This is a story that I should probably only tell after I´m home so that my mother doesn´t worry that I´ll be sailing for another few months (don´t worry Mom!). But, it´s a pretty vivid memory and was a very intense experience, so I wanted to share it while it was still fresh in my mind. This blog is probably a bit long, and maybe a bit dramatic, but it´s how I remember it happening. So, here it goes...

It’s a bit surreal to think back to what happened to us out there, especially now that we made it safely to Panama. It’s almost like it was a dream, except that it actually happened. By sailing standards it wasn’t the Perfect Storm, it just felt like it...

We were five days into our crossing. The trip started off at 999.99 miles to go (really 1,200) and we were getting excited that the miles were now actually ticking down. We were sailing downwind (wind directly from behind) and the wind and waves were consistently BIG. The waves were about 5-10 feet and the wind was blowing 15-25 knots. For you sailors, we had 3 reefs in the mainsail and a reduced genoa sail butterflied out with a pole. Even with very little sail up, we were averaging about 7 knots (pretty speedy for us) and making good time. It was a fairly bumpy ride the whole way, and uncomfortable at times, but at least we were going downwind and not fighting the waves.

Monday, February 9, 2004
17h35

We were somewhere north of Columbia. The day was hot and sunny. Gregory had just had a Urios speed record of 11.9 knots! Charlie, our auto-pilot, was driving and Petra was up on deck. Suddenly... Whack! The wind shifted and/or a wave caught Charlie off guard and the mainsail flipped to the other side... an accidental gybe. Not good for the rigging or the boat or Petra who got caught in the middle of it. It shook us all from any late afternoon haze we may have been in. Gregory hurried up to the cockpit to deal with the boat and sails while I tended to the bleeding gash Petra got from hitting her head on the boat when the boom crashed to the other side, and she was unfortunately sitting in the path of the mainsheet. Gregory decided it was wise to resume hand steering the boat until we could see what was going on with the weather. Weather forecasts had predicted northeasterlies of 25-30 knots but we all know how weather forecasts can be... The sun was setting and it would be dark soon. The waves had been big, but you could hear and feel that they were getting bigger. The surf got louder and the boat bounced and skidded a little more. We were also seeing gusts up to 35-40 knots at this point. Something was up.

Gregory was the only one experienced enough to drive at this point. The weather conditions were really challenging, and physically, it required a fair amount of strength to hold on and maintain the rudder against the waves and the skids. So, Petra and I were on “wave watch,” sitting facing backwards analyzing the monster waves that were cresting and rolling from every direction behind us. We were trying to give our skipper a heads up so that he could anticipate what was coming. Color commentary at its finest! “Big one straight from behind in 2 seconds, choppy one cresting on port side, big one to starboard in 3 seconds, etc.”

23h00
Petra had gone down to get some rest for a potentially long night and I was on wave watch as Gregory drove; the weather was still too turbulent for Charlie. I was sitting on the port side of the boat, with my harness hooked into the steel helm console and bracing my legs against it as well. I was probably in the middle of saying something profound when the next thing I know, I’m upside down on the other side of the cockpit, it’s daylight, and I’m in a swimming pool. Rather, a huge wave had crashed into the cockpit from behind and threw me headfirst across the boat. The cockpit was full of water and I was on my back, neck deep in it, in a state of disbelief, clenched and holding onto the safety buckles on my harness. The safety light attached to the emergency buoy ring had been dislodged by the wave and thrown into the cockpit with me, hence the intense light that lit up the night. I was in a bit of shock and black and blue but was okay. Greg watched it all happen in front of him, probably in a bit of disbelief as well. Then, Petra’s head emerged from the companionway in a state of befuddlement. The wave had crashed into the open hatch and doused everything in its path. The boat was soaked, there was water sloshing around in the bilge, and Petra was rudely awakened, but thankfully it wasn’t enough water to be serious, as it easily could have been.

From that point on, we were all up in the cockpit together and safety guidelines on the boat were elevated to “Code Red.” The conditions were obviously getting worse... No one was allowed up on deck without a safety harness, you always hooked in before you went up and unhooked after you were down, no stove/fire, be more careful, and do everything we can to keep water from entering the boat and potentially swamping/sinking us.

