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At midday yesterday we left the Santa Cruz in the Galapagos Islands to head for Hiva Oa in French Polynesia. It’s 2,950 nautical miles as the crow flies, assuming the said crow understands about great circles. However the Galapagos Islands sit in the middle of the doldrums, and so to find wind, we need to head south before turning right. We will therefore need to sail for more than 3,000 miles before we see land again, compared to 2,100 miles for our Atlantic crossing; a mere hop, skip and a jump by comparison.

We arrived back in the anchorage around 1 a.m. on Saturday morning having dutifully sailed the required 40 nautical miles offshore to release our baby barnacles into the deep blue sea. The operation proved far more challenging than anticipated. Unfortunately, the flat-calm, glassy seas of a few days ago had been replaced by a vicious chop. We hove-to (basically forcing the genoa onto the opposite tack from the main sail, so that the main and the foresail work against each other, stopping the boat and calming the motion).

In the early hours of this morning we finally arrived in the Galapagos and now we are leaving them again. Despite having Shepherd Moon lifted out of the water in Shelter Bay and pressure washed, and then checked again while we were in Las Perlas (albeit through murky green waters) we have acquired a few baby barnacles during our 1,000 mile transit from Las Perlas to the Galapagos. I had meant to check the bottom before we arrived, but the last couple of days haven’t played out in the quite the way we expected.

In this series of blogs we have tried to give a taste of the ups and downs of life at sea, and have hopefully induced the odd smile. Sadly today’s blog is very much focused on the down side of life, and the sense of hopelessness you feel when so far away from family. As most of you know, my mum developed Alzheimer’s about 10 years ago and has been steadily going downhill.

After leaving Panama City, we sailed 40 odd miles south to the Las Perlas islands. In some ways these resemble the coast of Brittany, but without any people. On our second night there we anchored in a small bay, which could only be reached by following a zig-zag path through the rocky shallows. Sitting in the cockpit you could gaze across the water to other islands and other secluded bays, but despite the proximity to the mainland, there were no other boats to be seen, just lots and lots of pelicans.