18º 20.7’ N / 052º 35.4’ W
January 30, 2025 | 15:35 UTC | 11:35 Ship’s Time | 18º 20.7’ N / 052º 35.4’ W
Hello, this is Sarah. We’ve sailed 2,470 nautical miles and finally the air feels warmer. We have sunrises of lemon yellow, pink fluffy clouds, deep golden sunsets, and the sea is a dark aquamarine blue rather than grey. The rain squalls with gusty winds seem to be behind us, although maybe this is too early to say. The size of the waves has also now reduced from about 4 to 2 meters (I may be exaggerating), and the movement of the boat is much less erratic, so we have all had a chance to catch up on sleep while off watch.
We’ve seen very little wildlife on the ocean. The highlight was the group of sperm whales—probably females with calves—a couple of times. Some dolphins, probably Atlantic spotted dolphins, followed the bow when we were off the coast of the Cape Verde Islands. A few white birds with long tail feathers circled us when we were 1,000 miles out from Antigua. Last night, a single big bird with grey feathers flew close back and forth as if inspecting us to see if we would be a good perching point. Occasionally, a flying fish has had the misfortune to land on the deck. Once, in the middle of the night, one caught Emily (our long-suffering skipper) across the forehead when she was in mid-conversation. A real-life ‘slap in the eye with a wet fish.’
On board, we are a very content group. Time on watch together, particularly in darkness, has led to shared stories, discussions, reflections, and laughter. I’m aware of how lucky we are to have experienced something unique in this slow journey under sail we’ve undertaken together.
- Sarah
Hello, this is Sarah. We’ve sailed 2,470 nautical miles and finally the air feels warmer. We have sunrises of lemon yellow, pink fluffy clouds, deep golden sunsets, and the sea is a dark aquamarine blue rather than grey. The rain squalls with gusty winds seem to be behind us, although maybe this is too early to say. The size of the waves has also now reduced from about 4 to 2 meters (I may be exaggerating), and the movement of the boat is much less erratic, so we have all had a chance to catch up on sleep while off watch.
We’ve seen very little wildlife on the ocean. The highlight was the group of sperm whales—probably females with calves—a couple of times. Some dolphins, probably Atlantic spotted dolphins, followed the bow when we were off the coast of the Cape Verde Islands. A few white birds with long tail feathers circled us when we were 1,000 miles out from Antigua. Last night, a single big bird with grey feathers flew close back and forth as if inspecting us to see if we would be a good perching point. Occasionally, a flying fish has had the misfortune to land on the deck. Once, in the middle of the night, one caught Emily (our long-suffering skipper) across the forehead when she was in mid-conversation. A real-life ‘slap in the eye with a wet fish.’
On board, we are a very content group. Time on watch together, particularly in darkness, has led to shared stories, discussions, reflections, and laughter. I’m aware of how lucky we are to have experienced something unique in this slow journey under sail we’ve undertaken together.
- Sarah
crew@59-north.com
View more passage logs
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The sun sets on another journey
The hardest part of sailing across French Polynesia wasn't the night watches, the heat, or the open ocean — it was the prospect of being trapped on a small boat with a group of strangers. First-timer Natalie boards as a self-described land crab and discovers that the sea has a way of reshaping both your sea legs and your assumptions. What follows is dolphins, sharks, the Milky Way in full technicolour, and a crew that somehow made the whole thing better than she ever imagined.