Arianna glides across the sea in sunny conditions.

Gulf of Mexico. I'm aboard the Arianna, a thirty-foot Cape Dory Ketch bound for Mobile, Alabama. The skipper, his wife (and first mate) and I are fifty plus miles offshore: blue-gray swells as far as the eye can see.

I accepted a commission as crew-member from my friends and former neighbors, Mark and Anna, who thought a third sailor on board would be useful during the five or more day passage - specifically seeing as Arianna's motor is shot and we'll need to complete the entire voyage under sail. We left the Fleming Key Anchorage in Key West, Florida, on the twenty-sixth of March around 1:00 PM and planned to arrive at our destination within about five to seven days. So far we've covered just over two hundred miles.

My night shifts cover 7:00 PM to 10:00 PM and 4:00 AM to 7:00 AM. The first night of the passage was quiet and slow. Clear skies, pithy wind and a broken compass light combined to create the perfect conditions for celestial navigation. It didn't hurt that our bearing was basically due north: Ursa Major identifies Polaris; steer to Polaris.

The second night was cloudy and virtually windless. The finicky autopilot decided to behave honorably, which simplified navigation considerably. Wind died completely for a few hours during the night. We hove to and tried to nap in the slow, clumsy lullaby of Arianna's roll, tuck and bob.

Last night a gale hit just as my first shift began. A black, solid front of storm clouds swept over the horizon and charged Arianna at incredible speed. Mark and I had hardly donned foul-weather gear before stinging, heavy rain drops began coursing in sheets onto the boat like millions of dollars in loose change. The seas swelled in response, building formidably into a vast, unending crowd of six to ten foot round, stolid shoulders brushed white and foamy at their crests. They pressed against us with disinterested, elemental strength like giant, single minded pedestrians hurrying through city streets in some alien world. Arianna exceeded eight knots flying just a scrap of a storm jib.

The storm continued blasting far beyond nightfall, when all but the nearest waves were hidden ominously in total blackness. We continued careening over belly-sinking swells at seven knots, showered pitilessly by stinging rain and foamy, warm sea water. The white, ghostly froth of giant rollers would appear suddenly to starboard, mount instantly to equestrian heights above the gunwales, then slide roughly beneath us and to port like a great wedge offering us up to the sky.

Solar lights which automatically detect daylight and nightfall, toggling accordingly, adorn Arianna's stern pulpit. With each bolt of cool, brittle white lightning the solar lights toggled off for an instant, in the confusion seeming almost to anticipate the intense crackling. The lightning illuminated the boiling seas for a fraction of a second at a time, like a menacingly gloating card player flashing us a glimpse of his winning hand.

The storm waxed and waned for over six hours, eventually forcing us to drop all sails and drift with the weather until it passed. Without any sails raised Arianna reached her hull speed several times, driven mercilessly by unceasing winds. The yacht's interior looked like a hurricane passed through strewing wet clothes, provisions, books, gear and more both furiously and mindlessly. One of the bunks slid almost entirely off of its frame. Onion skins, rags, weather gear, books, dishes and other miscellany littered the floor.

Storm clouds gather at our harbor in Tarpon Springs, Florida

Continued: The weather took its toll. Mark claims it's the worst storm he's ever been caught in. We traded shifts mechanically in the intense weather with a gray, tired stiffness, and slept our off-shifts soundly in spite of having to be strapped into our bunks with a lee cloth. Anna fell prey to sea-sickness that left her stranded in bed fighting to keep down fluids. The storm was followed with a spell of intermittent doldrums, leaving us bobbing in the warm windlessness for hours on end.

We decided to head into Tarpon Springs, Florida, to take a short break and avoid additional foul weather. The harbor is located up a winding river. We were towed into a slip at the marina by Towboat US while tornado watches blared from the radio. Dark clouds in contrasting, ominous grays formed cycling patterns and dipped slyly towards the earth.

We're safely in harbor and plan to make the second leg of our trip as soon as the weather passes. That should be Saturday at the earliest. We have been tracking our progress with Mark and Anna's Spot device. Take a look at our trip status here. A neighbor of ours at the marina who is familiar with Mark and Anna will tow us back out of the winding river and into open sea when we're ready for round two.