23:24 UTC | 31°46.953’ N 047°50.57’ W
Sailing
In my usual world of racing, if we see a wind shift up ahead we might wait 2 minutes before it reaches us. On this passage, we have sailed upwind for seven days and 1,200 nautical miles to find our wind shift. Our reward is to finally point towards the Canary Islands. Still sailing upwind though!
Today, seven days into our trip, my seasickness is finally gone and the memory of it is fading too. The first 2–3 days my body and mind were fighting it out and I could do nothing other than lie down, throw up, or curse the person who signed me up for 21 days of this. Today I’m happy I’m here!
Morale is high aboard Adrienne! Today we deep-cleaned the whole boat. Everybody is sleeping well, we sail well, and we eat well. Thanks to our meteorologist/skipper, we even understand how the weather works and why we were unable to get above the Azores High for those nice downwind angles.
I look forward to the remaining 14 days of total immersion in nature. All the day-to-day stressors of work, the internet, and just the general state of world affairs can’t reach me here. I still really miss home though!
// Knut, Adrienne II Crew
View more passage logs
The Rhythm of Boat Life
On land, your biggest daily challenge is finding a routine. On a boat in the middle of the Pacific, routine is a survival strategy. Tilt your world 15 degrees, swap solid ground for a restless, heaving ocean, and suddenly the basics—eating, sleeping, brushing your teeth—become a negotiation with physics. The question isn't whether boat life is hard. It's whether the hard is the point.
An Equator Crossing for the History Books!
By royal decree of the high seas, nine unsuspecting souls aboard NORDIC FALKEN were summoned before Neptune's mischievous emissaries to confess their sins, offer their sacrifices, and drink the blood of the ocean. What followed was equal parts absurd, sacred, and deeply human — pomelo-husk hats, Cheerio bracelets, and all. The equator has been crossed, the pollywogs are gone, and nothing about this crew will ever quite be the same.
*queue Coldplay’s ”Sky Full Of Stars"*
Somewhere in the doldrums, under a sky so thick with stars that the Milky Way looks like cloud cover, the line between sea and space stops being a metaphor. The bioluminescence below mirrors the galaxies above, Venus sets on the horizon like a distant ship, and at 3am it hits you that you're watching sunlight ricochet through an incomprehensible tangle of celestial bodies to land on glassy Pacific water. Then the equator arrives — no painted line, just a countdown, a crew holding their breath, and Neptune waiting to collect his due.