We just rolled past the three-thousandth mile, which puts the trip total somewhere around nine thousand, more than a third of the way around the world. It is a shame you cannot sail in a straight line. The last couple of days we have been firmly in the trades, twenty to twenty-four knots over the quarter, and the boat feels like she is flying. Just the headsail out, no main, no fuss. We are moving fast and the ride is comfortable, which on a passage this long is the better of the two metrics.

Food, somehow, is still holding. In fact, today went well above its station. Caramelized onions, filet mole, poblano rice. Not exactly roughing it, and the leftovers are already lined up for tomorrow, which is its own small victory. I have also gotten into chia seeds in water, which sounds worse than it tastes. It was much better with lime, but the limes ran out a while back. I might try it in a smoothie next, and report back honestly either way.

There is an island about sixty miles off, the closest I have been to land in a long time, and it shows up on the chart like a thumbprint someone left on the screen. The plan from here is the simple one. Keep sailing downwind, do not hit anything until I mean to. If the trades hold, landfall in Rikitea is Sunday morning. After all this time alone with the horizon, the idea of a hill on it has started to feel novel.

These last days will be ones to remember. Showers, clean clothes, a flat floor, and probably a margarita or two. But I already know that after a few days on land I will be itching to get back out. The horizon has a way of pulling you back, especially if you have come this far to be friends with it.