Tuesday, February 10, 2004
00h30
The wind and waves were not subsiding at all and the wind was still kicking up to 40 knots and shrieking through the shrouds. As great as he was, Charlie couldn’t anticipate the waves that sometimes sent us dangerously skidding on the wave. And, since he couldn’t effectively recover from some combinations of wind and waves, Gregory was still on driving duty, and had been for a 7 straight hours. This was obviously an unsustainable situation, especially if things continued on this sketchy path or... got worse. Strategy time. We had to find a way so that Charlie could drive again, or at minimum, find a way to give Gregory a few hours of rest. After a bit of discussion of our options, everything from dropping all the sails and sit and flounder to wait out the weather (dangerous because the waves could then sink us) to sailing south to Columbia (dangerous because of pirates and also because the waves would still be against us), our best/only option was to buy ourselves time by taking down the mainsail, which was our greatest source of speed and stability but also our greatest liability in bad weather. At the very least we hoped that this would help get Charlie back on duty.

Changing sails can be an involved maneuver in the best of conditions, but it was exponentially difficult and dangerous given our current siuation. Because Gregory was the only one that could steer the boat through the exercise, Petra and I had to be up on deck to manually manage the lines and sail. All of us had to pause a moment before we settled on this solution and ask ourselves, “could we do it?” Not only because it would be fairly brutal trying to drop a sail while fighting the wind and the power of a full sail, but mostly because the sailboat was getting rocked pretty violently at times (the mast was like an erratic metronome in the sky) and we would be totally exposed on the deck to the waves crashing onto the boat and the flapping sail and lines. Scary stuff. We really had no option though – it was a daunting proposition, but we had to try.

It was all surreal from the moment I hooked into the lifeline and left the cockpit to the moment we were back. We both scrambled quickly to the mast and held on – it was like hugging a big moving tree. I remember looking back at one point and all I could see were huge black waves rising and cresting behind Gregory and the boat, which was the size of an ant in comparison. I was in awe and disbelief – we were in the midst of something crazy. No time to waste daydreaming though, it was time to get to work and get back to the safety of the cockpit. It was fairly straightforward – get the sail down, tie the sail down, and get back safely - but the wind was howling so loudly that there was no way to communicate with Gregory even if we wanted to. Trying to move a fully winded mainsail was like trying to move a nail in concrete. Reigning in a violently flapping sail, once it was down, was also pretty hairy. Add the crashing waves that surprised us (and soaked us) and the earthquake that was going on underneath our feet and it was really crazy stuff and pretty precarious conditions. The adrenalin was flowing. Thanks to teamwork, luck and some brute force, we did it! It was a cool sense of achievement and total relief to be back in the cockpit again.

04h00
We’d been at it for a long time already. Gregory and I were on watch again and Charlie was now driving. The visibility was so bad that you could only see a few miles, and even then, that was in between the waves which were rolling and blocking the horizon. After seeing nothing for days, suddenly in the dark, cargo ship lights emerged from behind a wave... the ship was huge and it was right there! Gregory went back to the helm in a hurry to make sure that we weren’t in it´s path. Once it looked like we were in the clear, he went down to the VHF radio to try and get in touch with them, in hopes of getting an updated weather forecast and an idea of when this might end. “Cargo ship, cargo ship, this is sailing ship, come in please.” No response. “Cargo ship, cargo ship, this is sailing ship, come in please.” Bugger! The first wave had gotten the radio wet and now it wasn’t working! We couldn’t call or hear them. I was still up on watch on deck while Gregory was down at the chart table, with a close eye on the cargo ship. Suddenly, another cargo ship appeared. I saw it turn and then turn again and then I yelled, “Gregory!!!” The cargo ship had come up right behind us and it was hovering so close to us that I could see every light on its deck and read the words on the boat. HUGE ship. Not good. With the wind and waves, it felt like it could just crash into us, no matter how much we both tried to avoid each other. This didn´t seem like normal manuevering for a cargo ship, so we assumed they were trying to communicate. I ran down to the radio again and started calling them on the portable VHF. "Cargo ship, Cargo ship." It was magic to hear a voice on the other side.

