22°04.9' N 023°41.6' W
To be a sunrise,
A golden hue that silently wakes the ocean blue.
To be the ocean
that awakens, outstretching
its glassy sheaths of morning dew.
To be the morning hour,
a delicate space of time
where the seas sip their first breath,
signaling the birth of a new day.
To be the clouds—
clouds stained in gentle rouge,
kissed by the lips of Neptune’s Sea-Garden Muse.
Liminality:
A place of in-between
where stillness echoes
a sailor’s heart's soul melody.
We became the witness,
the eyes and ears
of the Atlantic East.
And this time,
our morning crew knew
life would never be the same.
For there were no words to exchange;
instead, our hearts found
a seat on Adrienne’s wooden beams.
Together,
we held invisible hands,
greeted by life’s miraculous mysteries.
To be a Sailor...
Mahalo to Captain Erik and First Mate Tim,
who just know... from the deepest layers of their heart and skin.
Nicole | 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.