The author crewed on an failed attempt to cross the Atlantic late last year. This is the second part of his account of the sailing.

Shortly after leaving Puerto Calero on Lanzarote, Canary Islands, we sailed through the channel between the southernmost tip of Lanzarote and Fuerteventura. Dolphins approached us, just as they had on our last passage. Watching the dolphins darting along beside a sailboat never fails to captivate me. Perched on the bow of our boat the Shanty, my feet dipping into the crests of passing waves, it felt like the best place on Earth.

Lanzarote was fast disappearing on our stern as we navigated towards Las Palmas. With a moderate breeze and the waves on our stern, this was some of the finest sailing we experienced on the Atlantic.

The sun set over the ocean, the water glowed as it reflected the light and we glided effortlessly towards our destination, Grenada 5,000 km to the west. Little did we know that Poseidon had a different plan for us.

The unusual weather pattern might have been an indication of our very challenging passage. The expected tradewinds did not develop. Instead, an approaching low-pressure system from the Cape Verdes forced us to sail a much more northerly route than the traditional tactic I as advised before leaving: “Head south until the butter melts, then turn west until you make landfall.”

Seven days into the crossing, things started to go south very quickly. First, I noted that our batteries were not getting charged. Initially, not knowing what the cause was, we shut down all non-essential electrical equipment. We powered down the fridge, navigation and communication systems and interior lights, using our headlamps only.

While it is entirely possible to sail around the world with minimal electrical equipment, modern yachts heavily rely on power.

With no fridge, some of our meals would likely turn out a bit more basic but we would not starve. I was also not concerned with the navigation station being turned off. Navigation offshore is surprisingly easy and a small hand-held GPS allows plotting the position on a paper chart.

What really worried me was not having an autopilot. With a small and inexperienced crew, I knew we would get exhausted very quickly having to hand-steer the boat. It is tough to drive a boat at night in big seas, and most people tire out in less than an hour on the helm.

Within the next two days, more trouble lay ahead. Two fittings essential to control our main sail broke. One night, we were hit by a gale-force squall with wind speeds upwards of 70 km/h. Nothing unusual, but more damage occurred to the rig that should not have happened. One of the stays designed to hold up the mast looked more like a spaghetti than taut wire. At this point, I knew it was likely that the entire rig was suspect and we had a long way to go.

Although we travelled 1,800 kilometres, our destination was still more than 3,000 km to the west. Out situation deteriorated every day. Things broke quicker than we could fix them, and a difficult decision had to be taken: Should we continue and hope for the best or steer to the closest port?