We
are sailing west, away from Easter Island and towards Pitcairn. It is the third
day out and the true wind speed has dropped to a mere 10 knots, but, close
hauled and with the jib and the mainsail fully out, our boat speed is 7 knots,
so we are content. We have the traveller holding the boom in the middle of the
main, giving it a bit of twist, so that its top has more effect. The sun is
shining and the sky blue and though it is not quite bikini weather it is very
pleasant sitting out in the cockpit. Ahead of us is a dark cloud which Sven
says might be a front or might just be a cloud. We study the other clouds
hoping to get a hint but neither of us is sure. The cloud of interest,
meanwhile, has been getting closer and darker and is looking far more menacing.
Lisa is down in the galley cooking scallops for lunch, so Sven and I get to
work. We put a reef in the main and put up the running backstay, just in case.
Then, as if on cue, the sky, the water, and even the air itself all turn grey,
whitecaps materialize out of nowhere, and the wind speed jumps to 30 knots. The
boat heels over hard. We release the traveller allowing the main to move into a
more natural position, then furl in the jib a bit, then some more, then take a
second reef in the main, then stop to see how we are doing. The wind speed
increases again so we take in the jib completely and let out part of the stay
sail. We are getting to be a good team. We have been dashing about the boat,
moving up and down the side decks to where the mast is, heading back to the
cockpit to check on wind speed and direction, getting the job done. At some
point it started to rain, heavily, and we are both soaked to the skin but it
has been fun. The wind is still blowing hard, the boat is still heeled over,
but with reduced sail she is fine. And we are flying. We stop, strip off our
clothes, have some lunch, and watch the wind speed drop back down to 10 knots.
Darn, it wasn’t a front, just as cloud, so after lunch, Sven and I undo all the
work we had just done and go back to full sails. We stop again for dessert but
before we have finished another cloud passes over and the wind speed is up to
30 knots again. We sit a bit, wondering if it will pass, if we can just leave
the boat as it is, but Sven decides no (and I agree with him, the rails are in
the water) and so while Lisa does the dishes down below we head back out into
the rain again to reef the sails once more. I quite like day squalls, when you
can see the evil clouds coming, when the captain is awake and taking you
through the steps before you begin, when you can see what is happening with the
sails and the lines and the wind and the waves… Night squalls are just the same
except that, at night, the wind speed jumps 20 knots without notice because you
haven’t seen the dark cloud against the dark sky, at night the captain is
asleep and you have to rouse him and by the time he is awake the wind has risen
higher, it is scary, as opposed to fun, to be out on the front deck being
splashed by sea water and washed by rain, you can’t see the lines as well and
it is more likely you will make a mistake, you can’t see the coming waves as
well and it is more likely you might not anticipate the movement of the boat
and get pitched off your feet, it is more likely you might get spooked and fall
overboard… Day squalls and night squalls
are identical but, at the same time, as different as day and night!
