After an extended visit back north with friends and family, we're back on Live Now. Still berthed in Brunswick, we're refitting for our next cruise. As usual, there's plenty to do. We plan to finish up most of the work within the next week. Then, we're back to Ohio over Christmas.
John (and maybe, Brad) plans another long distance hike: this time the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). The PCT runs from Mexico to Canada through California, Oregon and Washington. At over 2600 miles with a total rise in elevation of over 50 vertical miles and 500 miles longer than the Appalachian Trail, it presents a different set of challenges: a greater range of temperatures, weather, high sierra snow/ice, desert, elevation and fewer provisioning opportunities. Pat will again provide logistical support, while touring the west coast and visiting. If we go forward on this insanity, we'll begin next April and hope to finish in August.
This will mean a shorter cruising season and we may just head down the coast of Florida to the Keys and the Dry Tortugas after the first, returning to Brunswick in March.
The Storm
I can't say that we weren't warned. About 7:30 pm, Tuesday, June 16, NOAA transmitted an ominous alarm and an unflappable computerized male voice announced that the:
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE DOPPLER RADAR INDICATED AN
AREA OF STRONG THUNDERSTORMS...WITH WIND GUSTS OVER 60 KNOTS...MOVING SOUTHEAST AT 20 KNOTS.
STRONG THUNDERSTORMS CAN PRODUCE WATERSPOUTS WITH LITTLE OR NO
ADVANCE WARNING. SEEK SAFETY IMMEDIATELY!
MARINERS CAN EXPECT LOCALLY HIGH WAVES...DANGEROUS LIGHTNING...HAIL AND
TORRENTIAL RAIN. SEEK SAFETY IMMEDIATELY.
FREQUENT TO EXCESSIVE CLOUD TO WATER LIGHTNING IS OCCURRING WITH
THESE STORMS. IF AT SEA...STAY BELOW DECK...AND KEEP AWAY FROM
UNGROUNDED METAL OBJECTS.
Up to that time, the forecast called for nothing more dire than a slight chance of a thunderstorm. We were about 35 nm off the Florida coast, just about even with Jacksonville, heading NW, pretty much in line with the storm. The sky to the northwest looked much as it had for the last several weeks with tall cumulonimbus clouds dotting the horizon. Overhead, the sky was a nice clear blue. There was no wind, no swell. After fueling and taking on water at the Sailfish Marina on Singer Island (Palm Beach) the morning before, we had motored quietly up the coast generally following the rhumb line to St. Simon's Sound.
The passage had been uneventfully interesting.
I had caught another nice fish, an Atlantic mackerel; a pod of bottle-nose dolphin visited for about ½ hour; a US Navy cruiser crossed our bow in the distance; a Navy helicopter circled a couple of times as a 'live ammunition' exercise commenced [fortunately, we were well outside the announced fire zone]. To our great delight, an immature brown booby landed on our boom in the late afternoon. The booby circled the boat several times trying unsuccessfully to land on the bow then had better luck on the mainsail boom. 
I guess you could call him a booby boomer!!! We named him Bobby and he seemed completely at home roosting there within a few feet of the cockpit. He arrived shortly before we received our first weather alert. Jokingly, I told Pat that we were safe from the storm as long as the booby remained with us, a good luck booby.
As it turned out, I was right. Bobby remained with us until about 10:00 that night then flew away just before we got smashed. A fine feathered, fair weather friend Bobby the Booby turned out to be.
With the storm directly in our path and with no way to find a safe harbor in time, we had no alternative but to take evasive action and prepare for the worst. We decided to alter our course to head south southwest toward Jacksonville. The weather forecast indicated more favorable conditions there and we hoped that we could bypass the storm. The only alternatives would have been to continue directly toward the storm or head further out to sea. Our expectation was that the storm would probably catch us but, like the other squalls we had encountered, be short lived. We had weathered the others by battening down and heading into the wind. The fast moving squall would pass by quickly. Had the storm been a large system we would have either run before it out to sea or 'heave to'.
