Reflecting on the wows
48 52.046N / 125 21.210W
48 52.046N / 125 21.210W | 20:36 Local time
I’m writing from WOW island (ok, I renamed it slightly—Wouwer Island officially). But it does feel wow! Wow; so beautiful. Wow; so quiet. Wow; we are alone in paradise. I cannot believe somewhere so close to Seattle and Vancouver can be so peaceful, so empty. It’s just us and the bald eagle flying around.
Many of the crew (myself included) had been dreaming of anchoring in the Broken Group for years. So, with southerlies all morning and a residue swell, the choice was an easy one to delay departure south for another 24 hours. We are set to leave tomorrow morning at first light for San Francisco.
Sailing—like any rich experience—is all about the peaks and the troughs. Today we picked up anchor in grey drizzle and got rained on for four hours. Then we rescued Bob (the MOB dummy and only guy on the boat) and it proved—yes, we did learn a ton about winches, halyards, communication, and safety on day one. Then, the rain stopped and we entered the Pacific. Amazing! Many first timers here. And then the ocean swell began… and puking proceeded. As if the weather was respecting the seasick crew members’ privacy, the fog rolled in thick. So dense was the whiteness, there were moments when it was hard to see the helm from the companionway. And then, at 5pm, islands started to appear in the distance, the sun shone through the thick band of pea soup, the sea flattened, and 100 islands of joy appeared. This place is magical. And the drizzle of the day only added extra sparkle when we found it. Peaks and troughs? We are happy to choose the swells over a flat, easy life.
I’ll finish up by letting you into the moment onboard… a few crew are washing up after risotto. Some others are sitting around the table eating chocolate and chatting about books they are reading. Hannah generously gifted us all earrings she’d handmade from stones she’d picked up on various islands in the San Juan Islands—so people are looking at those and chatting about when she found them. A couple crew are on deck watching the last light of the day dim from gold to dark blue. And I think one or two are getting themselves ready for bed. I love these moments. They are less photographed, less shiny—but so much more alive, familiar, and true. Special enough that no one needs to get out a camera. They are just totally, entirely present.
Before we slipped lines, I was chatting to Andy Schell about how much we enjoy writing. I so look forward to sitting down and getting stuck into a blog. But the truth is—it’s not so much the writing, but the reflecting, the thinking, the questioning that’s the best part of writing. Taking the time to slow down and sit down and look back quietly on the day is such a treat. It feels so indulgent. And yet, it requires nothing but time. Time, and discipline. Funny how it takes discipline to do something that feels good. Yet, we have no trouble at all scrolling our minds numb… The parallels between writing and sailing are hard to ignore as I meander through my thoughts here.
Anyway, thank you for reading—it’s that extra push that encourages me to sit down and do it.
- Nikki
NikkiHenderson
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A last hurrah
Under the dome of stars in a moon-less sky, each of us during our time at the helm used the most rudimentary celestial navigation, keeping a star or two lined up with the mast as a helper to following the heading range. It was a whole crew event to set the spinnaker, reef the mainsail and practice the heave-to in case of man overboard. Alex stressed that the key to success in all of these crucial activities is preparation. It was hugely satisfying to accomplish these tasks through teamwork. We share a constant good hearted back and forth full of stories, one-liners and comebacks that also means constant laughter.
One little bird!
Falken has almost rounded the Channel Islands and is cruising along splendidly about 100 miles offshore. Though several models predicted some slightly fresher winds today, we were met with a consistent 18-20 kts of pure bliss. It seems that from the moment we left the dock in San Francisco, there has been much laughter and conversation amongst everyone. The plan is to gybe in a few hours and begin our approach to Ensenada. As much as I do appreciate the jokes and intellectual musings, I equally appreciate the natural, silent moments we share at night, all of us on watch gazing up above to the shooting stars, constellations, and planets putting on their quiet show.
Birds and glows
The sun brought new wind and we were soon putting up the Yankee (jib) and turning off the motor. During the evening tradition of sharing “glums and glows” that follows the crew dinner, our Mate Ryan proclaimed it a “champagne sailing” kind of day. As Alex noted this evening, life goes by so fast that one of the very best things about his line of work is enjoying the passage of time in the slow lane of an ocean passage. But by tomorrow, the green blobs in the weather sailing app indicate we’re going to pick up some significant northwesterly winds and we’ll take them ever further south to the Channel Islands latitude. We’re all super excited for the knots to climb and to see Falken really run.