional state she was in, she knew she could not really be much of a wife. “It’s really hard to live with somebody who just wants to be angry,” she says. In August 2022, she got on a plane and left, with enough money to live in D.C. for a month and not much of a plan. With Ashli’s dream-words in mind (“These are the people you need to worry about”), she went straight to the courthouse, where Guy Reffitt was about to become the first J6er who’d stood trial to be sentenced. She was coming to support Guy, but she noticed his wife, Nicole, standing with her two daughters and looking very alone.
“She just had this defiant, strong-ass-woman look on her face, and I just knew she was somebody I could be friends with,” Micki says. Nicole instantly grabbed her hand. “I just felt that she needed that,” Nicole says. “And it’s just one of those things, you really can’t explain … Maybe we were so brokenhearted, and we could see that in each other.” Micki “just looked at me and I looked at her and it was just like, ‘Let’s go. They can’t do anything else to us.’” And so they moved in together.
After bouncing around a bit, they landed at the Eagle’s Nest, partly because it was only a 15-minute drive to the jail. What sealed Micki’s relationship with Nicole was the day it came time to put Fuggles down. “I was on the couch with Fuggles, and I couldn’t make it happen,” Micki says. She wanted to call the vet, but she couldn’t. So Nicole did it. “I just thought at that minute, I truly loved her. I do … I feel like the ladies in this house know me better than a lot of people that I’ve known for years in my life,” Micki says. Nicole has stayed in D.C. all this time, even though her husband is serving out his sentence in Texas.
If this were a different movie, it could lean more into its obvious feminist plotline: Two working-class American women who have only ever known themselves as mothers and wives realize what they are actually capable of. They cook for each other, clean for each other, become chosen family for each other.
At night, Micki has had panic attacks that take her breath away and dreams that make her weep. She can’t bear to sleep in a room by herself. So she and Nicole sleep in the basement of the Eagle’s Nest, their mattresses head to head. Nicole’s dog, Oliver, plops himself in between them like a canine headboard. Just hearing Nicole and her dog softly breathing, Micki says, is a comfort to her.
Men come through the Eagle’s Nest sometimes, but they never stay long. Micki’s kicked a few out. Too bossy, or too messy, or too obviously trying to make money off their plight. In the meantime, they’ve been improvising for themselves a first-rate civic education, covering all three branches of government. They attend trials at the federal courthouse, Supreme Court oral arguments, congressional hearings, campaign rallies. At many important events around the country, Micki Witthoeft, the mother of Ashli Babbitt, gets invited onstage to say her lines, which generally run like this: “I think that this is a blueprint for what they’re doing to American people. My daughter was murdered by this government on January 6, 2021, as a result of her protest against the stolen election at the Capitol.”
By the time Lauren and I came around, Micki and Nicole had become more comfortable engaging with the “fake-news media,” so after a few months of interacting, we got along reasonably well. Lauren and Micki, especially, engage in lively debates about immigration, gun control, term limits, homelessness, gay rights, health care. Lauren eventually broached the topic of why Micki had told a vigil crowd that Michael Byrd “needs to swing from the end of a rope, along with Nancy Pelosi.”
Micki: I am not calling for a lynching. A hanging and a lynching are two different things. A hanging occurs after a trial and you’re pronounced guilty and your ass gets hung. That’s how it happens. Hangings are retribution for something that you got coming to you. And they used to do it right on the battlefield. If you got convicted of treason, they would either shoot you or hang you. And that’s the way I meant that. And I said it about Nancy Pelosi too, and she’s about as white-bread as you come.
Micki goes on to say that she doesn’t necessarily buy the idea of “white privilege,” because she and Ashli worked hard for what they have. Lauren gives a delicate but effective lesson on how white privilege works, and explains that having had to work hard doesn’t exempt you from it. Micki doesn’t respond directly, but judging from what she says next, she has heard Lauren, and even shifted a little.
Micki: I understand that Black people have been treated in a different way than white people have in this country for a long time—well, forever. But I thought that we were making huge strides in that until, you know, I came to this city, actually … Because you don’t know until you know. I mean, for years there were these Black children being gunned down by police officers … And it does make me identify somewhat with Black and brown mothers who have been going through this for decades. Because their children have been murdered under color of authority without any avenue for retribution for years and decades and centuries.