At first it looked like we were going to be okay. As we approached the coast the towering cumulus clouds grew and spread but stayed well to the north. Cloud to cloud lightening played all along horizon. However, the sky above was clear. The sky ahead, clear. As stars dotted an otherwise unblemished evening sky, we began to think we would make it. The lightening became more frequent with occasional cloud to water strikes. First, a pronounced nipple formed then a clearly defined funnel dropped ominously downward from the base of one cumulus monster in what could have been the makings of a waterspout . It never fully formed but it's appearance did nothing to reassure us as the darkness deepened. Still, we were moving rapidly toward what appeared to be safety. NOAA's report on current conditions for Jacksonville indicated no precipitation and calm wind. The same conditions that we were experiencing.
The drama of the clouds and lightening kept us entertained and we “oohed” and “ahhed” as silent fireworks exploded to our north. Tracking the storm on the radar, however, confirmed our sense of dread that the storm was indeed moving closer and closer. We altered course more to the southwest still hopeful that we could circle behind it. Just as I became aware that the bird had flown from its perch, I saw that the sky ahead had closed over and cumulus skyscrapers towered directly in our path. It seemed that the sky went from clear to awesome in an instant. We knew we were in for it.
Minutes later, there was no time to reflect, only react. As the storm hit, I turned the bow toward the wind. Hard over to starboard, I kept turning. The wind gauge jumped to 25, 30, 45....60 knots! I powered up and kept turning as the wind speed climbed to 99.9, the highest reading possible! Pat muttered, "Oh...my...God!", slumped to the cockpit floor, shaking with fear. She was certain that we were goners, that we'd at least get struck by lightening! The wind dropped to 84 knots, then 64, then fluctuated wildly up and down. Remarkably, Live Now heeled over hardly at all. The speed of the storm kept the seas from building. Even though green water buried the bow now and then, we remained upright, the cockpit dry. Pat suddenly realized that Live Now could take it standing up. Still frightened, as any sane person would be, she kept an eye on the radar below and the wind gauge above, advising me as conditions changed. At the helm, I just kept turning! Continuous strobe-like lightening strikes blinded us. Every few seconds, lightening bolts the size of tree trunks hit the water, giving us a brief glimpse of the horizon. I could see two freighters about 5 miles off, our only frame of reference. A deluge thundered on the dodger, making it impossible to hear anything less than a scream. Unable to keep the bow into the wind, even with full throttle, Live Now took wind and wave on the forward starboard quarter.
Nothing seemed real. The nonstop, strobe-like lightening caused temporary flash blindness, leaving momentary shadowy imprints in my eye. Except for the brief 'lightening to water' strikes that light up everything around us, we had no visible reference points outside of the cockpit; no idea where we were or where the other vessels were in relation to us. Collision became my only fear. The radar showed us centered in a large dark spot, a near perfect circle. The freighters, clearly seen on the radar before the storm, were now encompassed in the same dark blob. The sail instruments appeared to vibrate and I had a calm sense of 'disconnectedness'. This detachment acted as a sort of bulwark against any encapacitating fear, allowing me to do what needed to be done. The storm went on for about 2 hours. Suddenly, as quickly as it came, it stopped.
We found nothing amiss on the boat. A sail tie had come adrift but no damage done. Below, most everything had remained in place. A light rain continued as we pondered what had happened and planned our next moves. Pat's confirmation that the the sail instruments had appeared to vibrate during the height of the storm relieved my concern that I had been hallucinating. Now we could see the freighters, easily, off in the distance. From the radar we could tell that they were clear of rain and the storm. They lay to the NE of us. We turned the boat and leaving them to port, we found our course and proceeded toward Brunswick. Neither of us had as much as a bruise. Nothing on the boat had been broken. Later, when we reviewed our GPS, our track showed a series of crazy loops covering an area a mile wide.
It was midnight and though physically exhausted from the experience, we still rode an adrenaline high. We had eight hours or more to go before reaching the St. Simon's Inlet. Pat took the first watch. I slept in the cockpit. We passed few fishing boats in the night, but had no more difficulty as dawn arrived to find us just outside the entrance to St. Simon's Sound. We headed in under overcast skies and light wind. Secured in our slip, we cleaned up a bit then headed into town for lunch. Even now we aren't sure what kind of weather event we went through but it was unlike anything I've ever seen before. David, our slip neighbor and a pilot, believed we got hit by a micro-burst but we'll probably never know for sure. Checking NOAA and other websites for information about what occurred that night, I found anecdotal evidence of other boats in the area experiencing similar conditions, but weather records reflect only regional events, not local,isolated ones. Weather records do not show anything like what we experienced. It occurred to me that my next blog update would have been to either announce the sale of Live Now or, at the least, a personal ad looking for a new 1st mate! However, I am pleased to say, that, as of this writing, Pat remains steadfast and true to her commitment to the cruising life come hell or high water. We have now been through a little of both. One thing is certain, having weathered the storm, we have absolute confidence in Live Now's seaworthiness.
