EXCERPT

Another roller hit us head-on and pushed me back to the base of the cutter stay, which had the only working sail still hanked on and intact. I struggled forward once again, attempting to duck the two jib control sheets, which were whipping my body unmercifully like an unseen torturer. I tried to engage the furling device in order to wind up the sail, but it had become fouled and would not turn. Then I tried to roll up what was left of the sail by turning the furler manually and discovered that parts of the shredded sail were entangled in the shrouds of the mainmast, making it impossible to roll in the sail. That’s when I noticed that the staysail was starting to rip off its stay. It was our only remaining functioning sail. I had to secure it or we would be lost in the tempest without sail power. I began crawling back to the staysail when I was lifted up by a giant breaking roller which had swept across the bow and bounced me off the canvas cockpit dodger. I ricocheted off the dodger and was cast between the two lifelines on the port side and headed downward into the churning Atlantic. I grabbed the lifeline upright stanchion in a desperate attempt to keep from being dragged alongside Changing Tides’s hull and pounded by the treacherous waves. I was waist deep in the ocean. Somehow, with all my strength, I pulled myself back on board using my left hand on the lifeline stanchion and my right hand on a deck cleat. Straining with all my might and soaking wet from the waist down, I managed to roll back between the bottom lifeline and the deck. I had exited the vessel above the bottom lifeline and was entangled in it. I quickly disengaged my tether, passed it through the lifelines and reconnected it to my harness before the next wave hit. I hung on for dear life and began crawling forward to the staysail, which was beginning to come apart, popping brass grommets and tearing. I thought, I have to save this sail or we will be unable to return to New York, which still lay more than 750 miles ahead. I managed to reach the base of the staysail after being pounded by wave after wave and embraced its base like a long-lost brother. The onslaught of waves continued relentlessly and Changing Tides bounced like a bucking bronco. We were in a desperate situation. Every time I tried to tie down the bottom of the ripping sail, more waves tried to push me back toward the dodger. When I had just about given up hope, I prayed aloud. “Please, dear God, in the name of Jesus, please let me save this vessel.”