to 47-knot winds and 20-foot swells in the very channel we were aiming for. The predicted force of the gale didn’t frighten me as much as the fact that we had to sail right into the teeth in an untried ship. I knew that I had built her to excel in these conditions, but I also knew of man’s fallibility. We did what we could. We battened down every hatch and porthole, secured all loose gear ,and put the crew in lifejackets and harnesses. We reduced sail to the smallest available. I prayed the gear would hold fast and not force us out to wrestle with it. The engineer poured out his heart in prayer, “Please God, maybe 35 knots, but not 47!” 3 | Fall 2016 That night the wind began to blow, and the longer it blew, the steeper the waves became. I had hoped to keep her down to four or five knots – enough to keep her rudders deep and to maintain steering – but with her tiny storm sails, the catamaran raced ahead at 11 knots, her bows punching dangerously through the oncoming waves. I considered ways to slow her, but as she continued into the storm I knew the risk of working the deck exceeded the need. There was no seeing through the darkness as solid water came crashing over the top of the wheelhouse. We were sailing blind. The mast shook with each crest, the shrouds vibrated like 80-foot violin strings, and the Canvasback Missions
5 Publizr Home