Between August 2021 and June 2022, 'Twende' - my 52 foot Lagoon catamaran - sailed 5,500 nautical miles from Brighton in the United Kingdom to Port Louis Harbour in St. George’s, Grenada. This note explains what motivated the adventure and describes the preparations that preceded a journey of this kind.
I do not hail from a family of sailors. Until I was 14 years old, I had never even set foot in a dinghy. Still, I am Danish and no place in my country is more than 27 nautical miles from the sea. We used to be vikings. Some salt water must have seeped into the bloodstream of one of my ancestors. A great-great-uncle on my father's side, I am told, fell to his death from the rigging of a sailing ship near Greenland on a cold and stormy winter night.
My own interest in sailing began in the early 1980s, when I lived in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. I was a young teenager with a yearning to learn about the world and to explore my own limitations. Some friends at school fooled around in boats in the local yacht club. I was curious. One of them took me sailing and I was hooked. My brother, Morten, also a keen sailor, felt the same way. We pestered our parents until they bought us not just one but two second-hand dinghies; a Laser for racing and an Askelladen 14 for adventures.
Our first boats, sailing in Tanzania in the early 1980s (Source: own pictures)
From that moment onwards, Morten and I sailed almost every day. Our favourite destination was Bongoyo Island in Msasani Bay. Bongoyo is a flat elongated coral rock covered in green vegetation and surrounded by what was then a reef rich in both fish life and coral. Back in the 1980s, no one ever went to Bongoyo Island except the odd fisherman. There is a beautiful sandy beach at one end of the island, so on weekends us kids would organise little flotillas of dinghies and sail the four nautical miles out to Bongoyo. We'd catch fish, cook over camp fires, and sleep on the beach at night. We would only return late in the afternoon on Sunday, tanned to a crisp, dead-tired, but super happy! Never in our young lives - we were only 13-14 years old - had we experienced such freedom!
Bongoyo Island, with the Dar es Salaam skyline in the background (Source: own photo)
Childhood adventures like these leave a mark. In the years that followed, when I was back living in Denmark I craved more of the same, but there was none to be had. Unhappy, I sought escape in books about circumnavigation and maritime adventures.
Like many other Danish kids at the time, I was enthralled by the hippie sailing adventures of Troels Kløvedal, a legendary author and circumnavigator (see here). His positive attitude to everything foreign - so alien to many today - and his appreciation of the maritime environment resonated very strongly.
In 1984, I moved to Nairobi in Kenya with my parents and I was able to do a bit of sailing in Lake Naivasha, where the key thing was to avoid hitting the hippos. But Naivasha never amounted to much in sailing terms; I did not have my own boat and it was too far from Nairobi to go very often.
I was able to take a decisive step towards realising my sailing dreams after graduating from high school in June of 1986. I didn't have a trust fund. Since money was a bit of an issue, I figured that with the right skills I could buy a cheap second-hand boat, fix it up myself, and then make money along the way by fixing other people's boats.
Armed with this plan, I had applied for boatbuilding apprenticeships in Denmark, while I was still in senior year of high school in Nairobi. One boat yard, A/S Hvide Sande Skibs- og Baadebyggeri in the tiny Danish west coast town of Hvide Sande, accepted my application. Barely a week after graduating from high school, I was caulking hulls of wooden fishing boats. My quest to become a fully qualified woodenshipwright had begun.
Boatbuilding in Hvide Sande 1986-1989 (Source: own photos)
I had chosen Hvide Sande for my apprenticeship, because it was one of the last remaining shipyards in Denmark still to teach boatbuilding the traditional way (for amazing insights about this dying trade watch the YouTube videos of the Sampson Boat Co - here).
My apprenticeship lasted three and a half years. To my surprise, I developed a keen interest in academic study during this period, which obviously posed a threat to my plans to go sailing. Day by day, the balance swung more and more in favour of going back to school and by the time my apprenticeship was nearly over I knew in my heart that I had to go to university. I sent applications to a number of universities in the United Kingdom, but I was not ready to give up completely on my dream of sailing, so I settled on a compromise: I'd start university in October of 1990, but spend the bulk of 1990 sailing.
I wrote to a bunch of tall ships to ask if any of them needed crew. I told them that I would be willing to work as an onboard woodenshipwright in exchange for food and board. The skipper of Elinor, a three-masted schooner sailing sunset cruises out of Christiansted in the US Virgin Islands, offered me a position. Hence, as the summer of 1989 drew to a close, my immediate future looked set and I allowed myself to get seriously excited about my imminent sailing adventure in the Caribbean.
S/V Elinor off St. Croix (Source: here)
Then the unexpected happened. In September 1989, Hurricane Hugo struck the US Virgin Islands and severely damaged Elinor, which had been dockside in Christiansted harbour during the storm. Since I was going to crew on Elinor as a woodeshipwright, I joined the small team of boatbuilders sent by the ship's insurance company to do the repairs.
With my shipwright colleagues in Christiansted, St. Croix. Elinor is on the left. Source: own photo)
Our little team of shipwrights flew from Copenhagen to Miami and then onto St. Croix. The first thing I saw when we landed was three aircraft stacked on top of each other in a corner of the airfield. When we drove from the airport to Christiansted, I noticed there were no leaves on the trees and all the grass has been pulled out of the ground. I suddenly understood the destructive force of a hurricane.
