Evan woke me with a whack. Finding me asleep beside him when all indications were that we were sailing (the banging, crashing and whooshing indicated we were going upwind at good speed) led him to question why I wasn't on watch. He had also been asleep but somewhere in his caveman brain he knew someone needed to keep an eye on the cave, err, boat. The answer, of course, was Maia was on watch. While I could empathize with the fear that woke him (I once woke during a storm; upset no one was keeping anchor watch. Evan sent me to look out our curtained window so I could reassure myself our apartment hadn't dragged) I resented the lost sleep. Passages under 1000 miles feel pretty routine these days. I still prep food for the first two nights, we check weather and carefully plot a route-but there's less anxiety. It's possible to just pick-up and go- timing our departure for a working-hours arrival in a whole new country. Even still, I got up and relieved Maia. Peering into the night for squalls and way ward fishing nets. The passages may have become routine- but the same deep instincts that woke Evan keep us prepared.