London
51.5055° N, 0.0754° W
Truly stunned to be moored up right next to the iconic landmark Tower Bridge. I see the classic red buses driving over the bridge and we meet wonderful people living in a barge community right here on the river bank. They were real lifesavers for letting us raft up next to them when we didn’t make it to the lock of St. Katherine’s Dock in time.
We arrived at the mouth of the River Thames yesterday morning and started the engine, motoring up to London. We had dinner onboard while watching old wharf buildings and docks go by as we motored along. We ended the night with a well-deserved pint or two at a pub nearby.
The sailors onboard got this full day to explore London, which was a first for many of them. For the crew, today is a day for cleaning up the boat and prepping for sailing into the English Channel. We will be heading for a port of call on one of the Channel’s isles for some sightseeing before our final destination, Plymouth.
Hold Fast!
- David the apprentice
59ºNorthApprentice
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”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.