0100 local time, 954 miles to go. The moon is almost full, Wind Horse is averaging a little over 11 knots, and we’re finally at sea. We (boat and crew) are in our element. Both of us are giddy with the leisure of finally being free of the land.

There are swells from the east, northwest, and southwest, with wind and chop from the west, a typical “washing machine” sea state for this part of the world. We’re glad to report it is very comfortable onboard.

We’ve been sitting in the Bay of Islands the past five days, doing a few chores, watching the weather, and generally enjoying being away from the big city (Auckland). The low pressure systems have been tracking north, which means northerly quadrant winds. Last week the long-range forecast (GFS model) showed a high developing over Australia about eight days out. Happily, this prognostication has proved accurate, and after consultation with local weather guru Bob McDavitt we departed on the tail end of a complex trough with the leading edge of the high just to the west. We should shortly have southwesterly winds to push us on our way – these are forecast to turn into light southeast and then northeast trades.

Getting ready to depart was similar in many ways to what we’ve been used to in the past. Last-minute phone calls home, a quick run to the market to top off the fridge, changing to a fresh bottle of propane, filling diesel tanks, and of course, clearing customs.

The process onboard was much simpler than with our sailboats. Run out the booms (a five-minute job), load our backup paravane “fish” into their outboard holders (from where they are easy to launch should they be required), lash the dinghy, and secure the anchor. Total time – 20 minutes.

We’re running at 11 knots at 2050 RPM to get north quickly. North is warmer, which right now sounds really nice, and gets us away from the track of bad weather. The high will block subtropical lows, but it can create a squash zone if anything develops around the islands and heads south. As there is some long-range indication of the potential for this happening a week out, we are using our speed to buy ourselves a bit of weather insurance. As the passage goes forward, we will reevaluate the weather options and may slow down to save fuel.

One of the factors in choosing which speed to run at is our arrival time. Our preferred destination is Levuka on Ovalau island – a sleepy town with Hemingwayesque charm, according to cruising friends. We need to average just under 11 knots to get there while it is still light. A late arrival, however, has us heading into the sun going through the pass, which makes seeing the coral ahead difficult. Arrival at first light gives us another 12 hours at sea, reduces our average required speed, and has the sun behind us.

With the confused sea-state all of our handholds are being used – both overhead rails and fiddles. Motion is comparable to what we would have in these conditions with Beowulf, and right now we’re probably moving along our route a hair faster than if we were under sail. Our bunk forward has been put to good use. Quiet and comfortable.

One big difference compared with Beowulf is the way in which we deal with squalls and frontal passages. There has been a major squall line on the radar, over 100 miles of thunderstorm activity. Interesting to note, but as there are no sails to take down or shorten, the amount of wind contained therein is only of academic curiosity.

As it turns out the passage of this boundary line brings with it our southwesterly wind. It is now blowing a steady 25 knots. The primary wind waves are now up to 6 feet (1.8m), with various swells in the 10-foot (3m) range. The wave and wind angle are a little too far forward to give us more than the odd push surfing. But exhaust gas temperature is down, indicating the engines are not working as hard, which saves fuel. We’ll take whatever we can get…