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE DOPPLER RADAR INDICATED AN
AREA OF STRONG THUNDERSTORMS...WITH WIND GUSTS OVER 60 KNOTS...MOVING SOUTHEAST AT 20 KNOTS.
STRONG THUNDERSTORMS CAN PRODUCE WATERSPOUTS WITH LITTLE OR NO
ADVANCE WARNING. SEEK SAFETY IMMEDIATELY!
MARINERS CAN EXPECT LOCALLY HIGH WAVES...DANGEROUS LIGHTNING...HAIL AND
TORRENTIAL RAIN. SEEK SAFETY IMMEDIATELY.
FREQUENT TO EXCESSIVE CLOUD TO WATER LIGHTNING IS OCCURRING WITH
THESE STORMS. IF AT SEA...STAY BELOW DECK...AND KEEP AWAY FROM
UNGROUNDED METAL OBJECTS.
Up to that time, the forecast called for nothing more dire than a slight chance of a thunderstorm. We were about 35 nm off the Florida coast, just about even with Jacksonville, heading NW, pretty much in line with the storm. The sky to the northwest looked much as it had for the last several weeks with tall cumulonimbus clouds dotting the horizon. Overhead, the sky was a nice clear blue. There was no wind, no swell. After fueling and taking on water at the Sailfish Marina on Singer Island (Palm Beach) the morning before, we had motored quietly up the coast generally following the rhumb line to St. Simon's Sound.
The passage had been uneventfully interesting.
I had caught another nice fish, an Atlantic mackerel; a pod of bottle-nose dolphin visited for about ½ hour; a US Navy cruiser crossed our bow in the distance; a Navy helicopter circled a couple of times as a 'live ammunition' exercise commenced [fortunately, we were well outside the announced fire zone]. To our great delight, an immature brown booby landed on our boom in the late afternoon. The booby circled the boat several times trying unsuccessfully to land on the bow then had better luck on the mainsail boom. 
I guess you could call him a booby boomer!!! We named him Bobby and he seemed completely at home roosting there within a few feet of the cockpit. He arrived shortly before we received our first weather alert. Jokingly, I told Pat that we were safe from the storm as long as the booby remained with us, a good luck booby.
As it turned out, I was right. Bobby remained with us until about 10:00 that night then flew away just before we got smashed. A fine feathered, fair weather friend Bobby the Booby turned out to be.With the storm directly in our path and with no way to find a safe harbor in time, we had no alternative but to take evasive action and prepare for the worst. We decided to alter our course to head south southwest toward Jacksonville. The weather forecast indicated more favorable conditions there and we hoped that we could bypass the storm. The only alternatives would have been to continue directly toward the storm or head further out to sea. Our expectation was that the storm would probably catch us but, like the other squalls we had encountered, be short lived. We had weathered the others by battening down and heading into the wind. The fast moving squall would pass by quickly. Had the storm been a large system we would have either run before it out to sea or 'heave to'.
At first it looked like we were going to be okay. As we approached the coast the towering cumulus clouds grew and spread but stayed well to the north. Cloud to cloud lightening played all along horizon. However, the sky above was clear. The sky ahead, clear. As stars dotted an otherwise unblemished evening sky, we began to think we would make it. The lightening became more frequent with occasional cloud to water strikes. First, a pronounced nipple formed then a clearly defined funnel dropped ominously downward from the base of one cumulus monster in what could have been the makings of a waterspout . It never fully formed but it's appearance did nothing to reassure us as the darkness deepened. Still, we were moving rapidly toward what appeared to be safety. NOAA's report on current conditions for Jacksonville indicated no precipitation and calm wind. The same conditions that we were experiencing.
