Have you ever been in one of those crisis moments when you say to yourself, we’ll look back on this tomorrow and think, ‘what a great adventure that was…’?

That was 24 hours ago…*

“I’ll just do it then, shall I?” It was one of those questions I didn’t need to ask, because there weren’t any other options left.
“Boom!”
Another huge waved crashed across the bows of the boat which were immediately rising to the crest of a second wave. I had butterflies in my stomach as I turned to inch my way along the deck, the lines of my safety harness scraping along the tape secured to the boat.
‘Be brave’ was the only thing I could think.
Half way along the deck I sat down gripping the metal stays with one hand as I unfastened and refastened the clip to the next set of tapes. My body was tense and my fingers trembled, mainly with cold. Up ahead at the bows the next wave was pounding down showering me with spray and I kept low edging my way towards the ‘pointy end’…

It had already been quite a day at sea. We’d set off, just the two of us, at 6am to catch the tidal stream. Daybreak sails are some of my favourite. As the sky begins to lighten and sun’s rays are soft and golden, full of unspoken promises of what lies ahead. The wind had been a bit stronger than forecast and we’d made good progress hoping to push through to Dartmouth – our final destination. But after a change in wind direction and with the tide turned against us, we decided to divert to Salcombe till later in the afternoon when the tides would be in our favour.

Always expect the unexpected in sailing. As we attempted to furl the genoa (pull in the sail at the front which wraps around a wire) the rope snapped. It wasn’t an easy fix, so sadly, we found ourselves returning to where we’d come from – more than three hours sail west. Four hours later, furling line temporarily fixed with a bit of help, we headed back to sea. We’d made reasonable time and decided to try and make Dartmouth that evening. The voyage took us through the notorious Start Point where the sea can be quite rough. Neither of us had sailed there before. We’d got into big waves about an hour earlier, but now they were getting higher and there were white horse breaking all around us.

We were more than two or three miles off shore, as we began to round the light house, and watched the blue curve of Start Bay emerge in the distance. 

“I don’t think we can make it…we’re going to have to turn back.”
It was one of those moments. You could call it mutiny.
Waves were breaking across the front of the boat. The sun would be setting in an hour. The wind was coming from where we needed to go. We’d been sailing pretty much non stop for more than 12 hours. But there was one other option… to me this was better than going back again.

This involved one of us going to the front of the pitching boat to fix the tangled line and help wind in the sail by hand. Meanwhile, the other steered the boat through the waves while juggling two other ropes to enable the awkward sail to be safely pulled in. We’d planned to be in calmer waters for this procedure, but we couldn’t risk the furling line breaking again.

So, there I was, kneeling at the front of the boat on the biggest and scariest white water roller coaster ride ever. In between each fresh wave, which broke across me, I attempted to untangle the rope, while the stressed skipper shouted instructions above the waves. Apart from being scared of slipping in, the biggest problem was my bobble hat which insisted on sliding down over my eyes. I thought the rope was untangled and then saw it wasn’t. As I gripped the metal stanchion to steady myself while the boat slammed down onto yet another wave, I did think, ‘Hopefully, we’ll be laughing about all this tomorrow.’

The best thing about moments like that may not be the moments themselves, but it’s the contrast of looking back and being glad you got through it.

An hour or so later as our little boat nudged its way between the rocks and the castle guarding the entrance to Dartmouth, the sun was beginning to sink behind the hills. A mooring buoy was beckoning and the boom of a canon up above at the Naval College signalled that the day was over. 

We both sighed and smiled. What a day it had been! Some 88 nautical miles travelled since first light. Now the dangers were past, we were in calm waters and a safe harbour for the night. There is no better feeling. And it’s one of the many reasons why I love sailing.

*at the time of writing