Laughing in 50 knots

I watched John approaching my bunk in the rocking, green LED lit corridor. 0545: he was coming to wake us up for our next six-hour watch.

“Steve, time for your--“

“Yep. I’ve been counting the minutes.”

Gale force winds and battering waves kept me awake while the rest of the off-watch crew caught up on sleep. I laid in my bunk for hours, in hopes of finding the perfect song on my iPod to lull me to slumber. The sleep never came, so instead I let my mind wonder on how I ended up in the North Atlantic in February, a place few are fortunate to experience.

I layered on pants, sweaters, and full foul-weather kit before daring to climb onto the soggy deck. Below, the pounding of a rogue wave and the sweeping slurry of water that follows warned us that it would be a rough, wet morning. We weren’t disappointed.
We climbed into the dark morning at 0600, and huddled together for what was sure to be a good six hours. The wind was gusting above 50 knots and we were hitting 8 knots of boat speed with only the storm staysail, a piece of cloth hardly bigger than a windsurfer’s sail. As the sun rose, we made out the steel grey expanse stretching from horizon to horizon, churning all the way. Sea Dragon swayed back and forth as if trying to stay planted on the back of an unruly elephant. Wind whipped the grey water into wrinkles and washed our exposed faces with a cold spray. At almost regular intervals, rogue waves would smack the hull and send a torrent of water punching across the cockpit. I could usually tell when these waves would hit by watching the facial expressions of Stiv and Leslie on the starboard side. Seeing them drop their jaws and then preemptively wince, I knew to duck down before the deluge of seawater came over my back.

Eventually I looked over my shoulder to see the goliath waves rolling towards us. My eyes went skyward as the crest of a wave stood well above me, only to pick up the boat and slip out the other side. The rough walls of water rose over 30 feet from the canyon-like troughs between them. We sat in awe of the power we were witnessing. Endless expanses of waves big enough to swamp suburbs, and wind fit to knock down trees, reminded us that we are only as big as the ocean will let us be. The shape-shifting beast was roaring a warning, and we weren’t in the mood to test it.
We counted down the time by sending somebody below to fill in the logbook and bring back coffee and Clif bars, every hour on the hour. The 10 minutes spent below deck were rejuvenating and reassuring. Despite the maelstrom up top, the inside of the boat was quiet, dry, and warm.

There’s no use in grumbling about a situation you’re stuck in. Although conditions left a lot to be desired, we did our best to make the most of it. Rogue waves resulted in shouts of excitement, and bursts of sea spray to the face were cause for hysterical laughter. We placed bets on highest wind speed (51.2 knots) and treated the huge hills of water like the descent of a roller coaster, throwing our arms in the air and crying out in thrilled laughter as we surfed down the faces. Either we were making light of the situation or losing our minds, but the watch passed surprisingly well.

The last 10 minutes on deck were the longest of my life. As we waited for the next watch team to relieve us, clammy cold soaked into our hands, feet, and faces. Thoughts of warm dry bunks made the cold bite hard and the waves whip harder. Finally, heroes clad in the same costumes as us clambered on deck and let us retire to the warm belly of the boat. We eagerly stripped off the soaked layers, and embraced the revitalizing qualities of hot lentil soup and fresh biscuits. Minutes later I was hunkered down in my bunk, falling asleep to the whistles of the wind and the delighted cries of the fresh crew on deck.

Stephen Amato and Elton Joseph