When I listen to the recordings of these conversations, I recognize my partner as the quick, combative, sympathetic person she is. And I recognize raucous but nuanced debate of a kind I haven’t heard anywhere else in ages. When you read books about how we can come back from the brink of civil war, this is what they tell you: Don’t go into a discussion trying to change anyone’s mind. Just listen, and have faith that maybe the ice will start to melt a little. For their part, Micki and Lauren’s debates often end with:
Lauren: “You are too smart for that, actually, Micki!” Micki: “Please, Lauren, I believe you’re too smart for it too!”
All of this in a tone you would reserve for an exasperating friend. But then there are moments like this one:
Micki: So you do not believe adrenochrome is a thing? Lauren: What now? Micki: Adrenochrome. Lauren: I literally don’t know that. What is that? Micki: Really?
Micki is referring here to the QAnon-fueled conspiracy theory that global elites kidnap children to drink their blood for its adrenochrome, a chemical compound that is supposedly an elixir of youth. What can you do with a moment like this? How do you breach this epistemic chasm of cuckoo?
I’ve thought about this a lot, and come up with one generous explanation for why Micki would even consider that such a theory might be true. Bear with me here: Micki is not deluded about who Ashli was. She describes her daughter as someone people either loved or “felt the complete opposite” about. When Ashli was young, she was a tomboy who played with lizards, surfed, and rode dirt bikes. When she was 13, she announced that she would join the military one day, even though her nervous mother prayed that she wouldn’t. You get the impression that they didn’t have an easy, cozy mother-daughter dynamic.
“I love my daughter always,” Micki says. “I’m proud to be her mother always, but we’re two very separate people … Sometimes we saw things differently, and I’ll just leave it at that.”
Micki had had no idea how deeply taken her daughter was with conspiracy theories. Micki was just not interested in those kinds of conversations. She was not even on social media. So she had no way of knowing that on Twitter, Ashli was calling out judges and politicians as pedophiles, and using QAnon slogans such as “Where we go one, we go all!” Could looking into the global scourge of child trafficking be Micki’s way of figuring out what she’d missed? Of seeing what Ashli saw?
Death can make you obsess about unfinished business. Micki says that when her father died this year, she completed an intricate puzzle involving Chinese symbols that he’d left on a table, even though it took her hours and she had so much to do. When my own father died, my very unadventurous mother decided to jump out of an airplane, because the one thing my father had done entirely without her was serve in the military as a paratrooper. Exploring parts of your loved one’s mind or experience postmortem can be the only available way to move the relationship forward.
But a more straightforward explanation for Micki’s openness to adrenochrome conspiracies has to do with the state of our political culture. When you want to hold on to your anger, as Micki does, your tribe will feed you enough stories about them and what they are capable of to fuel that anger as long as you want or need. “When they killed Ashli, they took a lot more from me than my daughter,” Micki says. “They took my whole belief in the system that runs America from me. Even though you know it’s a little bad, it’s mostly good—I don’t believe that anymore. And so in that process, I don’t know what I believe them capable of. Is it eating babies and drinking their blood? I don’t think so. But I don’t know what they’re up to. I really don’t know.” In this way, the wound can stay open forever and ever … and bleed all over the country.
In May 2024 , a new person started hanging around the Eagle’s Nest. He was 30 and fresh out of prison, and Micki let him stay a few nights, meaning that an actual J6er was now down the block. Around us, Micki referred to him as “the little boy,” but his real name was Brandon Fellows. I’d been corresponding with him while he was in prison—talking to him now seemed like a decent way to explore something I’d been wondering about. Micki had been holding the vigil for more than 700 days. The Patriot Pod had been in existence for three years. People who had been convicted were starting to get released, and the next presidential election was only a few months away. What had all this amounted to? Where was the J4J6 movement heading? What might be bearing down on us on January 6, 2025?
When Brandon arrived at the Patriot Pod in August 2021, he was, in his own words, “the nonviolent guy.” He had traveled to the Capitol armed with a fake orange beard that looked like it was made from his mom’s leftover yarn, and a weird knitted hat. He was having fun outside the building until someone in front of him started smashing a window with a cane, which prompted a cop to swing his baton, and then Brandon freaked out. “Holy shit, holy shit,” he recalls saying to himself. “I’m not getting hit.” But eventually Brandon did go in, and ended up in some senator’s office with his feet up on the desk, smoking a joint. In my mind, I’d classified him as the Seth Rogen of insurrectionists. And I was curious whether his time in the Pod had changed him at all.
