The second event was a subtropical depression, the first of the 1997 Caribbean storm season. We were en route from the Colombian island of Providencia to Honduras’s Roatan. In the middle of the fourth night of our passage, I woke Windy. It was a clear sky, but the entire horizon astern was a black wall. We reefed the sails for a storm and waited for the punch. Hours later it overtook us, hitting like a squall but not letting up for the next 30 hours. We both hung on and ran with it, the wind and seas building all the while. No book or video I read before this time or since, could have prepared me for what it was like to be at the helm, running like this. After ducking into Maria la Gorda, the large bay on the southwestern side of Cuba, I was tired but exuberant.