It was a dark and stormy night. Really.
The droning, whistling winds, halyards clanging on the mast. Rain and waves slapping the deck and hull. The docks remain above water, but often awash. Even Whittaker Creek has whitecaps and streaking foam. Wild Haggis' water line is even with the dock planks.
Scout pushes his muzzle between my hip and the arm of my chair. I know he does not understand why we cannot get him off the boat, but he flicks his tail happily anyway. I scratch his head.
Sandy continues her sprint northeast, but her wind field now reaches 700 miles from the eye. Big and growing larger. And we have not yet felt her strongest winds.
All boats here seem to be riding well and secure. Several crews gathered in the clubhouse last night and this morning for internet, conversation and coffee. We stayed aboard and watched a suspenseful movie. Given the natural suspense surrounding us, I am not sure the movie was the best choice. The storm rocked our fitful sleep as we remained attuned to any changes in motion or alarming thuds.
It will be another long day of listening to the storm winds and rain and watching the water rise. Cameron asked if we would have "bragging rights" about riding out a hurricane aboard our boat. We replied, "Absolutely." Then again, it is a long way from being over, I type as a huge gust howls overhead.
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