
Laura Owens
Surviving the storm
Updated: May 5
It’s not all sea creatures and sunsets you know
The camera doesn’t capture the visceral nature of the wind and waves
The pressure and gravity on your bones as the boat sways and lurches
Waves breaking against the hull, dumping icy water down your back
Salt spray stinging your eyes and cheeks
It doesn’t capture the white knuckles
The jamming of feet
Things taken for granted on solid ground
Like the comforting ritual of making tea
To warm your shivering soul at 2am
Becomes a practice of sheer will and Shiva-like skill
Four fingertips grasping the countertop
As you sway like a sober, drunken sailor
Leaving one hand to pour boiling water
Into a sliding cup in the dark
Drawers crash open
A kettle flies across space
Spilling its wares onto paper charts
You don’t know it yet, but when dawn breaks and the storm subsides
Hazily, you’ll pick your way through the dried seaweed and debris
Towards the sanctuary of your sodden bed
The camera can’t capture the sleep deprivation
The constant setting of alarms
The underlying anxiety of your only team mate falling over board
While you’re in a shadowy slumber
The dread of climbing the companionway stairs
To find no one there
The camera can’t reveal the intensity of watching instruments and waves
With hawk-like attention
Trying to find solace in predicting the un-predictable
Squinting at the tightly packed rows of coloured rope
Like criminals in a line up
Muted by the confusion of darkness
The wrong choice carrying deadly consequences
Trying desperately to block out the words
From countless books of disasters at sea
React fast, but don’t guillotine your fingers
In the heavily tensioned lines
Straining against the immense power of the wind
Imagine if you can, an endless, inky-thick darkness
Open ocean
No point of reference
Except the tiny red and green lights either side of the bow
All other light source killed to preserve night vision
Watching intently for shapes and lights
That might emerge from the shadowy night
Not only are you battling the elements
And battling to keep calm
You’re also tasked with not bowling headlong into another vessel
Impossible to make out
Amongst the white wash of bewildered waves
There’s a change in the energy
Two weather systems merging without warning
Sea water sloshing across the aft deck,
Into the footwell of the cockpit and down the hatchway stairs
The track on the old girl malfunctions
Glueing the sail halfway down
Increasing wind coming from all directions
Stubbornly pinning the troubled sail in place
The little boat heels all the way over
One way and then the other
Body tethered from lifejacket to boat by one small metal loop
Leaning back with all your might
Desperately holding on
Willpower and strength alone controlling the boom
As it smashes violently from side to side
The only way to handle the main sheet as it catches wind crazily from all angles
Knowing you’re 10 hours from land
10 hours from safety
The 10 tonne lead keel battles underwater
To keep us from capsizing
As the struggling rig above makes the noise of a caged beast
Trying to break free from its chains
Mind racing with safety procedures
Grasping the yellow, waterproof bag of flares
Catching each other wide-eyed
Trying to emit calm amongst the chaos
Whole body shaking,
not with cold
with fear.
Turning back to see two titanic lightening storms merging
Flash bangs of red and white against the black sky
Like a scene from a war film
Except it’s real and so close you feel drawn to its mighty power
Just two people, insignificant and alone
Silently whispering prayers to this 42 foot floating fibreglass ally
The only thing between you and the vast, tumultuous expanse of blackness below
That watery graveyard of sea creatures and shipwrecks
Sleep deprivation causing the squeaking of the rudder
To become an chorus of imaginary voices
Looking up to see the white light at the top of the mast
Swaying violently from side to side
In the gathering swells.
Hold on, just hold on.
A scattering of stars emerge
Welcome pinpricks of light
Cloud-covered moonrise
Reminding us we’re not really alone out here
Vast galaxies above
Gradually making way for
An uneasy sun to rise
Like the morning after heavy night,
Blurry and confused
A hazy, ethereal light emerges
The first promise of reckoning
In these lawless waters
Disbelieving eyes through heavy lids
Watching that long night
As it creeps away
Still rocking precariously in the following swell
Taking turns to snatch twenty minutes of coma-like sleep
Laying on opposite sides of exposed, salt-hardened benches
Exhausted, spent and amazed
Four hours till landfall
Sleepily adjusting the course
All remaining faith in the battered autopilot
Steering us to safety
This is offshore, night sailing
It’s exhilarating and it’s dangerous
And if you can hold your nerve
It’s the feeling of being fantastically, profoundly alive.
