Tvøroyri, eventually

14 May, 2026

I am an hour into my watch and the wind has vanished. Until then I had managed to catch a few puffs here and there, keeping Capsula moving slowly towards Tvøroyri.

But now, nothing. The sails are flapping irritatingly. The wind sensor is having an existential crisis, rotating 360 degrees each time a wave reaches us.

I try to stay patient. Is this not what I keep saying: that the beauty of sailing is surrendering to Nature?

Capsula starts to move back towards Scalloway, pushed by the ocean currents. That is too much for my obedience to the law of Nature. I go inside, grab the keys, and start the engine.

Thirty minutes later the wind is back and by the time Stefano starts his watch we must reduce the sails drastically for Capsula to keep her balance.

This passage swung between extremes. Hours of low wind, when you would have traded a lot just to keep the boat moving. Then, as if on cue, almost gale-force conditions. Moving around the boat turns into a controlled fall from one handhold to another. Wall. Table. Door. Repeat.

I am not even talking about trying to cook: one hand on the pan, the other on anything you can grab, legs spread from the kitchen to the chart table, with still a high risk of throwing the whole contents of the pan on the floor, or worse, on yourself. That is, if you find the willingness to eat.

Past the initial excitement of seeing Capsula reaching record speeds, you just wish this would stop.

Until it does.

When we finally arrived at the entrance of Tvøroyri fjord, the weather had one last trick for us. The wind turned against us and dropped to a meagre breeze. It took us another hour to cover the last two miles, with Tvøroyri in sight. Plenty of time, at least, to admire the scenery.

Anne, Faroe Islands, May 2026

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