Above is a starred sky made satin by the same moon that sheens in our wake. Our first full day at sea on The Long Passage has been mostly pleasant sailing. I hand steered on and off during my watches just for the pleasure of steering the boat to the blank horizon in a steady driving breeze. Other times, the garua drizzle rolled in, making it less pleasant to be out, while bringing shifting and puffing winds that made it impossible to leave the steering to Aunt Mabel (the wind vane). At its worst, the wind dropped to single digits, leaving the boat rolling in the high ocean swell, boom banging the sheets hard.

It is a lonely ocean here just one day out, not a ship nor a plane has disturbed our horizon all day. Just a few stunningly graceful albatross, the usual flock of petrels picking at our wake, and the first large sheerwater I have seen this side of Panama.

Have we sailed out of the Galapagos garua yet? As I write this a coastline of clouds rolls over, its edge contoured with unexplored inlets, bays, and salt ponds. The moon dims. I look down to write and when I look up again that cloudy coastline has evaporated, leaving clear moonlight again. The only sound is the shush of water at our bow, and the creak of the wheel as Mabel corrects our course on each wave.

Did you know that Galapagos lemons are green on the outside and orange on the inside? We have two dozen on board to tarten my tea, make tank water drinkable, and ward off scurvy