Sailing ship, sailing ship, this is cargo ship
We read you loud and clear
Calm down young lady! (OK, so maybe I was a bit frantic at this point)
I am the cargo to your portside with working lights on
The other cargo downwind is standing by
Do you need any assistance?

Cargo ship, cargo ship, this is sailing ship
Do you have any weather information?

Sailing ship from cargo ship
The weather forecast for the coming day is 25-30 northeasterly... but it is probably going to be a lot worst (GREAT).
Do you need any assistance?

Ahhhh. The big question. There was so much I wish they could do... Greg yelled back to me, “What could he do? Take us to Panama? I wouldn’t mind staying downwind for a few minutes (to shelter us from the wind) but that wouldn’t change anything. There’s nothing they can do to help us.”

Cargo ship from sailing ship
We are heading to Panama
We are not in distress
Thank you very much for your help, we’ll be fine (WE HOPE)

Sailing ship from cargo ship
OK, I am going back on my route, good luck to you

Cargo ship from sailing ship
OK, thanks again, over

We must have been quite a sight, a tiny sailboat being thrashed by the sea. At this point we were just thankful for the interaction and touched and appreciative that the boats went out of their way to check up on us and offer help if they could. Encouraging sentiment in the middle of the bedlam. But, as quickly as they were there, they were gone. And poor Petra, she always seems to get rudely awakened from sleep by mayhem.

07h00
There were a lot of bad waves. Waves that crashed into the cockpit. Waves that surprised us. Waves that broke a stanchion the boat and also the hatch off the back cabin (by the way, good old American duct tape fixes everything, even when wet!). Waves that filled the cockpit. Waves that knocked people off their feet and got everyone wet. Water in the boat was the big danger, so we blocked and locked the main hatch to keep it out of the boat and from potentially sinking us.

So there I was, locked down below. Petra and Greg were on watch and I was told to try and catch a few hours of rest. There was no way that was happening. The boat was rocking and slamming and the noises of the waves on the hull were loud and ominous. I was sitting in the dark right near the companionway, just holding onto the handles, with an ear peeled for what was going on up on deck, since I couldn’t see a thing. Hours passed. Sun slowly started lightening up the room. Everything is better in the daylight, or so I thought. It´s true that everything sounds louder and more violent down below than up on deck, but the wave that I heard next was the loudest thundering one of them all. And, the violence that rocked the boat was like no other. I had been sitting on the steel stairs and then suddenly I wasn’t. Suddenly I was just dangling by the handles and the stairs that were once bolted down and covering the engine were airborne. Everything was flying through the air left to right and then back again and glass was crashing and breaking all around me. What was going on?! All I could think was, are Petra and Greg still on the boat???

Meanwhile up on deck...
A huge wave broke over the back of the boat. Petra was standing and holding onto the steel console, Greg had been sitting in the corner. Suddenly, Petra was still standing and holding onto the steel console, but now she was standing in thigh high water and Greg was on his back, completely surmerged, lifejacket inflated, and staring up through the water. It was only 5 seconds but I bet they were the longest 5 seconds of his life. Petra immediately grabbed him by the lifevest and said “hold on.”

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally got a “we’re okay.” Time to survey the damage and take a closer look at what happened around me. There was water sloshing underneath my feet and broken glass all over the floor. Petra had soup mix in her bed, there was a can of Coke in the engine bilge, and the compass was in the sink. I didn’t think any next bad wave could be any scarier than that one, but was the worse over?? I started preparing myself for the worst when Gregory yelled down, “Judy, don’t be scared by my silly question... but can you put the Iridium phone in the emergency bag?” The emergency bag is a waterproof gear bag with emergency contact info, Iridium phone, VHF radio, etc. - it´s the "just in case" bag that you prepare when you´re out at sea but never want to think about or... use. I didn’t want to jinx anything but at this point I was already pretty scared and had already put it in the bag. And, what they didn’t also know was that I was already wearing the VHF radio slung across my body.

