Passing debris

It’s called “debris”.  The shifting winds, big swells, and torrential rains resulting from a cyclone that passes nearby but not close enough to cause real damage.  Well, its 9:00 Saturday night and we suddenly find ourselves in the debris field of a cyclone.  Its 86 degrees in the cabin; two oscillating fans blow the warm air around and trick us into thinking that we’re cool.  Heavy rain sounds like tap dancers on the cabin top; some of it bounces through the open portholes; some of it pings sideways into the cockpit.  Lightning flashes.  Thunder claps.  Wind gusts create a welcome breeze.  In the aft cabin, we hear the distinct plopping of raindrops crescendo into a rivulet, discover a leak in the hatch and place a bucket on the floor.  The stream becomes constant and quickly piles up in the bucket.  It’s a torrent outside.  I’m nervous and patrol down below for more invading rivulets.  Suddenly at 9:30, the only audible sounds are the whirling fans and occasional drips.  Outside, a fine mist hovers around the canvas.  The wash down is complete.  Depending on location, rain measurements for the 30-minute deluge are from 1-1/2 to 2 inches.