CROSSING THE HEART OF THE GULF OF GUINEA
Sailing from Liberia to São Tomé and Príncipe across the Gulf of Guinea. Africa | 15th February 2026
Over 1,000 Nautical Miles | 11 Days | Double-Handed Sailing Yacht REBELS – Vagabond 47 (1989) Crew: Robert Dalinger (Co-Owner, Captain) & Elena Levon (Co-Owner, Co-Captain)
We left the hospitable shores of Liberia and aimed directly into the heart of the most volatile and electrically charged waters on Earth — the Gulf of Guinea. No detours. No safe route. No long way around. Over 1,000 nautical miles, sailed and motored through the storm belt of the equator. Eleven days. Double-handed. Through lightning, squalls, thunder, rain, silence, fear, wonder, and raw beauty.
Everyone told us not to go this way: “Go around. Go south. Pass through St. Helena. Take the easy route. The safe route. The modern route.” But our yacht is named “REBELS” for a reason… We chose the line that most sailors avoid — the line of the old explorers, the direct line, the wild line, the one that slices through the unstable belt of storms and electricity that circles the equator. The route where the sky fractures into lightning every night and the ocean breathes in chaos. This was not a crossing. This was an initiation.
Into the Madness
The Gulf of Guinea does not allow routine. There are no trade winds here. No gentle rhythms. No predictability. Only towering clouds, sudden violent squalls, wind that collapses and explodes without warning, rain so dense it erases the horizon, and lightning that turns night into a strobe-lit battlefield. Forty-knot squalls hit without mercy. Thunder rolled continuously, sometimes so close that we felt it in our bones. Walls of rain erased sea and sky into one shifting grey void. We counted seconds between flashes and thunder, and sometimes there were none… The waves became violent snakes.
In the words of Captain Robert: “I feel that we have been thrown into a witch pot.” His humor sometimes comes at the right moment… when you need it most.
We sailed. We motor-sailed. We drifted. We swam in its heart. We motored through storms. Then sailed again. Hour after hour. Watch after watch. Six-hour shifts, double-handed — no safety net, no escape harbors, no backup crew. Just two humans, one vessel, and an ocean that does not negotiate. This is why sailors call it madness. Because here, you surrender control — and learn humility.
The Lone Fisherman — A Forever Hero
One night, deep inside the storm belt, surrounded by lightning and violent squalls, we saw him. A single small fishing boat. No AIS. No radar reflection. No deck lights. Just a man — alone — in the heart of the Gulf of Guinea. Thunder exploded around him. Lightning split the sky. Waves slammed against his fragile hull. And yet, there he was — standing, steady — holding a single flashlight in his hand, flashing it deliberately toward us. Not for help. But to protect us. To let us know where he was — so we would not collide.
That moment shattered us. In the middle of chaos and danger, a lone fisherman — possibly from Ivory Coast — became our silent guardian. In that storm, he was courage. He was humanity. He was resilience. He will forever remain one of our greatest heroes.
The Wolf Hour
My watch was from 1:30 / 2:00 in the morning until sunrise. The wolf hour. The time when fear is loudest, exhaustion is deepest, and beauty is most unbearable. I stood alone in the cockpit, salt-stung, electrically charged, chasing fragments of wind torn from the chaos of collapsing storm cells and lightning walls to starboard. To ride beside walls of lightning. To adjust sail under electric skies. To feel the boat surge forward in broken wind lines pulled from the storm itself.
And then — the miracle. The sunrise. After nights of thunder and rain, the sky would suddenly open. Storm clouds would tear apart. And golden light would spill across the shattered ocean. Rainbows formed in retreating rain curtains. Dolphins danced along our bow. Humpback whales surfaced in the distance. Possibly orcas — dark shapes slipping beneath luminous water.
The Gulf of Guinea is terrifying at times, but always unspeakably beautiful. This is something no photograph can capture. No words can fully explain. You must stand there. Alone or together. Wet. Trembling and truly Alive.
Sailing With the Explorers
We were not alone in these waters. We followed the wake of the great Portuguese explorers who crossed this same storm belt in the 15th century — João de Santarém and Pedro Escobar, who discovered São Tomé and Príncipe in 1471, and Diogo Cão and Bartolomeu Dias, who forced open the southern Atlantic. They endured this belt with courage and blind faith. We crossed it with fiberglass, satellite navigation, and relentless respect. Different centuries. Same storms.
Piracy Waters
And beneath it all — the unspoken tension. The Gulf of Guinea remains the world’s most dangerous region for maritime piracy. We did not hide. We crossed with our AIS “ON”. With lights at night. Without constant radar scans. There were no warships. No rescue services. No shipping lanes nearby. Just us — a single private sailing yacht moving silently across waters where commercial vessels require armed guards. Fear here is quiet. It sits in the background. It sharpens your senses. It is in places like these you grow not only as a sailor, but as a human.
Double-Handed — Becoming Captain by Spirit
Licenses do not make captains. The ocean does. Through exhaustion, fear, lightning, navigation, squalls, sail handling, course decisions, and relentless watches — I crossed a line inside myself. After this passage, I became captain by spirit, not by paper. Because in these waters, the ocean strips you bare. It reveals who you truly are. And if you endure, you emerge transformed.
The Art of Seamanship
Double-handed means — team. The art of seamanship is both the simplest and the most complex concoction. If the sea is rough, if lightning strikes, if gusts and squalls hit, you get up and stand next to your teammate in the cockpit. It is as simple — and as complex — as that. That is the difference between true seamen and captains, and regular seafarers. You get up, quickly gobble down cold coffee left from your previous shift, catch some flying food from the floor, get bruised in the process, and then stand firmly in the cockpit side by side with your crew, knees shaking. You push through. You face your fear dead on. You are “ONE” in these situations. True captains stand by the crew and should be the last humans remaining on the ship when everyone else evacuates. To stand by each other through a truly rough time in one of the most unpredictable places on Earth — this makes you a co-captain, a true seaman. Not a fancy license or a diploma…
Why This Crossing Matters
Here is a little numbers game for you — While thousands cross the Atlantic Ocean to and from the Caribbean yearly, very few private sailing yachts cross the central Gulf of Guinea and the Atlantic Ocean here north to south (the “wrong way”) west to east. Even fewer sail directly from Liberia to São Tomé.
This corridor lies inside — • One of Earth’s highest lightning-density zones • Peak ITCZ storm activity • Hundreds of miles without shelter • Virtually no rescue infrastructure
Modern sailors avoid it. We did not. We crossed it.
Final Word
When you push through your personal fear, that is how courage and resilience are built. The Gulf of Guinea baptized us in electricity, thunder, rain, exhaustion, piracy possibilities, and awe. It broke us open — and made us stronger. Our beautiful yacht “REBELS” carried us through.
Throughout the journey, I spoke to her kindly during my night watches. I told her she was the best boat in the world. I think she liked that, because our final miles were among the most peaceful we have ever sailed. “Go easy, Rebels, you are doing great! Thank you, my dear girl.”
I spoke to my parents, too — who are no longer alive. Before my mother passed away in May 2023, I promised her that we would go sailing together. And so we did. Together.
I believe both my parents would be proud of their co-captain Lena…
My deepest gratitude goes to Mr. Karl D. Huber for his unwavering support, love, and care throughout this entire expedition. You are my forever compass — of truth, humility, true love, kindness, and compassion.
No matter how wild the ocean, how fierce the storms, how strong the captain — none of us crosses life alone…
Elena Levon. West Africa Sailing Expedition 15th February 2026