0036 UTC | Somewhere in the East Pacific Ocean
We released the mooring ball (actually four small balls) and bid farewell to Cocos Island just as the sun was rising. I would like to say that we had smooth sailing all day, but the reality was very smooth motoring. An attempt was made to pull out the Yankee, but that was an exercise in futility, and it was quickly pulled back in, so we motored on. This has been the most pleasant day of motoring, since the sea is very calm, almost perfect for water skiing. Relaxing in my forward cabin berth when off watch, I could hear the sea swishing along as Falken stayed very stable and flat.
After the evening meal, we shared our glums and glows once again. The only gloom was leaving Cocos Island. Glows included watching the Cocos boobies land on the bow pulpit. At one point we counted 21, with several of those trying to balance on the lifelines. Another glow was the simple pleasure of some ice cubes to fill our water bottles in the heat of the day. And of course, the peacefulness of moving along the Pacific Ocean with a great crew.
// Anne
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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.