The last leg of our Atlantic crossing played out like a slow dance — one led alternately by the wind and the hum of the diesel engine.

Boxing Day brought a pause in the wind and a shift in tempo. Around 3AM the breeze dropped below five knots, and with sails flogging uselessly, we fired up the motor. Mercifully, the seas were now long and lazy — perfect motoring weather, if there is such a thing. With electricity on tap, it turned into a productive day: Sunny Spells got a washdown to rid herself of Saharan dust, the laundry buckets were put to work, and the galley became a bakery. Gabro produced a sourdough loaf, I baked my mother’s buttermilk rusks, and Mariona conjured up a tuna stew. We even managed a hull scrub and a sail change.

Later in the day the breeze began to fill in. With the big laminate genoa and mainsail up, we found ourselves reaching comfortably, finally pointed toward Martinique.

Forecast models were now diverging, but we chose to believe the optimistic one — and for a while, it paid off. The next few days were a medley of light-air sailing punctuated by glassy, oil-slick motoring. One morning, the wind teased us with just enough puff to fly full canvas. A baby Mahi Mahi came and went (lucky fish), followed shortly by an unlucky 7kg yellowfin tuna who made a final and delicious contribution to the voyage.

December 29th was a slow day under power, and morale dipped with the droning engine. Still, we found pleasure in the little things: Mariona baked banana bread and wholewheat loaf, and dinner was pasta with cream and veg. At sunset, we flirted with sailing again — the wind briefly stirred, then stilled. As we doused the mainsail in frustration, a solid 15-knot NE breeze kicked in just to mock us. We hoisted again, reefed, unreefed, debated reefing again. It was a full evening of trimming and trimming again, ending with Mariona hand-steering in whispers of wind to keep us above 4 knots. Remarkably, we still clocked 126 miles for the day.

By the 30th, Barbados was abeam and we could smell landfall. Despite a forecast for motoring, we managed to sail the whole day on a close reach in 8–12 knots, clocking a satisfying 77 miles for the daylight hours. A plane passed overhead — the first one we’d seen since leaving Las Palmas — and lights twinkled on the horizon. But the AIS remained eerily silent. Despite the flood of pink icons on MarineTraffic, the ocean out here still feels vast and lonely.

We closed the gap on Martinique in style. A final spinnaker run saw us gliding along at full speed under canvas on New Year’s Eve, land rising gently on the horizon. First Saint Lucia’s mountains, then the low coast of Martinique. At 3:30PM local time, we let go the anchor at Petit Anse de Salines, after 2,250 miles and 17 days at sea since Mindelo.

That night, there were hammocks, a long-overdue drink, and the promise of pizza. There may even have been fireworks — but we didn’t make it past dinner.