FIELD NOTES: CROSSING THE ATLANTIC

Sailing 1,300 miles off the coast of Senegal in the middle of the Atlantic, our friend Ryan Hellriegel is living out a dream he’s carried since childhood. A 32-year-old entrepreneur and lifelong waterman based in San Diego, Ryan has always felt more at home on the ocean than on land—and now he’s in the middle of a full trans-Atlantic crossing after putting himself out there and joining a crew racing across the ocean. In this interview, he walks us through life at sea, the routine, the chaos, and the moments that make crossing an entire ocean feel both surreal and strangely simple.

What also anchors Ryan’s journey is something deeper: a family connection to the ocean shaped by the memory of his brother Ty, who passed away in a boating accident when Ryan was young. Ty’s legacy lives on through Ty’s Reef, a foundation that has introduced tens of thousands of kids to the water he loved so much. With that history behind him and thousands of miles of open water ahead, Ryan shares what this crossing means, why he’s here, and what he hopes to carry forward when he eventually reaches land again.

Introduce yourself — who are you and what are you doing?
Howdy everyone, my name’s Ryan Hellriegel. I’m a 32-year-old entrepreneur and adventurer based in San Diego, California, and I’m currently on the trip of a lifetime. As I write this, I’m 1,300 miles off the coast of Senegal, Africa, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on a sailboat.

How did this trip even land in your lap? What pulled you into crossing an entire ocean? Before this, what was your relationship with the ocean?
There’s that old saying: when there’s a will, there’s a way. In this case, the “way” was putting myself out there and reaching out to people looking for crew to race across the Atlantic. You never know unless you ask.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of sailing around the world. Crossing this ocean is the first massive step toward pressure-testing that dream, and I’m happy to say I’m loving every second of it.

My relationship with the ocean runs deep. Honestly, I feel more comfortable on the water than on land. Some of my fondest childhood memories are from being on a boat as my family traveled up and down the U.S. coastline and down to the Caribbean nearly every year. I find so much peace on the ocean—even in the roughest, gnarliest conditions. Some of my best days and my hardest days have been spent staring into its mesmerizing beauty. It’s the one thing that connects us all.

As I grew up, I took up surfing, which has brought me all over the world, along with competitive sailing, windsurfing, kiteboarding, spearfishing, fishing—the list goes on. Anything on the water, I’m game for and in love with.

Walk us through a day out here—from the moment you wake up to going down for rest. What role do you personally play on the boat?
The day starts when your watch starts. Watches are essentially your shifts, and during your shift you’re fully responsible for everything on the boat while everyone else is sleeping or handling other tasks. When you’re sailing 24/7 for weeks, finding your rhythm in the constantly changing day is critical. I try to start my mornings with some structure, but when things hit the fan—like needing to do a sail change at 3:30 a.m. in pouring rain with 30 knots of wind—it doesn’t always go to plan.

Generally, my day starts with stretching or yoga, followed by some movement: push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, and using resistance bands as weights to get the heart going and the mind right. After that, I take a few minutes to write—whatever comes to mind—or, like today, write this for you as I watch the sunrise.

Keep in mind, during all of this you’re constantly checking the sails, boat speed, GPS heading, and keeping an eye out for traffic like tankers, fishing vessels, and other sailboats.

Then it’s on to a light breakfast—anything from a banana with peanut butter to oranges or dried fruit.

After the morning routine, we check the weather forecast for the day and the days ahead to see if anything has changed that might alter our strategy or route as we try to cross the ocean as efficiently as possible.

We run a 3-hour watch sequence at night and a 4-hour watch sequence during the day between three teams. Simply put, you’re on for 3 or 4 hours and off for 6 or 8 hours depending on whether it’s daytime or nighttime.

A lot of the daytime gets taken up by cooking, cleaning, boat projects, and trying to catch up on rest—so it flies by. Other times, especially when there’s not a breath of wind, it can get very, very boring.

In between, it’s reading, stretching, connecting with the crew, fishing, and taking naps depending on the weather.

Our team’s one non-negotiable is having dinner together before sunset. That’s when we go over the plan for the evening: which sails to use based on the forecast, what route we’ll take, and everyone’s shift times.

What’s the best moment you’ve had so far?
One of the strongest moments I’ve had was pushing off the dock in Gran Canaria after months of prep to begin the first 800-mile leg to Cabo Verde. It was euphoric—relief, excitement, and the feeling that everything we’d done to get here was finally real. Watching all the boats cross the start line, each on their own dream journey across the Atlantic, was a huge highlight.

My best sailing moments so far come down to two experiences. On the fourth night, I watched more than 20 shooting stars at 2 a.m. rip across the clearest night sky I’ve ever seen. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, the sky is unbelievably dark and crisp—it didn’t disappoint.

The other moment was going for a swim in dead-calm water with thousands of feet of ocean beneath me in every direction. It really solidified how small we are in the big picture. A grounding, beautiful reality.

What was it like hitting land after being on a boat for so many days?
Mixed emotions, surprisingly. I felt the stoke of finally making land—restocking supplies, getting to run, surf, and explore—but also a massive sense of decompression knowing we were no longer in the middle of nowhere. And that was after just one week on the water. Ask me again after this two-week crossing.

What’s one or two Florence items you’ve packed that have been clutch?
The boardshorts and the long-sleeve tech tees. I feel like I live in them day after day. I packed tons of other clothes, but the quality of these is just right. I find myself washing and drying them so I can keep wearing them instead of grabbing something new.

What do you hope to get out of this crossing?
Twofold: to enjoy the journey with zero expectations, and to strengthen my ability to slow down. My whole life has been about doing more and achieving more. Sailing gives you the space and silence to go deep within and let the wind take you where it will.

Side note: Something you may or may not know about me and my family—and something that ties deeply into my connection to the ocean.

My brother Ty passed away when I was quite young, doing what he loved most: being on the water. He was in a boating accident and sadly drowned.

He was an avid surfer, sailor, lifeguard—fully immersed in the ocean community of New York, where we grew up. At the time he passed, he was living on his sailboat and working as a professional artist.

We worked with the state of New York to sink his beautiful wooden Spanish galleon replica sailboat to create an artificial reef, now called Ty’s Reef. (www.TysReef.org)

Since then, we’ve taken tens of thousands of underprivileged children out to experience the ocean he loved—to honor him and to create hope for future generations. Kids fish on his reef, learn about ocean conservation, and get a chance to feel the same spark he felt. Our foundation does one big trip a year.

Cheers from the middle of the Atlantic,
Ryan Hellriegel

FOLLOW RYAN ALONG HIS JOURNEY