The first day I really loved my furler.
We were enjoying a nice sail up the coast and had just changed watches. Weather wasn't bad, 20 knots over the quarter and 1mtr odd swell, some light rain clouds. It's nice sailing. Under white sails, the sail plan is nicely balanced, the genoa and main being pretty much the same area. A bit of attention to the trim and the boat was near driving itself, the chine doing its part just soaking up the occasional gusts.
I'd just stripped off and lay down when I heard that shout. You know the type I mean, one of those shouts that has a sailor bolt upright and reaching for the harness. I was halfway out of the cabin when the first really big gust hit, heeling the boat hard. Now the shouting is markedly picking up in tempo, both the number of voices and the intensity. I popped out of the hatchway to white seas and wind loud enough to reduce communication to hand signals and the merest snatches of words.
It wasn't a pretty sight. 30 degree heel, full main and genoa up, leeward bow pinned, bodies and sheets everywhere, we needed to get some sail down pronto. The genoa sheets being eased, Lydia's got the furler and as the headsail disappears the boat comes right back up on it's feet. The steering comes back, mainsheet comes on, main fills, heel on, chine on then hang on.
Phil's on the helm, he's an owner of a Northshore 38 and a good sailor. The boat is going like a freight train, I turn around to check on him, expecting to see nothing but the utter concentration and white knuckles so deserving of the situation. But instead, he's having a fat time, grinning like a loon, then yelling like a crazy man, pointing at the log as the boat speed pegs 20 knots. We're still under full main, a stub of headsail, wind speed steady in the high 30's gusting 40's, I've no backstay, the sea is a mess of white and yet the boat is just monstering over the waves.
After 10-15 mins of terror intermixed with some champagne sailing, the squall vanished. Some bemused looks at the horizon and at each other over a lack of any damage, then we simply unfurled the headsail and plodded off on our journey at a far more sedately (and welcome) pace.
One good thing, we didn't have to leave the cockpit the entire time.
That was the first day I really, really dug having a furler

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