Apparently, a spy boarded FALKEN, unbeknownst to the several polywogs aboard—heralding our approach to the royal line. Having been duly notified of the impending rite of passage by King Neptune’s herald and prepared for the equatorial approach by our flamboyant navigator, we anxiously prepare gifts of great worth to offer the famed nautical god. Frankly, if Neptune has an accent as odd as the rest of his court, we may not have any idea what’s going on during the encounter.
This landmark (seamark?) experience aside, we continue to enjoy magnificent sailing! The crew is rested, strong, and incredibly well fed, and Falken reaches like a dream. The stars are brilliant and eventually bow to the spotlight of a full moon. As the moon arcs across the night sky, she eventually concedes the labor of lighting our path to the sun in a glorious display as one sets while the other rises.
The skipper, mate, and bosun continue to impart their knowledge to the crew. In fact, last night Mary informed us that no airplanes flew over the Pacific Ocean—only spaceships. I learn something every day ;)
//Orie
Write your comments below and I’ll forward them to the boat with the daily update :) - Mia (shore support)
crew@59-north.com
View more passage logs
”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.