We left Culebra with Antigua on the horizon and a clean plan: slip past the island, push out to the windward side of the Caribbean chain, and begin our long run south toward Uruguay.
The trades had other plans.
Predicted 15–17 knots became a relentless 20+ from the E/SE, gusting over 30. The seas were steep, the motion violent, and every mile felt disappointing. One Ocean was taking a pounding. So were we and the forecast said it would stay like this for weeks.
I ran the numbers again and again—calculations, plots, models, Commanders’ Weather—all pointing to the same truth: we were fighting a losing battle.
Our morale slid with every hour spent bashing south instead of making our way east.
The gale stayed with us as we slipped down the west side of St. Croix in the late evening. Only as we approached Frederiksted did the seas finally relax, and we dropped anchor in the calm. But I already knew in my gut a reality I couldn't say out loud.
The Morning Everything Shifted
The next morning over coffee in the scorching morning heat, the four of us (Mark, Tess, new crew member, Jon, and me - Jenn) laid out the truth. It was time to discuss something we had been resisting: turning around and using the trade winds to make Panama instead. Stop fighting conditions and ease with them.
I had an immediate recollection of a lesson from a couple of years ago, something Mark taught me while we were bashing around Rose Point on our Haida Gwaii circumnavigation in his boat, Dancing Bear. The main sail had an issue, the wind and current were against us, and the waves were standing up like walls. Mark climbed up by the mast to fix the problem and yelled for me to turn Dancing Bear downwind. The moment I fell off the wind, everything eased. We lost miles, yes, but when he came back to the cockpit he said something I have never forgotten:
“Never forget that you can always turn downwind. Work with the conditions, even if it costs you distance.”
At this pace, we wouldn’t reach Uruguay by Christmas. Not without breaking ourselves or the boat. Turning around for Panama—riding the trades instead of punching into them seemed to be the logical choice, but after fifteen years of dreaming this expedition into existence, changing course felt like betrayal and I could see Mark wearing the disappointment like a heavy cloak.
Then Jon quietly asked, “Have you ever considered doing a figure eight around the Americas?”
It was like oxygen suddenly filled the cockpit. I saw Mark sit up straighter, that familiar spark returning. For me, it was instant relief. My body wasn’t done healing from the North Atlantic, and the thought of another 5–6 weeks of punishment was crushing my spirit.
The canal meant options. Possibility. Hope. (watch the decision making video below)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/112LVW2NcrqQac839KGWs_MPgUjcNIkav/view?usp=drive_link
The Hard Part
The heartbreak was Tess’s family would be in Uruguay for Christmas! Calling her mom, Paige, was the toughest moment—but she immediately told us to do what was right. That generosity cracked the weight open.
By the next day the energy onboard had shifted. Lighter. Brighter. The decision felt right.
We’re a 48-foot ketch and sailing is about working with the conditions as they are, not about forcing it to be what you want. And honestly, life is the same.
The Mission Continues
The weight lifted from Mark when he realized the dream wasn’t dead—just taking a different route. Cape Horn was still an option and so was the science, the education, and the purpose.
Later that day in Frederiksted we presented to Claude O. Markoe Elementary School. The energy and questions from those students filled our sails again. Inspiration given, inspiration received! Those kids reminded us exactly why we’re out here.
One Ocean’s course changed - the mission didn’t.
Sometimes the bravest navigation call you can make is simply to turn with the wind.
Our next stop now is Panama. We should be there in just over a week!