Some years ago Mike and his father, Julian, began to dream about one day sailing one of the world's great oceans together. They had sailed extensively in the Caribbean and Mediterranean on charter holidays, but had an eye on a bigger challenge. In 2006 Julian died aged 62 from cancer.  Having lost his mother Ann, 7 years previously, also to cancer aged 55, Marie Curie Cancer Care is a charity dear to Mike's heart.

Instead of his father, Mike's wife, Alexandra, joined him on this journey of a lifetime.  Alexandra and Mike decided to begin the challenge by sailing across the Atlantic without crew.

Their boat "Halo" was a 42 foot Hallberg Rassy and they left the UK in August 2011. Their route took them from Portsmouth across the notorious Bay of Biscay to Spain, Madeira and then the Canaries. Here they made further preparations before sailing across the Atlantic Ocean to the Caribbean.  This 2,700 nautical mile passage on the north east trade wind route took them 23 days and 2 hours.

Having spent the season cruising the islands of the Caribbean they now face the bigger challenge of sailing Halo home. Split into three legs (BVI's to Bermuda, Bermuda to the Azores and Azores to Falmouth) the vast distances will call upon all their experience to date and determination to complete their dream and return home safely.

Alexandra and Mike would be very grateful for any donations you can make to Marie Curie in support of this challenge. Thank you.

Infinite thanks to all our sponsors and supporters. Our final blog post shared below for you.

After 10,000 miles at sea and 10 months abroad, Halo eased past Black Rock and into a windless, silent Falmouth as the first signs of dawn flickered in the east. Did we dream it all? It felt like the other day that we had motored out in the other direction on that misty August morning.

This final passage threw everything at us. We set an alarm for 4am in the hope of leaving Terceira of the Azores at first light. The weather window looked good and I was keen to get going. I popped my head out to see a thick fog sitting over the marina and decided that we might as well steal two more hours kip and let it lift. At 6am it was still clinging to the hills of the island but it was clear enough for us to slip our lines and motor out. ARC Europe officially finishes in Portugal but many boats are destined for northern Europe so the fleet breaks up in the Azores. We were the last ARC boat on the island – it was unfamiliar to leave alone and unnoticed.

The early morning was breathless so we enjoyed a smooth motor around the south east point and up the east coast giving us a chance to take in another stunning coast line of the Azores. As we approached the north east point the south westerly winds started to flirt with us. Before long we were clear of the island’s wind shadow with the sails set fair for home. We made excellent progress over the day and began to settle back into our routine. As the light faded, a thick fog swept across the sea and engulfed us and the temperature plummeted. This was the homeward leg we’d read about…

The next 36 hours delivered the same perfect breeze and we were eating up the miles albeit under grey drizzly skies. The showers were still hot from our first day’s motoring and we were enjoying working our way through the delicious fresh meats we had bought in the Azores. On the 3rd night, the long range weather forecast started to hint at a disturbance forming near Bermuda and due to track east towards us. It was projected to become an unseasonably deep depression and I was conscious it would probably catch up with us on our current course just as we were crossing the formidable Bay of Biscay. That night was fairly windy and rolly so we turned east to run with it to try and make it more comfortable for the sleeper.

We downloaded a weather update in the morning to see that they had upgraded the depression. The winds and seas forecast for the centre were eye-watering but the system was projected to track north east which meant that we could continue east and let it pass to the north of us.

We spent the next 3 days trying to slow the boat down to let this thing overtake us. It’s incredibly frustrating and surprisingly difficult to sail slowly on purpose. Alexandra likened it to trying to make a racehorse walk. Other ARC boats were underway 100 or so miles away from us and were all discussing the merits over long range radio of taking cover in La Coruna for a night. I was not keen on rounding Cape Finisterre in a westerly gale and reckoned too that the storm would be followed by calms making it a 4 day motor home across Biscay. So we spent hours poring over the forecast as it developed, as we bore down on the land of shared food, trying to work out when it might be sensible to turn north. We were basically going to try to let the worst of it past but then hold onto its coat tails for a rock ‘n’ roll ride home.

