The starting line was as crowded as we’d feared. With every boat squeezing through the same narrow gate at once, we graciously stepped aside and let the “real sailors” sort themselves out first. Honestly, watching the mass of sails fill against the rugged mountains of São Vicente was almost worth giving up front-row chaos. Hard to beat that view!

The wind looked promising, and we were banking on it freshening up once we slipped away from the islands—first from the acceleration zone between them, then later when the trusty Passat winds kicked in. Spoiler: they did not!

We left the start with fanfares in our heads and adrenaline in our veins… only to find ourselves puttering along at a heroic 3 knots. A test of optimism, if nothing else.

We poled out the Code 0 and the genoa, hoping the night would bring something—anything. It did not. Morning arrived, the wind still on holiday, so up went the spinnaker. At last, we’re moving. Not fast, but hey, at this point any knot counts as a moral victory.