8°21.5' N 026°17.2' W
Joining Adrienne, I didn’t know what to expect, having no experience offshore and very little sailing experience overall, but after 9 days and over 1500 nautical miles all my expectations have been exceeded. Both in tough ways, experiencing a lot of seasickness for the first few days; and in happy ones, like full days of exceptional downwind sailing. Led by skipper Eric and mate Tim, the crew, and our home-away-from-home, Adrienne, take it all in stride. We support and look out for each other every day to make sure everyone is as happy and healthy as can be.
For the last few days we’ve been in the doldrums, which means lack of wind and rain squalls popping up left and right (or based on our current winds, windward and leeward). Adrienne seems to be immune to them, even at times when a bit of rain would be a welcomed respite from the tropical heat.
Life onboard can be a little bit different than on land, so here is a snapshot from this morning on Adrienne:
5:30 AM: I get woken up by the off-coming watch to get ready for my 6 AM start. Living on land, I’d be dreading this early start, but on Adrienne, we all live in a different reality.
6:00 AM: I pop my head out of the hatch and see the smiling faces of my shipmates David, Lance, Andrew, and Brittany. They’ve been up for the last 4 hours keeping Adrienne on course and looking out for squalls, but now is the time for them to sleep and team A to take over. Vilgot is up already, with Jim, Nicole, and I following close behind.
6:15 AM: We witnessed the most beautiful sunrise of the trip so far.
7:00 AM: We opt for the luxury breakfast, prepared by chef Vilgot, with pancakes and lingonberry jam and Nutella to keep us happy.
7:45 AM: Coffee time.
8:30 AM: We planned a busy schedule for ourselves this morning starting with a workout circuit. On the bow, core exercises; lower body amidship; upper body on the stern deck, with the last station being the helm, as someone needs to steer Adrienne after all.
8:50 AM: Rolled out the Genoa.
9:00 AM: Avoid a couple big squalls that we’ve watched develop over the last few hours.
10:30 AM: Start preparing lunch. Today, we’re having couscous with aubergines and sausages.
12:00 PM: Lunch time. Rest of the crew has woken up and we're ready to eat like a big happy family. This also marks the end of the watch, so after lunch team B takes over again and we slowly rinse off the salt, sweat, and sunscreen, and rest.
Overall, every day is filled with kindness, fun, and beauty, and I am grateful to be part of this amazing crew. To Chloe, I love you. Thank you for supporting me in this wild idea, and give Lou a belly scratch from me.
Pete, Crew
PS. I have to go now as Andrew just caught a huge beautiful fish, so we’re changing tonight’s menu from halloumi stroganoff to Wahoo sashimi on rice!
PPS. From David, this was the best day ever! We celebrated our halfway mark for this passage together in the forward cockpit eating the sashimi fish. Just as we did, a rain squall blew over us, and left us with beautiful pink sunset clouds. Tears in eyes.
ADRIENNE II Skipper
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.