We're in Barillas, El Salvador.

We continued flying the spinnaker after sunset. At about 9pm, I decided we needed to take it down as we would be arriving at the meeting place outside the Barillas sandbar too soon. We were flying the 0.75 oz sail and the winds were varying from 10-16 knots. Our normal takedown has Sal in the cockpit releasing the sheets, Tane and I on the foredeck releasing the halyard (to drop it) and gathering it in and stuffing it down into the forward hatch to make sure it doesn't go overboard or get picked up by the wind, and the autopilot steeing. The sail is large, and even a small breeze generates significant force.

The normal procedure is to change direction to bring the pole into the forestay, then when ready, rotate the autopilot control by just enough to have the mainsail blanket the spinnaker to collapse it. We then work together to drop it as quickly as possible.

Everything was set up. Although it was dark, we have powerful foredeck and cockpit lights, so it's no problem to see what's going on. Tane and I were clipped in to our harnesses on the jacklines, and went forward. We were just getting into position when suddenly we seemed to be in a hurricane. The wind was howling, the spinnaker was blowing in entirely the wrong direction, pulling the boat way over and dipping the rail. For a while, we had no idea what had happened. Had a squall hit (there were none showing on the radar and the skies were clear and full of stars)? It turned out that one of us had bumped the autopilot engage button and the boat had suddenly turned into the wind, just as it was gusting to the maximum. The main was backwinded and in the process, there was a bang and something was broken with the mainsail. After a few minutes of a really wild ride, the spinnaker wrapping around the forestay, and violent motion and commotion, we started the motor to be able to steer the boat back on course. As soon as this happened, the sail was completely quiet and we could pull it down and untwist it from the forestay. As far as we know it is undamaged. The problem with the mainsail was a vanished shackle holding the clew (the outer end along the boom) which was easy to replace. It took a while for the adrenaline to subside!

As we were clearing things up, I noticed a strobe light not far ahead. Oh hell! It had to be the end of a net. Sure enough, we made out another in the distance. After steering around the end, and getting on course again, we immediately came across another net. And another. Soon, they were everywhere. Some were white flashing lights, others were red. It was very difficult to work out which lights were in pairs to determine where to steer to avoid the nets. This continued for the rest of the night.

At 6:45am, we arrived at the waypoint for meeting the panga that guides you through the sandbar. We could see plenty of surf, but no gaps. The marina was contacted a little after 7am and the guide appeared 30 minutes later. We started following him. Soon we were beam on to rollers in about 15 feet of water. After a mile or so, we turned into the river and then motored for another 8 miles against the current through a mangrove jungle. In the background there is a series of volcanoes---dramatic cones towering over the scene. About a mile from the anchorage, the engine water flow alarm went off, so we had to shut down the motor, anchor in the river, and replace the engine water pump impeller, a rubber paddle wheel, which had flown apart.