Landed!
On July 1, after nearly 4,000 miles at sea from the Galápagos, we finally arrived in Hilo, Hawaii.
What a welcome it was.
Volunteer Steve Quinn's wife was waiting on the dock with beautiful leis, greeting us with warm smiles before we had even finished tying up. We secured One Ocean alongside a bulkhead in Hilo's small boat harbor, tucked safely away from the swell and wind.
The stillness was almost surreal.
For the first time in more than two months—maybe longer—the boat wasn't rolling beneath our feet. No constant motion. No bracing yourself while making coffee. No waking in the middle of the night as a wave smashed against the hull. Just...stillness.
And let me tell you, it felt fantastic.
It was amazing how quickly that feeling settled over all of us. After weeks of living every moment around weather forecasts, sail changes, watches, and the rhythm of the ocean, simply standing on solid ground felt like a luxury.
Almost immediately we were greeted by Ricky, a local who welcomed us as if we were old friends. He shared stories about Hilo, Hawaiian culture, and the people who call this island home. Within minutes we realized this wasn't going to be just another port stop—it was going to be something special.
Not long afterward, a woman motored over in a small skiff. Across the side of her boat were the words Manifest Youth Sailing.
I yelled, "We've been manifesting you!" .
That simple introduction led to another incredible connection. Before long we were visiting with students, instructors, and members of the sailing program, sharing stories from the expedition, our research, and the lessons we've learned after more than a year at sea. One of the greatest gifts of this journey has been discovering that no matter where we travel, there are people who love the ocean just as deeply as we do. We may come from different places and speak different languages, but when we're talking about the sea - it’s all the same language.
Of course, reality quickly set in.
After nearly a month at sea, there was provisioning to do, mountains of laundry to tackle, and One Ocean desperately needed some attention. Salt had found its way into every corner of the boat. Every locker seemed to have accumulated a layer of grime. We spent days scrubbing, cleaning, organizing, and giving her the care she deserved after carrying us safely across the Pacific.
Then came the Fourth of July.
We watched fireworks from the cockpit of One Ocean, reflecting off the calm harbor water, while eagerly awaiting the arrival of my best friend, and Tess's mom, Paige.
It had been more than thirteen months since I had last seen her.
There are some reunions that are impossible to put into words. After so much time separated by thousands of miles of ocean, countless adventures, and more than a few storms, finally seeing someone you love standing there right in front of you, well, it’s overwhelming. It was emotional, joyful, and exactly what my heart needed.
It felt like the perfect way to ease our way back into the United States.
With Paige visiting, we took a rare day off to explore the west side of the Big Island. Our goal was to snorkel with manta rays.
It turned out to be one of the highlights of my life.
Earlier that day we were already incredibly lucky to encounter a manta ray while snorkeling. It gracefully barrel rolled beneath us as it filtered plankton from the water, circling effortlessly beside us for what seemed like forever. Watching something so enormous move with such elegance was mesmerizing.
But the real magic came after sunset.
As darkness settled over the bay, we slipped back into the warm water carrying Petzl lights in our waterbags. Above us stretched a sky full of stars. Below us, two majestic manta rays appeared out of the darkness.
They glided beneath us again and again, performing graceful barrel rolls just inches below our bodies as they fed in the beams of light. There was no fear—only awe. Time seemed to disappear. I remember thinking how much I wished I had gills so I could stay there with these gentle giants forever.
Some experiences stay with you long after they're over.
This was one of them - every time I close my eyes I’m right there with them.
Just when we thought Hilo couldn't surprise us anymore, another remarkable connection found us.
As we were preparing to leave the harbor, a gentleman wandered down to the dock to introduce himself.
It was Ikaika Kalama.
Many surfers and ocean enthusiasts know Ikaika as an extraordinary waterman, legendary big-wave surfer, and accomplished outrigger canoe steersman. More importantly, we came to know him as a humble steward of Hawaiian ocean traditions and an educator to kids.
Over dinner he shared stories of his family, including his father, George "Boogie" Kalama, who was one of the original crew members aboard Hōkūleʻa during its historic 1976 voyage to Tahiti.
His stories carried incredible meaning and traditions.
Long before GPS and satellite navigation became commonplace, Hōkūleʻa proved that traditional Polynesian wayfinding was not only possible but extraordinarily accurate. The voyage helped revive cultural knowledge that had nearly been lost and inspired generations of voyagers around the world.
Hilo was nothing short of magical.
What we'll remember most isn't just the beautiful harbor or lush green mountains.
We'll remember the people.
Everywhere we turned someone welcomed us, shared a story, offered a helping hand, or simply made us feel at home. After weeks alone on the Pacific Ocean, that kindness meant more than they could possibly know.
It was hard to depart but as the signs came to us that it was time to move on…well, it was time to leave.
Since leaving Hilo, the ocean has reminded us who's in charge.
We spent one night anchored off Olowalu Beach on Maui when fierce katabatic winds came roaring down the steep volcanic valleys, blasting through the anchorage at 40–50 knots. It immediately reminded me of the williwaws we experienced in the fjords of Chile.
Apparently we hadn't learned our lesson.
We took turns standing anchor watch throughout the night, keeping a close eye on our position while the wind howled overhead. Thankfully, the anchor held beautifully and, once again, One Ocean kept us safe.
Today we're anchored off Lahaina. Such a calm anchorage!
Like so many others, we've followed the heartbreaking stories of the Lahaina fires over the past few years. Speaking with local residents reminds us that while the scars remain, so does an incredible sense of resilience, generosity, and aloha.
We have some new blogs - Mark's new one called, Perspective, a podcast called the Longest Crossing, and of course our incredible social media posts you can follow to keep updated.
Tomorrow we'll sail to Oahu to take on diesel, provisions, and prepare for our final major passage of this expedition—the voyage back to Victoria, British Columbia, and finally home to Anacortes, Washington. We will also say farewell to Paige, but this time I know I will see her soon.
As we prepare for this last crossing, one Hawaiian word continues to stay with us.
Mahalo.
While it is commonly translated as "thank you," it carries a much deeper meaning. It expresses gratitude, appreciation, admiration, and respect—not just for a gesture, but for the people behind it.
To everyone in Hilo who welcomed us with open arms...
Mahalo.