Thanks for the weather report, man.
As we mentioned in our last post, we subscribe to a professional weather router service..........let's call him Clint Parkhurst. As cruisers, you rely on this person for news of hurricanes, tropical storms, etc. The weather is a much bigger deal out here, where a mistake on the high seas can literally be fatal. Anyway, Clint sends out his blast e-mail on Thursday commenting that there "would be a few scattered squalls" in our area. We've learned to interpret "Clintspeak". Scattered squalls ? That usually means that we might get a bit wet, but no big deal.
We leave Mayaguana on Friday morning for a routine 130 mile overnight to Long Island (Bahamas). Shortly after we left, we could see there was definitely something different about the clouds. Slate gray skies and increasing winds greeted us........then, flash.....bang..........the rumble of thunder. Clint is sitting in his leather easy chair, probably using that magic 8-ball thing to make more predictions.......we're officially "in the sh-t". Unfortunately out here in the south east Bahamas there is absolutely no "safe harbor" to duck into.
The clouds close in.........the winds increase to 20, then to 30 with gusts of 40 knots. We're frantically bringing down sails.......dealing with 15 foot seas. Everything is still cool at this point, other than the fact that the lightning is coming uncomfortably close. I learned that if you count the seconds between the flash and the boom, it is a good proxy for how far away the strike was in miles.
Flash.........(15 seconds).........Boom. We look at each other........."Cool, still 15 miles away".
Bigger Flash.......(6 seconds)........Ka-Boom. We look at each other........."OK, still 6 miles away"
Great Big Flash/Ka-Boom-Baboom.....(almost simultaneous).........."Sh_t.......that was close".
Then I notice the autopilot is not working anymore. Neither are the navigation lights (3 LED nav lights literally destroyed by the near miss). Although the lightning missed us (barely), the static electricity did not and now we've lost some electronics. To the uninitiated, your autopilot is practically the most important thing on the boat next to the sails, rudder, and engine. The reason is that our boat weighs 21 tons.........keeping it going in a straight line by hand steering in big seas is like pumping iron non-stop for hour after hour. Each wave knocks you off course; each zig and zag can actually double the length of your trip. In short, this is a big problem.
The boat is heaving side to side with the big waves and wind. I run downstairs and get my electrical repair box..........replace all the fuses in the autopilot.........stuff flying all over the place.......no use. It appears that the circuit board was fried. OK, we're now steering the remaining 100 miles by hand.
Throughout the night, squall after squall pounds us. We're wet, tired, and wishing that we didn't make salmon for dinner because the smell is still in the kitchen. We scrap our 3 hour watch cycle (too strenuous to hand steer in a storm) and we each do 5 miles at a time. Eventually, we make it to Long Island and anchor and sleep for 14 straight hours. Our meal at the local greasy spoon was the best lunch of my life........the table wasn't moving and I could open my mouth without salt spray entering.
Beautiful spot. Nav lights are now fixed. Autopilot probably a goner and will have to wait for Miami. We have internet service here..........and we were able to see Clint's "oops, my bad" amendment to his earlier forecast. "The deep convection squalls actually were far more south and more intense than I was expecting". No kidding, Sherlock. No moral of the story, but if I see Clint in a bar when we get home we might have a short chat.
We leave Mayaguana on Friday morning for a routine 130 mile overnight to Long Island (Bahamas). Shortly after we left, we could see there was definitely something different about the clouds. Slate gray skies and increasing winds greeted us........then, flash.....bang..........the rumble of thunder. Clint is sitting in his leather easy chair, probably using that magic 8-ball thing to make more predictions.......we're officially "in the sh-t". Unfortunately out here in the south east Bahamas there is absolutely no "safe harbor" to duck into.
The clouds close in.........the winds increase to 20, then to 30 with gusts of 40 knots. We're frantically bringing down sails.......dealing with 15 foot seas. Everything is still cool at this point, other than the fact that the lightning is coming uncomfortably close. I learned that if you count the seconds between the flash and the boom, it is a good proxy for how far away the strike was in miles.
Flash.........(15 seconds).........Boom. We look at each other........."Cool, still 15 miles away".
Bigger Flash.......(6 seconds)........Ka-Boom. We look at each other........."OK, still 6 miles away"
Great Big Flash/Ka-Boom-Baboom.....(almost simultaneous).........."Sh_t.......that was close".
Then I notice the autopilot is not working anymore. Neither are the navigation lights (3 LED nav lights literally destroyed by the near miss). Although the lightning missed us (barely), the static electricity did not and now we've lost some electronics. To the uninitiated, your autopilot is practically the most important thing on the boat next to the sails, rudder, and engine. The reason is that our boat weighs 21 tons.........keeping it going in a straight line by hand steering in big seas is like pumping iron non-stop for hour after hour. Each wave knocks you off course; each zig and zag can actually double the length of your trip. In short, this is a big problem.
The boat is heaving side to side with the big waves and wind. I run downstairs and get my electrical repair box..........replace all the fuses in the autopilot.........stuff flying all over the place.......no use. It appears that the circuit board was fried. OK, we're now steering the remaining 100 miles by hand.
Throughout the night, squall after squall pounds us. We're wet, tired, and wishing that we didn't make salmon for dinner because the smell is still in the kitchen. We scrap our 3 hour watch cycle (too strenuous to hand steer in a storm) and we each do 5 miles at a time. Eventually, we make it to Long Island and anchor and sleep for 14 straight hours. Our meal at the local greasy spoon was the best lunch of my life........the table wasn't moving and I could open my mouth without salt spray entering.
Beautiful spot. Nav lights are now fixed. Autopilot probably a goner and will have to wait for Miami. We have internet service here..........and we were able to see Clint's "oops, my bad" amendment to his earlier forecast. "The deep convection squalls actually were far more south and more intense than I was expecting". No kidding, Sherlock. No moral of the story, but if I see Clint in a bar when we get home we might have a short chat.