2037 UTC | 29°21.447’N 018°57.214’W
Sailing
I hope my letter finds you well.
Since my last letter, much has occurred on board our dear Adrienne.
First off, on the diesel algae front there is not much to share, as we have held them off well and kept our engines running when we’ve had the need to.
A discussion has arisen on board, this time regarding what constitutes a sauce. Despite several days of detailed arguments, no definition has been found that can readily be agreed upon by all, even though many have been proposed. I shall not bore you with all the details regarding this matter (even though there is much to be said) but I will divulge that our crew’s psychologist, Simon, needed only to hear a few sentences of one such discussion before declaring that ”ah, fourteen days out here was what it took for us all to go insane.” Shortly thereafter, the topic of whether or not a hot dog is a sandwich was brought up.
I must say, though, that skipper Erik is an expert at managing these discussions, which can sometimes be heated, usually by readily agreeing with all sides.
It has been said Adrienne sails really well on a broad reach, but alas, I may never know as virtually every mile we’ve sailed has been at an apparent wind angle of less than fifty degrees, and skipper Erik predicts we are set to continue to do so for the last stretch of our our journey.
We now have only eighty miles until we encounter land, and fewer than two hundred to our destination.
I look forward to seeing you upon returning home.
Apprentice Anton
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.