We did basic repairs on Elinor in Christiansted harbour for a few weeks and then sailed the 60 odd nautical miles north to Tortola in the British Virgin Islands, where Elinor was hauled out for the rest of the repairs. In total, I spent a couple of months working on Elinor, enough to get to know the captain and the first mate quite well. I decided to leave Elinor when the insurance job was finished, which may, in light of subsequent events, have been a very fortunate decision (see here).
Anyway, the year 1990 had barely begun and I still had loads of time until I had to go back to school. I had no money, so I sold my PanAM return ticket to Denmark and moved into a tiny shack on the hillside above the Jolly Roger bar in Soper's Hole, Tortola. I was lucky to get a job as a woodenshipwright in a small boatyard. Over the next nine months, I replaced the stern on a small Baltic Schooner called Grietje. I had a great time. But I did not get any sailing done.
The little shed on the hillside in Soper's Hole, where I lived while working on Grietje (Source: own pictures)
While I was fixing up Grietje, I learned that University of Sussex in England had accepted my application to study economics. In October of 1990, I moved to Brighton and began my Bachelor's Degree. Sailing was once again thrust into the background, for a couple of decades as it turned out. Apart from a brief bareboat sailing holiday with a friend in Thailand in the late 2000s, it would be three academic degrees and a full career in finance later until, in 2016, I finally began to think seriously about sailing again.
It was the prospect of retirement that roused my sailing dreams from their slumber. I had just turned 50. For some time, I had been saving money, not for sailing per se, but simply to be able to retire early and do other stuff. Retirement was still five years away, but one afternoon the idea of sailing around the world suddenly returned to me with full force, like a bolt of lightning! It felt like the perfect retirement project! It was as if the dream had been hibernating within me all this time, just waiting for me to become receptive to its charms once again!
Decision made, the serious work of preparing for the trip began. In those early days, I focused on the big questions: costing the trip, who to bring as crew, where to go, and which boat to get?
With respect to the choice of boat, I spent many hours learning about the lives of bluewater cruisers from watching videos of YouTube sailors, especially Catamaran Impi (here), Cat Great Circle (here), and S/V Delos (here).
I concluded that a catamaran would be suitable for this trip of journey. I had no personal experience with catamarans, in fact, I had almost no experience with yachts at all, but catamarans, it seemed to me, had a number of advantages over monohulls: they have more space than monohulls, they are more stable, and they are safer by virtue of redundancy, meaning they have two hulls, two engines, etc. Twin hulls also offer more privacy for sailing couples as each couple can have their own hull, a bit like a private apartment. I settled on the Lagoon 52S, which looked good, had a sheltered helm station, and was of a good size for two couples, with plenty of room for storage and guests.
The Lagoon 52S. Source: Lagoon)
In late 2016, I approached Stephen Abery at Ancasta, the UK-based brokerage representing Lagoon. I told Stephen about my plans and he was supportive. It was very early days. It only takes a few months for a modern shipyard to churn out a catamaran, so for the next few years there was very little Stephen and I could do but wait. Stephen later told me that very few people plan this far ahead, and most who do usually change their minds. But I was steadfast and Stephen kept in touch.
During the years when I waited for the boat, I sustained the sense of momentum by embarking on all the non-boat related preparations. I put my London flat on the market, having already sold the car and most of my furniture. I leased a VW Combi to help me ferry stuff back and forth. I moved into rented accommodation. I also hired a financial adviser to put my finances on a sensible footing and my tax affairs in order. And I drew up a will. I visited as many boat shows as I could and I paid a visit to Lagoon's factory in Bordeaux, where Twende would be built. I thought Lagoon looked like a serious and professional outfit. I also hired a crewed Lagoon 52 for a week of sailing in the Mediterranean, just to see what it felt like to sail the big boat!
At the helm of a Lagoon 52 for the first time in the Aeolian Islands in 2019 (Source: own picture)
When Covid stuck, I was forced to work from home, which gave me a lot more time to work on boat stuff as I no longer had to travel. During the lockdowns, I familiarised myself with all the onboard systems (water, electricity, engines, rigging, communications), made long lists of equipment and spares to buy, ordered a dinghy from Australia, bought an outboard engine, refreshed my navigation skills, and spent many pleasurable hours planning the route for the upcoming adventure in great detail.
Planning a circumnavigation is challenging, but also great fun! Weather is by far the most important factor in planning any sea journey, so you start by familiarising yourself with all the major weather systems in the world's oceans. Weather systems determine the prevailing winds, which in turn dictate when you can go and in which direction. It is all about minimising risk. There are hurricanes to avoid in the Caribbean, typhoons to stay clear of in the Pacific Ocean, and you probably want to avoid the Bay of Biscay in winter.
