The "lurid sky and an oily sea" that my old navigation teacher in Australia taught us to look for in advance of tropical trouble made its appearance on the evening of October 14. I took it to be Hurricane Kay advertising her wares well to our south. Though the barometer behaved normally, we had been warned.

On the night of the October 15, we were closing with Cabo Corriente. We were running three days ahead of schedule for our arrival in Acapulco and I am certain that there wasn't a soul aboard who wasn't beginning to imagine him or herself reclining beside a pool in Acapulco, pi–a colada in hand. It was a classic case of counting chickens before they hatch. About this time, the weather maps turned our attention to a new disturbance in the Gulf of Tuanapec, and the forecasters made no bones about it: watch out for this one! So we did, but it was still a long way off, probably 1,200 miles or so and 400 miles beyond Acapulco.

While steaming along, we had kept about half our sails up to take advantage of the odd puff. Around 11 PM, a slight fair breeze came up and we put it to use. Though showers appeared on the radar here and there, this had been the case for more than a day. Well, about midnight she came in with a wallop. Ten knots, twenty, thirty, forty, and then leveled off. The Standby Watch hit the deck like they were shot from a cannon. Within a few minutes, our heading changed from southeast to northwest as we turned to run before the building seas and wind. Farewell Acapulco. Farewell pi–a coladas. The rain came in like bullets strafing the deck and all who were on deck. Of course, one of the nice things about getting your butt kicked in the tropics is that while it is getting kicked, at least it is warm out.

We ran before the wind, handing sail as we went. The topsail was clewed up and the buntlines hauled tight. The jib topsail was doused. The mainsail was struck, followed by the jib. And our work had just begun. The winds were not constant at all. It would ease off for awhile, to as little as 15 knots, then charge back up to 40 or so. In the lulls, we tried to get things done. First the jib had to be triced up. It took two watches an hour to do that. Then the jib topsail had to be brought inboard to reduce weight at the extreme end of the headrig. This took the same two watches another hour to accomplish, while occasionally plunging up to their waists in the Sea of Cortez.

By the time these tasks were completed, it was time for the change of the watch. So the Standby Watch, B Watch, which had been working steadily for three hours, now took responsibility for the deck, and the new Standby Watch, C Watch, came up to help. A Watch went below to try to get some rest, if they could stay in their bunks. Next it was time to furl the fore topsail, so A and C Watches climbed aloft. There were myriad adjustments to make to the rigging, bilges to pump, and routine checks to stay on top of.

Around 4:30 AM on the morning of the October 16, I lay below, feeling that all that could be done had been done till things either got better or got worse. We carried on to the south on a port tack under foresail and staysail.

A wicked sea, 16 to 18 feet, was running by now that pulled at our well-ordered world, flinging any unsecured item as far as gravity would allow. Around 5:30 AM, I got word that, by the light of dawn, a few rips in the foresail and a few broken masthoops were noticed. Rather than take a chance with doing more damage, we lowered the foresail to the deck and set the storm trysail in its stead. The storm trysail is a simple, heavily built triangular sail that is easy to handle. It helped to steady out the rolling of the vessel and provided a little forward drive.

Around 7:00 AM, weather information confirmed that the "loosely organized" disturbance that was 300 miles to our south had in fact become Tropical Storm Madeline. She was developing into a hurricane and heading our way. Time to turn north and make way for Madeline. About this same time it was reported that the depression in the Gulf of Tuanapec to our east, was headed west as Tropical Storm Lester, soon to be Hurricane Lester. Meanwhile Kay, to our west, had reversed direction and was coming back east, though weakening. Never a dull moment.

Despite the peripheral activity, it was clear that Madeline was our most immediate concern. The problem with Madeline, aside from being close to us, was that she proved to be very slow moving and unpredictable. Instead of rushing on past and allowing us to continue on our way, seems she wanted to sit and stew awhile. Then she'd move toward us a bit and stew again while blocking the way out of the Sea of Cortez. Although weathering Madeline at sea remained an option, there was safe refuge at Puerto Vallarta, where Pride II sat out a hurricane in 1994. The question was whether we could attain Puerto Vallarta against the wind and seas.

By the 1 PM change of watch, wind velocity was seldom above the mid-30 knots and occasionally dipping into the high 20 knots. We set a triple reefed mainsail, about half its normal size, and this allowed us to come a little more onto the wind. Though we were still far from ready to try to fight this weather, we were setting sail again, and that was a good sign. The standby watches continued to work through the day repairing the foresail. Some of the masthoops were repaired with sections of other hoops. Segments of some hoops were fitted onto others both inside and out, glued, screwed, and "fished" in place. On we waddled to the north through the night with the idea of getting some relief from the seas and positioning ourselves to get into Puerto Vallarta if necessary, if possible.

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Setting canvas and using the engines, we made as much speed as the lumpy sea would permit to get into Puerto Vallarta before dark. Despite the failing breeze, the seas were still large enough that it was 11 PM, well past dark, when we passed between the breakwaters. Inside the harbor, all was completely still. The lights of hotels and resorts illuminated multi-million dollar mega-yachts that we passed with a few feet to spare on either side. A voice called from the darkness "Welcome to Paradise, amigos!" Paradise? We're running from a hurricane!

We were soon secure at our berth. I told the harbormaster that we needed to clear Customs and Immigration, as we had come from the United States. "Don't worry. Tomorrow."

I wasn't about to argue. It was time for bed.

Watch Below,
Captain Daniel S. Parrott