Taking your turn at the wheel seems to be the highlight of each watch. We do a half hour each with a spotter at the stern to help if needed. Steering a true course is an art form that I don’t doubt takes countless hours of practice. As you watch the bow swing back and forth, you have to feel the wind in the right spot on your face, the force of the rudder on the wheel, all while paying attention to the compass heading. Since we are reaching downwind, you should be feeling the wind on the back of your ear. The key is small movements of the wheel so as not to overcorrect. If you overcorrect, it can be a real battle to get back on course. Lastly, you have to watch the compass and keep the desired heading.
When we started this cruise, it felt like baptism by fire with 3 meter waves and 15 to 20 knots of wind. I think it’s safe to say that everyone had a certain amount of anxiety when their turn came up. But after hours of practice and a relentless watch that doesn’t end until the destination is reached, we have all become much better helmsmen.
Last night the winds dropped to 10 or 12 knots apparent and it felt like a nice leisurely walk in the park. We cruised through the night watch stargazing at Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion, Cassiopeia, and The Southern Cross. We had a sea bird hovering a few feet over the cockpit and a confused flying fish that landed in the wrong place at the wrong time. I tossed him back in and wished him well.
Today the wind slowly built itself up, reaching 20 to 25 knots by nightfall. It was expected, so we put the third reef in the main, reduced the jib, and prepared for a wild night of surfing down 3 meter waves in a 65 foot sailboat that was designed to win races across oceans.
- Daniel, crew on the Falken
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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.