Waiting for the Storm

Waiting for the Storm The weather forecast promised winds strengthening to gale force. At times like this, it is important not to leave the yacht unattended at anchor and to be ready either to head straight out to sea or to drop a second anchor. Morning. The island of Gran Canaria. A deceptive lull, and freezing cold. Today, for the first time, I slept in woollen socks. The weather front is coming through in clumps. Red clumps of storm give way to a gentle green calm. Yesterday there were gusts of up to 30 knots, and the yachts returned to the port of Mogán to wait out the bad weather. Today we are expecting 40 knots. Lady Mary is anchored beside the marina. The anchorage is sheltered from the storm in the island’s lee. But as the storm approaches, our young sailor and I are a little nervous: the captain has ridden out strong winds at anchor many times, but this is our first. Ashore for the Internet We cleared everything unnecessary off the deck and Nastya and I dashed ashore, slipping between the gusts so our dinghy would not be blown out into the ocean. It was also a chance to break in my waterproof jacket—a prize from the My Planet portal for the best travel report (the prize took two months to reach us, got lost along the way, but turned up a couple of days before our flight). The captain is trying unsuccessfully to fish from the deck: “You’re wearing my jacket!? Better give it to me so the fish can’t see me. Don’t you know what fishermen need green jackets for?!” I managed to convince the captain that I needed the green jacket more just then, so that the fish could not see me either, and so that I would not be swept off the dinghy and into the sea. At the harbour entrance, we fished out a “Welcome aboard” mat that the wind had torn off someone’s yacht. Between showers, I managed to take part in the webinar for which I had been so determined to battle through the foul weather to reach the World Wide Web. We hold our Internet sessions on a bench within range of Wi-Fi with a password we know. Sometimes a deafening voice erupts from our backpack: “Crazy Dinghy, Crazy Dinghy! Dad calling. Over.” Jumping in surprise, we fish the radio out of the waterproof bag, hissing at full volume. The holidaymakers, having jumped in unison with us, look around in bewilderment and then examine with interest the device into which, ignoring the modern achievements of mobile communications, we whisper urgently: “Lady Mary, Lady Mary! Dinghy calling. How are things over there? Over.” On the way back, we fly along, planing over the little waves, while the wind merrily sweeps us past the boat. We manage to scramble onto the deck between gusts, shivering violently from the cold. They say that in the north of the Canary Islands, people have already been wearing jackets for about a week... And the captain did not catch any fish. The fish spotted him. And scattered. We really should have left him the green fish-invisibility jacket.