gale shrieked in the rigging. The cockpit flooded with water at every crashing wave, and emptied just as quickly through oversize scuppers. We had to tack, but wind shook the little storm jib, which shook the forestay. The electric winches strained to bring the jib under control. They pulled enough force to lift a Cadillac. The deep-reefed, full-battened mizzen, however, behaved like a lamb on a leash; the boom hardly thrashed as it swung across the deck and filled again on port tack. The catamaran put her shoulder to the steep waves and did what she was made to do – she crashed through. The crew members were whiteknuckled at their posts, and I saw my own tight fists clutching the wheel. But the worst of the storm passed, and with each minute it eased a little more. The black water crashing over the cabin made us feel like we were underwater in a submarine, but soon the black began to turn green over the decks. The gray of morning loosened our grips. The Canvasback broke through the heaving waves and laughed into the teeth of the gale. Soon the crew let go and laughed with her. Morning light rose. Exhausted but exhilarated by the roaring display of nature, I too raised my head and laughed in relief. We had made it through. www.canvasback.org Falll 2016 | 4
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