For the last few hundred miles of sailing in the Caribbean we had a pet, a shark-sucker we called Mr Mistopholes, who attached himself to our hull, and would come and feed from our hands.

On setting off there were squalls for the fist few days

But dolphins

and whales!

But eventually the sea got the proper deep ocean blue - it was nearly 7000m deep here.

So we made pickles.

Out of the tropics at last: dawn arrived earlier each day, and took longer about it.

Land-ho. Pico in the dawn

looking typically Azorean from closer.

Two views of the town of Horta.

The yacht harbour with all the yachts making the same migration from the Americas to Europe.

There is a tradition which obliges one, on pain of bad luck, to paint the boat’s name on the concrete sea-wall.