The doldrums is a belt of low pressure near the equator that separates the trade winds in the north and south. Historically, it was a place sailors could get stuck for days without wind. The doldrums are now called the ITCZ (intertropical convergence zone). ITCZ better describes the area, as the doldrums aren't necessarily calm and glassy waters. There is nothing dull about my experience.

Every night at sundown I turn on the radar and program an alarm circle. The idea is that if a ship comes within about 7 miles, the alarm goes off, I get up and make sure we cross paths at a safe distance. As Tyler and I found as we came close to Hawaii, the radar is much better at picking up the heavy rain in a squall cloud. So, when I setup the alarm circle, I can tune the radar to be less sensitive to rain, waves and other weather related disturbances. When tuned right, the radar will ignore small squalls and let me sleep in peace.

A couple hours after sunset I was awaken by the radar alarm. I got up as usual, opened the hatch and looked around. Black every, no lights, no stars. I see a smallish blib on the radar dead ahead. Defiantly a squall. I turned off the weather tuning to see the real size of the rain cloud. The screen went entirely colored from port to starboard. Not good. I zoomed out the display to find a wall, 8 miles across and 4 miles thick directly in front of me. There is nowhere to go. I think I just might poop my pants.

Now the wind has risen from 20 to 30 knots and veers to dead ahead. I take in the rest of the jib sail from the safety of the cockpit. Then I see a flash of light and just about poop my pants a second time.

Now you need to understand that I'm from the west coast of Canada. We get ugly storms, just like every else. We rarely get lightning. In fact, I don't know if I've every even seen lightning from a boat in BC. If I have, I'm sure I ducked in behind an island with tall trees.

Mostly Harmless is now the tallest lightning rod in about 1000 square miles and I'm going to drive this lightning rod straight through the center of a lightning storm. I think I can even feel the static electricity in the air.

The last of any ambient light is now gone as the storm envelops my boat. The rain and spray meet the deck as one in volume, there is no horizon. The wind is now a steady 35 knots. Every few minutes there is a flash of light. Not enough light to see the horizon, but just enough to scare the living crap out of me. I am terrified.

The boat is sailing fine at 8 knots, the rigging whistling and bouncing as the boat plows through unseen sea. The only things I can do is hold on and pray that god that doesn't smite my little boat.

We were inside the squall for about two hours as it runs overtop of us and we came out the other side parentally unscathed. Terrified, but unhurt. The horizon is back again, and some are some stars. I reset the radar alarm with more sensitivity just incase other one of these squalls is out there, I crawl into a wet berth in my wet weather gear and close my eyes.

An hour later I'm awoken again by the radar alarm. Again there's a huge lightning squall in front of the boat. But this time it's a little farther to leeward and appears a little smaller. I'm also 4 miles away this time. Given the chance, I'm going around this one. I pull the sheets in tight and try to sail overtop of it, but as I get closer, the wind veers my farther towards the center. I should tack. I look over the boat. It's been running on this tack in 20-30 knots of wind for 7 days. All hell is going to brake loose if I tack this thing and try to sail directly into 12' seas.

Option number two, I stop the boat. I figure, in theory the squall is already moving to leeward. If I can stop the boat from going forward, the squall will outrun me going down wind. This in fact worked. Unfortunately, I took two hours for the bulk of the squall to pass before me, until I ran into the trailing edge. Lightning could be seen to my leeward the entire time.

I ran into one more lightning storm that night, smaller than the first two. We ran like a raped ape under the leading edge, as fast as we could go while the squall was building to windward of us. We got hit hard, but it was over swiftly. The sun began to rise.