We crossed the equator at 1136 ships time (1636z) Thursday. Sixty four years old - and this is my first time crossing the equator, something both my children have done and my spouse has done more times than she can count. Robin prepared a celebration for the event (she was ready to go at dawn but the equator wasn't there yet). We dressed up in fine clothes , blew our horn, and toasted with the last of our rum on board - with a glass for King Neptune, of course. Robin baked a cake in the shape of a volcanic island , with pipe cleaner palm trees, chocolate lava flows, a mermaid and an anchor.

The wind picked up a little, the sun shone a little more through the broken clouds, and it got a little cooler at the equator. Robin asked, “wait, since we are in the Southern Hemisphere, does that mean it is winter now?” I guess it is! It is cool enough that, now, on my night watch, I pulled out my fleece and a watch cap for the first time since we reached the Guff Stream an ocean ago. Still, it was a more pleasant day of sailing. The seas calmed down a bit, and the wind stayed in the single reef to full sail range all day.

I don't know if there is a word for that moment when you can see the glow of a settlement on land over the horizon. It's not “landfall” which, for me at least, means being able to pick out the distinct line of a mountain or hull, or the direct flash of a light, or trees or breakers on shore. Maybe “cloudfall” works, since you are seeing the lights of settlement reflected in the clouds. Anyway, Robin announced at the end of her evening watch at 2200 that she could see the glow of our destination, Bahia de Naufragio.

We still hope to find calm water beyond the territorial sea in the morning to do a bottom inspection before heading in. But just this past hour, the wind picked up to second reef territory and I got soaked tying the reed in. And we are pounding quite loudly into head seas right now.