By Lydia Paleschi
Introduction
Anyone who’s sailed the Atlantic – or completed any long crossing by sail – will tell you about the stars. Away from land and light pollution, the night sky reveals itself in dazzling clarity. As you sit on deck during the late evening or early hours, with your crewmates sleeping below, the constellations become your silent companions. They offer reassurance from above, and for the seasoned sailor, a means of navigation. All the while, they spark awe, as you wonder how much more they know and what they’ve seen.
The stars are one of many beautiful things about a Transat. Some, like the night sky, are visible. Others, such as the mental clarity that emerges at sea, unfold within. Sailing away from land feels like shedding not only light pollution, but also the noise and clutter of modern life. As you settle into three weeks of nothing but sailing, a mental clarity takes hold – far greater than any you’re able to experience on land. Your responsibilities melt away, technological distractions are removed, and your focus narrows to the essentials: sailing the boat and staying alive. Life becomes simple, centered on necessity and survival – and whilst the sailing is of course a big part of it, it’s a journey that encompasses so much more.
For me, travelling by sail is about adventure, unpredictability, the mental challenge, and the human relationship challenge. It’s not just about sailing, but about what it represents. It’s about stepping outside of my comfort zone, seeing what I’m really made of, learning a new skill, and forging meaningful relationships. It’s about seeking wilderness, discovering remote parts of the world, and feeling deeply connected to the ocean – both its beauty and its brutality.
Fire and Lava (Zero Nautical Miles)
“Lava!” shouts Aisha. As the sun dips below the horizon, we turn our eyes to La Palma’s volcanic slopes and see a fiery red streak etching down the mountain. Soon, it swells into a river of molten rock. To the left, the lights of the city shine brightly, but they pale in comparison.
Explosions of lava burst from the summit, crowned by a halo of flame. Each eruption is accompanied by the crackling sounds of molten rock meeting the cool night air. The sky is ablaze with orange and red, a mythical underworld made real. It’s difficult to believe my eyes as I watch the eruption of the Cumbre Vieja volcanic ridge devour the southern reaches of La Palma.