Outline of one of my trip itineraries. Source: own photo
Once I had an overview of the weather systems, I drew up my plan! I would leave Europe for the Caribbean in late summer of 2021. After visiting Spain and Portugal, I would cross the Atlantic via Madeira, the Canary Islands, and Cape Verde. Once in the Caribbean, I would spend six months visiting all the islands before ending up in Grenada by the start of the hurricane season. From there, I intended to sail to Panama via the San Blas islands and then enter the Pacific Ocean through the Panama Canal. My idea was to spend a full three years in the Pacific, with exciting visits to the Tuamotus, Marquesas, and Micronesia as well as the 'usual suspects': French Polynesia, Tonga, Fiji, New Zealand, and the islands off the Australian east coast (Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, etc.). After the Pacific Ocean, I planned to to sail across the Indian Ocean to Tanzania to visit my old childhood sailing grounds. From there, I would sail south to Cape Town via Madagascar and then up to Namibia before heading out across the South Atlantic Ocean to Brazil. From Rio, the route would go south, hugging the coastlines of Uruguay and Argentina until I reached the Beagle Channel. Once on the western side of South America, I would slowly make my way north along the Chilean fjords, then to Peru, Ecuador, Panama, and finally Costa Rica as a staging post for a direct assault on Hawaii. From there, I would sail straight north to Alaska and then island hop along the Aleutians before sailing down the western coastlines of Canada, the United States, and Mexico. After exploring Baja California, I wanted to return to the Caribbean via the Panama Canal. The final legs of the journey would take me to the Mexican east coast, Cuba, Florida, and up along the US east coast before returning to Europe across the north Atlantic Ocean, with stops in Greenland and Iceland.
The whole trip, I estimated, would take about eight years.
The excitement of trip planning sustained me as I continued to work closely with Ancasta decide what extra kit to get to get Twende ready for a trip of this magnitude. When you buy a new boat, the factory only supplies a basic shell; it is up to you to decide what extras you need to make the boat suitable for your specific needs. A round the world trip requires a huge amount of gear to ensure that boat and crew are safe and self-sufficient. Think: water-makers, scuba compressors, generator, solar panels for electricity generation, battery banks with redundancy, a full set of hand and power tools, satellite communications equipment, fridge capacity, navigation software, sailing guides, etc.
At this point, I had decided to name the boat 'Twende'. Twende is a Kiswahili word, which means 'Let's go!', which I thought was appropriate, because it captured the spirit of the enterprise and paid homage to my childhood sailing days in Tanzania. In early 2021, I got around to designing the logo for Twende's bows. After many failed attempts, I finally came up with a simple black and white design depicting an elegant wooden fishing boat with a Latiner rig set against the Southern Cross (below). I used Arab looking lettering for the name in recognition of the long history of Middle Eastern sailors along the East African coast.
My logo for Twende's bows (Source: own photo)
I was also kept busy with ship registration, boat insurance, assembling spare parts, choosing sail-drive rope cutters, selecting electronic and paper maps for navigation, VHF registration, and countless other planning issues on the boat itself, such as ordering extra sails, anchors, upholstery, lighting, linen, and plumbing for the heads (I wanted bidets on board so we would not need to bring rolls and rolls of toilet paper).
I also took an exam in VHF radio communications and attended classes in diesel engine maintenance.
In March 2021, the UK Ship Register approved my choice of name and Southampton as Twende's home port. The following month Ancasta sent me a picture of Twende docked outside the factory in Bordeaux (below). It was the first time I had ever seen the boat. While Twende was having the last bit of factory work done dockside in Bordeaux, I commissioned an independent survey, which was done in April and did not come up with any major faults.
First picture of Twende, left (Source: own photo)
Soon afterwards, Twende left Bordeaux and arrived in Hamble River, England, on 7 May 2021. On 8 May 2021, I drove down to Hamble, and, on a cold, wet, and windy day, saw Twende 'in the flesh' for the first time (below).
Twende at Hamble River - first view in the flesh (Source: own photo)
There was still a mountain of work to do. Later that month, I selected Flexiteek for the cockpit and aft deck and sugar scoops. In early June, Twende was beached to fit rope cutters and the three extra sails I had ordered - a code zero, a storm sail, and a cruising chute - arrived. By mid-June, Ancasta had fitted the logo on the bows and the Flexiteek was installed. On 6 July, Twende was fitted with solar panels and lithium batteries and a scuba compressor under the expert guidance of Toby Hague at Keto Marine. The date for sea trials was set for 26 July 2021.
Logo, rope cutter fitting and installing solar panels (Source: own photos)
At this point, I began to contact marinas along the English south coast to find a suitable place to park Twende after commissioning. I settled for Brighton, where I had attended university some thirty years earlier. On 23 July 2021, the crew visited Twende for the first time. Then, on 26 July 2021, after a successful sea trial, Twende was officially mine! On 1 August 2024, we cast off and headed out of Hamble River and into the Solent. Then Twende turned due east en route to Brighton on a lovely reach with a strong wind from the south west. Twende remained in Brighton for another couple of weeks during which I made final preparations and bid my farewells. On 19 August 2021, the journey finally began.
Twende in Brighton Marina just days before the journey began. Here with my former colleague and friend, Xin Xu, who gave me a bottle of Venezuelan rum as a departure gift (Source: own photo)
Most likely to be continued...
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