23°33.9' N 021°13.3' W
Moonlight, stars, sunrise and sunset—imagine this... every day for two weeks! Officially, 15 days at sea! Ten people on a boat and more than 2,700 nm have passed underneath the keel. We are living a “normal life,” creating our own water, eating fish from the sea, or mustering up random recipes with ingredients from the freezer box. Lunches and dinners are as if we were in a restaurant—amazing! It is quite impressive.
We have our routines—our daily reflections during dinner followed by the evening shifts, which involve four hours of sailing. At 10 pm, we sign off and head to our bunks. My bunk is warmed due to sharing sheets with Seattle Lance. After our designated 3 1/2 hours of sleep, we are routinely awakened by Team B to take on the middle-of-the-night four-hour shift. Then back to the early mornings of brushing teeth, contact lenses out, and sleep for a few hours before we have lunch together, noon sharp. Then the afternoon session begins with six hours of sailing before dinner. And we begin again... new day, same routine.
During the last two weeks, I have seen a sky full of stars or darkened by the clouds. Every night we are greeted by a new moon phase, followed by the sunrise and closing the day with a beautiful sunset. The views are spectacular, with ocean views 360 degrees and a distinct horizon wherever you look. It is quite an amazing experience.
The last 24 hours have pushed the experiences even further. The night shift was full of stars, no clouds in sight, just the vastness of the night. After a few hours of sleep, we experienced a sunrise on the starboard side that was unbelievable. All colors painted the sky. It was a breathtaking experience for two hours. For the first time, we were gliding through a windless morning with no waves in sight. Everyone onboard experienced a “morgon dopp”—a morning swim in 5,000 meters depth, 27°C warm, and with great visibility. Wow! And yes, we had shark watch at all times. And of course, this beautiful day ended with an amazing sunset, once again.
The nature experience on this trip is, in other words, unbelievable. And I am also blown away with the experience of being together with nine “random” people whom you have never met. We help each other, dive into deep talks, and sometimes just sit in the quiet for a couple of hours. I am so grateful for everyone on this boat. Of course, we all love sailing and the ocean—but what impresses me the most is that it all just seems to work. Imagine being with ten strangers in an apartment of 20 square meters and not leaving it for two weeks... this is what we experience daily.
A few days ago, we passed Cape Verde, one of my favorite holiday spots due to strong winds, good weather, and amazing memories with my wonderful family. This time a bit different—the same waves and wind, but now we are 100 nm from the islands on a boat going upwind towards my friendly kitesurfing waves.
This trip is amazing in so many ways—but next time I would like to experience it with my lovely wife and wonderful kids. To Pia, Alma, and Gustav—I love you so much and can’t wait to see you again!
Jim | Adrienne II Crew
crew@59-north.com
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.