Day 10 At-Sea
Ship’s Time
13º 33’ N, 056º 12’ W
Steering 280º at 9-10 Knots
This will be the night that sticks with me from this crossing. I just got off the helm after my half-hour stint, fingertip steering, keeping the luff of the spinnaker just in line with Orion’s belt. In the lulls I’d head up a couple degrees until the belt disappeared, then soak down in the puffs until I could see the entire constellation. Normally at night you’d use the steaming light to illuminate the kite and check trim, but with not a cloud in sight, the light from the stars is plenty to keep tabs on the big spinnaker without ruining the illusion that we’re actually our own little spaceship hurtling through the galaxy.
We deserve this night after a very hot, very frustrating afternoon. After setting the kite in the pre-dawn light at the 0600 watch change yesterday, the wind gradually eased off until at 1400 it was so light that the sock on the spinnaker collapsed down on the sail just thanks to gravity. Veiko and I went on the foredeck to corral it and that was that. We motored through a sloppy sea for the next three hours, taking turns using the foredeck saltwater hose to cool off and trying desperately to find a slice of shade behind the mast to escape the sun.
I started prepping dinner around 1600, and by then the calm had smoothed out the sea and there were signs the wind was trying to fill in again from the northeast. We’d been on port tack last time the chute was up, so while the curry simmered on the stove we re-rigged the kite on the foredeck for a starboard tack hoist. Having done this spinnaker re-rig drill now several times (we have to drop it, re-rig it, and re-hoist it anytime we jibe), the crew had it sorted out in a few minutes and we managed to set sail again before the food was served.
And we’ve been sailing since. The northeasterly filled in as promised to a gentle 12-15 knots, the seas are calm and the first evening watch got to sail by the brilliant light of the waxing moon, which is just short of half-full, and now the graveyard shift is steering to the stars.
As I write, we’re inside the 200-miles-to-go mark and now definitely at risk of snapping out of the at-sea magic spell we’ve been under, but thus far I’m proud of the crew for staying in the moment. I’ll say though it’s pretty effortless on a night like this one.
// Andy
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Final Blog
Falken and her crew arrived safely into port last night around 8pm boat time, 10pm Prince Rupert time. Some spicy weather was anticipated, but luckily the 35kt gusts and 2.5 meter waves were no match for this expert crew. We had an exceptionally smooth docking, despite it being Alex's first time parking this year (!). We all agreed that this was a very special group of people—I for one am so impressed with how everyone stayed so positive, helpful, and appreciative of humor despite an arguably challenging passage. We'll all return home significantly saltier than we were when we left, a mark of a passage properly sailed.
Lessons and a Gift
The biggest lesson is the helm. The lesson here is that even if you don't think you can do it over and over again with no sleep, cold and damp, it has to be done and so it can be done. Flying fish are cool, dolphins are really really cool, but the coolest of them all are the whales. And most of all Alex: "Find your center Carla. Always know where your center is so you can come back to it". He means the helm but it applies to life as well.
Making the most of it
This passage has thrown pretty much every atmospheric condition imaginable at us. It reminds us not only of how much we’ve learned, but of how far we’ve literally come since that acceleration zone off the northwest corner of Oahu. The resilience this group has shown has been nothing short of incredible, and I couldn’t be prouder to be part of it. Maybe that’s why it’s the hardest passages we remember the most. Not because they were easy, but because they reminded us what we’re capable of.
