DAY 3
After breakfast, Andy gave a magnificent weather lesson. It is so nice to see someone teach their passion to other people—it really is contagious! After that, everyone got briefed on their duties for their watches, and we proceeded to hoist anchor and head out to the open sea for our offshore phase.
The wind might have been one of the only glums for the day, failing to fill even the slightest puff, but making a stunning sight to watch. We managed to keep busy by taking sun sights, practicing reefing, and enjoying a great lasagna cooked by Mia.
Just a few hours ago, as the sun was setting down over the oily, windless sea, the breeze started picking up a little bit. We unfurled the jib, turned the engine off, and are now underway—not making a lot of way, but enjoying the peace and quiet of a very starry night.
I managed to get a sight on Vega, and I’m like a kid with a new toy taking sights on this trip. My last sights were back five years ago when I was training with my Mini 6.50, and I never really understood the bigger picture—just followed my proformas and got my plots. Having seen the way Andy teaches and explains it has really woken a passion inside of me. I never thought I was smart enough to be able to understand celestial navigation, so I’ve either become really smart in five years or it really is down to who you learn from, and I couldn’t have asked for a better teacher.
Time to put the kettle on and wake up the other watch. Signing off the Portuguese coast. — Alex
View more passage logs
Ladies who reef
The trade winds have been kind, rolling the boat toward Hawaii in a steady, hypnotic rhythm—until last night, when a squall hit without warning and the wind jumped to 28 knots, slamming everything sideways. With rain driving down and the boat lurching underfoot, the crew had minutes to wrestle two reefs into the mainsail and get things back under control. What followed was a masterclass in wet, unglamorous, deeply satisfying teamwork—with less than 250 miles left to go.
Yankee Doodle Died at Sea, Riding on a FALKEN
A thin, foot-long tear in the yankee sail—50,000 miles of ocean behind it—and suddenly the final stretch to Hawaii just got a lot more interesting. The crew of FALKEN had been running a tight ship through the trades, reefing in squalls like clockwork, when the last dance finally caught up with them. How a skipper handles the moment everything goes sideways says everything about the voyage itself.
A Gen Z Perspective
At 31, the crew thought they were reasonably fluent in the English language—then they met Kip. Today, the crew's self-appointed Gen Z correspondent takes over the log from somewhere in the middle of the Pacific, delivering dispatches on Milky Way night sails, focaccia-induced visions, and the singular mission of getting eleven people's "badonkadonks" to Hawaii. Consider this your glossary.