Sailing
The blog comes today from the whole crew, which basically entails them shouting random animals we’ve seen today at me.
The multiple boobies on the bow of the boat led us into the day (record of 5 on the pulpit as it stands). First came the electric dolphins before sunrise, which was quite a sight to see. The whole of the pre-sunrise watch was kept company by 100s of very acrobatic dolphins, and it continued from there. A shout of "WHALE! WHALE!" came from Marella, which had everyone running, only to find it was an oceanic manta ray leaping clear of the water. This seemed to commence a symphony of leaping smaller mantas all day; everywhere you looked, they were somersaulting into the air like agile pancakes. That was just the start of it. We saw a manta 10’ from the boat with remoras attached, a booby floating along on the back of a turtle, and a minke whale accompanied us for a good while before disappearing into the depths again. The boobies are still on our bow, giving a new meaning to a poop deck, but the entertainment value is worthwhile.
So much has happened today that what would usually justify a whole blog is suddenly being remembered—the brightest stars of the trip so far, with a multitude of shooting stars and a clear Milky Way—and of course, after our salt baths crossing the Gulf of Tehuantepec, we have finally all had a fresh shower. Christine looks particularly smart in a dress and cardigan tonight. Has she run out of boat clothes, or is she simply dressing for the evening she wants (cocktails and canapés)?
Also, Delaney and Jake are in the galley cooking grilled cheese and tomato soup—all from scratch, including the bread—and the sextant was taken out for some pretty successful sights, only 11 miles away from our actual position.
All in all, a lovely day on Falken.
Mike (ish) and the crew of NORDIC FALKEN
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”For some things, we will never be ready.” - Moana 2
After 852 miles of open ocean sailing, the crew of Falken dropped anchor in Moorea's Cook's Bay—not with a quiet glide in, but surfing down waves in a squall, breaking speed records and cheering each other on through the rain. What started as a plan to "just dip a toe" into offshore sailing turned into something harder to explain: the worse the conditions got, the more alive everyone felt. Turns out the question was never whether the crew was ready—it was whether they even needed to be.
Kauehi conundrum
Kauehi atoll was always on the itinerary—until the forecast made it a gamble not worth taking. Squalls, bommies, a tidal pass, and no clean escape route: sometimes the hardest call in sailing is the one that keeps you out of a place, not in it. The Tuamotus will have to wait.
Hove-to!
Falken is too fast—a problem most sailors would kill for, yet here we are, tacking back and forth across the Pacific just to kill time. A rogue low pressure system south of Tahiti has stolen the trades and scrambled our timing for the tidal window into Kauehi's pass, leaving us hove-to 45 miles short of our target in the Tuamotus. Salt licorice, dream sandwich debates, and a philosophical question about mermaid reproduction are helping pass the night.