Dodging lightning

Developing a healthy respect for this scary phenomenon

In the midst of our second Pacific crossing last year, my husband, Seth, and I crossed the equator for the third time. I had not been looking forward to it. Possibly more than anything else at sea, I fear lightning. Possibly the scariest situation I’ve encountered on a boat had to do with lightning. It was arguably just as frightening as the high breaking seas we weathered off South Africa on our circumnavigation (“Worst weather challenges,” September/October 2019, Issue 257). It happened a number of years ago, but the fear hasn’t gone away. It is, after all, a rational fear, given that a sailboat in a thunderstorm is a sitting duck.

On the flat expanse of ocean, far from land, a sailboat’s mast is essentially a giant lightning rod. It’s the only tall thing for miles and miles around. Even if the boat is grounded, this is a scary situation. I personally know one sailing couple — and I know of others — whose boat was hit by lightning. Their boat was fortunately well-grounded and thus did not sink, but the boat’s interior was heavily damaged and all their electronics destroyed. They were at anchor and not on board at the time, so this was less of a problem than it might have been had they remained on their vessel. And this is the best-case scenario.

Before I started sailing offshore, I was not afraid of thunderstorms. Thirteen years and over 50,000 sea miles have changed that.

For the first part of our circumnavigation — from Maine to the South Pacific — Seth and I had very good luck with this type of weather. Our first experience with the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ), colloquially known among sailors as “the doldrums,” was wonderfully benign: En route to the Galapagos from Panama, a light southerly wind allowed us to sail the entire passage and the overcast sky never developed into thunderheads.