1637UT | 04 29.09’N 148 19.02’W
Sailing/motoring/drifting/reflecting
Land life is predictable, sort of.
Days are marked by routines that you can, more or less, set your watch by. And for added stability, the ground beneath you is stationary.
Boat life is a wee bit different.
Two immediate things stand out.
First, your world is tilted anywhere from 10 - 20 degrees. If sailing were a pinball machine, it’d be game over in the first gust.
And if you’re a gravity skeptic, the concept of Apparent Gravity Angle (ok, I just made that up), may convince you it’s real as you try to brush your teeth or not fall off the toilet when the boat’s cooking at 10 knots on a beam reach.
Second, instead of stationary ground, you’re gliding, bouncing, slamming, pounding, or any of a number of other verbs that describe what it’s like to be on a moving 65-foot machine.on a squishy surface that is chemically always H2O yet never sits still or looks the same twice.
Sounds like fun, right?
I’m not going to kid you. Living on a boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean is not like taking the car for a spin with the top down and the tunes topped up.
But as humans, I think we’re wired to do hard things.
I dare say it’s one of the things that we should hold tight from technology turning us all into mushy molecules of leisure lovers.
In fact, as I write this in Falken’s hot, steamy saloon 170 miles north of the equator, my crewmate Mark is reading Lin and Larry Pardey’s book, The Self-Sufficient Sailor.
The Pardey’s are famous in sailing circles for spending decades sailing around the world in a relatively small 30-foot(ish) boat with no engine, no refrigeration, no ”modern” head, and none of many other boat life conveniences that many of us deem ”must haves.” Hats off to them because they made it work.
To be clear, despite what my wife might say, I’m not a glutton for punishment. I appreciate modernity and savor a fine Willamette Valley Pinot Noir.
But for me, and I think for many sailors, the desire to ”get back to the basics” is one of the charms of raising the sails and letting the wind blow you to your next destination. The struggle makes the journey and the destination equally sweet.
Although I’ve only been sailing a few years, I’m noticing a pattern when it comes to boat life.
On this trip, I’ve been fortunate (knock on fiberglass), to not get seasick. My adjustment was more about trying to establish routines that I can rely on to give each day a rhythm that eventually will feel like, well, home.
On this 2-week passage, rhythm, at the half-way mark, feels like this.
1. 3 hours on, 6 hours off. We have 3 teams who take turns running the ship. You’re expected to be on deck helming, trimming the sails, and keeping the rest of your crew alive. And for that hard work, you get 6 hours of downtime.
2. Fuel and rest. Preparing food and sleeping are much harder on a boat but you can’t skimp here. When that big blow comes, if you’re not rested, alert, and fueled, then the odds of reading about you in the next day’s maritime news spikes. For me, I had 2 days of transition disorientation as I moved from land to water. By day 3, I was heading back to normal, and by day 4, I was my usual annoying self.
And speaking of that big blow, I was just interrupted writing this as we sailed into a squall and quickly put 2 reefs in the main sail. Not wanting to miss the fun, I put my PFD on, clipped in, and got a refreshing natural shower in the cockpit. It’s so hot here that multiple off-watch crew members did the same.
3. Fun and games. We are paying for this so we have to have some fun. This is one area where 59 North excels. The professional crew is selected not just for their sailing excellence, but also for their ability to foster a cohesive, fun, and memorable experience. Our recent visit from Neptune (both of them, ha ha), and the entire Shellback Initiation Experience was epic. If the professional crew were simply drillmasters just going through the motions versus sharing their love for the ocean and fostering camaraderie, then I’m out.
Is making an ocean passage for everyone? Theoretically, yes. But in reality, it takes a certain attitude and a willingness to embrace discomfort (temporarily), a yearning for new experiences and learnings, and an appreciation for this grand, cosmic universe that we inhabit.
On every night watch, I’ve seen multiple meteors, aka, shooting stars. Those brief, bright, intense flickers of flame, light, and heat, are a good reminder to me that our life here is short but it’s meant to be lived like that streak across the sky.
Steve Sanduski
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.