Day 7 At-Sea
13º 00’ N, 045º 27’ W
12 February 2024
2204 Ship’s Time
13º 00’ N, 045º 27’ W
Steering 285º at 9-10 knots
Welp, that’s not only the first time I’ve eaten ice cream offshore, but also the first time I’ve eaten hand-made ice cream on a boat! Manot outdid himself in the galley last night, spending several hours whipping—literally—a batch of homemade chocolate ice cream together by hand. I’m not even sure how he got the recipe. Mia’s onboard recipe book is extensive, but I’m positive it doesn’t include ice cream. Nonetheless, to celebrate crossing the halfway mark yesterday, we had hand-made chocolate ice cream for dessert tonight, topped with fresh, cold pineapple, and what a treat.
The bonkers tradewind sailing continues, faster and steadier than ever. Each time I check the log for the previous 24-hour distance run, the numbers get bigger. From 10pm yesterday until 10pm today we’ve covered 213 miles. That’s an average pace of almost 9 knots, and just with the white sails. We haven’t laid a finger on the mainsheet since jibing the rig around back on Day 1! Laying in my bunk down below I can just feel the boat accelerate down each wave, the water rushing by my head against the hull and the Watt & Sea hydrogenerator taking off with a spinning, buzzing ZIIIIIIIINNNNG! which sounds uncannily like a big fish taking out all the line off a deep-sea reel. The sailing is at once exhilarating and effortless.
I warned the crew that the second half of the trip would go by much faster than the first. There is no more acclimatization period now that we’ve crested the peak and are on the downslope. The minutes and hours, while still moving slowly, tick by with a smoothness that was lacking in the first half of the passage when folks were still getting their sea legs and learning how to sleep at all hours of the day and night. There’s a saying in cycling that goes something like, “Pedal slowly first—slow is smooth, and smooth eventually becomes fast.” The same applies to ocean sailing, I think. Ease into a passage slowly and before you know it you’ve passed the halfway mark and the ship is running like clockwork. Smooth.
The weather finally feels familiar again. After days of yellowish haze and cloudless skies from the African continent, we’re back into the puffy tradewind cumulus and heavy humidity that feels Caribbean. I wore a light jacket the first few nights at sea, but those days are over and it’s shorts and t-shirt around the clock. We’ll shower again tomorrow, moving the clean-up routine from once every third day to every other day to ward off the stickiness that comes with the higher humidity.
And so it goes onboard FALKEN. The watch changes. The helmspeople take turns. The coffeepot is refilled. And on.
— Andy
andy@59-north.com
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A last hurrah
Under the dome of stars in a moon-less sky, each of us during our time at the helm used the most rudimentary celestial navigation, keeping a star or two lined up with the mast as a helper to following the heading range. It was a whole crew event to set the spinnaker, reef the mainsail and practice the heave-to in case of man overboard. Alex stressed that the key to success in all of these crucial activities is preparation. It was hugely satisfying to accomplish these tasks through teamwork. We share a constant good hearted back and forth full of stories, one-liners and comebacks that also means constant laughter.
One little bird!
Falken has almost rounded the Channel Islands and is cruising along splendidly about 100 miles offshore. Though several models predicted some slightly fresher winds today, we were met with a consistent 18-20 kts of pure bliss. It seems that from the moment we left the dock in San Francisco, there has been much laughter and conversation amongst everyone. The plan is to gybe in a few hours and begin our approach to Ensenada. As much as I do appreciate the jokes and intellectual musings, I equally appreciate the natural, silent moments we share at night, all of us on watch gazing up above to the shooting stars, constellations, and planets putting on their quiet show.
Birds and glows
The sun brought new wind and we were soon putting up the Yankee (jib) and turning off the motor. During the evening tradition of sharing “glums and glows” that follows the crew dinner, our Mate Ryan proclaimed it a “champagne sailing” kind of day. As Alex noted this evening, life goes by so fast that one of the very best things about his line of work is enjoying the passage of time in the slow lane of an ocean passage. But by tomorrow, the green blobs in the weather sailing app indicate we’re going to pick up some significant northwesterly winds and we’ll take them ever further south to the Channel Islands latitude. We’re all super excited for the knots to climb and to see Falken really run.