During our crossing from Lockeport, Nova Scotia to Bermuda, One Ocean and crew faced a storm that lasted 3 days with wind up to almost 70 knots and waves larger than their 48 foot ketch. This is a glimpse into what the team of four was dealing with while out there. I wrote this in a text to a friend, who has been diligently keeping friends and family updated on our journey, while we were navigating through this storm. Now, after a week of repairs, healing and hurricane preparation I have finally been able to get this up online.
The Text:
The four of us — volunteer Charley, Tess, Mark, and me — have barely had time to process. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve been in my bunk in… I think three days.
We are all safe, relatively unscathed, and somehow in good spirits for what we’ve been through. But I hurt everywhere — especially in my heart and soul. I can’t unpack that until Bermuda. For now, the task at hand is simply getting to Bermuda.
A few years ago, I sailed with Mark and Herb, and Herb told me, “Focus on the task at hand, and all the sailing you want will come your way.” I’ve never been so focused in all my life as in these past 48 hours.
We got caught in the middle of a monster storm in the Atlantic Ocean. It moved quicker than expected — north and west of us — and we found ourselves in sustained winds over 50 mph. I think the highest we saw was 69 knots, but none of us have fully reviewed or processed it yet.
Mark and I hand-steered through the a couple of nights, lightning circling us, rain pelting at our faces, as waves sent our 48-foot ketch surfing down their faces. Mark had been training me for difficult conditions and every word he had said played over and over in my mind.
The exhaustion was bone-deep. My memory is foggy now, but those nights were terrifying, but nothing compared to what came next.
We crossed the Gulf Stream which was flowing east at 5 knots — with 50–60 knots of wind from the north (on our stern). It was an epic collision of colossal forces: wind, current, and sea.
Mark was at the helm when I clipped my harness by the cockpit door to relieve him. He was briefing me when we both turned to starboard — I’m not sure why, maybe the sound — and saw a monster wave coming at us from the side, not from astern like the others.
The last thing Mark remembers is a wall of white crashing down on us. I saw his body fly above me as seawater engulfed everything. I reached out and grabbed his pant leg as we were both thrown over the port side. Somehow, I pulled myself back into the cockpit and, with all my strength, hauled him back in.
Mark’s head had taken a hit — his bell rung — and his glasses were gone. But we snapped back into action. The dodger, torn and flapping wildly, whipped around my face as Tess appeared from below, instantly grasping the urgency. Together, she and Mark tied off what was left of the dodger while I kept our bow pointed forward, staring down waves that felt like ocean cliffs.
When I finally caught a glimpse of the port side, my heart sank. The damage was severe — lifelines ripped apart, solar panels snapped in half, our dinghy barely hanging on by twisted steel.
Inside One Ocean, the force of that wave had blown open locked cabinets, contents scattered everywhere and water flooded in through vents and doors. It was chaos.
Hours blurred together. My hands cramped from gripping the helm. Mark eventually relieved me so I could change into something dry, but when I noticed a long line dragging astern, I tethered and went to retrieve it.
Two waves slammed into me, pinning me underwater. I felt myself being sucked off the stern — the lifeline scraping over my back. Somehow, I grabbed hold of something — I don’t even know what — and pulled myself back on board, gasping for air.
Another wave hit. Our dinghy became a drogue, dragging in the water. I was able to crawl into the cockpit while Mark and Tess worked into the dark to rescue the dinghy. I steered for hours, my hands locked on the wheel and my arms burning.
Mark finally came to relieve me and miraculously, the wind decreased to 40-55 knots. We tried the autopilot and it worked. I was freezing, shaking violently when I finally went inside to change my soaked clothes and that's when I saw the state inside of One Ocean. She had been shaken badly.
We took turns steering from inside as the night dragged on. The team pulled together like never before and we did it - we got through the worst of it.
By morning, the wind eased to 30–40 knots. The waves still towered, but compared to the night before, it felt relatively calm.
I was beyond hungry — I hadn’t eaten in days. Mark had promised clam linguine when we neared Bermuda, but I wondered if he could even find a pot among the wreckage.
Update for the week:
When we finally limped into Bermuda, Herb McCormick’s contact — Danny Greene— met us at the dock and immediately connected us with local tradespeople to fix our dinghy’s motor, to weld our lifelines and dinghy davits, and to repair the dodger. Thanks to them, we’ve managed to fix everything critical aboard.
Now, as Hurricane Melissa bears down on Jamaica and is forecast to hit Bermuda later this week, we’re preparing once again — taking down sails, securing what’s left of our solar panels, and boarding up for safety.
There’s no time for the weary. But today, amid repairs and recovery, we held a live classroom with BC Whales - one of our research partners, on whale identification. It was spectacular — grounding and inspiring. Thank you, Janie Wray and BC Whales! You can watch the class here.
Support the Journey
We’ve launched a Patreon Site to help support our ongoing education outreach as we continue our journey around North and South America.
Join our crew at patreon.com/oneislandoneocean/gift — for just $5/month, you’ll get behind-the-scenes access to our navigation decisions and storm updates as we sail around North and South America.
It also makes a pretty great Christmas gift for the ocean lover or explorer in your life.
Thank you for your support and watch our social media sites where we will continue to update you on the approaching Hurricane.