10/21/25
Today I woke up to “Redemption Song” by Bob Marley blasting from the restaurant across the street from where One Ocean had docked just yesterday afternoon. Well shit, I thought—isn’t that the perfect theme song for today.
It was the first morning in many where I slept soundly, without the crash of waves jolting me awake. I lay there for a moment, taking in the stillness and felt a wave of relief wash over me. We made it safely to Bermuda.
Around noon yesterday, we made a smooth landing in this tropical paradise. If you know anything about our crew, you know we didn’t waste a second. We stripped cushions of seawater-soaked covers, connected with locals who could quickly repair the damage done to One Ocean, and washed and washed and refolded our sails. Part of our recovery would be getting One Ocean back together- but we also had plenty of repair to do on ourselves. What followed were phone calls home, kissing solid ground, and warm showers, scrubbing away the stress of the past days.
Touching solid ground had never felt so good. Hearing my family's voices and seeing their smiles over the phone, I was finally able to release a breath I didn't realize I was holding onto. Yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to go home and give my loved ones the biggest hugs. The simplest things suddenly became the greatest luxuries and wow, what a place to recover.
That night over dinner, we finally allowed ourselves to reflect on the passage—something I wasn’t ready to do until we were safely ashore. We shared our experiences and listened to each other’s perspectives, and we were all on the same page: We were NOT interested in doing that again. Once was more than enough.
So here’s the rundown—what I remember, and what I forced myself to write down in my journal the day after we made it to Bermuda.
10/13/25
The One Ocean crew- Mark, Jenn, Charlie, and I- were together in Lockeport for Canadian Thanksgiving. It was a cool fall day and we decided to take a walk and check out the town. We followed the sound of crashing waves in the distance and were surprised to find a white sandy beach. This reminded Jennifer of a dream she’d had just the night before— a clear image of white sand slipping through her fingers, blowing away with the wind. At the time, we didn’t know we’d be heading to Bermuda the very next day, and we certainly did not anticipate the harrowing journey that lay ahead. I would return to this image countless times in the days that followed, using it to calm myself when things felt out of control.
10/16/25
My hat blew off as we struggled to get the mainsail down while the wind continued to build—40 knots, 45, more. Rain blew sideways. Lightning circled us in the distance. The seas were rough, and we knew they were only going to get worse- the next day, we would cross the Gulf Stream. The combination of strong current and gale-force winds was something I had been dreading—but couldn’t avoid. That night, I made sure to sleep with my door open, partly for an easy out and partly to explain the crashing sounds consuming the v-berth.
10/17/25
The next morning, I reluctantly crawled out of bed to the largest waves I’ve ever seen. It was loud—and we were moving fast.
45 knot wind climbed to 50… 60… 65 kts as the day went on
We watched from the main salon as walls of water, one after another, lifted us high onto their crests before dropping us back down again. Each wave felt like it might swallow the boat whole, yet from the top we were gifted terrifyingly incredible views of the horizon. Sandy Bermuda beaches couldn’t come fast enough.
As the day went on, wind grew stronger and waves grew larger, and Jenn and Mark went out to hand-steer. As I walked to the chart table to write in the logbook -CRASH- suddenly the boat was completely engulfed in white and thrown to its side. I quickly examined in the cabin. The force catapulted everything from the locked cupboards but somehow nothing caused harm to myself or Charlie. Charlie took a knockdown in the galley, but aside from chaos and a total mess, we were both okay.
My eyes shot to the cockpit, locking with Jenn and within seconds I was outside tying off the dodger with Mark, to prevent it from violently flapping in Jenn’s face as she steered. The dodger had been completely broken by the crest of the odd wave, and our port lifelines were hanging on by threads. Mark and I tied off the dodger, secured the lifelines—whatever we could manage. I bounced between inside and out, updating the logbook and offering whatever encouragement I could as Jenn fought to keep us on course.
Then another wave hit us from the side. This time, the dinghy was ripped loose and dragged behind us like a drogue. Mark and I got to work again. Mark made his way back to the swim step, secured a line to the dinghy, and I cranked it back in—again and again—as daylight slipped away. After what felt like an eternity, I was ready to call it before one of us was swept away by the next wave. But with a final push, we got it up. Phew.
As day faded into night, the mountains of water became looming shadows chasing us through the darkness. I feared the unpredictability of what night would bring. Shortly after we were consumed by darkness, we tested the autopilot, and to some miracle, it worked—allowing us to steer from inside.
That night was pure focus- autopilot could (and did) fail at times, and we couldn’t manage any missteps. We flinched every time waves slammed into the windows. No sleep. No rest. Just one goal: make it through the night.
When the sun rose the next morning, I let out a breath and let my eyelids fall shut. The waves were still large, the wind still strong—but after what we’d endured, it felt like nothing. We hadn’t reached Bermuda yet, but with the break of dawn, I knew we had made it.
Bermuda turned out to be exactly what we needed. Within our first week there, One Ocean was pretty much back to herself and we were slowly getting there as well. And finally, I got to sit on a beach and let the softest white sand I’ve ever felt slip through my fingers—like flour—just as Jenn had dreamed.
-Tess