The feeling of terror

First came the sound. The kind that makes your heart skip a beat, launching you into action while every fiber of your being is paralyzed with terror. You know what’s coming next. It’s deafening, louder than any rock concert or auto race I’ve ever attended.

Then comes the light. So blinding you can’t keep your eyes open. It’s like the largest camera flash just went off right in your face. The kind of light you can feel the heat from, raising the hair on your arms—and everywhere else. It brings with it a distinct taste, the taste of pennies. This lasts only milliseconds, but the result is devastating.

What began as a celebration of our transition to our new boat ended in a catastrophic lightning strike. A bolt struck our VHF antenna, towering several feet above the top of our mast. I know this because, as these sensations played out, I was making my way to the salon to help Tami load as many electronic devices into the oven as possible. I looked up through the deck port light and watched, ever so briefly, the Finger of God strike our mast. As horrifying as that was, it only got worse.

Panic – Are we sinking?

In that brief moment, the light brought darkness. I ran up the stairs to find Tami on the floor, shocked while holding the oven handle. We lay on the floor, in total darkness, as the storm that came out of nowhere, with no warning, continued to unleash bolt after bolt all around us. My mind was racing. I thought the strike had to exit the boat somewhere—please don’t let it be the hull. But there was no way to check as the storm raged on for what seemed like an hour, but was only minutes.

The next sound we heard was our buddy boat on the handheld radio I didn’t even realize I was holding, let alone had turned on. “Hey man, I think you guys took a direct hit. Are you okay?” “Yes, we’re both alive and very shaken up. The boat has totally lost power, and I have no idea if we’re sinking.” I first peered over the side to see if the bilge pumps were pumping water out, especially the side with the earth ground—a large copper ingot grounding the entire boat. No water, but then again, there’s no power, and who knows if they’re even operational anymore. We frantically ran through both hulls with our flashlights, confirming no water was entering the living areas. This meant we were either extremely lucky or the watertight bulkheads were working, but we had no idea how much time that would buy us.

We needed the motors, just in case, but what if the water was covering the motors and we turned the key? I know from experience that this can be catastrophic, so I turned the key to see if the panels would light up. Our first win—the panels survived, meaning the start batteries were working. But we needed some light.

What about the lights

As I moved around the boat, it felt like I was walking on shards of glass, but there was no glass. I located my multimeter and started testing circuits. Nothing, no voltage—again and again. I finally got to the batteries, our beloved Battleborn lithium batteries. They all showed voltage, the correct voltage for the last state of charge—they appeared to have survived as well—but still no power. I quickly realized the battery cutoff switch had been damaged, and luckily, we had a spare switch.

After replacing the switch, we confirmed power to the panels, and the LED ceiling lights came on—win number two. That’s when we realized the shards on the floors were actually pieces of switches, fuses, and LEDs the strike had blown to pieces as it barreled through our home. If we weren’t overwhelmed by the actual event, the amount of damage would have pushed us over the edge.The Damage

The Damage

The damage was incredible. We lost every piece of our navigation package—chart plotter, control heads, anemometer, radar—everything, even the wiring. Anything that touched the wiring in the mast was destroyed. The inverter charger I had just installed—toast. All the navigation lights and deck lights—gone. To make a long list short, everything would have to be replaced. A cruiser’s worst nightmare come true.

The list of things that survived, beyond Tami and me, was equally long. We had our health, and the dogs survived. Poor Tessie, who had recently gone blind, could only listen to the screams of her master—a scream I never want to hear again. The boat engines did start. There weren’t any exit holes in the hulls of the boat. It will take time, but we will get her fixed up and move on. Nothing in this life comes easy. Was this perhaps Neptune’s test for us as we just took ownership of Tartaruga? Whatever the case, I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone.