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
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A last hurrah
Under the dome of stars in a moon-less sky, each of us during our time at the helm used the most rudimentary celestial navigation, keeping a star or two lined up with the mast as a helper to following the heading range. It was a whole crew event to set the spinnaker, reef the mainsail and practice the heave-to in case of man overboard. Alex stressed that the key to success in all of these crucial activities is preparation. It was hugely satisfying to accomplish these tasks through teamwork. We share a constant good hearted back and forth full of stories, one-liners and comebacks that also means constant laughter.
One little bird!
Falken has almost rounded the Channel Islands and is cruising along splendidly about 100 miles offshore. Though several models predicted some slightly fresher winds today, we were met with a consistent 18-20 kts of pure bliss. It seems that from the moment we left the dock in San Francisco, there has been much laughter and conversation amongst everyone. The plan is to gybe in a few hours and begin our approach to Ensenada. As much as I do appreciate the jokes and intellectual musings, I equally appreciate the natural, silent moments we share at night, all of us on watch gazing up above to the shooting stars, constellations, and planets putting on their quiet show.
Birds and glows
The sun brought new wind and we were soon putting up the Yankee (jib) and turning off the motor. During the evening tradition of sharing “glums and glows” that follows the crew dinner, our Mate Ryan proclaimed it a “champagne sailing” kind of day. As Alex noted this evening, life goes by so fast that one of the very best things about his line of work is enjoying the passage of time in the slow lane of an ocean passage. But by tomorrow, the green blobs in the weather sailing app indicate we’re going to pick up some significant northwesterly winds and we’ll take them ever further south to the Channel Islands latitude. We’re all super excited for the knots to climb and to see Falken really run.