It's been an idyllic introduction to offshore sailing for those on the crew who have never experienced it before. The relatively calm waters of the Caribbean Sea alongside a sky of stars and a beautiful three-quarter moon perfectly complimented the reaching conditions gifted by the breeze.

Wednesday saw the arrival of our latest crew of intrepid adventurers as we met on the Dock at the Antigua Yacht Club. The heat of the midday sun had us plan our safety briefings carefully as we began below decks and moved to the shaded area of the marina bar to complete our introductions and orientation of the trip ahead. Unfortunately, 2 of our group were unable to continue with us due to a medical emergency, and so our remaining crew of 8 bonded over a traditional Antiguan feast on our first evening together.

We leave the anchorage and hoist our mainsail and staysail in a quiet fashion, the first bit of the trip is going to be tacking upwind towards the Eastern side of Guadeloupe so I go back to bed (or try to) as they start tacking. You can hear laughter and feel the tacks getting better and better.

So we’re in the French West Indies, but not on the island we’d planned. As we sailed past Guadaloupe the other day, I gave the crew the option to bear away and sail the 40 or so miles down to Ile des Saintes, or continue for another 18 hours to St. Barth’s. No bad choices here in the Caribbean! But I think it was my off-hand comment that I’d mentioned the Saintes are my all-time favorite Caribbean anchorage, so perhaps that swayed them. So we turned downwind, set the yankee on the pole and cruised on in to the most beautiful harbor in all the Caribbean off Terre-de-Haut, at least in my opinion.

Inshore sailing is all about enjoying the moment. The plans you laid out in the morning, will almost always be changed when the sails are up. We left Tananger after a slow morning talking to the locals, fixing things, and exploring. The downwind sail North took us through beautiful Kvitsøy. We were supposed to sails in the outskirts, but we ended up sailing through the very narrow channels in downtown Kvitsøy.

I’ve forgotten what it feels like to heel over. And to reef. For over 2,000 miles across the Atlantic FALKEN was flat, sailing downwind under full sail for nearly 11 days. No rain, no squalls, no reefing, wind never above about 18 knots. That all changed last night!

We left idyllic Korshamn in the morning and headed out to sea. The stretch between Lindesnes and Tananger is exposed, feared and most often bumpy. We got it all. From a light breeze to gusting 32 knots, confused seas, and rain. But the crew were all smiles and laughter all the way through the hardship. When we finaly pulled in to Tananger in the pitch dark they were wet, hungry, tired, but still smiling. JoJo's delicious curry warmed us all up. All well on board, Jon, JoJo and crew.

What a night. ISBJØRN ghosted into the night. Happy to be in her element again. We did 2 hours on and 4 hours off. Sleep never gets good the first night on a passage. But everyone got at least a few hours dreaming about the moonlight and stars the on watch enjoyed. What a day. When the sun climbed over the horizon the wind slowly evaporated. But the silence was to precious to be broken, so we enjoyed slow living on a mirror sea until noon. We had just sailed past Lindesnes, the most southerly point on mainland Norway.

Sails came up just outside the Hallberg-Rassy yard, and out West we went. Everybody smiling as Sweden sunk in the ocean, mobile phones went dead, and it was just us sailing along to a destination two days away. Now the night has surrounded us. Ken is alone behind the wheel looking at stars, I'm by the nav station getting warm while writing this, and the rest of the crew is sleeping. It is blowing 10 knots and we are doing 6.5 knots on a beam reach. ISBJØRN is just as happy as her crew. All well.

Yesterday was stormy. We pulled one pullert out of the dock om Vindö Marina. Today we woke up to sun and calm waters. It was time to leave the magical good boatbuilders on Vindön. ISBJØRN has received a make over worthy of a queen. We motored to downtown Henån to get groceries and a restaurant meal. Tomorrow we head out to sea. Where Isbjørn, and maybe we, belong. All well om board. Jon, JoJo and crew.

