2226UT | 18°31.67N 155°55.47W
Sailing
The last few days have slipped by fast as the trade winds have carried us ever close to Hawaii. Our peaceful bowling along only occasionally disturbed by a squall.
Last night we were bowling along and I was looking at the blue sparkling bioluminescence creaming off the side of the boat when suddenly it started raining and the wind picked up with gusts of 28 knots slamming us hard over. We told Mary there was a squall and she decided we should go straight for 2 reefs in the main. She depowered the sail then hopped up on the coach roof in the now driving rain to clip the handybilly to the reef cringle to make a new tack and smaller sail. Back in the cockpit it was time to winch up the halyard to tighten the luff and then winch reef 2 to secure the foot of the sail. There are two ways to grind a winch: turning it clockwise is hard but a higher gear so does the job faster, the other way is easier but a long slow grind. Meanwhile it’s difficult to get a good foothold on the wet lurching boat and you’re in a confined space. Last night (if I say so myself) Emily and I nailed the teamwork of winch grinding. Using the longer handle, she perched on the upper side and I took the lower (according to our respective heights) and together we turned those winches the hard and fast way. Girl Power!
Meanwhile Bruce held the boat on its course throughout and in the morning we could see that our mascot Scooby the Booby Bird had also clung on to its perch. Hawaii is less than 250miles to go.
Sarah Talbot
View more passage logs
Ladies who reef
The trade winds have been kind, rolling the boat toward Hawaii in a steady, hypnotic rhythm—until last night, when a squall hit without warning and the wind jumped to 28 knots, slamming everything sideways. With rain driving down and the boat lurching underfoot, the crew had minutes to wrestle two reefs into the mainsail and get things back under control. What followed was a masterclass in wet, unglamorous, deeply satisfying teamwork—with less than 250 miles left to go.
Yankee Doodle Died at Sea, Riding on a FALKEN
A thin, foot-long tear in the yankee sail—50,000 miles of ocean behind it—and suddenly the final stretch to Hawaii just got a lot more interesting. The crew of FALKEN had been running a tight ship through the trades, reefing in squalls like clockwork, when the last dance finally caught up with them. How a skipper handles the moment everything goes sideways says everything about the voyage itself.
A Gen Z Perspective
At 31, the crew thought they were reasonably fluent in the English language—then they met Kip. Today, the crew's self-appointed Gen Z correspondent takes over the log from somewhere in the middle of the Pacific, delivering dispatches on Milky Way night sails, focaccia-induced visions, and the singular mission of getting eleven people's "badonkadonks" to Hawaii. Consider this your glossary.