Day 10 At-Sea
13º 08’ N, 059º 06’ W
2256 Ship’s Time
13º 08’ N, 059º 06’ W
Steering 305º at 11-13 knots
I really wanted to name our Farr 65 ‘MILLENNIUM FALKEN’, for obvious reasons, and despite her officially registered name as NORDIC FALKEN, to me, she’s still the former. Never before has she lived up to that name like she is tonight.
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 very likely be the last blog from this passage. In a few hours we’ll drop the kite and round the top of the island, heading to our planned anchorage off Speightstown in the north of the island to stop and swim and exhale, reflecting on the trip before hauling up and heading into the dock when the magic spell will dissipate and our real lives will set in again. We’ve sailed 2,134 miles and counting, with just another 40 or so to go, in just under 11 days. It’s way too early to reflect on this crossing, my 8th of the Atlantic, and it’s too soon still to think about what I’m going to eat for my first meal ashore.
So I’ll go back out into the cockpit now and coach the next few crewmembers on the helm in what will very likely be the best night of sailing of their lives.
// Andy
andy@59-north.com
View more passage logs
”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.