Hola! Just as we reached the bottom of Guadeloupe, we noticed that part of the mast track was peeling away from the carbon mast. We continued racing with the trisail, flying it loose luffed to avoid any further dislodging of the track. By the next morning, the wind was so light - and forecast to stay that way - and we were struggling to make headway with the tiny orange hanker chief! So we decided to call it and head home….

I’ve had 5 days to decompress since we first dropped the hook here, and wow, Barbados is a nice landfall! There’s everything we need here in Speightstown and nothing we don’t. Just enough civilization to make re-entry comfortable, but not no overwhelming. Beautiful beaches, nice little cafes and bars, laundry, groceries and a reasonable anchorage (though there really aren’t any harbors on Barbados, so we’re just tucked behind the island, and it can be swelly at times).

Hello from DNR! Phew it’s so hard to believe it’s not even been 48 hours here. This race is known for “600 miles 600 sail changes” and it’s just about accurate. After 24 hours in we had sailed three upwind legs and three downwind legs, as well as five of our nine sails!

The long leg down to Guadeloupe was shifty with big squalls and local effects, but we pushed through, got some sleep and now have had enough shut eye to write this! Thank you for all the support back home. Here comes the tricky bit…

It’s the morning of the Caribbean 600 here! All quiet on the docks, except for the divers polishing our hull. It’s going to be a slower race, with the wind forecast to drop off by Wednesday morning as it gets sucked into a low developing up north. So we will be thankful for the clean bottom!

We’re on the home stretch towards Barbados, 30 miles from the northern tip of the island, the loom of the lights ashore now visible off the port beam. FALKEN is still under spinnaker, our second straight night flying the big pink kite by the light of the moon, and we’re getting our money’s worth tonight. We are flat out FLYING, easily averaging 11 knots in the lulls and hitting surfs over 16. It’s the ride of our lives tonight with the moon bright overhead, stars all around and a perfect tradewind breeze at the perfect angle propelling us through our own outer space.

This will be the night that sticks with me from this crossing. I just got off the helm after my half-hour stint, fingertip steering, keeping the luff of the spinnaker just in line with Orion’s belt. In the lulls I’d head up a couple degrees until the belt disappeared, then soak down in the puffs until I could see the entire constellation. Normally at night you’d use the steaming light to illuminate the kite and check trim, but with not a cloud in sight, the light from the stars is plenty to keep tabs on the big spinnaker without ruining the illusion that we’re actually our own little spaceship hurtling through the galaxy.

We’ve slowed down a touch today with some lighter winds, but are still above our 200 miles per day threshold over the past 24 hours. You get spoiled when you top out at 220+! We’ve crossed the 400-mies-to-go barrier. While it’s still a long way off, talk has begun of landfall and arrival procedures. I’ve been quick to quell it to keep people in the moment, but by dinnertime tomorrow night it’ll be inevitable

The last 24 hours have been spectacular for many, many reasons.One, the breeze picked up to make the conditions perfect for surfing down small mountains of waves. We have an ocean swell going that makes it feel like you rise up from earth and then surf down the wave. When it feels like a big one and the speed starts escalating, the crew start cheering while calling out top speeds. At the helm you can feel when the transition goes from sailing THROUGH the water to surfing ON the water and that’s when the top speeds come.

Welp, that’s not only the first time I’ve eaten ice cream offshore, but also the first time I’ve eaten hand-made ice cream on a boat! Manot outdid himself in the galley last night, spending several hours whipping — literally — a batch of homemade chocolate ice cream together by hand. I’m not even sure how he got the recipe. Nonetheless, to celebrate crossing the halfway mark yesterday, we had hand-made chocolate ice cream for dessert tonight, topped with fresh, cold pineapple, and what a treat.

As if to top off the day with one last highlight, Jen and Rene served up a lovely couscous at sunset, with spices that Rene brought us straight from Morocco.This was our first true sunset, after the northeasterlies finally managed to clear the dusty haze that has now clouded the horizon for days. And as the day merged into the moonless night, the stars appeared brighter than ever before, revealing our Milky Way.