I’m no longer in my comfort zone. I won’t say that I was uncomfortable, but rather exhilarated, enlivened. Wind speed steadily had freshened to an average 30 knots. There were gusts. In fact having been hand steering in them since breakfast time, I got so that I could anticipate those gusts and the wave sequences too. They came in cycles. During the lull when the wind seemed to moderate, the feeling became one of relative calm. But that wind always returned and blew with certainty.

This storm wasn’t part of the picture in Marsh Harbor Sunday, 17 January when I sailed for home.  An upper atmospheric disturbance came ashore over the Pacific Northwest the trough strengthening as it moved southeastward and on the 21st a weak low-pressure over central Texas had spawned. The next day a new low-pressure area began to develop over the coast of the Carolinas as the former storm tracked North and East to become a 2016 named Winter Blizzard Storm — Jonas. The worst aspects of the manifestation was from Hatteras, NC and way North along the Mid-Atlantic all well documented by CNN breaking news for those tuned in. This main assault: missed it by that much.

The biggest eye-opener for me was the confirmation that you can’t fight mother nature. Which is to say, that it is easier to go with the flow! It would have been impossible to sail to windward. The boat just wouldn’t have gone. She would have just layed down and taken a beating. With daylong wind from the South and anticipating the westerly wind shift, it was my advance desire to make my way slightly North-Westward and avoid close hauled sailing later on.  Good idea which I tried, but was poor to execute. Running with the wind was happiness. Maneuvering left or right was a tight confine. The one direction killed boatspeed bringing waves and wind to bear and the other was certainty of a crash jybe. Just ride with it and experience the spectacle. The wave swells were high enough that it seemed like the boat (mast and all) disappeared in the bottom of the troughs. When riding back up the crest you were on top of the world. Those wave crests looked like they wanted to fall over and break like surf but they never did. They boiled up and collapsed upon themselves. The froth was whipped and picked up by wind to become driven spray. The best view was aft. Large waves form a train as they roll toward, under, and past the bow. But it was hard to turn ’round and watch in slow motion. Brief side glances were possible, into the stinging windborne drops.

There was very little rain and the clouds were not ominous or threatening. The reader absorbing this over short span of time raises feelings of fear but the main brunt stretched for 6 hours; plenty of time for this sailor to accept, settle in, and cope for the duration.

By dusk, the gale had abated. The angry seas diminished after frontal passage and the winds would soon shift to a western flow. Hungry for some supper and needing rest I hove to and went below.

Typical view at days end… however to be transparent: This was my sunset on 21 January — the night before the blow. Red Sky at Night; Sailors’ Delight. Right??