With the new moon, the night glowed dimly under starlight and patchy friendly dark clouds. Winds were up, winds were down and we merrily sailed along on a beam reach towards our equator waypoint at 144-20 E. Watches changed like clockwork with warm tea for the groggy new watch-mate and life was pretty great.
On Philip's watch at just before 3 am he spied a squall approaching from windward. At 8 nm from Carina (as measured by radar), its downdraft hit, much to his surprise. Carina pulled her head to windward and heeled dramatically to port. "I could use your help up here", he called down through the screeching wind.
When I arrived in the cockpit in my harness and clipped in, he had taken in the genoa amidst much loud banging of sheets and cranking of a winch and was at the wheel wrestling Carina to lee as we flew through the sea along the edge of an ominous coal-black line squall. Radar showed a second band with an even-more distinct shear, so we agreed to heave-to rather than worry as to its violence in the black of night. I grabbed the preventer line and we both watched the anemometer as Philip inched Carina through a wear-ship maneuver and hove to. Tying the wheel to windward, I handed him his heavy fisherman's rain jacket in anticipation of the deluge to come. Confirming with him that things were stable, I crawled back into the off watch bunk in the main salon and was lulled to sleep by gentle up and down motion of Carina sitting calmly waiting on the rest of the storm.
Sirius has risen and is twinkling colorfully in the east but the sunrise is red, foretelling what we do not know.
All is well aboard the good sailing-barge Carina.
At 8/3/2016 and 19:38 UTC (GMT) our position was: 01°40.28'N / 142°21.85'E.
We were traveling 121T degrees true at 5.0 knots.
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