0151 UTC | 12 33.73N, 91 31.47W
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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Ladies who reef
The trade winds have been kind, rolling the boat toward Hawaii in a steady, hypnotic rhythm—until last night, when a squall hit without warning and the wind jumped to 28 knots, slamming everything sideways. With rain driving down and the boat lurching underfoot, the crew had minutes to wrestle two reefs into the mainsail and get things back under control. What followed was a masterclass in wet, unglamorous, deeply satisfying teamwork—with less than 250 miles left to go.
Yankee Doodle Died at Sea, Riding on a FALKEN
A thin, foot-long tear in the yankee sail—50,000 miles of ocean behind it—and suddenly the final stretch to Hawaii just got a lot more interesting. The crew of FALKEN had been running a tight ship through the trades, reefing in squalls like clockwork, when the last dance finally caught up with them. How a skipper handles the moment everything goes sideways says everything about the voyage itself.
A Gen Z Perspective
At 31, the crew thought they were reasonably fluent in the English language—then they met Kip. Today, the crew's self-appointed Gen Z correspondent takes over the log from somewhere in the middle of the Pacific, delivering dispatches on Milky Way night sails, focaccia-induced visions, and the singular mission of getting eleven people's "badonkadonks" to Hawaii. Consider this your glossary.