February 13, 2025 | Fresh Mahi and Swedish Candy
I sleep in the warm belly of Adrienne. Water gurgles as it rushes over the hull inches away from my pillow. A soft, familiar rocking motion. All ingredients for a good sleep, but I am restless. It’s been days since we saw a ship. We are definitely out of helicopter range. The vastness of the ocean is hard to fathom. This is one of the most remote places on and off the planet. It’s just the ten of us here. This is not a trip, it’s an expedition in an alien waterworld. It’s overwhelming. I am breathing quickly and turn the light on to stop thinking and catch my breath. I see myself in the reflection of the meticulously layered varnish gloss that coats most of Adrienne’s interior—at least as many layers of varnish as she is old.
The ship is coming alive briefly, just before 2 a.m. The dogwatch, the most tiring of them all, is starting, and I am in it. We swing from handrail to handrail like orangutans, more gracefully every day. Wishing each other good nights of rest and good mornings in passing. Every new watch is someone’s morning and someone else’s night.
We step into the moonlit cockpit. The light is a harsh white, casting well-defined shadows, as if we are in space. Above the stern, Sirius the dog star twinkles; above the dog, Orion stands tall. Some of us puked at his feet a few days ago. Now it’s a calm and beautiful night with a silver path running from the moon to the freeboard.
Helming is finicky with a light wind that does not make up its mind. Being undercanvassed does not help either. Tim does not like the sluggish sail, so we switch from jib to genoa and the wind picks up. The wind is veering, which is favorable for us. The boat wakes up and needs a firm hand and a sharp mind to keep her in the groove. Meanwhile, we’re telling stories and stuffing our faces full of Swedish candy like we are eight, in summer camp, way past our bedtime.
At sunrise, we hand over to the B watch and hit the sack. We sleep almost till noon and wake up in a completely different world. People are up and there is freshly caught Mahi Mahi in the frying pan, being prepared by the Swedish cooks we are so lucky to have. They are often as incomprehensible as the Swedish cook in the Muppet Show, their choice of ingredients as eclectic, but unlike the puppet, their cooking is phenomenal.
We have entered the Azores High, also called the horse latitudes—a high-pressure area that separates the tradewinds in the south from the large winter depressions in the north. It’s sunny here and there is little wind. The waves are small. We are motoring through it to position ourselves at a place where we can catch some of the winds from the north that will carry us to the Canaries.
The ocean is a beautiful lighter blue today. There are many words to describe the blue hues of the ocean—azure, Bermuda, cobalt—but never enough to describe them all. It’s something you have to see for yourself.
After four days of upwind sailing and pounding in the waves, the Azores Highs are a welcome reprieve. We walk around deck barefooted, leisurely coiling lines, making whippings at bitter ends. We see dolphins. A pod of them crosses in front of our bow. Not much later we see a whale too! We have started a new chapter.
It’s evening as I am writing this. The waves are coming back. These must have traveled a long way from the storms in the north, hinting at what might be in store for us. Time to take a nap before the last watch of today.
- Allard Schipper, Adrienne Crew
crew@59-north.com
View more passage logs
Ketch us if you Kan
Falken is soon to carry on our preferred route of South, back to (hopefully) warmer climates. We’re all excited to set off and see more of this wild landscape as we head down to Victoria. A thermal trough over Vancouver combined with an offshore high pressure creating funneling NW’ly winds means it is due to be pretty fruity on the 9th. This passage is just under 600 miles, relatively short for Falken, but I’m sure we’ll be kept entertained with dramatic scenery, wildlife and weather!
Final Blog
Falken and her crew arrived safely into port last night around 8pm boat time, 10pm Prince Rupert time. Some spicy weather was anticipated, but luckily the 35kt gusts and 2.5 meter waves were no match for this expert crew. We had an exceptionally smooth docking, despite it being Alex's first time parking this year (!). We all agreed that this was a very special group of people—I for one am so impressed with how everyone stayed so positive, helpful, and appreciative of humor despite an arguably challenging passage. We'll all return home significantly saltier than we were when we left, a mark of a passage properly sailed.
Lessons and a Gift
The biggest lesson is the helm. The lesson here is that even if you don't think you can do it over and over again with no sleep, cold and damp, it has to be done and so it can be done. Flying fish are cool, dolphins are really really cool, but the coolest of them all are the whales. And most of all Alex: "Find your center Carla. Always know where your center is so you can come back to it". He means the helm but it applies to life as well.