Stuck on our Boat for Four Days now. Four Days... and Counting.

****

The North winds barrelled down at us four days ago and life went from a gorgeous fifty shades of dead calm to blowing a blustery howling stink.

Day One. The winds are howling. Plenty chores to do. We clean and dust and organize. Oil levels are checked, battery water is topped up. We run the water maker.

It's been 3 hours, 5 minutes, and 10 seconds.

The winds are blowing with a savage ferociousness. The boat shudders and shocks us into a GForce sideways torque with yet another Gust. We check and double check our anchor. We double up our snubber line just in case. Triple check our boat position just because.

It's been 10 hours, 20 minutes, and 15 seconds.

It's a sleepless night. We wake with every gust and groan, and boat shudder. The winds are blowing a noisy relentless growl. We sleep with one eye aware and both ears shut tight trying to drown out the incessant howling. EarPlugs help.

It's been 22 hours, 40 minutes and 03 seconds.

Day Two. The Winds are still howling. Underneath there's a current of anxiety. We tackle more chores. I bake some cookies and some muffins. I'd write a blog but the Cell is screaming No Service.

We start the engine to power up the laptop to watch a movie. We turn the volume up loud to drown out the noise of the engine, which is barely audible over the roar of the winds. Another gusty overload and the boat careens a little sideways. We pause the movie, pop our heads out of the companionway and check the world around us. All is good, and we return below and load up another movie. Make some popcorn. And turn the volume up some more. The Wind howls back in angry response.

It's been 36 hours, 15 minutes and 05 seconds.

The Capt'n has blown his back. Somewhere somehow he's twisted a nerve. I'm on double watch. A couple of Advil and a massage help. Just a tad.

It's been 37 hours, 16 minutes, and 22 seances.

That afternoon we make our way to SV Plan Sea for Sunday dinner and Chit Chat. They're anchored just beside us but really, we are a million miles away as we brave the frothy seas to get there, arriving like a couple of drowned rats. A wonderful evening over great food, and pretty soon it's time to disembark. Getting off their boat and into our Dinghy, in the pitch-black of night, as it bounces four feet into the air with the chop, proves to be a little risky and a lot challenging. Once we're back on our boat safe and sound, it's all little funny in a risqué type of way.

It's been 45 hours, 55 minutes, and 29 seconds.

The North Winds are cold, and the comforter is resurrected from the aft cabin. We fall asleep under our closed hatches, to the boisterous lullaby of vigorous boat shuddering winds. Bring on the Ear Plugs.

It's been 47 hours, 2 minutes and 3 seconds.

Day Three. We sip our coffee and notice the winds have calmed a little this morning. Their Windy Wail has been reduced to a Wild Whimper. A big change for our ears and there's hope on the horizon. We talk excitedly about going ashore for a walk. But the Capt'n twists the wrong way, and this time he yelps again. More Advil. No walk.

It's been 64 hours, 22 minutes and 15 seconds.

Mere moments later the winds pipe back up, with a raging roar this time. They blow and howl and gust and lash the rig into a noisy submissive response, only wagging us as far as the anchor chain will allow. Our nerves are a little frayed. Our muscles are aching for a walk. There's more chores to invent. There's more baking to do. There's more movies to watch. The Capt'n Naps. I listen to the wind.

It's been 70 hours, 39 minutes and 15 seconds.

Tonight, Loretta and Jim come over for Pizza and games. There's plenty laughs during the many gusty pulls. While there's extreme faith in our anchor we check on it constantly. There's a brief rain spit that does absolutely nothing to reduce the salt crystals that are rapidly multiplying and exponentially expanding on our stainless. The chop on the water hits the hull of the boat with a resounding and ferocious Splash.

It's been 81 hours, 10 minutes and 48 seconds.

It's as is we're sailing at hull speed in gale force winds. And when we look out, we (thankfully) haven't moved.

It's been 81 hours, 10 minutes and 49 seconds.

Day Four. The sun has come out to play. Warmly greeting us with sandy beaches beckoning to be explored. The greenishly tinged water below us is murky from the chop. On the horizon there are some dark clouds appearing, but the chance of rain disappears, just like the clouds do. But still the winds are blowing, screaming their boisterous vengeance with no threat of stopping.

It's been 88 hours, 40 minutes and 06 seconds.

We open the hatches and the wind pummels through with a cold and ferocious blast that quickly sits us down on the settee. Enough already.

It's been 90 hours, 27 minutes and 99 seconds.

And Counting.