As I write, we’re nearing the halfway mark of Falken’s passage between the Galápagos and Marquesas, a trip I’ve had on my mind since we started 59º North in 2015. It’s 0519 ship’s time. Falken is flying downwind in a fresh breeze, reeling off 200-plus-mile days. My two goals at the outset of every passage we run are to get the crew and the boat there in one piece. We’ve largely been able to do that quite well in the more than 140,000 miles we’ve sailed since 2015. So instead of dramatic sea stories, what emerges from our trips are simpler, more intimate snapshots of what life is like at sea. Almost to this passage’s own Point Nemo, I’ve been reflecting on a few thus far.

The Midnight Muesli Incident

This wasn’t the worst spill I’ve ever seen on a boat at sea (that would have been the dozen uncooked scrambled eggs that spilled into the top loader fridge on Icebear), but it was close. We’d just taken two reefs in the main and a rolled a big chunk out of the Yankee in building winds and seas. Once everything was settled back down, I dashed below to make a bowl of muesli. It was hot as hell with all the hatches and ports closed thanks to the rain and heavy seas, so my plan was to eat in the companionway so I could get a little breeze.  

Instead, a big wave out of sync with the others heeled Falken hard to starboard. My PFD and tether, perched up under the dodger on port, came crashing down, heavy tether hooks first, right into my bowl. I proceeded to dump the entire thing, milk, maple syrup and all, all over the salon floor at the bottom of the companionway steps. The milky, mushy, sticky disaster was all over the floor, the walls, and my feet, sticking especially well between my toes.Well, I spent the next hour on my hands and knees cleaning oatmeal bits out of the cracks in the floorboards. Thankfully muesli is pretty absorbent, so not a lot of milk leaked into the bilge.

Barbara the Booby

As I write, our passenger has been aboard on-and-off for more than 48 hours. The juvenile red-footed booby—a spectacular bird with bright blue beak, red webbed feet and grey feathers (which will change color as she matures), whom we’ve affectionately nicknamed Barbara—sits perched either on the bow pulpit or on the roll bar of our 125-pound Mantus anchor.

Like most of the wildlife we saw in the Galápagos, Barbara is not shy of people. This morning, Udo was on the bow wrangling the end of the pole, literally nose-to-nose with our booby friend, who seemed only to watch in amusement. Now and then she’ll go on a flying fish hunting mission, dive-bombing the big ocean swell and coming up with a snack. Falken is her mothership and hunting grounds in one—both a place to rest, and the big fish that scares the flying fish to take to the sky, only to be snatched up by that pretty blue beak.

King Neptune

On this voyage, Falken 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 the ceremonies commenced. King Neptune (Jim, dressed in full Neptune regalia, beard, white hair, trident and all ) appeared with his fellow shellbacks—his Queen (Kim), his Royal Barbour (Scott), Doctor Doom (Ted) and Davy Jones (Udo). The pollywogs—Hilary, Dennis, Erik, Aidan, and me—were read our crimes against the deep by Davy Jones and sentenced by Neptune himself. (Emily drove the boat, which didn’t actually require much driving since we’d switched the engine off for the ceremony and were flat becalmed, literally drifting in circles.)

Punishments included “cleansing of the head with a bucket of salty water;” a dose of Doctor Doom’s secret elixir (some kind of horrendously salty salad dressing mix served on a chip); the singing of a shanty; and in my case, a “haircut” from the Royal Barbour. This all happened by the light of the moon, as the sun had long ago set while we were eating Emily’s delicious chicken and noodle stir-fry. By ceremony’s end, we pollywogs were accepted into King Neptune’s realm, pouring an offering of rum into the sea and sharing a sip each for ourselves.

•     •     •

Falken sails on, the start of our eighth day at sea, broad reaching now as we cross 7º South latitude. I’d love to say we’ve been stargazing and enjoying the Southern Cross high in the sky, but surprisingly it’s been mostly overcast with much more rain than any of us expected. Not just the odd tropical squall, but steady, relentless rain. We think we’re nearing the end of it; for the first time since leaving the doldrums we might get a real sunrise the morning. And anyway, we’re not sure what we’d prefer—overcast skies and cooling rain, or relentless heat from the tropical sun.

As I like to say, it’s all good weather when the boat is sailing fast and in the right direction! 

June/July 2025