As soon as he arrived in his cell, he told me, he was starstruck. Brandon had spent the preceding few months under house arrest on his mom’s couch. She is a Democrat and would not talk to him about January 6, so he spent a lot of time processing the event through his phone. And now here they were, the people he’d read about or watched on YouTube. “People started coming up to my cell and talking to me. One standout was Julian Khater. He said, ‘Hey, I’m the guy that they accused of killing Officer Sicknick.’ I’m like, ‘No way!’ ” Brian Sicknick was a Capitol Police officer whom Khater had pepper-sprayed in the face on January 6. He’s the officer whose picture is up at the vigil along with Ashli’s. A medical examiner attributed his death to natural causes, but responsibility for Sicknick’s death has always shadowed Khater. (Khater pleaded guilty to two felony charges, for assaulting officers with a dangerous weapon.)
Fellow J6ers came by Brandon’s cell and asked, Hey, you need a radio? Pen and paper? Some extra clothes? They dropped off beef jerky, ramen, macaroni and cheese. A bunch came by just to introduce themselves, talk to the new guy. By the end of his first day in the pod, Brandon had a stack of items outside his cell and a lot of new friends. “We had a good sense of community … And we were taking care of each other … This isn’t like the other wings, where it’s like, ‘Oh, what are you in for?’ We’re all from the same event.” (Ordinarily, if even three people commit a crime together, the jail separates them.)
Many of the J6ers had never been incarcerated before, and jail came as a shock. The difference, though, between them and the average person in the D.C. jail, or any American jail, is that they were going through hell together. Proud Boys. Oath Keepers. Julian Khater. Guy Reffitt. And Brandon, the stoner with the goofy disguise. He had read about these guys. Maybe cosplayed as one of them on January 6. But now he was getting to know them, and that changed how he thought about them. “These guys are the real people, the real heroes,” he says he thought to himself. “I’m just some idiot that took selfies inside and smoked somebody’s joint that was passed around.”
The way Brandon was starting to see it, there was a bright line in the Pod. On one side were the nonviolent guys like him. When they’d seen trouble on January 6, they’d flinched. And on the other side were heroes—men like Nicole Reffitt’s husband, Guy, who’d brought an actual gun to the Capitol. Six months into his stint in the Patriot Pod, Brandon had decided that he wanted to be on the other side of the line.
Because a lot of the evidence against the detainees consisted of videos, they had been given access to laptops so they could watch them as they prepared their legal defenses. Brandon noticed that on his device, the camera hadn’t been turned off. Wanting to make his mark—among the guys in the Pod, certainly, but maybe also in the world at large—he started filming, with an eye toward exposing what he said were squalid conditions. He leaked the videos to the right-wing site Gateway Pundit, and on May 25, 2022, it published a story with the long headline “ EXCLUSIVE FOOTAGE : Secret Video Recordings LEAKED From Inside ‘The Hole’ of DC Gitmo. First Footage Ever Released of Cockroach and Mold Infested Cell of J6 Political Prisoner.”
After Brandon leaked the footage, fellow detainees started calling him brave. “I feel like I earned my respect, because remember, some of them used to say, ‘You’re not even a January 6er,’ because I didn’t do anything violent.”
When Brandon was released this past spring, he’d planned on going back home to upstate New York. That didn’t work out. And, like Micki, he felt the pull of D.C. Demi-celebrity was more exciting than his regular life anyway. People from all over the world have extended invitations for him to stay with them. He’s had job offers, and people have asked him if he will run for political office. In June, he went viral on social media after making a pouty face behind Anthony Fauci at a public hearing. That got him a warning from his probation officer. Now he needs permission to enter any government building.
He also got a warning from Micki, but for a different reason. By this point in her evolution as an activist, she was seeking to avoid pointless negative attention on her, the cause, or the house. In July, people were urgently sharing this tweet on our neighborhood text chain: “Community Safety Alert. J6er, Brandon Fellows … in a MAGA group house called the ‘Eagle’s Nest’ (yes like Hitler) is bragging on Twitter about PUNCHING WOMEN at local bars.”
The bar happened to be five minutes from my office. I wouldn’t say this made me feel scared, exactly, but it did make me extremely curious about what Brandon had planned for the coming months.
In the videos of the incident, a snide comment made by a woman about Brandon’s MAGA hat eventually leads to a thrown drink and then punches between Brandon and the woman and her boyfriend. Brandon, who is extremely fit post-prison, is quickly on top of the man, pinning him down.
