48º 38.8N 125º 09.6W
It was 3 AM, blowing 30 knots, ink-black night before the moonrise. We were about 20 miles off Vancouver Island—a place visited by massive sunfish and rarely anyone else—surfing waves on 65’ FALKEN, hitting speeds of 14 and 15 knots. Regina leaned over and whispered, “From reading the 59 North brochure I wasn’t really sure if they would let ‘us’ sail in these conditions.” The ‘us’ she was referring to was the collective group of sailors huddled in the spray who had never been on a boat this large, going this fast, in conditions this heavy. It was a lot to process.
“Regina, your turn!” Nikki beckoned. It was the moment of truth. About 15 minutes later, Regina had hit a high speed of 14.6! The crew cheered, and there was a collective awe—we were experiencing something very few people ever get to witness. It. Was. Incredible.
Later that night, under a blazing moon, Nikki and Topher both hit 16.2 knots, flying down the breaking swells, hooting with glee. Exhausted from the adrenaline rush and lack of sleep, I crawled into my bunk, knowing that there was no way I would be able to process this experience for days, weeks, or even months. I simply went to sleep with the hunch that this experience had changed the course of history—for all of ‘us’.
- Andy | FALKEN Crew
FALKENCrew
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”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.