Crossing the Atlantic Solo on SY Alegria
Share
Monaco to the British Virgin Islands. 35 days. Just me.
Route: Monaco to the British Virgin Islands
Distance: approximately 4,000 nautical miles
Duration: 35 days
Crew: Solo
Why Christmas Day?
I left Port Fontvieille on Christmas Day, 2023. Partly for the trade winds, partly because the marina was quiet and the paperwork was easy. Mostly because it seemed like a good story.
The first test was the Strait of Gibraltar. Heavy shipping traffic, strong crosscurrents, and the kind of density of maritime movement that keeps you wide awake whether you want to be or not. Once through, the Atlantic opened up and things settled into a rhythm.
Life at Sea
Solo ocean sailing runs on catnaps. Twenty to thirty minutes at a time, around the clock, with the autopilot holding course and an alarm set. You adapt faster than you'd expect. You also eat badly, move constantly, and spend a lot of time doing small maintenance jobs just to stay occupied.
I'd provisioned for six weeks: vacuum-packed meals, dry goods, a watermaker on board for fresh water. The solar panels and wind turbine handled the power needs without needing to touch shore power the entire crossing. That part worked perfectly.
The reading material was Michael Connelly, specifically the Bosch series. Highly recommended for long passages.
When Things Go Wrong
Two systems gave me trouble. First, the autopilot failed mid-ocean. I hand-steered for roughly 36 hours straight while I tracked down the fault, disassembled the housing, and replaced a blown actuator fuse. That was the most physically exhausting stretch of the trip. Managing fatigue while also managing the boat alone, in open ocean, focuses the mind considerably.
Second, I had water ingress through the forward hatch during a rough patch. Managed it with secondary sealing and the manual bilge. No lasting damage, but another reminder that offshore sailing is not all fun and games.
The worst weather came in two waves. One low-pressure system lasted about 36 hours, with gusts above 30 knots and swells of 3 to 4 metres. I shortened sail to a storm jib and triple-reefed the main and waited it out. The boat handled it well. No structural damage.
The Good Parts
There were dolphins. More than once, and always at the right moment.
On clear nights, the celestial visibility was extraordinary. I was running GPS and chartplotter as primary navigation with paper charts for backup, but on the best nights I barely needed any of it. The sky told you exactly where you were.
The calm days were harder than the rough ones. No wind, no radio contact, nothing to fix. Just you and several thousand miles of flat water. That's where the Connelly novels earned their keep.
Landfall
On Day 35, I sighted land. Tortola, British Virgin Islands. I cleared customs, did a full hull and rig inspection, found everything intact, and then sat very still for quite a long time.
The boat had done its job. Everything that needed to work had worked. The one critical failure got fixed at sea. That's about as good a result as you can hope for.
Getting Home
I paid Bruno, a good friend who had previously worked on the boat, to sail Alegria back to Beaulieu-sur-Mer in France, which has a world-class shipyard and sits right next door to Monaco.
I flew. I have no interest in doing that return passage. Maybe another day.
Instead I stayed on in the BVI for a few months, which turned out to be an excellent decision. I can see myself making a proper home on Tortola at some point. It has my name written all over it.
What I'd Tell Anyone Thinking About Doing This
- A redundant autopilot is not optional for solo long-distance passages. One is not enough.
- A wind vane as a mechanical backup is worth every cent.
- Satellite weather access is essential. Predictive storm modelling changes what decisions are available to you.
- Daily system checks matter, especially when you're tired and don't feel like doing them.
- Pack more books than you think you need.