The drama of the clouds and lightening kept us entertained and we “oohed” and “ahhed” as silent fireworks exploded to our north. Tracking the storm on the radar, however, confirmed our sense of dread that the storm was indeed moving closer and closer. We altered course more to the southwest still hopeful that we could circle behind it. Just as I became aware that the bird had flown from its perch, I saw that the sky ahead had closed over and cumulus skyscrapers towered directly in our path. It seemed that the sky went from clear to awesome in an instant. We knew we were in for it.
Minutes later, there was no time to reflect, only react. As the storm hit, I turned the bow toward the wind. Hard over to starboard, I kept turning. The wind gauge jumped to 25, 30, 45....60 knots! I powered up and kept turning as the wind speed climbed to 99.9, the highest reading possible! Pat muttered, "Oh...my...God!", slumped to the cockpit floor, shaking with fear. She was certain that we were goners, that we'd at least get struck by lightening! The wind dropped to 84 knots, then 64, then fluctuated wildly up and down. Remarkably, Live Now heeled over hardly at all. The speed of the storm kept the seas from building. Even though green water buried the bow now and then, we remained upright, the cockpit dry. Pat suddenly realized that Live Now could take it standing up. Still frightened, as any sane person would be, she kept an eye on the radar below and the wind gauge above, advising me as conditions changed. At the helm, I just kept turning! Continuous strobe-like lightening strikes blinded us. Every few seconds, lightening bolts the size of tree trunks hit the water, giving us a brief glimpse of the horizon. I could see two freighters about 5 miles off, our only frame of reference. A deluge thundered on the dodger, making it impossible to hear anything less than a scream. Unable to keep the bow into the wind, even with full throttle, Live Now took wind and wave on the forward starboard quarter.
Nothing seemed real. The nonstop, strobe-like lightening caused temporary flash blindness, leaving momentary shadowy imprints in my eye. Except for the brief 'lightening to water' strikes that light up everything around us, we had no visible reference points outside of the cockpit; no idea where we were or where the other vessels were in relation to us. Collision became my only fear. The radar showed us centered in a large dark spot, a near perfect circle. The freighters, clearly seen on the radar before the storm, were now encompassed in the same dark blob. The sail instruments appeared to vibrate and I had a calm sense of 'disconnectedness'. This detachment acted as a sort of bulwark against any encapacitating fear, allowing me to do what needed to be done. The storm went on for about 2 hours. Suddenly, as quickly as it came, it stopped.
We found nothing amiss on the boat. A sail tie had come adrift but no damage done. Below, most everything had remained in place. A light rain continued as we pondered what had happened and planned our next moves. Pat's confirmation that the the sail instruments had appeared to vibrate during the height of the storm relieved my concern that I had been hallucinating. Now we could see the freighters, easily, off in the distance. From the radar we could tell that they were clear of rain and the storm. They lay to the NE of us. We turned the boat and leaving them to port, we found our course and proceeded toward Brunswick. Neither of us had as much as a bruise. Nothing on the boat had been broken. Later, when we reviewed our GPS, our track showed a series of crazy loops covering an area a mile wide.
It was midnight and though physically exhausted from the experience, we still rode an adrenaline high. We had eight hours or more to go before reaching the St. Simon's Inlet. Pat took the first watch. I slept in the cockpit. We passed few fishing boats in the night, but had no more difficulty as dawn arrived to find us just outside the entrance to St. Simon's Sound. We headed in under overcast skies and light wind. Secured in our slip, we cleaned up a bit then headed into town for lunch. Even now we aren't sure what kind of weather event we went through but it was unlike anything I've ever seen before. David, our slip neighbor and a pilot, believed we got hit by a micro-burst but we'll probably never know for sure. Checking NOAA and other websites for information about what occurred that night, I found anecdotal evidence of other boats in the area experiencing similar conditions, but weather records reflect only regional events, not local,isolated ones. Weather records do not show anything like what we experienced. It occurred to me that my next blog update would have been to either announce the sale of Live Now or, at the least, a personal ad looking for a new 1st mate! However, I am pleased to say, that, as of this writing, Pat remains steadfast and true to her commitment to the cruising life come hell or high water. We have now been through a little of both. One thing is certain, having weathered the storm, we have absolute confidence in Live Now's seaworthiness.
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