Nearly 60 years ago I started work with a shipping company, to train to
become an electrical engineer.

A few years later, after one of the companies ships had a topmast destroyed
by lightning (the topmasts were usually wood in those days as it was easier
to make a tapered spar this way and appearance still important), the company
decided that all the ships wooden topmasts should be protected by lightning
conductors, and in a shop where the youngest tech was in his 50s, I got the
job.



Every ship that arrived in Sydney had it's topmast inspected, and if not
conductored I would be assigned to go up the mast, measure up for a
conductor, make it, then up the mast again to fit it.

Unable to reach past the top of the mast in a bosuns chair I designed the
rod be the top part of the conductor fastened below the truck but projecting
above it. Usually the conductor consisted of a 1" x 1/4" copper strip, cut
at a 60 deg angle at the top (to give a sharp, lightning attracting, point),
joggled to go out around the truck and drilled every 2ft or so to be screwed
to the topmast, with a hole at the bottom to be bolted to the lower steel
section of mast.



One mast had a yard about 3' below the top and after being hauled as hi as
possible in the bosuns chair, curious because there appeared to be a
conductor already on the topmast, I climbed out of the chair by reaching up
and grasping the truck, stood on the yard and tied a rope around my waist
and the mast.

Hi and secure I was able to look down on the top of the truck and saw that
there had indeed been a lightning rod fitted previously consisting of a
piece of 1" rod that when screwed into a brass insert in the top of the
truck made contact with the conductor which went across the top of the spar,
beneath the truck.

Back in the workshop I rounded up a 12 in length of copper rod and machined
a thread to fit the brass plate with a nice sharp lightening attracting
point on the top end.



Back to the ship, hoisted to the top of the mast, I again grasped the truck,
climbed onto the yard and secured myself to the mast with a rope. I screwed
the new lighting rod into the truck and kept screwing so that the rod would
make firm contact with the conductor. I kept screwing and screwing waiting
for the connection to become firm, until finally the whole truck came away
in my hands and in shock I dropped it, fortunately not on my halyard
tenderers waiting some 60 ft below.



My blood ran cold. I had been using this truck as a hand-hold to hoist
myself out of the bosuns chair onto the yard. Yet the force of gravity on
its weight and a bead of paint around the junction with the topmast were all
that held it in place.



This was the closest I ever came to being killed by a bolt of lightning, a
bolt that occurred several months before, some thousands of miles away in
mid Pacific.



Remembered from the same period. A mate and I, just as we arrive in the
yacht club car park, were pounced on by a storm. We waited in the "Faraday
cage" safety of the car till the first fury had abated, then made a break
and dinghied out to the boat we were to spend the night on. Worried about
the boat being struck by lightning, which looked like coming back, we
connected a large shackle on a short piece of wire to the rig and threw it
into the water. Now "safe as houses", we turned in to be ready for our early
departure in the morning.

Of course the next morning we found that the piece of wire had been too
short and had the shackle suspended uselessly a foot above the water.



Another experience I remember. A mate who had a 26 ft keelboat on an inland
lake, new to sailing, was fascinated with the idea of sailing at night.
Knowing that I had done a god bit of night racing asked me if I would
organise a night sail for him.

I picked out a full moon night (the lake was formed by a dam and there were
plenty of trees growing out of the water), got hold of another couple of
experienced mates and off we set.

We'd gone about 6 miles across the dam when a storm obscured the sky, and
lightning flashed. We turned back, stationing one hand in the pulpit too
keep a look out for trees, fingers crossed. The wind piped up as it does
with a storm and we were soon having an exciting sail, rail down, in the
dark, when one of the crew (a mechanical engineer) noticed that there were
sparks cracking between the boom and the mast. Fascinated by this he tried
to interest the man in the pulpit (a mining engineer) who "did not want to
know anything about it", while the man on the tiller (electrical engineer)
made sure he kept well away from the lifelines and other metal. The owner,
an intrepid soul, wide eyed with the excitement of it all, and thoroughly
enjoying his night sail. We made it back to the mooring without damage.



Another example. Some 5 years ago an almost septuagenarian couple were
caught in, their now power cruiser, in a storm while researching the island
we now live on. We had anchored in a spot where we were sure there was a
good bottom and sat on the bridge to watch the storm. We had wind and rain
and lightning, as you do, and I remember suggesting to my wife that maybe I
should get some soap and clean the outside of the clears relying on the rain
to rinse them. She demurred, on the grounds that it would be too dangerous,
after all we were protected from the lightening by our cloth bimini top and
clears, so I waited till the first squall passed and then washed the outside
of the clears and the next (worse) lot of rain wind and lightening rinsed
them clean. It was a bit like when you were a kid, in bed, and worried about
monsters, you pulled the blanket over for protection. It worked for me; none
of the monsters got me.



How about carrying a blanket. Maybe even a Teddy as well.



To be serious, I do not believe that there is a definitive answer to the
task of protecting a yacht from lightening unless it's made of steel.



In Australia anyway, the main thing is to not play golf, as this is where
the statistics say you are most likely to be killed by lightening, even
worse than shark attack.