Note: as you read the following introduction, imagine it being told in a Scottish accent (a la Shrek or Mike Myers father in So I Married an Ax Murderer, or simply listening to my father, Bill, tell a story. This is told by Connor two days after a really rough sail; the lead up to the sail follows.)

"Aaah laddie, You think you have it bad, a tummy ache you say. Did I ever tell you about the time I was caught in a Force 9 Gale off the coast of Tunisia. There we were taking the wind and the waves on the nose, water pouring over the decks. Me dad popped his head into the cabin and told us it was going to be rough. Me sister and I were okay, but at that very moment, Mom headed to the crapper. She went to Old Faithful, my head, and after emptyen' her bowels Old Faithful wasn't that faithful and wouldn't flush. Trying desperately to empty the head and get back on deck as soon as possible, she scooped the poop into a bag, tied it up and ran onto the deck where she tossed it into the ocean. By now she was green and turning to the kitchen sink, hurled. BLAAAH. Then Jenny went BLAAAH right beside Mom. "It hurts, it hurts," she cried, but Mom didn't hear, she just grabbed Jenny's head and shoved it aside. BLAAAAH. I couldn't help her as I was cleaning up Boo poo after she shat in her bed. I threw it overboard but it got caught on deck. I go to wash me hands but there was vomit in the sink. Jenny was crying and Mom was dying on the couch. My iron clad stomach was not so iron clad and BLAAAAH right inta' the sink. So, what do you think about your stomach ache now, laddy?"

Before I tell you the rest of the story, let me give you a sense of timing. The above tale was told two nights after we safely docked in the port of Villasimius, a quaint touristy town where we holed up for 2 days to clean, pick up, wash down and generally recoup. We had arrived safe although it took three marina workers and Windancer's two engines at full power to dock side-to in the 35 knot winds. I was never so glad to see land. Our safety was a result of John's captaining and tenacity. I was useless for most of the trip and we didn't want the kids on deck. In the light of the day, as we headed to land, John went for a nap and Jenny and I sat in our wet gear, soaked to the bone as we took wave over wave full on. The water burned our skin and we took refuge in the cockpit. Once in the safety of the modern marina, John got some much needed sleep and we had explored the town and enjoyed Italian food once again. Walking out of the restaurant that night, Connor told his version of the storm at its worst and our experience. I laughed so hard I cried, but could only do that after the worst was over.

Here is how it began: Rising in the rain, John went to check out of Marina de Sidi Bou Said, Tunisia while the kids and I went to check out the kitties after such a cold and wet night. John and I had made the decision that if the kids still wanted one, then now was as good a time as ever. Jenny spied a little orange, white and black kitten mewing and shivering in the cold and we scooped her (him?) up, dried it off, fed it some milk and rice and name it Sidi Bou or Boo, as we now call it.

Not having access to internet for the last four days we made the mistake of leaving without really knowing the weather and sea forecast and for the next 24 hours we paid the price of our mistake as we sailed northwest to Sardinia. Early in the day it was bumpy, with 5-8 foot rollers and although taking the wind and waves on our nose it was manageable. Boo slept in its basket, the kids hung out in the galley and I dozed off. As the day went by, the wind picked up and walls of water crashed over the foredeck and onto the flybridge. Baskets flew off shelves, drawers emptied, cupboards banged. We were unprepared and were taking a beating. John donned his wetgear and each time he entered the galley, pealed off a soaked underlayer. For the first time as a family, we agreed not to cook nibbling on crackers and cookies.

Around 6pm John entered the cockpit and said, 'okay, here is the choice, either we turn around and head back to Bizerte in Tunisia or we keep going, either way it will be rough, but it will definitely be rougher heading to Sardinia." We agreed to keep going onwards in 40 knot winds on the nose (maxing at 47), but altered our course to head directly north to the most easterly tip on the southern coast. By now, I was feeling brutally ill and had downed a gravol or two. And then all hell broke loose and you know the rest of the story.

(PS. I type this now LYING on the flybridge in the setting sun on the way to Palma, Mallorca from Sardinia. In the course of two days, the winds have died down and we are flying the gennaker making about 6 knots. We learned a lesson or two and, although we suffered some damage to our main, we came through it safely and Windancer once again proved herself to be strong and determined. I leave you then, with the sincerest sailors' blessing and never have I appreciated it more...Fair Winds and Following Seas.)