CURRENT LOCATION: Tied to a mooring ball near Cayo Pirata, in Ensenada Honda, Culebra, Puerto Rico

18 18.400' N, 065 17.842' W

We have entered the rainy season here in the tropics. That means that we get occasional rain showers which provide a soaking for a maximum of about five minutes before moving on. Coincidentally, it takes about five minutes to close all of our ports and hatches. Somehow, though, we haven't caught on to this pattern and we go ahead and close things up regardless. Therefore, we are finding it a late-night routine (usually sometime between 2AM and 4AM) to be awoken by rain falling through the v-berth hatch.

It took us a while, but we now have a system in place for dealing with these sleep interruptions. Sheryl is usually the first to wake and will rouse me with as gentle a voice as she can manage. "It is starting to rain," she will whisper, sometimes repeatedly. Eventually, I wake with a start, as though someone has poked me with a cattle prod. I exclaim, "What, huh?!?" blinking my eyes in rapid succession. The adrenaline spike quickly subsides when I realize that it is only rain and not a calamity of more dire proportions. In fact, the energy pendulum quickly swings back to the opposite end of the spectrum and I find myself communicating with barely more that mere mumbles, "Mmphh, I'll get up first."

Our v-berth has a nice indentation between our berths which allows either of us to swing our legs around and plant our feet on the floor. However, experience taught us that if we both attempt this feat at the same time, we wind up with bruised legs. I volunteer to exit the bed first, mainly because I am the taller of the two of us. It is easier for me to reach and close the overhead hatches. Moving slowly, as though fighting some unseen current, I close the v-berth hatch and move aft toward the salon. Sheryl follows in my wake and begins closing the portlights along the starboard side. I work around the salon table and close the portlights on the port side.

Hopefully, we have had the foresight to close the front section of the dodger before we went to bed, and our work is done. Otherwise, one of us is going to get wet by hopping around onto the deck to zip the forward flap of our dodger down. Once closed, the dodger, bimini, and connector provide enough rain protection to allow us to leave the companionway open throughout most rainstorms.

Once the portlights are closed for the night, we usually do not open them again. Although very stout, constructed of glass inset into a big bronze frame, there is one design flaw in our portlights. They collect a pool of water whenever it rains. The angle of the portlight is such that when we loosen the dogs, this pool of water comes dribbling into the boat. It takes a coordinated effort to hold a towel while turning the dogs to keep the salon cushions from receiving the rainy residue.

The rain-induced calisthenics of opening and closing the boat are a bit easier to take during daylight hours. In fact, the genesis of this blog topic was inspired by a series of squalls which passed over the boat this morning. The first occurred a little before 4AM, but several followed during daylight hours. One was substantial enough for me to take off my t-shirt and stand up on deck in a pair of shorts to receive an impromptu fresh water shower. At a cost of $0.25 per gallon, we here aboard Prudence do not look a fresh-water gift horse in the mouth.

Rain or shine, there are no weather complaints from the crew. We are simply happy to make it though each day without the name of a tropical cyclone making the weather headlines. We hope that your Monday morning outlook is just as good, wherever you are. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go pump the water out of our dinghy.