An Accidental Sailor Vs. the Storm of the Century

I had zero experience when I signed up for a week at sea on an ancient wooden vessel. I got enough to last a lifetime.

Illustrations by Iris Lei

Finally, it had come to this. After 30 hours of battling 100-mile-per-hour winds and 30-foot waves, these were the simple facts: We were 426 miles away from Mill Basin, Brooklyn, which we had left four days ago; we were 372 miles from Bermuda, which we would never reach; we were 240 miles away from the Chesapeake Bay, where we’d hoped to find sanctuary. And we would go no farther.

Above us, a Coast Guard rescue helicopter buzzed and darted like a dragonfly as it tried to stay with us in the storm. The twin masts of our schooner reeled and rocked in the maelstrom, and only the helicopter pilot’s deft touch kept everything from ending with a sudden crack of wood against metal.

Joey called down to tell us that it was time to go. I climbed the steps up to the deck, into the darkness. Drenched and exhausted, I struggled to keep my feet. Staring up at the helicopter’s spotlight, I felt laid bare, as if every decision, accident and coincidence in my life had — like som…