Sleeping on a sailboat can be incredibly peaceful and soothing, perfect, really, when waves lap the hull and the gentle roll rocks you into a sense of security. This night, though, the cold wind came up hard, rousing me instantly. Ruefully, I noted that the forecast was remarkably accurate—a front was due around 3 a.m.; my clock read 2:48. The wind had gone from dead calm to 20-plus knots in minutes; stronger gusts whistled through our 65-foot rig as a reminder that we were vulnerable, always vulnerable.
Tucked under three blankets in the aft cabin, with the thick wooden hull of our 56-foot, 1934 William Hand Jr., ketch between me and the elements, I felt safe enough. I was still waiting for my alarm to go off at 4 a.m. to watch a lunar eclipse (Celestial events! So romantic!). I could see the moon reflected disjointedly on the ever-increasing waves; it was still completely full.
I dozed, my face inches from the round bronze
