Today we took a bit of a break from it all. I know—that sounds like an odd concept when you’re on a boat. Of course, we didn’t actually stop (that would be awkward), but we embraced the spirit of not trying too hard.

In the morning, during the handover, Mark and I talked about hoisting “Big Red,” our spinnaker. The conditions, however, still looked a little unstable, with potential squalls on the horizon, so we decided to wait until after my rest and reassess around lunchtime. Instead, we swapped the Genoa for the Code 0, which kept us moving along quite nicely.

By lunchtime, the setup was still working well. Of course, flying the spinnaker would have made us faster—but it also would have meant a lot more work. A few hours later, when the wind eased slightly, we revisited the idea. After some serious calculations (and by that I mean rough guesses), we figured three hours of spinnaker action might earn us an extra 3–4 miles. We collectively agreed that this was not a compelling return on effort and went back to relaxing.

In the end, it almost felt like we hadn’t done much sailing at all, even though we kept steadily moving forward. A well-deserved quiet Sunday.

The afternoon was spent reading and doing homeschooling—just a bit differently today. We pulled out the charts and explored French Polynesia: the differences between the islands, volcanoes, ring reefs and the Tuamotus, Pitcairn and the story of the Bounty, Thor Heyerdahl and the Kon-Tiki expedition, the Moruroa Atoll and its nuclear testing history, and the influence of missionaries across the South Pacific. So much history, so many fascinating stories.

But what truly amazed us was the vastness of it all—the immense distances we’re now experiencing firsthand. It’s simply mind-blowing to think how early Polynesians navigated these waters without GPS, electronics or even paper charts. Just skill, knowledge, and probably a lot of “well, let’s hope this is right.” Being a couple of degrees off could mean the difference between paradise and… never being heard from again.

Meanwhile, we’re here with all our fancy gadgets, happily following a line on a screen, knowing we’ve got 650 nautical miles to go.

Now we just need to keep this lucky streak going—and politely hope the big thunderstorms continue to ignore us.