There's trouble a-brewin' when your 8 year old asks if the night is over at 11 pm, and by morning has dark bags under her eyes as she enthusiastically states that the previous night "must have been the longest night ever". Try as I might to explain such subtleties as the spring equinox, and our proximity to the equator and thus being almost equi-distant between the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, she was having none of it. Nope, no way are we experiencing 12 hours of light, 12 of dark. No way, no how. Last night was, by her exquisitely accurate internal chronometer, The Longest Ever.

What, do tell, brought this on? Swell. Lots of it. Nancy hates swell. Did she mention that? Anyway, this particular swell was an evil one, rocking us completely and violently from gunwale to gunwale (think "side to side"). Relentless in its determination to shake the boat apart and deposit all carefully-stowed items onto the cabin floor, this evil swell also eliminated any chance of sleep.