Is this juvenile trolling that got out of control? Or something politically significant? Does one lead to the other? I had many questions. So I arranged to interview him.
Hanna: How long are you going to stay in D.C.? Do you have a plan? Brandon: Yeah. I plan to stay ’til, like, January 7, January 6–ish? Hanna: That feels vaguely threatening. Brandon: I could see why you would say that, especially considering, you know, my feelings. Hanna: About violence. Brandon: Well, about how, man, I wish, after seeing all the chaos that’s happened in the world and to the country, how I wish people did more on January 6, instead of like me, taking selfies and just smiling … I think it would have been better if more people would have actually been there for an insurrection … Hanna: I can’t tell with you, what is— Brandon: I’m not making it up. I’m saying, I hope that it doesn’t come to this. You know, it’d be nice if Trump just got in. Hanna: But there’s a possibility that he will legitimately lose this election at the ballot box. Brandon: Yeah, I think at that point, people might have to do something.
Later, I called Brandon to ask if he even believed in democracy. In response, he asked if I’d seen the protesters outside the Republican National Convention holding signs that read Dictator on Day One . “I’d be down with that,” he said. “That’s what we might need,” and then he said something about George Washington that I don’t recall because I was at this point realizing that I should be taking him very seriously.
If ever you doubt the depth of feeling among the J6ers, listen to the vigil recorded on July 13, the evening of the assassination attempt on Trump. One of the detainees calls the gathering on Freedom Corner and describes the scene in the Patriot Pod when they saw the news on TV: “I had to hear fucking a bunch of us scream and yell and freak out and be trapped in this box with the inability to do anything except to basically run around like a trapped rat in a maze. And it was a very scary feeling.” And as he is talking, he is choking on the memory of that desperation, and starts to cry. “I’m just—I’m just really glad Trump’s okay. Because I didn’t know if he was … That shit really fucked me up … It would just kill me to know because, not only for the man who sacrificed so much for all of us, but just the country as a whole. Fuck the whole J6 thing and pardons; I don’t even care about that. I just talk about the status of our nation, and what it meant—and what it meant for us, for everybody, whether you’re MAGA or not.” [ You have one minute remaining. ]
In mid-July , I went to visit Representative Jamie Raskin of Maryland. One thing I learned from reading his 2022 book, Unthinkable , was that the revisionist history of January 6 began on January 6, when the representatives were called back to the House floor to certify the election. “I remember it so clearly,” he told me. Matt Gaetz rose and said something kind about Raskin, which touched him. And then Gaetz changed his tone and said he was hearing “pretty compelling evidence” that some of the violent people who’d breached the Capitol were not Trump supporters but members of antifa. He was saying this to his colleagues in Congress, who just hours earlier had seen the mob with their own eyes, who’d just had to barricade the doors of their offices against rioters brimming with rage and carrying Confederate flags and makeshift gallows and other inflammatory, insurrectionist iconography and yelling “Stop the Steal!” Raskin could already see where this was heading: January 6 was going to be folded into the Big Lie that Trump had won the 2020 election.
“There are lots of those micro lies that fit into the pattern of the Big Lie about the election,” Raskin told me. “So Donald Trump calls the J6ers ‘political prisoners,’ which is a lie, and he calls them ‘hostages,’ which is a lie.” These people have been prosecuted for assaulting officers and invading the Capitol, he went on. “And most of them pled guilty, right? So how are they hostages? What makes them political prisoners? Suddenly they’re like Alexei Navalny, who died at the hands of Vladimir Putin? They’re like Nelson Mandela? I don’t think so.”
David Frum: Don’t let anyone normalize January 6
In his book, Raskin refers to Trump’s Big Lie as “the new-and-improved Lost Cause myth.” In less than four years, January 6 has gone from a horror that even many hard-core MAGA supporters, and Trump himself, felt politically compelled to distance themselves from … to being an event that Trump makes central to his political message. January 6 has taken on sacred power ; for many, like Brandon Fellows, it was the crucible that gave their lives meaning. It is the furnace that still fuels the Big Lie.
