Fiji to Bali – Summer 2026

I had the 04:00 to 08:00 watch today, which meant my watch team and I got to watch our last sunrise on student passage slowly pull Bali out of the darkness. Somewhere along the way, our log rolled past 6,000 nautical miles, 6,000 miles of ocean that Argo has carried us across since this adventure began. And as if the morning knew it needed to put on a show, dolphins started appearing everywhere around us. As the sun rose and Jen and I posted on the bow for watch duty, little sailing canoes began passing by, their colorful sails scattered across the water. Something about them immediately reminded me of home in Hawaiʻi; the simplicity of a small boat under sail, people moving across the water the same way they have for generations. After months and thousands of miles away, it was one of those tiny things that made home suddenly feel very close. Then, above the clouds in the distance, a volcano's peak appeared. There was something almost ridiculous about how perfect it all felt. For so much of this trip, arriving somewhere has been the exciting part. Landfall meant a new country, a new island, another place to explore. This morning felt different. I was excited to see Bali, but for maybe the first time, part of me wished the land would stay just a little farther away.

I found time to nap after watch but was pulled from a dream almost as soon as it started. I hopped out of bed, immediately woke the entire crew, and had everyone spring to the deck to help with the docking procedures at our final stop. The operations moved like clockwork, every student now part of a well-oiled machine at this point, and before we knew it, lunch was served. Following lunch was something we've all been dreading: putting the boat to bed, A.K.A taking Argo apart. Not literally, of course, but piece by piece, the boat that has been our entire world started changing from a vessel on passage to a vessel at rest. We covered sails, took down halyards and downhauls, cleaned and stowed our individual type 5 PFDs. We pulled the jibs down, folded them, and put them away. Lines we had grabbed in the dark at 3 a.m., sails we had raised together countless times, and pieces of equipment that had become so normal we barely thought about them anymore suddenly had to be cleaned, organized, and packed away.

We were putting Argo to bed. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I realized we were putting student passage to bed too. This was our last time sailing Argo as students. Our last sail raise, last watches, last night surrounded by nothing but ocean, last ocean shower; jumping or flipping off the side of the ship into dark blue water hundreds of feet deep, something that somehow became a completely normal part of life out here. Soon, all of these things that have become routine will become stories, and that is a really weird feeling because this passage was ours. For the first time, the responsibility of running this ship was placed in our hands. We weren't just students standing by and watching anymore. We were the skipper, first mate, navigators, engineer, watch leaders, head crew, and program managers. We had spent weeks learning how Argo worked, and then we were finally trusted to take everything we had learned and run her together. Watching everyone step into those roles made me realize just how far we've come. Noelle stepped into the role of skipper and carried the responsibility of the entire vessel with a confidence that made all of us trust her every word. Sadie was an incredible First Mate. She was everywhere all the time, leading deck operations, keeping us organized, answering questions, and somehow knowing what needed to happen before the rest of the boat even realized it. Max, Clam, and I had the privilege of navigating Argo across the ocean. There is something pretty surreal about looking at a chart, plotting where you are and where you need to go, and realizing that behind those numbers is a 112-foot sailing vessel full of some of your closest friends trusting you to help get them there. Everett kept Argo's heart beating as our engineer, taking responsibility for the systems below deck that most of us only notice when something stops working.

Skye and Rhianna led our watches through the strange rhythm that passage creates, finding the energy to keep us awake during the night and organizing our tasks during the day, all while bringing endless amounts of energy and fun to each team. Harrison and Julian took on perhaps the least glamorous but possibly most important job aboard any vessel: keeping our heads clean, working, and usable by a boat full of people who had been living together for weeks. Heroes, truly. Emily and Sophie somehow kept all of us moving in the same direction, as our two program managers planned each day and coordinated activities and plans. Every role mattered, which might be one of the biggest things this passage taught me. A ship doesn't cross an ocean because of one person. It happens because someone is navigating while someone else is checking the engine room, someone is at the helm while someone else is trimming a sail, someone is leading the deck while someone else is fixing a toilet, and someone is awake while someone else sleeps. Eventually, you stop thinking about whose job is more important, and you just become a crew. And today, as we pulled down the lines, covered the sails, folded the jibs, cleaned the PFDs, and slowly tucked Argo away, it felt like we were closing a chapter none of us were quite ready to finish.

