This morning was the first totally clear, blue-filled sky I have seen since I arrived in Panama. I ritualistically popped my head out of my hatch this morning and saw nothing but blue above and below. It is still the wet season, so a day such as this is a rarity. The wet season is wet, to say the least, so rain is a constant factor in the day's weather equation. The air is supposed to become drier and winds more consistent as the days go by, however it seems as though the rain continually visits us during the day, often times in sudden downpours with thunder and lightening. Sometimes it is cloudy all day, which brings my pace down to that of a snail's.

After I fouled the chain on the anchor and dirtied both of our hands, we quickly scooted away from Isla Viveros. A local squall was beginning to blow nearby and we noticed a separate one building directly over the area we were headed. As we dialed in our course, the squall continued to look less than peaceful and fun, and lightening could be seen in the distance, and striking the surface of the water. Lightening is a great concern on this boat as it is essentially a gigantic lightening rod, with two humans closely situated next to it. A Godly hit could not only badly hurt or kill one or both of us, but also severely damage the boat, setting her adrift, or worst-case scenario, sinking her (although very rare). Unfortunately strikes are quite common during this time of year and in these latitudes. In fact, a good friend of Chris and Julie's were hit just outside of Colon, not more than a few months ago. They were underway when struck and sustained substantial damage to their backstay, which is one of the most essential parts of the mast's rigging system, and entire electrical system. They risked losing their mast, which is a dire situation and very dangerous. Fortunately they weren't far from Colon and made it into harbor safely. They boat was actually parked right next to Cisnecito while in Shelter Bay Marina, which personalized this tragedy for me and made me realize the reality of it all.

The ironic part of my fear of lightening is my fascination with it and joy of watching it. I remember many nights in Arizona anxiously watching the violent lightening storms from a safe and secure apartment. I used to open the blinds, turn the lights off, and hoot and holler as they passed. I loved the power, danger, and unpredictability of a lightening bolt. Now, my enthusiasm for lightening is not so great, for obvious reasons. In fact, I currently hate lightening and would be perfectly okay not seeing a bolt for the next several months. I'm jumpy enough as it is, so added electricity in the air, mixed with strong Panamanian coffee in the morning, is just overload in my opinion. My other thought was to mount a one iron directly to the top of the mast, although I haven't quite convinced Chris to do this. My good friend, Bob Schneider, would highly recommend this as well.

We changed our heading and pointed the bow slightly north in hopes to watch the development of the squall and hopefully figure out its direction. After about an hour or so, we realized the storm was passing over our destination which lay about 10 miles away, so we slowly turned back on course, and essentially went around the storm. The skies cleared after a bit and we quickly loosened up. I began breathing again which was nice. I did some navigating on the way into the anchorage which was fun, and we dropped a hook in a pristine spot. There is great snorkeling and spear-fishing on the other side of the small island, and the landscape is stunning with dense jungle and rock formations coming to the water's edge. This afternoon we blasted three groupers right off the reef with our spear guns and enjoyed them for dinner with rice, grilled peppers and onions, and a crisp Chilean Sauvignon Blanc. We will stay here for at least another day, and possibly smoke some fish on the beach, depending on the weather and day's catch.