The noises were relentless and the waves kept on coming. After already enduring so many hours of this banging and crashing and stress, I couldn’t help but really wonder when all of this would end. My logbook entry at 07h52: “How much longer can this go on?”

10h00
Gregory had been driving for about 14 straight hours. The waves were now monstrous. I had always thought that the visual effects in the movie “The Perfect Storm” were just special effects, but I can believe that it all happened now. The waves were up to 20-25 feet high, consecutive and cresting with immense power and turbulence. The sea was a field of “snow” and glaciers as far as you could see – the water is amazingly turquoise blue and bubbly when it crashes on itself. I have never ever seen anything like this before in my life - scary but so cool. Mountains of crashing water as far as you could see for hours and hours and hours. You almost can’t believe the huge 20 foot wall of water coming right at you. You think that you’re done for, only to find that the boat rises above it and then comes down the 20+ feet on the backside to meet the next one. Or it surfs. Or it skids. Those are the worst. The wave catches you just in the right way and sends the boat skidding uncontrollably. It´s a distinct sound of the hull leaning into the water and sliding against the surf, crashing water, and water splashing into the cockpit on the low side of the boat. It’s a sound that makes the hair on my arms stand on end because I can´t help but clench all the muscles in my body when it starts watching the skipper fight the helm, and then just hope that it’s over soon.

12h30
You could see the weariness in all of us, especially Gregory’s bloodshot red eyes after almost no sleep and lots of hard work, but none of us could complain. All of us were getting a bit delirious and tired and hadn’t eaten anything more substantial than crackers and Laughing Cow cheese for over 24 hours. We were wet and salty. The sun was hot and the glare on the water was intense. The spray made seeing through sunglasses almost impossible, especially since there was not a dry piece of clothing on either of us to clean the lenses. I remember my vision blurring and my eyes closing on their own a few times as I stared at the waves. I remember slapping Greg a few times to keep him awake and plying him with Coke and French “No Doze.” I remember singing out loud to keep him and myself awake. I remember saying Port when I meant Starboard and vice versa. I remember thinking that the two more days of this before we would get to our destination was a long time.

17h00
Somewhere in the late afternoon, there was a change in the air. Every once in a while the wind would drop to 25 knots and there was silence from the shrouds. A moment of peace. Amazing that 25 knots to us at this point was a respite. It’s definitely all relative! The barometer was slowly rising. We were searching for any sign that the worst was over and every little good thing convinced us that much more... It was still a bit windy and wavy, but manageable. Petra and I were back steering so that Gregory could sleep and we could save Charlie for night duty. The sun was setting and we were getting ready for another night of sailing.

18h20
I was just thinking to myself how beautiful the sun was as it was setting in front of us when my vision of the horizon was interrupted by fins flying through the air. DOLPHINS! They were darting back and forth from the boat from all sides as we ran back and forth from both sides of the cockpit to watch them. Magnificent! The waves must have been a fun playground because the dolphins were launching themselves off the backs of the waves into the air as we oohed and aahed. Whether we had inadvertantly run into them, or the pod of dolphins had come to find us, I couldn´t help but think it was a sign that things were looking up. And, they were. It was amazing how different life was just 24 hours before.

Thursday, February 12, 2004
06h00
I crawled out onto the deck to a pink sunrise over Colon, Panama and panoramic views of monstrous cargo ships hovering all around as we sailed towards the breakwater and blinking harbor buoy. We made it! At 8:42am, almost 8 days after we left Guadeloupe, Urios was finally tied up to the dock of the Panama Canal Yacht Club and we were wearily toasting each other with rum drinks. The boat was a mess, we were beat, things were broken, and everything was wet and rank and smelly but we were as happy as three people could be!

Those 24 hours were pretty harrowing - a wild scary yet exhilarating experience. I wouldn’t want to go through it ever again, but it’s nice to know that I have it in me to get through something like that, and could do it again if I had to. I´m even strangely glad it happened.

Experiences like this can change your life and definitely make you think. The profound philosophical stuff will probably come to me later, but for now, this is what I know for sure:
It´s all about putting theory into practice when things get rough.
Teamwork works.
Adrenalin takes you a long way.
People will rise to the occasion.
Things always seem to work out in the end.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.