It’s HOT. And very humid. This equatorial sailing, nothing can prepare you for the heat! When you sleep, whatever side of your body that’s against the cushions and the sheet leaves a sweaty imprint. It’s like a crime scene outline, but in sweat. It’s gross.

FALKEN crossed the 3,000-miles sailed threshold yesterday afternoon, and while those 3,000 miles was indeed pretty fast, the final 300 are proving frustratingly slow. We’ve sailed into a wind hole, the SE trades that kept us going at a 220+ miles-per-day clip for so long have faded into a light easterly breeze that more often than not doesn’t have enough pressure in it to keep the sails full in the small, annoying sea state.

Last night gave us some wonderful light winds sailing on a relatively flat sea that allowed the whole crew to catch up on much needed sleep after the excitement of the night previous. There’s nothing like a night time kite drop followed by an engine fire alarm to keep everyone alert and full of adrenaline and after reconciling all issues it was a huge relief to go from the ridiculous to the sublime.

Well, well, well… Who could’ve foreseen that the most uncertain part of this trip would be the 300nm to landfall? In a way that was forecast by the GRIB models we’ve been downloading underway, it does look like the SE trades are taking a holiday for the remainder of the week, and it’s forced us to get a little creative aboard FALKEN.

Another star filled sky as Falken continues to make good way towards the Marquesas. The kite is up which requires a very special level of consideration and Andy and Aidan are switching in to support the helm as I continue with the day to day chores.

“At certain times in the life of a navigator, it can be more useful for them to know not where [they] are, but where [they] are not.” — John Mellor, SAIL Magazine, November 1975. With Falken having happily found her stride and on the last 600-mile stretch to land, I found myself with some downtime to actually practice the one thing I set out to conquer on this passage— celestial navigation…

Full sail. Wind is down and the stars are out. We haven’t had many truly great starry nights on this passage until tonight. On leaving the Galapagos, when the night’s were clear, the moon was so bright so as to drown out all the starlight. Then, as the moon rose later and later, it had been mostly overcast at night. No stars.

With two thirds of this passage complete already I have been reflecting upon the gargantuan task of provisioning and meal planning and the learning curves in relation to food as our voyage has progressed. Any professional sailor responsible for provisioning will have felt the nagging fear that there simply isn’t enough food for the duration…

It's Tuesday  April 15th. It's been 8 (?) full days since we pulled Anchor in San Christobal Galapagos. So far we have logged nearly 1600 NM and are almost halfway to the Marquesas. There is a rhythm to life at sea guided by our Captain, Mate, and Navigator. All crew on board have a job to perform as well. An organized sailboat makes for happy crew and safe boat

Being at sea thousands of miles from land is a vulnerable place to be at times and none more so than when the watermaker decides to malfunction. Our ability to desalinate salt water enables us to sail long distances without the need to carry arduous amounts of fresh water but the operation requires constant maintenance and supervision.

The word association for this passage thus far would most definitely be rain. I had read a lot about the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ) prior to this trip as a former Pollywog who spends very little time near the equator. The meeting point between the NE and SE trades also commonly referred to as The Doldrums, known for its distinct lack of wind and unending rain.

This wasn’t the worst spill I’ve ever seen on a boat, but it was close. We’d just taken two reefs in the main and a rolled a big chunk out of the genoa in building winds and seas tonight, FALKEN running downwind, yankee poled out to port and the main prevented to starboard. Regularly averaging 12 knots over a 3-hour watch, and hitting wild surfing speeds.

The last 24 hours have been a relentless mission of opening and closing hatches as the heavy downpours synonymous with the tropics have kept us on our toes. Had anyone suggested a few days ago that I might find myself cold during this passage I would have laughed at the incredulous notion and yet the early hours of the 11th saw just that reality.

Based on the heading above, I’m sure you can assume the mood aboard today. Anyone who has spent time with Andy on a 59º North passage will be innately familiar with Glows and Glums, our nightly ritual of sharing personal highs and lows of the day, followed by the cathartic sound of your choice.

I cannot imagine what the mood must have been like back in the square-rigger days traversing this part of the world. There is NO wind. Hasn’t been for days, but a frustrating swell has us banging around even though we’re motoring at a smooth 6-7 knots.

All the things happened at the same time this evening. We crossed the equator southbound just as the sun was kissing the horizon to the west. We shut down the engine and fired a cannon salute, and with that dinner was served. King Neptune would have to wait until after we ate.

T-minus six-and-a-half hours and counting until departure. As I write from FALKEN's nav station, Emily is on deck briefing the crew on MOB protocols. Point #1 - stay on the 'effing boat! She'll do a live MOB recovery demo shortly, and being that the water is so warm and calm, we'll do one with a live 'casualty' instead of with the MOB dummy.