Dozens of people who participated in the “Stop the Steal” rally, including some who ended up serving time for crimes committed on January 6, have run for political office —federal, state, and local. I have yet to encounter one who shies away from their actions on that day. Consider Derrick Evans, “J6 Prisoner running for U.S. Congress,” as the pop-up image that greets you on his campaign website says. One of the photos on the site shows him in a Rebels sweatshirt after being arraigned. Another shows him smiling in a sunny field with his wife and four small children. The juxtaposition of images suggests that the Lost Causification of January 6 is working: Storming the Capitol is something that a God-fearing, patriotic family man or woman does.
I had another reason I wanted to talk with Raskin: He and Micki Witthoeft had lost their adult children less than a week apart. On December 31, 2020, Tommy Raskin died by suicide. Unthinkable is about January 6 but also about Tommy. Raskin told me that people would ask him, “ ‘What do those two things have to do with each other?’ And to my mind, they are absolutely inextricable. It’s all intertwined.” Raskin believes that the story of Tommy’s demise began with the pandemic, when people were “atomized and isolated and depressed.” Ashli’s troubles were compounded during COVID—her pool-cleaning business struggled, and Micki says the combination of COVID lockdowns, mask mandates, and Ashli’s belief that the election was stolen made her very “angry and agitated.”
Although Raskin has his own experience with trying to integrate grief into a belief system, he was reluctant to psychoanalyze Micki. But when I told him that Micki has often said she’d rather be angry than sad, he took this as a clue. “I think what you’re talking about is something that is post-grief, which is trying to make meaning of a loss. I assume she experienced just overwhelming grief and despondency and shock and sorrow to lose her daughter. Then, after that shock is somehow metabolized, I assume she has to figure out what her daughter’s death means.” I asked him if he would ever try to talk with Micki about this, in the way Joe Biden often bonds with people over shared grief. He said, “I can’t imagine she would want to meet me,” but added that he would think about it.
Over the summer, Micki and Brandon Fellows “had words” about his antics. As the movement’s matriarch, Micki is used to setting the rules. But she has nurtured legions of sons who are used to breaking them. At some point, the kids just move on, and you’re left wondering what you should be doing. The movement she’s helped birth has escaped her full control, and seems to be seeking things—including, possibly, the restoration of Trump to the White House by violent means—that she doesn’t support.
Not that Micki is entirely clear on what she wants. What would justice for Ashli even look like? A public funeral procession? Michael Byrd in jail? What about Trump getting elected and pardoning all the J6ers? Would that be enough? After all, that’s what Ashli talked about in Micki’s dream. Lauren once asked Micki what would happen if no one were to be held accountable for Ashli’s death in a way that felt sufficient to her. “Well, that’s a good question,” Micki said. “But I guess then I will just have to take my dying breath trying to bring that about.”
At a press conference in August, Trump again said that the J6ers have been “treated very unfairly.” He has also continued to say that, if reelected, he will pardon them. Weirdly, it doesn’t occur to Micki that the person ultimately responsible for her daughter’ death is Donald Trump. His narcissism and pathological fear of losing are what set in motion Ashli’s fatal journey to the Capitol in the first place.
But the Big Lie’s hold on Mama Micki may be loosening. The last time Lauren and I went to the vigil, in July, only five people showed up. Tami, the third house member, has just moved out. “You know, I’m feeling real, real tired, to be honest,” Nicole Reffitt said recently. She also admitted that she felt guilty for having encouraged some of the J6ers not to take a plea deal and to stand up against the government instead. For many of them, that has meant more time in prison. “They could be at home, and instead they’re in jail.” About Micki, Nicole says, “I’m a ride-or-die person. I don’t have a lot of those people. But the ones I do have, it’s ’til the end. Micki is one of those people. Guy is one of those people.”
But Guy will get out of prison soon, and where will that leave Micki? Nicole’s family lives in Texas. Micki’s family—what’s left of it—lives in San Diego. Micki and her husband are separated now. She used to have a life there that she loved, riding horses, gardening, reading mystery novels. She loved being a wife and a mother. But she isn’t a wife anymore, and her remaining kids are grown, and she doesn’t have a place to stay. When she visits San Diego, she stays in her friend Wilma’s RV.
Lauren won’t necessarily admit this, but she worries about Micki. What happens to a nervous person who used to have some moments of serenity but who now fixates on wackadoodle things like her government coming after America’s children? Does she get stuck there or go back to riding her horses and dipping her feet in the water? Lauren has been watching her closely. At the nightly vigil, Micki no longer reacts with anger when the police instruct her to do this or that. In fact, she now tells her own people to stay calm and follow the rules.