There was a time when we had to think about every line we touched. When sail raises felt chaotic. When being woken up in the middle of the night for watch felt insane. When jumping into the middle of the ocean for a shower felt like something we would tell people about forever. And then, somehow, it all became normal. That might be the strangest part. We built a life out here. A life measured in watches instead of days. In sail changes and position fixes. In meals squeezed between responsibilities. In sunsets watched from the helm and conversations under more stars than I knew existed. In exhaustion, laughter, mistakes, learning, and the quiet understanding that the people around you are depending on you. Tomorrow, we won't be student crew on passage anymore. Soon, someone else will grab these halyards. Someone else will stand these watches. Someone else will learn the lines, make mistakes, take their first ocean shower, and slowly realize that Argo has become home. But this passage will always be ours. We sailed her. We navigated her. We took care of her. We took care of each other. And now, after everything she has given us, we get to put her to bed.

After dinner, we did something that has quietly become one of my favorite traditions aboard Argo: our squeeze question. Tonight I asked everyone, "What is one silly, ordinary thing about life on Argo that you're going to miss when we go back to normal life?" and I think the answers said more about this trip than any big serious reflection could have. Here is a taste of what life on Argo is truly like and what we will remember for the rest of our lives. We're going to miss the rocking of the boat that puts us to sleep and keeps us on our toes, being barefoot basically all the time, sunrises, sunsets, and endless stars and having our lives completely planned for us and somehow waking up every morning knowing that our work, our school, the heads, our kitchen, our bedrooms, and pretty much our entire universe are all within about fifteen feet of each other. We're going to miss Sparkle Time (watching bioluminescence off the stern at night), music playing at seemingly all hours of the day, hearing someone laughing somewhere else on the boat and immediately knowing exactly who it is. We're going to miss sitting on a fridge for class and climbing over salon tables and benches just to get to a seat. Taking naps absolutely anywhere we can fit our bodies. Wearing PFDs so often that eventually they stop feeling annoying and start feeling like we're constantly being hugged. We're going to miss the bobaloo (a tight dinema line forward of the helm where our water bottles and speakers hang during our watch), the million random places to clip a water bottle, eating something different every day, and the truly concerning amount of ramen that has been consumed aboard this vessel. But mostly, I think we're going to miss the fact that our best friends are always right there with us. There is almost no such thing as being alone on Argo. You wake up surrounded by the same people you ate dinner with, stood watch with, went to class with, dove with, sailed with, laughed with, argued with, and stayed up way too late talking to. If something funny happens, your friends are ten feet away. If you're having a bad day, someone notices. If you want to hear music, there's probably already a speaker playing somewhere. For months, we have lived almost every second of every day together, and somehow, the things I think we'll miss most aren't necessarily the huge moments — they're the stupid little ones. All the tiny things that slowly stopped feeling like "life on a boat" and just started feeling like life.

And because apparently we weren't emotional enough already, following the squeeze, we sat together, ate cake, and shared some of our favorite memories of Charlie, Emma, and Jack, who are staff who will be leaving Argo after this trip. We told stories, laughed about the moments that had become uniquely theirs, remembered the things they said, the things they did, and all the little ways each of them became woven into our experience aboard Argo. It was one of those moments where you look around the cockpit and realize how strange it is that a group of people who were once complete strangers now have hundreds of stories about one another. Some are huge memories — the kind we'll probably tell for the rest of our lives. Others are completely insignificant to anyone outside this boat, and somehow, those might be the ones that matter most. Because I think that's what happens when you live this closely with people: you don't just remember the places you went together. You remember them. Their laugh from across the salon. The weird thing they always said. Where they liked to sit. What song made them start dancing. The joke that stopped being funny three weeks ago but somehow still makes everyone laugh. Eventually, a crew becomes a collection of tiny memories you couldn't explain to anyone who wasn't there. And today, eating cake and telling stories about Charlie, Emma, and Jack, I realized just how many of those memories we're taking with us.

Mahalo Nui to the staff and students who make up the crew of Argo as our adventure nears its end. To my Mama, Pops, friends, and family in Hawaii, I hope everyone is warm, safe, and dry from Hurricane LALA. I am grateful to everyone who made this trip possible for me, and I send love and reassurance to all the families and friends of our Summer 26' Fiji to Indonesia crew aboard Argo! Signing off, Isaac M. :) CHEEEEHOOOO