Day 11
Yesterday at 1800, exactly as forecast, the wind filled in from the NE. We put Falken on a port tack, unfurled the jib, stopped the engine, and sailed in a gentle breeze on a close-hauled course, dead on course to a waypoint a few miles south of the Capelinhos lighthouse on the westernmost point of Faial. The sky cleared just before darkness fell, and the crew had a final night to steer by the stars. Falken slipped along silently on an inky ocean, and we slowly caught up with the last few boats of the ARC Europe who had left Bermuda four days before us.
By the time the sun came over the horizon, Faial was in sight and we had passed several of the ARC yachts. Behind Faial, the towering volcano of Pico dominated the background—a truly magnificent sight after almost 2000nm at sea. As we rounded the island to the south, the wind died, only to come back with full velocity as we entered the channel between the two islands. We dropped the mainsail just outside the busy harbor and made our way in. With the whole ARC fleet present, there was no pontoon space, nor was there barely any space behind the protected breakwater. With no other option, we anchored near the harbor entrance in about 10m depth. With a fresh to strong breeze and a slight swell running directly into the harbor, we paid out 55 meters of chain plus the snubber.
With Falken sitting securely at anchor, we relaxed in the cockpit with a glass of Prosecco and celebrated a successful voyage. Eleven days at sea and 1989nm sailed.
- Chris
ChrisKobusch
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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.