Well, so much for easy sailing. There was a decent-sized squall sitting right on the nose, so I figured I would get ahead of it and put a reef in the genoa. Started rolling it in and quickly discovered the furler was completely jammed. No chance that sail was taking a reef voluntarily. With two people on board we probably could have sorted it out in time. Single-handed, with a black wall of rain marching toward us, that was not going to happen.

So I made the call. Dropped the sail, wrestled it down as cleanly as I could, flaked it fast, and stuffed the entire thing through the forward hatch into the main cabin. Not pretty, but effective. It went smoother than I had any right to expect, and I managed to get the furler unjammed in the brief window before the squall actually hit.

First of many equatorial squalls, I am guessing, and I will say this for the inaugural one: it was something else. Absolutely beautiful. Rain like the sky had simply opened up. Wind solid and steady, and I could not help thinking of The White Squall, which is exactly the kind of association you want at a moment like this. The strangest part was the water itself, which went completely flat under the rain, like someone had ironed the ocean.

Cloud Nine got the rinse of her life, and now we have a giant Dacron comforter wrapped around the forepeak for the night. I will hoist the headsail again in the morning. No sense rushing it. Daylight is getting thin and I am not interested in wrestling canvas in the dark.