Day 7
Our last few weather forecasts have been uncertain. As we are getting closer to the Azores, we have been monitoring a shallow low that keeps shifting in unpredictable ways from day to day. The center, originally predicted east of the Azores by the time of our arrival, is now predicted to be west of the islands, seemingly at our exact latitude. This means that a big no-wind zone could lie just ahead of us. Our point of sail for the next few days will now depend on the movement of that center. If it stays as predicted, we might have to motor for a while. If it moves north by just a few miles, we could have some favorable westerlies, but if it moves south, we might end up beating upwind for some time. As of the time that I am writing this, we have good wind from the NNE, which indicates that we are in the northwestern quadrant at the moment. We will keep a close eye on the evolution of that system, as our ETA in Horta will depend on it, as well as our comfort onboard.
In another department, there has been a strong desire to see wildlife, and so far we have seen dolphins on multiple occasions, birds regularly, and electric dolphins once (dolphins in bioluminescent algae). But yesterday definitely stood out as we were visited by a small group of whales just before sunset. A humbling few minutes, observing each other, before they disappeared again in the distance.
- Manot
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”For some things, we will never be ready.” - Moana 2
After 852 miles of open ocean sailing, the crew of Falken dropped anchor in Moorea's Cook's Bay—not with a quiet glide in, but surfing down waves in a squall, breaking speed records and cheering each other on through the rain. What started as a plan to "just dip a toe" into offshore sailing turned into something harder to explain: the worse the conditions got, the more alive everyone felt. Turns out the question was never whether the crew was ready—it was whether they even needed to be.
Kauehi conundrum
Kauehi atoll was always on the itinerary—until the forecast made it a gamble not worth taking. Squalls, bommies, a tidal pass, and no clean escape route: sometimes the hardest call in sailing is the one that keeps you out of a place, not in it. The Tuamotus will have to wait.
Hove-to!
Falken is too fast—a problem most sailors would kill for, yet here we are, tacking back and forth across the Pacific just to kill time. A rogue low pressure system south of Tahiti has stolen the trades and scrambled our timing for the tidal window into Kauehi's pass, leaving us hove-to 45 miles short of our target in the Tuamotus. Salt licorice, dream sandwich debates, and a philosophical question about mermaid reproduction are helping pass the night.