Day 7
The fog is still all around us—white, thick at times, clearer sometimes, and rarely gone. It is a funny feeling sailing “blind,” especially with 10+ knots of boat speed. I have spent hours by now staring out into the white fuzz, watching the waves emerge from it and disappear into it again. And although we might not have a clear sight of land when we arrive, it seems we are already living the full Irish experience.
Last night was a thrilling sail. Winds picked up, waves built, and it became the most challenging helming conditions yet. It was very nice to witness all that has been learned over the week applied in those conditions. As I am looking up at the log, I see 1158 nm—a reminder that we are to arrive soon. Indeed, we have started to talk about the tides of the day, planning for our passage through the sound, which seems to coincide with the passage of a cold front. This passage is going to be exciting all the way to the end.
- Manot
ManotBerger
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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.