On day 7 we made the decision to brave the tack and go for it. It was fantastic finally to be heading for Falmouth but with 500 miles still to go and the promise of a bumpy ride we couldn’t help but be a little anxious. As we tracked north across Biscay, we began to catch up with it. The waves were very big but well spaced and Halo rode them extremely well. When you’re living through it you soon realise that it isn’t so bad and we even started to enjoy the awesome feeling of riding those seas. The boat rises and falls seemingly in slow motion as each one passes under you. Occasionally we would fall off a crest into a short trough and Halo would not have enough time to ride up the next one which would explode against the hull as if it was trying to come in and join us. We started with no main sail and just half the genoa out, and then experimented with just the storm reef in the main and no genoa. Even with so little sail area we were surfing at over 12 knots where the boat surges down the face and anything loose downstairs gets hurled
across the saloon.

We carried these conditions for 3 days and were certainly making rapid progress home at the expense of sleep. We got very very tired, definitely the most tired we’ve been all year. When we did sleep we dreamt about sailing or doing something on board. I awoke with a start when Halo lurched and I dreamt my hot chocolate was falling off the table. I wanted to give Alexandra a break from the cooking and so offered to whip up some omelettes. I spilt the mixture everywhere, nearly set fire to a tea towel and burnt the omelettes. She is a hero. We were feeling quite tough at braving all of this until we spotted a boat sailing in the other direction, AGAINST the waves.
We radioed and a woman who sounded about 15 replied saying she was single-handed and doing a qualifier for the Vendeé Globe.

Nothing lasts forever though and on Saturday evening, with 150 miles to run, the wind and swell completely died and before we knew it we were motoring. The calms had arrived and we expected to have to motor the rest of the way, getting us into Falmouth the following night. I don’t think we really knew what to feel as day broke on Sunday but this email from a very experienced couple that we had got to know on the circuit served to lubricate the emotions:

“Good morning Mike and Alexandra,

Welcome to your last day offshore, the culmination of a voyage of 10,000 miles, the end of an adventure of a lifetime.
You will be listening to the sound of mobile phones awakening, seeing Lands End, smelling Cornwall and lifting to the familiar feel of the Channel under Halo's keel.  Home, family and friends beckon, and all that you've missed awaits you.

We salute you both on the conclusion of a heroic and brave double handed epic. Enjoy your homecoming...”

We began to hear the superbly professional English voices of Falmouth Coastguard over the VHF talking to the hundreds of tankers that we had to start navigating around, and we dared to feel safe again. Sometimes coincidences move you and, after 9 days without a sunset, the clouds parted into levels to the west and a deep orange just erupted into the evening sky. It was honestly one of the best sunsets of the year and I was left to reflect on how the old man used to say that he believed in God because sunsets are so beautiful.

Halo didn’t put a foot wrong for 4,000 miles from the BVIs to Falmouth. The generator purred for hours, the rig proved to be as strong as an ox and Victor the Volvo had the final say seeing us home without complaint. We were the exception in all ports having little or no maintenance to do ahead of the next leg. Perhaps we’re not quite ready to say goodbye to her yet…

Sailing west, crossing an ocean for the first time, I felt like I got closure on the past. In the Caribbean we were fortunate enough to be able to remind ourselves what it is to truly live in the present. And sailing east, and home, we have sailed into our future. That is the honest neat feel of completeness that we have.

Make no mistake about who is the big achiever here though. I would almost forget to helm as I watched her in awe up at the mast wrestling in a reef as the waves broke over the bow. I’d glance down in disbelief as she juggled the galley in awful conditions only to produce, with a smile, all my favourites we would eat if we were at home. Unable to sleep I’d peer out of my bunk unnoticed, with enormous pride, to watch her checking the screens, the sails, and looking out to sea with the steely, squinted eyes of a seasoned sailor. Supremely brave, good natured and supportive. Thank you Alexandra.

This is Halo signing off for the final time.