It was an unforgettable trip, one that taught me resilience and gave me lifelong friendships, but it also left something unfinished. We’d set out to reach Tenerife, and instead we stopped short.
So, when I returned in late 2024 to join Challenger 4 in Madeira, it felt like the continuation of that story — the chance to finish what had been started. From Madeira, we would sail on to Porto Santo, Lanzarote, and finally into Tenerife. For me, this was more than another Tall Ships Youth Trust voyage: it was closing a loop, stitching together two chapters of the same adventure.
I flew in a couple of days early and stayed at the newly opened Dreams Madeira Resort. Normally I could never justify somewhere so luxurious, but I’d found a good deal, and it turned out to be the perfect way to start the trip. The resort had only just opened that week, so there were hardly any guests. I had the seawater pool almost to myself, mornings spent swimming when nobody else was around, and long breakfasts with more choice than I knew what to do with. It gave me the space for a bit of me-time, to relax and breathe before the pace of sailing life began again.
What made it even more special was that the resort sits right next to Marina Quinta do Lorde, where Challenger 4 was berthed. On my first night, I wandered down to the marina — it was quiet, nobody around, just the sound of halyards tapping on masts. It helped me get my bearings. Challenger 4 was the final yacht in the Tall Ships Youth Trust fleet that I hadn’t yet sailed on, so seeing her there felt like ticking another big milestone off my bucket list.
On the 28th October, I joined the yacht. After safety briefs and getting settled, we slipped lines and set off on the short hop across to Porto Santo. The wind was kind, the sun was out, and we began settling into our watch systems — helming, trimming sails, keeping lookout. There’s always that adjustment period when you’re working with new people, but the crew clicked quickly.
Arriving in Porto Santo, we tied up in the marina where the harbour wall is painted with murals from visiting yachts. It’s a tradition for crews sailing through to leave their mark, and walking along the wall reading names and dates from across the world gave a sense of how many sailors had passed before us.
We had time ashore to explore and share a meal together. Steak skewers, pizzas, beers, and laughter around the table — simple things that become so meaningful when you’re living close quarters at sea. We rounded it off with ice cream.. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but those are the moments that bind a crew together.
The next leg was the first proper passage — nearly 300 miles down to Lanzarote. We left the sheltered marina and pushed out into open water. Watches blurred into one another: time spent on the helm and trimming sails.
Out there, magic found us. A pod of dolphins came to play at the bow, weaving under the hull and leaping through the waves as though they were showing off just for us. I leaned over to film them, grinning like a child, because no matter how many times you see dolphins at sea, it never loses its magic.
The nights were something else too. Clear skies stretched above us, the mast light cutting a small glow against a canopy of stars. I stood watch at the helm in the dark, the compass lit red, the sea rushing past — nothing but us, the yacht, and the Atlantic.
After two days at sea, the sight of Lanzarote rising from the horizon was striking — dark volcanic rock set against bright whitewashed resorts. We made landfall at Playa Blanca and had time to explore.
We walked the headland to the old round fort, Castillo de las Coloradas, perched on the cliffs with views out to sea. There was time for tapas, cocktails, and laughter at the marina, with sunsets glowing gold over the water. Someone brought out ropes on deck and we practiced knots in the harbour, proof that even downtime has its learning moments.
I wandered the volcanic coastline, watched the turquoise water crash against the rocks, and felt the heat of the island beneath my feet. One evening, I stumbled across a tiny hedgehog tucked against a step — a small, quirky memory that sticks out alongside the big ones.
Our last sail was 130 miles to Santa Cruz, Tenerife. By now, we were a crew, moving more easily through the routines of watch life. I took my turn at the logbook, carefully noting times, positions, and conditions. It’s a simple act, but there’s something grounding about recording your exact place on the ocean in that moment.
The sunsets kept delivering — skies painted in pinks and oranges as we trimmed sails and settled in for the night. On deck at night, the yacht glowed in red light, quiet voices calling commands, the stars wheeling overhead.
And then, on the approach to Tenerife, we had one last gift from the sea. A pod of pilot whales surfaced close alongside, dark shapes breaking the surface against the backdrop of the island’s mountains and city. It felt like a fitting welcome to our final stop.
In the evenings, the marina lights reflected across the still water, a calm reminder of the sea just beyond the city. Sitting there with the crew, sharing stories and drinks, I felt that familiar mix of satisfaction and sadness that comes at the end of a voyage.
This trip gave me so many contrasts: the quiet luxury of my hotel before joining, the raw simplicity of watch systems at sea, volcanic islands rising from the horizon, dolphins and whales alongside the bow, laughter with crew over meals ashore.
More than anything, stepping aboard Challenger 4 felt like closing a circle. She was the last of the Tall Ships Youth Trust fleet I hadn’t sailed on, and she gave me the chance to finish a journey I’d started almost two years earlier. But it’s not all about ticking them off a list — it’s about the people I’ve met, the places I’ve seen, and the part of myself that I find with every voyage.
Your comments and reflections mean a lot — feel free to share them below. 👇