The sticky middle & surprise finish lines

For me, the second half of the Atlantic crossing felt the slowest.  By December 1st (2 days after crossing the half-way mark), the party we’d held to commemorate the half-way milestone – complete with glowsticks and scream-singing Bon Jovi (‘Ohhhhh we’re half-way THERE!!’) felt like a very distant memory.  And yet, the finish line – although it was coming into focus in my consciousness - it was nowhere near in physical sight.

The humidity was oppressive, as if to match my mood.  The same daily chores and milestones broke up our days, but they no longer held the novelty they once did.  I could have sworn that time was simply moving more slowly than it did during the first 9 days of the journey – back when the finish line was a more obscure and distant concept.

I found that there were two ways to address the ‘sticky middle’. 

1) I could push it aside through distraction. Perhaps an episode of The Crown, a sneaky treat from the ‘emergency’ snack box or maybe an IG scrolling session. 

OR,

2) I could lean into the discomfort.  I could actually FEEL the yearning (and I don’t use the word ‘yearn’ often or lightly!) for solid ground under my feet or the ability to walk a long distance, by myself or for the crunch of a fresh vegetable in my mouth.

And I learned that neither of these tactics were inherently good or bad.  The former provided an escape, and the latter provided a surprising calm. 

By the way, ask David and you’ll hear of an entirely different experience.  One where the first half felt slow and unrelenting and then the days after the crossing the half-way mark slipped slow quickly away that he can barely remember it. Time is a funny thing and 18 days at sea gives you a lot of space to contemplate this!

On December 7th though, we were ALL giddy with anticipation of reaching the shores of St. Lucia at some point that day.  We were passing the binoculars back and forth – each of us wanting to be the first to spot land.  The joke was on us though, as the rain and fog made it impossible until we were practically on top of the island in the late afternoon! 

In the meantime, we entertained ourselves with silly games, dance-offs and deep dives into the chocolate and gummy bears - fully embracing any distraction tactics we could dream up in between long hopeful gazes at the horizon. 

We did eventually spot a faint outline of mountains through the haze and celebrated with cheers and a million very unimpressive photos. The FINISH was finally in sight.

As we neared the official finish line a couple of hours later, an ARC photographer came to Pure Joy on his dingy and snapped photos of our deliriously happy crew as the sun set on St. Lucia.  Then, the wind absolutely DIED and we limped over THE FINISH LINE in a fairly anti-climactic fashion. That of course didn’t stop us from blasting the music and dancing around like lunatics, though!

This finish line though, it immediately felt like a formality.  We recorded our time, but without saying it out loud, we all knew that we’d *really* celebrate at the REAL FINISH - once we were safely on the dock, stepping on firm ground, hugging whomever was there to greet us and tasting that sweet rum punch we’d been promised!

We carefully navigated through the marina in the dark and made our way to our appointed dock.  The ARC yellow shirts were there to greet us, along with Seth, the only ARC kid to arrive before Elliot.

So THIS is the finish, I thought. Joy. Elation. Hugs. Cheers. Rum Punch. More Cheers. More Hugs. Running on the dock.  A prick of tears to accompany too many emotions to name.  Dinner.  In a restaurant.  With this incredible crew.  Complete with a crunchy salad and margaritas.  We reminisced and laughed and told each other how much this experience meant and how glad we were that we did it together. 

Then we slept.  Through the night, no shifts.  Bliss.

We awoke the next morning to the news that one of our fellow ARC boats was coming into the marina.  All of us stood on Pure Joy and cheered at the top of our lungs, honked our horn, whistled, jumped up and down as they approached.  We blared ‘Ain’t no mountain high enough’ from our speakers and tears welled up in my eyes as I watched the sailors wave and jump up and down back at us with such joy, elation and relief. 

A tradition was born and we would repeat this welcome wagon display whenever an ARC boat would come past us as they docked after the crossing.  This tradition would get sweeter and sweeter as the days passed, as I knew that for the crews joining us in Rodney Bay Marina, the journey had been that much longer, the challenges that much tougher.

I remember the last of the ‘family’ boats, Tempus,  coming in after dark one evening.  (All of the boats with kids had become quite close since we’d met a few weeks earlier in Las Palmas.) As we loudly welcomed them in, I couldn’t quite see the faces of our friends, but I could make out the two little girls from the reflective strips of their life jackets, bouncing up and down in time with beat of the music we were blaring.

Some of my all-time favourite memories of the entire ARC came from these moments.  Witnessing people making their dreams come true. Doing things that they weren’t entirely sure they could. We’d just done the same, but watching from the outside in somehow felt even more meaningful than living it ourselves.  No, THIS is the finish, I thought. THIS is what this was all about.  

A couple of days later, we left the marina to explore.  We sailed our boat to a lovely little bay and jumped in the water.  We swam and snorkelled and soaked in our gorgeous surroundings.  As Elliot popped his head above the surface from snorkelling to exclaim ‘I just saw a rainbow fish!’, I thought:  Ah, yes. THIS is the finish.  For a while there, I’d completely forgotten why we are doing all of this.  I’d temporarily thought this was about crossing the Atlantic Ocean.  I remembered now, THIS is why we did that big thing.  So that we could explore new and beautiful places together, and to take our home along for the ride.

The ARC 2023 prize-giving and final party was last night. The last of our amazing crew have said their farewells. We pulled away from Rodney Bay for the last time (until next year!) this morning.  So, the incredible chapter of the ARC is truly, definitively and bitter-sweetly finished for us.  

But of course, Pure Joy’s story is only just getting started.  

 Pure Joy ARC 2023 Sailing Summary

• The second half of the journey was met with more lively weather than the first. Squalls with 30+ knot winds made for a lot of sail changes and we saw our fair share of rain showers!

• 2,942 nautical miles sailed in total

• 18 days at sea

TRAVELING TO THIS PART OF THE WORLD? 

Here are our top tips/reccos:

-       If you go to see the Titons by boat, get in touch with Malcolm (+1 758 722 5048) via whatsapp.  He’ll hook you up with a mooring buoy and you can get him to organize whatever tour(s) you want.

-       Do the Tet Paul Hike.  Only 45-60min, super knowledgeable guides and the reward of a view of BOTH of the Titons is incredible.

-       Marigot Bay is a really fun place to moor for a couple of nights.  The best restaurant is Chateau Mygo.  And if you are ready to treat yourself / have a little break from boat life, purchase a day pass to Zoetry resort.  For $70USD you get access to the pool plus all food and drink is included from 10am-5pm.  It’s very easy to get your money’s worth!  (David treated me to a night in the hotel and a massage in the hotel spa while Marissa and Martin looked after Elliot for the evening - an incredible birthday pressie!)