16.05 BOAT TIME | 09 09. 5’ S 138 46.1’ W
Sailing
Land Ho!
The formula for distance to the horizon (in nautical miles) is the square root of the height of eye (in feet) times 1.15. Which means the easternmost island in the Marquesas, Ua Huka, which is 2,806 feet high, should have been visible at 60.9 nautical miles, at around 430 pm, ship’s time, this afternoon. We didn’t however factor in cloud cover. Instead Fatu Huka emerged on the opposite side around dinner time, that’s what you get for trying to do the math.
The French Polynesian courtesy flag is flying, along with the yellow ”Q” flag to show we haven’t yet cleared customs. We expect to make anchorage in Taiohae on Nuka Hiva sometime tomorrow. Fun fact that Alex learned today, customs is only open on Thursdays and Mondays. Tomorrow is Friday. After much finagling he managed to arrange for us to go ashore freely on arrival, as long as the boat didn’t pull anchor, and Alex kept all our passports and produced the full crew at customs on Monday.
Another spectacular sunset marked the closing of our open ocean passage. There are moments where I wish the crossing would go on forever (usually under the stars) and moments where I can’t wait to get ashore (usually around noon). The crossing has been a truly indescribable experience.
Land ho! (Which Ken called, and apparently means the first round is on him once we get ashore).
Phoebe & Adam
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.