This summer, Lauren asked Micki if she could ever imagine being, if not truly happy, then at least at peace, or maybe even being able to savor small moments of contentment. No, Micki said quickly, she doesn’t foresee contentment for herself, because she’s “just too damaged.” But then she told a story. A while ago, she and Nicole were driving. It was fall. “The leaves were all different colors, and Nicole was like, ‘Look at how pretty those leaves are. Look at this gorgeous [view].’ And I’m like, ‘Yeah, it’s dead fucking leaves, Nicole.’ ” But, she continued, “I do now enjoy the smell of a flower. I will walk up to a rose and put my nose right in it. So that’s, you know …” That’s not nothing.
This article appears in the October 2024 print edition with the headline “The Insurrectionists Next Door.” Additional reporting by Lauren Ober. Rosin and Ober’s podcast about the Eagle’s Nest, We Live Here Now , can be found at www.theatlantic.com/podcasts/we-live-here-now starting September 18, 2024. When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.
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When it comes to an Atlantic crossing there are clearly defined weather windows. But how flexible can you be and what challenges are you like to face? Weather Guru Chris Tibbs reports.
An Atlantic crossing or Atlantic circuit has often been seen as a year-long adventure, crossing the ocean in late November or December to the Caribbean , with a return to Europe starting in May.
There are good reasons for this timetable, the overriding one being the hurricane season. This runs from the beginning of June through to the end of November. Hurricanes can happen outside of the ‘official season’, but they are rare – although the last few years have all seen named storms in May.
By departing towards the end of November, with the bulk of the crossing in December, we maximise the Caribbean season, often coming back to Europe after Antigua Race Week in May.
The Caribbean winter season now begins with two major events starting in January; the RORC Transatlantic Race, and for this year an additional January departure for the ARC. Both are scheduled to depart early January from Lanzarote and Gran Canaria respectively.
Not much to split them? Using reanalysis data and routing software the routes in green show late November departures and those in red January
Interestingly, for the actual crossing from the Canary Islands to the Caribbean, statistics show that the wind tends to become stronger as we get into January and February – so there may be some truth in the Christmas trade winds that we hear about starting to blow around Christmas and lasting well into the following months.
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What downwind sails should you buy for an Atlantic crossing or cruising beyond the Caribbean? This is one of the…
There is only one adjective that adequately describes our transatlantic crossing with the ARC last year and the season of…
When departing the Canaries the prevailing wind direction is from north through to east-north-east. These are the trade winds found on the eastern side of the semi-permanent high pressure which we know as the Azores high. The wind blows from this direction for 55-65% of the time with little variation from November to March. However, averages do not tell us everything and we do get a number of days when the Canaries are affected by low pressure passing close to the north.
This is important for a pleasurable passage; few people enjoy headwinds when supposedly on a downwind passage or race. Near the Canaries the wind is between south and west for around 10% of the time in December and higher at 14% in January. That is not a huge difference and the variability between years makes it hard to make firm predictions.
There are lots of statistics from different sources and although they roughly agree the older pilot charts and routing charts tend to indicate a higher incidence of trade winds, while winds derived from newer satellite observations show more variability.
Harry Scott leaving the Canaries.
When looking at reanalysis data we see an even greater variation in the wind patterns, and this is consistent with a greater variability in the weather which we expect with climate change.
Additionally, if the wind becomes south-westerly, the average strength tends to increase from November and December through to February. This is an indication of deeper winter depressions passing closer to, and affecting the Canary Islands.
On the way across there will remain a small chance of south-westerly winds which decreases the further south and west you get; mid-Atlantic adverse and light winds are generally linked to the tail of cold fronts splitting the Azores high or more rarely areas of low pressure.
To compare conditions between months, I ran some weather routing for a late November and an early January departure. This was from the Canaries to St Lucia using 11 years of reanalysis data from 2010-2020 departing in late November and early January. By using the polars from a cruiser-racer production boat some of the results were quite surprising.
The earlier departures gave a greater range of routes with the January departures slightly closer to the direct route and to the south; this reflects the expected stronger winds (from historical data) with shorter courses following closer to the great circle route.
However, the main surprise came with the timings as the late November departures were on average 10 hours faster than the January ones. This didn’t make a great deal of sense because historical data, as well as anecdotal evidence from the Caribbean, suggested the later crossings should have stronger and steadier trade winds.
