Some days at sea begin better than others—and this one started with freshly baked cinnamon scrolls. It’s hard to overstate what a difference something like that makes out here. Warm, sweet, and slightly indulgent, they set the tone for a day that felt, from the very beginning, like it might be a good one.

As the wind gradually built, we sailed under Code 0 for most of the day, only switching to the Genoa once gusts reached 25 knots and the wind settled steadily around 23. After yesterday’s spinnaker mishap, it was a welcome relief to have a calm and uneventful day, settling back into our now well-established onboard routine.

Provisions, however, are starting to thin out. Vegetables are becoming scarce, and fruit supplies are running low. We still have some frozen bananas from the 83 in total, all of which seemed to ripen at once—along with a few frozen berries and the last of a watermelon. Beyond that, options are limited and come in cans.

Fishing has also been less rewarding since our tuna catch near the Galápagos. We’ve had four bites, all lost—along with the lures—likely due to our speed or the size of the fish. We did manage to bring in a small mahi-mahi, but it was far too small to keep, so back it went with an apology.

Somewhere during the day, the conversation drifted to what it might feel like to be completely still again. To stand on land, or even just sit on a boat that isn’t constantly in motion. After 18 days, the movement has become so familiar that it barely registers anymore. It hasn’t disappeared, but it’s no longer something we actively notice. It’s simply… the way things are. Imagining it stopping altogether feels oddly abstract.

For now, though, that stillness remains a distant idea. There are still miles to cover—and likely a few more squalls ahead. Hopefully, they’ll be like the recent ones: manageable, and even a little beautiful to watch.