Lightning on the way to the hurricane hole

Hurricane season has begun: We are heading for safety in Rio Dulce, Guatemala

By Renate Rüger, June 11, 2026

Things are starting to get uncomfortable on Utila. Hurricane season has begun. Several storms and thunderstorms are forecast throughout Central America. It’s time to set off and bring the Amira to safety in Rio Dulce (Guatemala). Although we’ve been spared from any real severe weather so far on Utila, the westernmost island of the Bay Islands of Honduras. A low-pressure system is on its way.

Birds love to take a seat on sailing ships and let themselves be carried along. It's not as exhausting as flying in unfavorable winds. — Stowaways on board: Here! We can hitch a ride here, the bird seems to be calling out to its companions, who are already approaching. Six of them cling to our Amira for a large part of the journey.

The replacement parts we ordered for Utila arrive on the ferry just in time. Peter installs the new depth gauge right away. The old one had given out at the Cayos Cochinos—even though we’d bought it just a few months earlier in Belize and replaced our previous depth gauge with it. Peter also unpacks the gasket for the toilet in our cabin right away to see if he can use it. Since then, the toilet has been working again—at least in theory. Because now the water pump has stopped working.

No water without a hammer blow

Not a drop of water is coming out of the taps anymore either. After a lot of back and forth, we find the culprit: it’s the water pressure switch built into the pump. With hammer blows, Peter sets it and thus the pump back in motion. But as soon as we stop running the water, the switch gets stuck again. Every time we need water now, we first have to open the taps and reach for the hammer. Cooking, washing up, and every trip to the toilet are now carefully planned. But that’s not so bad, we’ll be at the marina soon.

The approaching low brings shifting winds. Instead of the usual trade wind from the east, a wind is blowing from the west. It blows gently against us, so sailing is not possible. We are motoring with the genoa – a hybrid approach. We only have to pull in this headsail occasionally. Everything is okay.

A flash of lightning on the way to Livingston, Guatemala, lights up the sky in the pitch-black night. — Lightning flashes: For a second, we can distinguish the sky and the sea from each other in the pitch-black night.

The night is black. Without moonlight, we can’t distinguish the sea and the sky. It’s as if we were driving into a large, deep, dark hole. Suddenly it gets bright. One flash of lightning follows the next. Rain seems to be pouring down over the Honduran mainland. Thunder is not or hardly audible on the Amira, so the actual thunderstorm seems far away. Every minute, lightning brightens the white deck of the boat. As we approach the Cabo Tres Puntas spit of land, two large freighters appear on our screen (plotter), turning the corner. One is heading straight for us at 16 knots. I radio him, he doesn’t answer. My second attempt fails too. But the other freighter responds. A man advises us in perfect British English to head for the Tres Puntas anchorage first and not go directly to Livingston, where we have to clear into Guatemala. We follow his advice. In the meantime, the other freighter has changed its course, so there are no problems. We arrive at Tres Puntas at 1 AM, and at 4:30 AM we continue to Livingston – so that the sandbar we have to cross still has enough high tide water over it.

Gulls have taken possession of a buoy off Livingston in Guatemala. A boat had previously rammed and decapitated the buoy, which was only newly placed this year. — Gulls have taken possession of a new red buoy that has already been rammed by a boat.

We are back home – that’s how it feels. And yet it’s different. The red and white buoy that marks the sandbar off Livingston is no longer alone. The path is now clearly marked with red and green buoys. How nice, we are thrilled and at the same time amazed that some buoys have already been rammed, run over, and decapitated by boats. Gulls have now taken possession of these buoys.

Cayo Quemado is one of the most idyllic corners of the Rio Dulce in Guatemala. — Cayo Quemado is one of the most idyllic corners of the Rio Dulce. This is where the sailmaker Chloé has her business.

By now, we know the way along the Rio Dulce almost by heart. In idyllic Cayo Quemado, we stay overnight again at the dock of the French sailmaker Chloé, who takes down our two sails with her team the next day. She will repair and store them while we are at the marina shipyard. We also get rid of our trash bag there: the garbage boat takes it with them. The boat comes by Cayo Quemado once a month, which is far too little, Chloé explains. Just as joyfully as she greets us, Karen, manager of the RAM Marina, welcomes us a day later. It’s high time we arrived here, because by now even the hammer blows are no longer enough to get water in the Amira. And then, here in the well-known hurricane hole, we immediately meet many old sailing friends and acquaintances. Yes, this feels like home.