But by looking at the routes and weather patterns a little more closely, I found that on four of the January routes there was low pressure in the central and eastern Atlantic that was further south than usually expected and impacted on the first part of the route. This gave moderate to strong headwinds and a slow start to the passage which was followed by light winds until the trade winds filled in after the lows had moved away.
An unusually large low in January, completely disturbing the trade winds
So a January passage on a ‘good’ year should, given long term average conditions, be faster with stronger wind particularly on the latter part of the passage. But, rather significantly, there is a greater chance of low pressure affecting the Canary Islands and delaying the start if cruising, or giving a period of beating if racing.
Planning our sailing is rarely as simple as deciding a date on which we are leaving. Something that should be taken equally seriously is the weather expected on the passage to the Canary Islands. This is more important when heading south from the UK and north-west Europe, although it must also be taken into consideration when departing from the Mediterranean.
The usual advice is to get south as early as possible, as an easier passage will be had in September rather than leaving it until November or December. If crossing the Bay of Biscay, once into September the likelihood of gales increases, as does the probability of south-westerly winds.
In September pilot charts indicate that gales in northern Biscay are likely 3% of the time, which increases to 7% in October and 9% in November. We also get a significant increase in south-westerly winds; this reflects the passing of lows to the north-west which tend to pass further south during autumn and winter.
Classic tradewind setup for an Atlantic crossing. Photo: TimBisMedia
There are some breaks in the weather as cold fronts rattle through veering the wind to the north-west and occasionally to the north. As the season progresses so does the likelihood that the Portuguese trade winds will fail, giving a beat south down the Portuguese coast only picking up the trade winds south of the latitude of Gibraltar.
As we’ve seen from the start of races from France in the autumn, there can be a high attrition rate before the yachts have even left Biscay. It’s not that you can’t cross Biscay in any month, but the later it’s left the longer the time between weather windows and the shorter the weather windows tend to be. This can lead us to make choices based on necessity rather than prudence.
Once south of Portugal we should get into the start of the trade winds – but we still need to watch for lows further south than normal.
While most yachts arrive in the Canary Islands having had a good sail, there are always a number that get caught out and end up beating for some of the way – usually yachts that have left it late and are on a tight schedule. This is also true for yachts leaving the Mediterranean and it’s not uncommon for yachts to have to wait in Gibraltar for strong westerly winds to diminish.
Whether intending to start your transatlantic in November or wait until later, I prefer to see boats south of Biscay well before the end of September and would not be far behind if leaving from the Med.
A crossing in January will generally have stronger winds, but there’s a greater chance of headwinds particularly when getting away from the Canary Islands. Whenever you decide to cross, getting to the Canaries early is important and the later you leave it to get south the more chance there is of having to wait for a weather window.
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The smallest boat to cross the Atlantic was 5ft 4inches, sailed by American sailor, Hugo Vihlen in 1993. Many have tried but failed to break this record. But sailor Andrew Bedwell believes he can regain this most unusual of crowns for Britain. The 48-year-old solo skipper is no stranger to sailing in small craft or pushing the limits.
The world's largest wind-powered cargo ship just made its first delivery across the Atlantic A French startup is bringing sails back to the shipping industry. [Photo: Ronan Gladu/TOWT]
The HMS Oardacious Valkyries will take on the 'World's Toughest Row' - an epic 3,000-mile rowing race across the Atlantic Ocean. On 12 December 2024, for the first time in history, a serving military women's crew known as the "HMS Oardacious Valkyries", will take on the World's Toughest Row.
Polish-flagged yachts are being used by criminals to export cocaine and other drugs across the Atlantic from South America to Europe and elsewhere, the UN and maritime authorities have warned.
Alberto Duhau sailed his Hylas 63 Shaima from Florida to the Mediterranean one summer, by heading north along the east coast of the US, across the North Atlantic via Newfoundland, Greenland and ...
Ice Bear, the 52-meter yacht that belonged to the late billionaire businessman Walter Scott Jr., will be sold to the highest bidder in October. The online auction will commence on Oct. 10 via ...
The insurrectionists next door, Trump's triumph over the GOP, Kash Patel, Mike Lee's conversion, and Joe Rogan's Austin. Plus how abortion bans affect doctors, the end of judicial independence ...
On the way across there will remain a small chance of south-westerly winds which decreases the further south and west you get; mid-Atlantic adverse and light winds are generally linked to the tail ...