The moment has finally arrived. The crew is all aboard, and it was such a joy meeting everyone in person for the first time. Spirits are high, energy on top, and everyone is excited to throw the lines and be underway. Over the past days, we have made Adrianne ready for her next Atlantic crossing. The staff and crew have gone through the introduction of safety briefings and the rig check. We stumbled upon a few small surprises, most notably the inner jib halyard that didn’t quite want to cooperate. After a few trips up and down the mast and some solution discussions, we managed to put together a solid provisional solution that will hold for the passage.
With the boat now ready, provisions stowed away, and the crew excited, we will soon let loose the lines holding us to the pier to sail away into the horizon. Soon Brazil will be left behind and our next step on land will be in Gran Canaria. We will soon settle into the rhythm of watches and the ocean that lies ahead of us.
We will see you soon!
Hold Fast,
Vilgot Hjort | Former and current Apprentice
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.