30° 26'N, 031° 38'W
February 20, Day 12 | 30° 26'N, 031° 38'W
It took me a while to figure out what day it is and how long we've been at sea. That usually means one of two things: 1. The journey has now exceeded ten days, and after that, days and time start blending together. 2. Sleep deprivation is starting to take its toll. In my case, it's probably a mix of both.
The day began (as usual!) with a stunning sunrise—a pink glow painted the tops of the otherwise white clouds. It was still dark, but as daylight gradually returned, the glow of our navigation lights faded into the surroundings. During the night, our plotter screens shine red, set to "night mode" to protect our eyes and preserve our night vision. But as the morning light grows stronger, it's time to switch back to white light. The navigation lights are turned off, and just as quickly as darkness falls after sunset, daylight now takes over, marking the start of a new day.
The question remains—which day is it? Was it Wednesday or Thursday? Out here, it hardly matters. What counts is whether it’s light or dark—one of many reasons why life at sea feels simpler.
We’re sailing with full mainsail and genoa, with 17-20 knots of wind coming from just behind the beam. Adrienne surfs down every other wave, reaching speeds between 10 to 12 knots. Someone even managed to push her up to 15.3 knots. The sun is blazing, and our noses, ears, and forearms are covered in sunscreen. My own reflection stares back at me from Vegard’s dark sunglasses—he’s grinning as he stands at the helm. “This is awesome,” he let me know.
Suddenly, a new weather front rolls in—2 to 3 hours earlier than meteorologist Erik had predicted. The sunshine quickly fades into a gray haze, the humidity spikes, and tiny water droplets cling to our bare arms and faces, reminiscent of a hairdresser misting your hair with a spray bottle. The wind shifts abruptly, picks up to 25 knots, and forces us onto a new course. The waves, which had been propelling us forward in smooth surfs, now hit us at a different angle, turning our gentle ride into a heavy side-to-side roll. Just like that, life on board becomes a lot less comfortable.
We assess the situation, wait for the wind to settle, and then decide to gybe, adjusting our course to better align with our destination.
I’ll end here—my watch ended a while ago, and I need to make the most of the sleep I can get. Out on the Atlantic, sleep is a privilege, not a right.
Wishing you who read this a great day, hope you also have the opportunity to experience today's sunrise.
- Tim, Mate on ADRIENNE
crew@59-north.com
View more passage logs
HMS Night Watch Party
Wing on wing worked well until the wind shifted then the helm became the cone of despair for our night watch crew of three (H, M and S) Alex made the decision to drop the pole, shifting wing on wing to a close reach. Wind increased to low teens and speed picked up to a flying pace. Day spent wandering toward Ensenada. Alex, Adam and David got us into port under another starry night.
No Kitemares Today
After a night marked by sudden wind accelerations peeling off Point Conception, and a vibrant, pulsating sky blistered with shooting stars, the off-watch woke to commotion on the foredeck. The wind had gone light and the swell had tapered just enough to raise the spinnaker. The sail filled with an urgent pop, the sheet strained and Falken charged down the face of the next wave. By mid-day, we doused the spinnaker and set our minds to the more precise task of safely punching through a gap in the notorious Cortez Bank. The border to Mexico looms ahead.
The California coast
We had a very lively first day of sailing with steady winds between 25 and 30 kn gusting to mid 30s. All of the crew got experience at difficult downwind helming as we covered 200 nautical miles in the first 24 hours. This morning brings winds in the teens and calmer seas. The sun is still shining, and the green monster has been slayed by those afflicted!