Storm WARNING

In the middle of the night, 400 miles away from the Marquesas, my eyes snapped open. Something had changed; Shapeshift er, our Beneteau Oceanis 423 was heeling to a new breeze. I hopped out of my bunk and looked up the companionway. Colin, Shapeshift er’s owner, was flying around the cockpit like an angry tomcat in a tornado, ensuring the sails were reefed for the quickly building wind. It was pitch black; heavy clouds obscured any trace of the stars and moon.

I stood for a brief moment watching Colin finish reefing the main. Water flew off the dodger in thick sheets. The storm was building. Lightning no longer hid behind the clouds, but streaked across in defined jagged lines. The under joined with the chaotic sounds of the surf and sea. Aft er throwing Colin his lifejacket, I went down