12. New York to Horta, part 2, June 2025

So, conditions are very very pleasant. And this too will pass.

It's been nice, maybe a bit too nice. It's annoying on a sailboat when the wind is gentle. We don't like it when it drops down below, say, 7 knots of wind. It's not enough to reliably fill the sails and, especially when you have waves and swells, the boat flops about and the sails slap and slam. So you spend probably more time praying for wind than you do praying for calm.

But the wind picks up and it's a different North Atlantic.

One of the greatest things of a junk rig is that it is so easy to reef. This was probably the biggest reason why I re-rigged Beyond as a junk. She needed new sails and of course the purist in me wanted to rig her with the wrap-around sails as originally designed. Gary Hoyt used carbon masts (first ones aluminium) without standing rigging so he could wrap a sail around on both sides, leading out to the clew on the wishbone booms. I had inspected a Freedom 40 in the UK that had the original wooden wishbones. They were made of oak and pitch pine. Strong, massive sections and heavy. Later boats had aluminium ones. Lighter but still enough to brain you if you don't pay attention. The wrap around sail made for a very aerodynamic setup - especially off wind the boat can really fly - and it's one of the signature features of a Freedom, something I was not keen to mess with.

But I went for a sail on a junk and it was lovely. I did some research which I share in another post (junk article tbc). So Beyond became a junk, something I have not regretted but there is a learning curve.

The benefits are immediately apparent - ease of reefing, no drama jibing and elimination of lots of tensions and compression forces - but one thing I am getting used to is how loose everything is. The parrels hold the sail onto the mast. Loosely. They kind of move and allow the sail to go back and forward. Fine. The sheets (very long and at an acute angle) don't tie the boom down the way a normal Marconi does with its sheets and boomvang. Instead gravity and the additional weight of battens hold it all down. Kind of. The boom is really only another skinny batten and it isn't held up by a topping lift. Instead the lazyjacks hold it up. Sort of. It's all so... floppy.

I had a high performance catamaran for a few years, carbon sails, rotating mast, dyneema rigging and everything was taught and tight. Everything locked down.

So, I am learning about all of this and discovered that a loose rig is susceptible to chafe, and that chafe can really ruin your day.

The winds are picking up to low 20s with gusts up to 30. I start thinking about reefing at 15 or so. Basically, my mental guide is this: If you think about reefing, just do it. What happens is that the boat starts heeling over, often something will fall down and go crash back wallop, and so you reef. Everything becomes manageable and calm, and usually you don't even loose any speed.

If the winds keep rising, you reef again.

An almighty crash and I dash up to discover that my reefed foresail, the lower reefed part of it, has fallen down onto the deck, held inside the boat by the lifelines. The lazy jack on one side of the sail has failed and the sail has spilled out and down. It's not the end of the world. I go forward, tidy up, lash the loose sail up. There is an issue that the line is secured at the top of the mast and now that it is free, it's whipping round - there is 30' of it lashing in the wind, so this could make a tangle, a knotted mess, but in the rising seas there is not much I can do about it. Even as I am watching, just for a few minutes, it's wrapping around the mast and lines.

I consider dropping the mainsail but then this would do nothing to stop the whipping line from whipping. So I leave it.

Thinking it through, I decide that I better pull into Bermuda. Sailing for two weeks or so to the Azores in a boat that had question marks around reefing - nah, let's not do that. As weather and wind would have it, I had already been running a south eastern course so Bermuda was about two days ahead of me. Many sailors make a pit stop there as part of their Transatlantic route anyway.

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

And then a bigger crash. The whole foresail has come down.

On the videos it always looks much gentler and less animated than it is in reality. My short Stanley knife at the end of a 10' boathook, on a heaving deck, let's just say that it was not terribly precise. So back to the drawing board:

I am quite relieved that it has crashed down. I had gone through some nightmare scenarios in my head, thinking that I would sail into port with the errant lazy jack line wrapped tight around the mast and sail and yard, preventing me from being able to drop the sail.

So, I secure the foresail, tidy up and have a coffee, enjoying the conditions steadying, and inspect the chafe.

Then I am joined by a pod of dolphins.

There is something about dolphins. They are really magical. For some reason they always give me an energy of good cheer and joy. It feels entirely appropriate that they should join me just as I have dealt with my little drama. I take a few videos (which are probably the worst videos of dolphins ever captured).

I am now sailing with just the mizzen sail up. I am surprised that the boat, even out of balance, is still functioning quite well. 20 hours out of Bermuda:

The last stretch into a port always takes longer than I think it will. You see the island as a tiny little dark shadow, a real joy to see, and then it takes forever to get there. And all the danger is inshore. At sea there is nothing to hit.

Bermuda has two main areas, one quite busy one around Hamilton and the other is Georgetown, commonly referred to as St George. I decide for the latter. It is approached through a narrow inlet called Town Cut. It is very very cool. One feels a bit like Jack Sparrow making the last approach.

GPS and modern electronic charts makes things very straightforward. Before pinpoint accuracy night and day positioning, and screens, one would have used a paper chart. Very different proposition. From a distance you can't even see Town Cut so you'd have to line up landmarks and transit lines, buoys and lighthouses. And if you get it wrong, the least of your worries is being lost - grounding and wrecking was a thing (still is).

But eventually you arrive and anchor up. It's a good feeling.

Next: Repairs in St George.