Could you survive?

A sense of doom looms over the boat. The storm cell tailing us puts a black cloud on the horizon of our minds. We’ve had six days at sea, been beaten and broken, and it feels like groundhog day. Warren‘s out the back getting his head bandaged together, Rowan’s losing his stomach, and we’re all still seething from the 2L of pumpkin soup that had managed to hurtle itself dramatically throughout the cabin downstairs. Meanwhile we’ve received the news from our sister ship Tamara that a second front is on its way – so heavy they’ve had to turn and run. It’s felt like receiving a death sentence. We can’t sail anymore. We’re sleep deprived, we’re soaking wet and there’s nothing left to give. We’d have to sit tight and let the next system pass. We curse and fumble with the parachute anchor at sunset and get the thing deployed before settling in for the worst night’s sleep of our lives. So how did we end up in this situation? Ignorance. It’s bliss until you’re in the sh#t.