The trade winds held steady at a perfect 15 to 20 knots, propelling Adrienne II smoothly across the Atlantic under a sun-soaked sky. The only real inconvenience was steering into the blinding sunrise, making us all appreciate our sunglasses and questionable hat choices. Despite the nearly ideal conditions, morale took a hit as we realized our candy stash had been reduced to a few sad wrappers and a couple of melted leftovers.
The universe, however, must have sensed our plight, because during the night watch, we spotted a cruise ship glowing like a beacon of temptation on the horizon. Briefly, we entertained the idea of an impromptu boarding mission—just a quick sprint up the gangway to refresh our chocolate supply, maybe even try our luck at the casino before security caught on. But alas, common sense prevailed, and we stayed the course, compensating for our sugar withdrawal with the usual barrage of terrible jokes and puns that would make even the ocean groan.
Early in the day, we crossed the Mid Atlantic Ridge, marking another milestone on our journey—one more invisible yet significant line on the chart conquered. As night fell, we turned our attention skyward, where the stars put on their usual mesmerizing display. After weeks of speculation, we finally solved the mystery of the bright triangular formation we’d been puzzling over—turns out, Mars, Pollux, and Castor had been winking at us all along.
Later in the night, as the clouds rolled in and obscured our trusted steering star, we decided to get creative. Enter the experimental "reverse steering" technique, in which I faced aft and used Venus as my guiding light. It was unconventional, slightly ridiculous, and surprisingly effective—a perfect summary of life aboard Adrienne II.
Ken Cascio, Adrienne Crew
crew@59-north.com
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”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.