2026 UTC | 30° 46.86’ N 034° 10.18’ W
Sailing
The last 24 hours have shown Adrienne II the many colors and moods of the Atlantic. We had spent Tuesday into Wednesday in a calm, with no wind and an autopilot at the helm.
The watches were permitted to slightly alter their schedules: two folks on deck instead of the four; swapping duties so that those of us who needed more rest got some. Knitting came out; books were read.
As Wednesday progressed the cold front Erik had mentioned made itself known: first by a wall of clouds to the north; wind shifting around to the northeast. By suppertime it was clear some of the clouds had rain in them; all of them were on their way to us. And a few even brought rainbows.
Erik had explained at the dinner briefing that the cold front would reach its peak during the 2200 to 0200 watch, with gusts to 25 or 26, and sustained winds of 16 or 17. The after dinner watch hoisted the main to reef one, then down to reef two. The cutter jib, the smaller of the two was deployed, and for the first time in the almost two weeks we've been sailing we were on port tack.
I went to bed, missing those festivities, knowing full well when I was awoken for the 2200 to 0200 watch I'd find out how things looked.
The night that greeted me was wild. The steady breeze roaring through the rigging; Erik up overseeing the watch change, there to help us as we put hands on an active helm.
And it was a blast. Pitch dark but for the moon and the clouds chasing it; Adrienne II powered up in a building sea state. The helm was light but powerful, the slightest move on the wheel met with instant response.
The Atlantic, a 3-D dynamic landscape, with a three to six foot seas, provided new lessons as we learned how to power up the helm coming up a wave, then bearing off slightly at the top of the wave to carry her power into the trough.
Adrienne II charged along in the night, each of us meeting ourselves as we took the helm. For some it was a chance to feel our fully powered vessel cut a path through a driving sea; for others helming brought up doubts and fears that they wrestled as they steered; for others it was confirmation that driving close-hauled in the dark mid Atlantic on a breezy March night was the finest kind of adventure.
Molly Mulhern
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Final Blog
Falken and her crew arrived safely into port last night around 8pm boat time, 10pm Prince Rupert time. Some spicy weather was anticipated, but luckily the 35kt gusts and 2.5 meter waves were no match for this expert crew. We had an exceptionally smooth docking, despite it being Alex's first time parking this year (!). We all agreed that this was a very special group of people—I for one am so impressed with how everyone stayed so positive, helpful, and appreciative of humor despite an arguably challenging passage. We'll all return home significantly saltier than we were when we left, a mark of a passage properly sailed.
Lessons and a Gift
The biggest lesson is the helm. The lesson here is that even if you don't think you can do it over and over again with no sleep, cold and damp, it has to be done and so it can be done. Flying fish are cool, dolphins are really really cool, but the coolest of them all are the whales. And most of all Alex: "Find your center Carla. Always know where your center is so you can come back to it". He means the helm but it applies to life as well.
Making the most of it
This passage has thrown pretty much every atmospheric condition imaginable at us. It reminds us not only of how much we’ve learned, but of how far we’ve literally come since that acceleration zone off the northwest corner of Oahu. The resilience this group has shown has been nothing short of incredible, and I couldn’t be prouder to be part of it. Maybe that’s why it’s the hardest passages we remember the most. Not because they were easy, but because they reminded us what we’re capable of.
