Keeping the boat moving: Our life underway on passages

I’d be lying if I said our sailboat adventures were only about the destinations. A huge part of cruising life is the time spent underway. Those hours and days when we’re keeping the boat moving toward the next port.

But what exactly do we do while we’re out there? Especially on longer passages that stretch beyond a few hours and turn into days at sea?

Great question. Let me take you along.

First hours: Settling in

As people who tend to linger in anchorages—sometimes a little too long—our first hours at sea are always the busiest. For us, passagemaking is a mix of planning and improvisation. These early hours set the rhythm for the days ahead.

With the destination punched into the chartplotter, we’re off. Anchor up and stowed, sails raised, fenders put away, and sail bags tucked down below.

Those first few hours see us sipping coffee, trimming sails, and checking instruments. We’re listening to the boat, watching the wind, and making sure everything feels right.

We quickly fall into our favorite spots—Mark sprawled in his beanbag, Sprocket curled up on his bed on the cockpit floor, and me tucked under the dodger with a pillow fort.

Whether it’s a quick day hop or a multi-day passage, we spend the first stretch settling into the boat’s rhythm. What sounds is she making? How’s the wind shifting? What’s the sea doing?

The main difference between a short hop and a multi-day run is how fast we push her. For a day sail, we’ll sail more aggressively (if we’re not feeling lazy). But if we’re settling in for several days, we go conservative. Our boat isn’t a racer. We sail her accordingly…unless it’s a race (you know what they say when there’s more than one boat out there).

Helming into our first multi-day passage.

Daytime rhythms

Life on our sailboat isn’t just about reaching the next port—it’s about the rhythm of sailing and living aboard while underway.

We keep things relaxed. During the day, we rest when we need to. Once we’re both awake, we usually end up in the cockpit together. Mark in his beanbag, me tucked into my corner.

Most days, the hours slip by. We listen to music, read, surf the internet (if close enough to shore), or watch movies in the cockpit. Sometimes, we just watch the horizon and let the sea carry us along. These stretches of nothingness are often interrupted by dolphins, whales, or sea turtles, the speed bumps of the Pacific. We never miss a chance to enjoy the sea life; you never know when you’ll see it again.

When conditions get sportier, the books and movies get tucked away. We spend more time watching the sails, the instruments, and each other. Mark thrives in the rougher stuff. He’ll often adjust our watch schedule so he can keep an eye on things. While I admit I prefer the light-wind days.

Mealtimes are their own adventure. When the sea is calm, I love making proper meals: breakfast wraps, sandwiches on homemade bread, or rice bowls. But in rolling seas, cooking quickly loses its charm. That’s when we fall back on crackers, boiled eggs, cereal, or snacks. And sometimes, comfort calls in the form of a late-night bowl of ramen.

Everyone cozy in the cockpit

Nights at sea

Passages come alive at night. There’s a solitude you can’t find on land. Bioluminescence glowing in the wake, endless stars overhead, and the soft rush of water against the hull.

We don’t keep strict shifts. We’ve tried three- and four-hour rotations, but “sleep anxiety” always ruins it. We end up lying awake, worried about missing alarms. We also experimented with six-hour shifts, but they meant awkward bedtimes and exhausting solo stretches.

So, we made a system that works for us. We always eat dinner together, part ritual, part survival tactic to ensure we’ve eaten more than just snacks. After that, we loosely start our “shifts” around 8 pm. Alarms are set for four hours, but we flex them depending on how tired we are.

Mark’s a night owl, often happy to sail into the early hours. I’m a morning person, so I’ll happily take the sunrise watch while he catches up on sleep. It works for us, and it keeps the boat moving without the stress of rigid schedules.

Sunsets just can’t be beat.

What about the dog?

Sprocket plays a big role in our passages. He’s happiest when his paws hit land at the end of the day, but he’ll tolerate a two- or three-day passage…and grumble through a four-day one. Anything longer isn’t really for him. So that means it’s not for us either.

His routine is surprisingly set. During the day, he’s in the cockpit. Sometimes perched on a seat, sometimes curled on his bed. He stays tethered, though he rarely tries to wander. Twice a day, we walk him to the bow for bathroom breaks. At sunset, like clockwork, he demands dinner and tucks himself into the aft berth.

For such a small dog, he somehow transforms into a Great Dane once he’s in that bed, hogging more than half of it. He’ll happily sleep until morning. And if things are too sporty, he’s quick to head back to the bed once he’s peed.

One of his favourite places.

The little wins

For me, passages aren’t about joy. They’re about getting to the next adventure. But it’s the small wins, the laughter, and the shared moments that make passagemaking memorable.

We celebrate every little victory: steady winds, a smooth spinnaker set, or catching a sunset no matter what the sea throws at us. We prep food ahead (pasta salad, boiled eggs, snacks) for when the seas get bumpy. We reef early, and we always reef at night. If sails start slamming when someone’s trying to sleep, we’d rather take them down than fight for speed.

Because for us, it’s not about getting there fast. It’s about getting there safely, rested, and with stories to tell.

And nothing compares to the moment you first see and smell land. Every coastline is different. Cities like Acapulco rise on the horizon with a kind of magic only sailors get to experience.

We don’t usually celebrate at the end of a passage. We drop the anchor, tidy up sails and lines, give the cockpit a rinse, and then relas. Sometimes that means sleep, sometimes it’s just lounging.

Passages may not be my favourite part of cruising, but each one leaves us with new stories, fresh memories, and a deeper appreciation for this life afloat. I’m learning to find joy in that…and them.

Seeing cities from the water will never get old