The wind had been rising all night. I lay in my bunk, listening to the familiar hum of One Ocean’s hull slicing through the waves, but I couldn’t sleep. It was still two hours before my watch, yet the pitch of the wind told me conditions were changing. We’d been short-handed the night before, a couple of crew down with seasickness, and I knew Mark had been covering extra shifts. So I decided to roll out of bed and head on deck early to help out.
It was midnight when I climbed up the companionway. Tess and Mark were on watch. Tess looked exhausted. Nothing takes her down, but the seasickness takes its toll at times. I sent her to bed and told Mark to grab a quick nap. I was happy to take the watch.
But Mark wasn’t going to be able to sleep either. The wind was steadily building from 22, then 27, then holding strong at 33 knots - force 7 on the Beaufort wind scale. One Ocean was reefed down with two reefs in the main, but the mizzen was still up. Mark and I geared up to go on deck to drop it. The deck pitched underfoot, salt spray stinging my face, but we held our course and speed — cruising along at 7.5 knots, One Ocean was solid.
The moon hung low, casting a silver path across the water. For a while, I steered by its reflection, following its glowing trail down Chedabucto Bay. The wind was powerful but steady — the kind of motion that keeps you alert, alive, and deeply aware of the elements. Around 2:30 a.m., the moon slipped behind the hills, and the night grew ink-black.
Not long after, I roused Tess, Bob, and Mike. We were approaching the narrow, winding inlet that leads to Guysborough, and I wanted all hands on deck.
There are few things I dislike more than entering an unknown port at night. Everything feels magnified — the darkness, the uncertainty, the weight of responsibility.
But the crew moved with quiet confidence. As we turned into the inlet, the hills rose around us, sheltering us from the gale. The sea flattened almost instantly. We dropped sail, and the first red buoy blinked in the distance — a small, reassuring heartbeat of light in the black water.
We watched for the second buoy, but it never appeared. On the chart, it seemed misplaced, even up on land. I asked Tess to be my eyes on the bow. I held the center of the channel, eyes shifting between the dim nav screen and the darkness ahead. Then Tess’s voice broke through — she’d spotted it, right beside us. Sure enough, it slid silently past our starboard side.
The next mark was green — or should have been — but it wasn’t lit either. I relied on Tess as my eyes and Mike for checking the charts from the helm below. We crept along the inlet, slow and deliberate, every sense tuned in. Ahead, the marina lights flared — bright, almost blinding against the night.
I throttled back, toggling between neutral and the faintest forward motion. The lights distorted everything — it was impossible to see the dock. Then Tess called out — she had it in sight. We were just twenty feet away.
We glided in quietly, almost weightless, until One Ocean touched the dock. The crew stepped off, lines in hand, and within moments we were secure. No drama. Just calm efficiency, and the deep sigh of relief that always follows a challenging passage.
When I stepped ashore, I looked up the hill behind the marina. A beautiful white house sat overlooking the harbour, glowing softly under the stars. Mark thought it belonged to his relative Annabel, where we’d be staying. I couldn't believe it - the marina, the small town, everything looked so charming, clean, and stunning.
The little town was so peaceful, the wind muted by the surrounding hills, and the scent of fall leaves drifting through the night air. It was 3:30 a.m., and we were all beyond tired. But standing there in that stillness — after the gale, the dark inlet, and the long night watch — I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and exhaustion. There is a saying that Adriene, from Yoga with Adriene, says, ‘see feelingly’ - Tess and I did. I am grateful for Tess’s calm approach to a stressful situation. We landed peacefully in another safe harbor - another successful experience on the Canadian coast.
