600nm from land

At night, between the clouds, the Milky Way stretches down to the waves. The Southern Cross tumbles slowly in place near the horizon; across the sky, the Big Dipper disappears to the north. Bioluminescence sparks in the waves that break against Falken’s hull and glimmers in the cresting tops of the swells that surround us. Alex’s quiet coaching drifts through the cockpit—small helm movements, but more often: “Feel the wind, feel the waves, listen to Falken.”

We’re heading southwest until the clouds break, trying to get through the band of squalls and gusts that separates us from the trade winds, steering with the wind 110 degrees off the port bow. The swell is coming from two directions, sometimes canceling itself out in a moment of stillness, and sometimes coming together to form a pyramid a few meters high which slides Falken sideways with a whoosh and a splash.

Alex said I’m always smiling at the helm. I’m not surprised; she’s a beautiful boat to steer, tugging gently at the wheel as the waves pick her up. I get the feeling she knows exactly where she’s supposed to be going and is bemused by our novice attempts to guide her. Another 2,800 miles or so to go, and I’m sure we’ll all get better at listening to her.