Bugged by Lightning

Position: 24°49’29.1″N 76°14’48.7″W

Since our return to the Bahamas last week, I have been scanning the forecasts hoping for a break in what feels like an endless stream of storms. So far I’m not encouraged, but grateful for the few short-lived dry spells.

I have fond memories of thunderstorms growing up. I loved the energy and awe of nature, the summer cloudbursts that seemed to appear out of nowhere and dramatically lit up the sky as we enjoyed the respite from heat and humidity. Even as teenagers we’d rush out and splash in the puddles.

What a difference now. As a terra firma dweller the odds of getting struck by lightning are about 1:1,000,000. When your home is a boat on water your chances increase significantly. On a monohull sailboat the odds increase to 4:1,000, and up to 6:1,000 on a sailboat the length of Aleta. If it were the lottery I’d be playing those odds-but I don’t want to win!

Given the numerous anxieties I’ve just shed from closing on the house and ridding ourselves of most possessions, and the long list of things to worry about should you choose to live on a boat, I’m not sure where my newfound fear of lightning comes from.

Grounding

Even though Aleta has a sophisticated grounding system, which many boats don’t, I still can’t quite shake my uneasiness. It grows with nighttime thunderstorms, undoubtedly because they’re much more striking…no pun intended. On a boat you can run, but you can’t hide. Actually, you can’t truly run, unless, maybe, you’re near shore and you jump in your dinghy and motor to shelter. What are the odds of that?

I’ve been reading about sailors using wooden spoons to steer while keeping their other hand in their pocket to prevent them from grabbing the metal around them. I tried (not during a storm) to see if I could avoid holding on to anything in the cockpit while at the helm. It’s almost impossible. And everything you use as a hand-hold is metal.

It’s safer to be at anchor than under sail. I’m now an advocate of staying put as often as possible during thunderstorms. As I write this we’re on the hook in a beautiful spot, Fernandez Bay on Cat Island. Usually I absolutely love being the only boat in a place like this, but now I’m keenly aware that our mast is the highest thing for miles around.

Sleepless

Storms continue to roll through. They tend to reach their peak about 1:00AM, ensuring a mostly sleepless night. Last night was typical. It started with being rudely awakened from a deep sleep by the crack of thunder and bright flashes as the torrential downpour soaked us and everything in the cabin. Mike jumped into action before my eyes were even open and broke our record time for securing every hatch and porthole. We scrambled to put our computers, phones, GPS and handheld VHF radios in the oven (I’ve read even wrapping electronics in tin foil will help protect them) and hope for the best as I scan our berth for metal.

Wide-awake and damp, I lay on my back watching the show through the hatch above us. Aleta began rocking intensely as she pulled on her chain. Every second or two blinding bursts of blue and white light up the sky and, adrenalin coursing, I start counting: one one-thousand, two one-thousand… knowing we are smack in the middle of the tempest.

My count increases to five one-thousand. As the distance from the storm grows I begin to relax a little and enjoy the awesome show, but not enough to run out and jump in the puddles. Not just yet.

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