Sailing through a Surprise Squall

Planes Take You From Point “A” to “B.” A Sailboat Takes You Through the Rest of the Alphabet

A squall ambushed us today. You can read all you want about them, but until one charges at you in real time, you cannot fully grasp how fast and how fiercely they arrive and then disappear. Hazel was under full sail (main, staysail, and Genoa), happily charging along at 7.5 knots in a steady 20 knots of breeze. Off in the distance, we spotted a long, dark wall. We assumed we had plenty of time to reduce sail.

Let’s remember: Peter and I are in our 60s, so our movements might best be described as partial geriatric choreography. That squall, however, did not care. It was on top of us in ten minutes. For context, it takes us ten minutes just to put one reef in the mainsail. Handling all three sails is a 30 to 40 minute production.

First came the wind, an instant and roaring acceleration that shoved Hazel hard to starboard until the Genoa was practically skimming the water. Then came the rain, sharp as tiny arrows, stinging every bit of exposed skin. The wind climbed past 40 knots while we scrambled to reduce sail. We were too late and too slow, and our inexperience with squalls was on full display. We need more practice, better recognition, and a better understanding of our radar. I will admit it: I do not yet know how to read storm cell intensity on the screen. If anyone out there does, I am very interested in learning.

The whole scene played out less like a seasoned crew in command and more like Laurel and Hardy, or for the younger crowd, Dumb and Dumber, attempting sail reduction. We are improving, but we have miles to go. Our biggest fear was blowing out the Genoa, so thankfully that was the first sail we managed to furl after reefing the main.

Today we crossed from Nicaragua into Costa Rica. Shelter Bay Marina in Panama is about 20 hours ahead. We will slow Hazel down to ensure a daylight arrival, which means another night at sea, but safety wins every time.

Part of the slowdown is because we lost our navigation lights. I attempted a wire-by-wire diagnosis with remote help from Dan Challeen of Maritronics, a brilliant marine electrician and an even better human. But with my “meat hooks” for hands and Hazel pitching in the swell, I managed to shut down the entire electrical system. Live wires, screwdrivers, and a rolling boat are a terrible combination. After that scare, Peter and I agreed that we would not attempt another repair until we are tied up or floating in flat water.

Entering any unfamiliar harbor at night is unwise. Entering the mouth of the Panama Canal at night is downright foolish. So daylight it is. Another night offshore is a small price for a safe approach.

One of today’s photos shows a large patch of golden brown weeds. That is open-ocean Sargassum, a floating rainforest that shelters sea turtles, crabs, shrimp, fish, and seabirds. Over 100 species rely on it. It absorbs carbon dioxide and produces oxygen, playing a quiet but vital role in ocean health. Most people hate it because it smothers beaches and frustrates fishermen by fouling nets and lines.

Another photo shows Peter doing everything in his power to bring home fresh seafood. The Sargassum had other plans. It kept tangling his line and lure. The fish, for now, remain blissfully safe.