Diary - Storms...

The sky is blue and clear, the weather is peaceful and my soaked foul weather gear is hanging to dry on the boat's guard rails, the only evidence that last night was in any way different.

But last night was very different when we found ourselves in the centre of a massive storm system.  Behind our starboard quarter and probably twenty miles distant was a storm, forked lightning regularly lighting the clouds and making its short lived, erratic path to the sea. Another storm lay ahead in the distance twenty miles to port, sheet lightning like an irregular torch illuminating the clouds in that direction. Two other storms lay to port, again some miles off, but the jewel in the crown was the one that now lay directly above us. The rain was torrential, beating on the sea and the boat and the hoods of Graham's and my foul weather clothing; an incessant drumming drowning out all other noise.  By varying degrees our immediate surroundings were lit up then plunged into darkness as a result of the sheet lightning: for one fleeting moment it was bright as daylight with the boat and our immediate surroundings standing sharp and clear and lightning lit rain drops suspended in the air and then we were in total blackout as our light accustomed eyes proved unable to adjust to the darkness. Daylight, darkness, daylight, darkness, flashing like a strobe sometimes a few times in quick succession. I couldn’t help but wonder as to the amount of power there was above us, building up and being released, let alone in all five storms in the miles around us. 

We battled the weather and managed the boat, shouting above the noise and generally grateful that we had sheet lightning in the clouds high above and not forked lightning shooting down to earth towards the highest point in an otherwise flat sea. And the flatness of the sea was something else to be thankful for as it was one less challenge to cope with; I couldn’t help but think it was flat through having been beaten down by the power of the rain.

It is now calmer, the rain has abated and the storms have moved on or are dying out, their power diminished, their lighting show fading. What I am struck by though is that throughout, with nature at her most tempestuous and despite our small boat isolated in this wide expanse of ocean, I never felt any hint of concern during the course of the evening.  The last few weeks on the boat have given me a significant level of faith in her resilience and a sense of comfort in her cocoon despite our remoteness from dry land and what previously I might have termed safety.