👉Lost in the Dark & Riding the Roller Coaster: Our Wild Crossing Back to the Mainland

From sea turtles and almost catching a stray fender, 2 meter waves to accidental midnight pirouettes — Novera gave us a crossing we won’t forget.

Click on the title to read more

6/14/20264 min read

Ever since we started sailing Novera, we’ve been religious about wearing our life jackets. Tim even bought himself a new one. On flotilla holidays we barely touched them, but now it’s just the two of us — and if one of us went overboard, the rescue list is… extensive. Mark the spot. Throw the buoy. Furl the sail. Turn the boat. Navigate back. Get close enough. Don’t run them over. Basically: mission impossible.

This was all fresh in our minds when we spotted a fender floating nearby. It felt like karma — we’d lost one, so the sea was returning one. Tim grabbed the boat hook, but under sail it’s not exactly a precision sport. Did we get it? Absolutely not. We couldn't catch a fender so a person...my life jacket is staying on 😊

The sea state for our crossing back to Roses had been the subject of much debate. If we left Saturday, we could sail most of the way instead of motoring for 15 hours… but we’d face 2‑metre waves. The biggest seas we’ve taken Novera into.

“She’s built for big seas,” Tim said. His confidence was all I needed — though I still hoped I’d cope. Not only would we have big waves, but also our first night watch under sail. Sails make such a noise when they luff and flap it is quite intimidating and usually Tim is on hand to give instructions so they are seldom flapping long. But would i know what to do in the middle of the night and in the dark?

Novera handled it beautifully. Once I realised we were safe, the waves became an “ooh‑aah” roller‑coaster ride. The water crashed against us as we almost surfed through the sea! I used the daylight to learn as much as I could before my night shift. When to bear away when to head to wind maximising speed but trying to keep direction was a constant game.

Then the sun set, and it was my turn. “Bear away if the sails flap. Stay on course. Radar will help you spot others,” Tim said before heading below for some sleep.

What we didn’t know was that safety messages broadcast every two hours overnight over the radio from Iberia Radio — each preceded by a shrill alarm and PAN PAN loud enough to wake the dead let alone a sleeping sailor. Next time, the handheld VHF is coming on deck and the main radio is going off. Our two‑hour sleep rotations became two‑hour jump‑out‑of-your-skin rotations.

But the radar? Worth every minute spent installing it by Tim. I’ve always struggled to judge distance at sea, but with the range rings and chart plotter, I finally felt confident deciding whether to alter course without waking Tim. And as for Tim, he finally felt like he could navigate at night safely (no longer driving on his unfamiliar road in the dark with no headlights as he described on our last overnight sail🤣)

Then came my moment of chaos at about 3am. The genoa flapped — too close to the wind. I tapped the autopilot one degree. Still flapping. Tapped again. In the darkness, I didn’t realise I’d actually tacked. Suddenly the wind was on the wrong side of the dial and nothing made sense. Tim emerged, dazed and confused, just in time for us to complete a full accidental circle. Once he’d woken enough to work it out, we furled the genoa, turned back toward our destination, and set the sail again. Another lesson learned.

The sunrise was stunning. Earlier, though, I’d been staring at a strange yellow light on the horizon — not a cruise ship, not on AIS, not on radar. It was the moon🌙 . A thin crescent, Everything looks different in the dark honest! Or maybe when you are tired!

Tim took over watch after his well‑earned sleep and made breakfast — and somehow a simple omelette tastes Michelin‑starred when you’ve earned it.

We still had hours to go. Land was a ghostly outline, but at least 6–8 hours away. I went for a snooze… and naturally, the dolphins chose that exact moment to appear. They weren’t our only visitors: we spotted a sea turtle and even a couple of sharks — thankfully not the infamous Mediterranean great white.

With an ETA of 8 p.m., anchoring in Roses felt unwise, so we diverted to Estartit — a lovely spot we’d enjoyed on the way down. No town visit this time, just a peaceful drop of the hook before our 10‑day stay in Roses and a quick trip home.

With the Champagne we still had not drunk from France in the bar under the table - this seemed like the perfect time. We had accomplished another few firsts. Sailing at night, me on watch with the sails up, 2 meter seas and our longest passage yet of 150 miles. Yes we will sleep well tonight!