At 1515 there was a man overboard drill and by 1730 all eight of Ernestina's sails were set including all three topsails and fisherman.

Schooner Ernestina continues passing through "The Race" and Valiant Rock at 2217 notorious for strong current and eddies. She sails in company with the Barkentine Gazela of Philadelphia with the Bluenose II not far behind all bound for New Bedford.

Wind: NXE Force shifting to SWS Force 1
Visibility: Fair

Captain: Willi Bank
Program Coordinator: Crista Mellican

Journal Entry, Thursday, July 6, 2000 by David I. Rubin, UMass/Boston
Our first full day of sailing was sluggish and slow. We remained under motor power through most of the long, hot daylight hours. Of course we hoisted sail, but we could do no better than luff, zig-zag and chug down Long Island Sound on our outbound course. Then, late in the afternoon, a fair wind arose out of the northwest and filled our patient sails: mainsail and foresail, the jumbo and the jib. The motor was cut, the crew came alive at the halyards, and suddenly the Ernestina was transformed into a vessel of grace and power. All sails swelling with wind, she heeled sharply to starboard as we idlers on deck leaned into our dinners. The sun slipped lower in the west, making a brilliance of the cloudy remnants of day, but the Ernestina raced toward the gathering darkness in the east like a bird untethered. We were just finishing dinner when Scott, one of the core crew members, stood up and proclaimed, "Silent sail!" Silent sail.... what was that? Scott ran forward and struck the ship's bell twice. All casual conversations ceased, our newly learned sailor's lingo dying on our tongues. Stilled was the language of ordinary day. Gathering along the port beam, we gazed westward toward the setting sun, with ship, sail and sea the only sounds about us. For one moment of simple exultation, our eyes, our minds, our beating hearts were joined. The untrammeling of our spirits. A gift. Grace. Twice more the bell struck, breaking the spell of silent sail and recalling us to our assigned tasks. Close reach! The command passed down from mouth to mouth. Make ready! Lines that had hung slack in our hands grew taut as we worked to catch more wind in the ship's sails. On we sped toward the night. From both shores of Long Island Sound small boats came toward our ship through the dusk. A sail boat matched our speed and shadowed us for a time. Motor launches rushed toward us. We were a sight to behold: a classic schooner under full sail, cutting the waters of Long Island Sound. We joked that we wished we could see ourselves as they saw us, but we were content to be where we were. At last light a power boat drew near, its green starboard running light now a bright guiding signal. It dropped back to view us from astern, then pulled up along our port bow and ran with us. A hand at the throttle cut its engine speed, and a friendly voice hailed us across the water.
"What's your destination?"
"New Bedford," our first mate, Fred, answered quietly.
"What's your home port?"
"New Bedford, again," Fred called back.
"What's your name?"
"Ernestina."
There was another moment of silence as the power boat slipped back toward our stern. Then the same voice cried out passionately from the darkness, "You are beautiful, Ernestina! You are really beautiful."