In the total darkness of that enclosed cubicle, with my belly against the wall, rollerblading on wrenches and tools of all sizes, some of which fell through the opening created by the engineroom door, I quickly grasp what is happening. Paratii has capsized, or at least been knocked down. And there is no one out there to take any recovery measures. I spend fifteen minutes in despair, trapped by the door, trying to find a wrench that matches the square nub protruding from what was once a door handle. In the darkness, desperate to get out, I can't find anything. Something happened to the autopilot and the boat must have broached, burying the mast in the water. The strange shaking could only have been the mast breaking. My first thought is that I need to find my large cable cutters and cut away the stays to free the boat from its dragging mast. Then, I remember, Paratii no longer has stays. If we have been dismasted, there will be no stays to cut. And I just know we were dismasted.