Day 1, Leg 4 Galapagos to Hiva Oa, Marquesa Islands
After the excitement of the racing start from the Galapagos yesterday, the sky became blacker over the course of the afternoon. I love the drama of sunshine against dark glowering skies but I also know that out at sea it signals a high probability of rain and squalls. These nasty little weather systems will at best deliver a strong increase in wind - often up to 30+ knots - so we have to be on high alert to shorten sail in plenty of time before we get walloped. At worst they harbour electric storms.
Last night it was as black as all hell. Thank god for radar as these beasties show up in glorious technicolour - the deeper the red, the deeper the poo you may be about to experience. As I began the first night watch the radar was showing squalls marching in crimson combat formation on our starboard side. As M slept on in happy oblivion I was initially not overly concerned because in theory the wind should be moving them away from our track. However in reality they were dancing to the beat of their own drum. Bullying us into taking a more southerly route than we wanted to, they then wrapped behind us to join forces with a tricksy little platoon that sneaked up on our port side.
They crowded round us keeping pace with Aqualuna who bravely held her own in the small clear heart of squall central whilst the thunder and lighting raged all around. Knowing that your mast is the highest point for miles around is frankly terrifying. Just about all you can do at this stage is to hope that the microwave will work as a faraday cage and fill it with the woefully few items you have that can function independently if a lightning strike causes all your systems to go down.
After failing to actually get in the microwave myself - my preferred option - I spent the next few hours alternately Mississippi-ing like a crazy woman and wishing I believed in god. Often there was no time to fit even half a Missisipi between flash and crash - and sometimes not even the courtesy of a thunderclap at all. I whimpered experimentally in the hope that M might wake up to share the misery, but then just ended up squeaking uncontrollably anyway - all to no effect.
Apart from self-diagnosed PTSD (it’s real!), it seems that Aqualuna was affected too and our AIS (automatic identification system) is no longer transmitting. As such, we can see other boats on our GPS screens, but nobody can see us at all, and to all intents and purposes, we are now a stealth boat.
Posted by Claire