Sailing
Today brings a sense of relief and accomplishment on two fronts; we’ve passed half-way on the passage and the prunes I have been eating have finally done what prunes do. I’m really not sure why it took me so long this time find my sea legs; I’ve been offshore for longer before, but sometimes as in life you just need to heave to, sleep it off and start again afresh.
Motor-sailing due east now after a pleasant day sailing with more weather theory from Erik and practical lessons from Neptune. Delaney’s bread was a huge lift to the spirits earlier and Anton is working another miracle in the galley; yesterday’s spaghetti bolognese will be hard to beat. Looks like a clear night ahead, so keep following the second star on the left, and straight on till morning.
// Simon, Adrienne II Crew
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Taha’a-haha (say that correctly five times fast)
Ten heads bobbing around the stern, cold beers hidden a meter below the waterline, and coconuts dodged through the reef — the crew of NORDIC FALKEN have arrived at Taha'a, and they're wasting no time. First Mate Pheebs reports from a golden-hour anchorage in the Society Islands, where strangers became shipmates somewhere between Papeete and paradise. Manta rays and what might be the world's best coral drift snorkel are on tomorrow's agenda — if Skipper Mary's mushroom risotto doesn't slow anyone down first.
Tahiti-Taha’a and a birthday
Bora Bora who? Leg 6 crew are aboard and setting their sights on the lesser-known gems of French Polynesia — Taha'a and Huahine — where vanilla farms, manta rays, and drift coral snorkels await. The new anchorage booking system is a noble idea in theory, though its website appears to share the reliability of the wind, which has cheerfully decided to blow from exactly the wrong direction. It's upwind sailing, birthday cake, and uncharted territory from here.
”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.