pre-departure
2019 Ship's Time, dockside in Mindelo, Cape Verde.
1st Mate Manot and crewmembers Sara and John are sitting around the saloon table. I'm at the nav station with the fan on over my right shoulder. A few of the crew are showering, the rest are outside in the cockpit lounging. Dinner's been cleaned up, the boat is shipshape and ready to sail, and we've got one more sleep until departure.
I'm relaxed. My 8th trans-Atlantic will begin tomorrow. They're never routine, especially when you're coming and going to new places (never been to Cape Verde before), but I feel less anxious than I normally do before a big passage, which I'm delighted about (but can't explain). Maybe because it's warm and sunny and the Tradewinds are steady but gentle and the forecast looks perfect.
I was surprised to find half the Sahara desert at the top of the mast today during the routine rig check. I was also surprised at the elevator ride the crew on deck gave me. Rene and Veiko jumped my primary halyard at the mast while Sara and Nigel took up slack aft on the winch, and I barely had to climb. Each heave sent me six feet up the mast in one big jump, and I had a bird's eye view of Mindelo. Anyway, from the 'Calima' dust storm they sailed through on the last passage, the sand has accumulated on lines and rigging aloft where we couldn't wash it off and everything is stained red (including now my shorts).
After the MOB drill we organized for the local restaurant here in the marina to cook us a wahoo curry meal, which we enjoyed onboard to 'simulate' a meal at sea, including my classic glums & glows routine afterwards and the normal washing-up drill down below. The food was delightful, and once the dishes were cleaned we did one last top-up on the water tanks and that was that.
Tomorrow we sail.
// Andy
View more passage logs
Ladies who reef
The trade winds have been kind, rolling the boat toward Hawaii in a steady, hypnotic rhythm—until last night, when a squall hit without warning and the wind jumped to 28 knots, slamming everything sideways. With rain driving down and the boat lurching underfoot, the crew had minutes to wrestle two reefs into the mainsail and get things back under control. What followed was a masterclass in wet, unglamorous, deeply satisfying teamwork—with less than 250 miles left to go.
Yankee Doodle Died at Sea, Riding on a FALKEN
A thin, foot-long tear in the yankee sail—50,000 miles of ocean behind it—and suddenly the final stretch to Hawaii just got a lot more interesting. The crew of FALKEN had been running a tight ship through the trades, reefing in squalls like clockwork, when the last dance finally caught up with them. How a skipper handles the moment everything goes sideways says everything about the voyage itself.
A Gen Z Perspective
At 31, the crew thought they were reasonably fluent in the English language—then they met Kip. Today, the crew's self-appointed Gen Z correspondent takes over the log from somewhere in the middle of the Pacific, delivering dispatches on Milky Way night sails, focaccia-induced visions, and the singular mission of getting eleven people's "badonkadonks" to Hawaii. Consider this your glossary.