Fifteen days ago, as I write this from the paradisical shores of French Polynesia, we weighed anchor in the Galapagos aboard Awen, an Outremer 52 and set sail on a 3,200-mile Pacific Crossing. What awaited us was the most awe-inspiring landfall I’ve ever experienced in all my years at sea.

At sunrise, Fatu Hiva appeared ahead, jagged volcanic peaks piercing the clouds. By late morning, we’d dropped the A2 and main and motored toward the tiny village of Hana Vave. All four of us were moved to tears. Earning entry into the Marquesas by sail had been a lifetime dream. The reality exceeded it.

We dropped the hook in 30m of dark, clear water and looked around, jaws dropped. Manta Rays glided around the hull. Prehistoric-looking birds circled overhead. Behind them rose an amphitheatre of basalt towers framing a deep green valley. It was a maximalist’s heaven. Of all the extraordinary places I’ve sailed, the Baia des Vierges was the most breathtaking I’ve ever seen.

Coincidentally, our route had coincided with around 30 other Outremers taking part in the three-year Grand Large Yachting World Odyssey. And yet not one of them stopped. Their official finish line was 150 miles further downwind in Nuku Hiva and it struck me how unlikely it was that they’d bash back upwind to experience what we were seeing.

After all that effort – the Panama Canal, the Pacific Crossing – they may miss one of the highlights of the voyage just because it wasn’t on the rally route.

This reinforced something I’d been feeling all passage: organised rallies offer huge benefits but only if you join them with your eyes open.

I know rallies well and I’m fond of them. The ARC was where my ocean sailing career began. Then, despite being in the racing division, I was so green that just getting across felt an enormous achievement and I rarely paid attention to the fleet.

Events like GLYWO or the Oyster World Rally are designed around safety, convenience and community. They remove the logistic pain – weather routing, customs, canal transits, itineraries, social events. In doing so, they make ocean cruising more accessible. Which is brilliant.

But I was also reminded that no amount of support or community replaces independent thinking.

The first thing I noticed was how quickly comparison creeps in. Even in light airs under engine, it was easy to wonder why one boat was moving faster. And then sneak on a few extra rpm and abandon your fuel management plan to keep up.

It can be easy to miss a potentially beautiful landfall. Photo: Nigel Spiers / Alamy

When the trades filled in, so did the competitive instinct. Sails were ripping and crews pushed harder than their experience or appetite for discomfort justified. Why? To keep up! Some was undoubtedly bad luck. But I suspect a little ego played a role too. Pride never steers you well at sea. Sail alone and this is rarely an issue.

The second trap was attention. Ocean sailing offers something deeply special in our fast-paced world. The opportunity to slow down, to observe the present moment.

But put 30 near-identical boats around you and your attention shifts outward. Who’s faster? Who’s gybed? I can’t count the number of poor decisions I’ve made in racing because I was too focused on what everyone else was doing. Despite that, even we – who weren’t part of the Outremer fleet on the rally – found ourselves looking at AIS more than necessary.

Before you know it, the emotional yo-yo begins where the mood on board rises and falls with your position in the fleet. It’s exhausting. It kills morale. And it leads you away from the bigger picture – this is supposed to be the dream!

And there’s the pack mentality. There is safety in numbers, but there is a danger in assuming everyone else knows better. They might. Or maybe they have different weather, different crew, different priorities and different problems. Seamanship is making the right decision for your boat and crew. Participating in a rally definitely exaggerates this test to focus inward.

Beyond safety, there’s also the quality of the experience itself. Thirty boats sailed straight past one of the most magical places on earth because the itinerary said so. They wouldn’t have been fired from the rally! Sailors have always been independent souls. If there were one piece of advice I’d give anyone joining a rally, it would be hold on to that independent spirit.

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