The cockpit was now regularly filling with pooping and white water crashed aboard and swept over the deck. Just after daylight I streamed 260 ft of 5 in hawser and with lifeline attached and several turns of mainsheet about my waist, began steering in deadly earnest. The value of the autopilot now proved itself. Had we been steering watch and watch from Australia, we would have been low in spirits and stamina, but in spite of the cold (our latitude being 48 south) I felt buoyant and fresh. Jill joined me in the cockpit and we sat lashed in, side by side. It was now impossible to look astern, when near the tops of the waves, but happily I could control effectively any sign of broaching as the yacht was steady and responsive. The deep booming, as great seas collapsed leaving great areas of white foam now became more regular. I became keenly aware that the sea was a pitiless place. Jill cried out that the sum log had recorded 16 knots on one precipitous rush. I noted the furled main staysail, which had snapped its halyard the previous morning, now began to show signs of awakening and the topsail was slowly but surely escaping its lashings and was streaming out like a distress signal. I shunted their existence out of mind until a more suitable time. Shivering with cold from the seas regularly swamping us, and we could only take St Peter's advice and "Be sober and hope to the end."
Without any point of reference, I consider it vanity to estimate the height of waves and the strength of the wind. In the troughs there seemed hardly any wind and the surface appeared to be covered with long streamers of white foam. I could not even determine whether it was heavy rain or spray that filled the air and lashed against my oilskin hood. Soon after Jill's remark on our progress the stern lifted higher until it reached an alarming angle. We heard an appalling sound behind and over us. I cried out to Jill "Hold" and we were submerged, buffeted in whiteness-then dark and all was still. Jill's first thought upon surfacing was for the mast, mine recall clearly, for the main hatchway. I was now convinced our progress was too fast and while my wife steered with great care, I streamed a further 200 ft of 5 in nylon, cast off one end of each warp to ensure that the lines reached back well beyond the threatening seas, into what I shall call slower water. This slowed us to about five knots and I felt somewhat cheered up, probably due more to the fact that I had done something constructive, rather than having proved anything. In future I shall drag motor tyres far astern, releasing along the warp, extra tyres as conditions progressively worsen.
An inventory revealed that we had lost a life buoy probably now on its third voyage around the world, two knives, one on a lanyard, sundry lines and more important, the heavy bronze vents on the house were gone, one having removed the top of the dorade box in departing. It was clear from quick inspection that we had taken water below but as little could be done at that time we stuffed towels into the apertures and carried on steering, carefully taking the seas stern on, growing confident now that while we could keep the water away from entering the boat it was only a matter of sticking it out.
In the conditions I have described I could not have taken a photograph without a protective and waterproof housing. At the risk of damaging ourselves and the certain destruction of the camera, a picture could not possibly have conveyed the sense of involvement we felt and the mere consideration of the physical effort involved in taking even a light meter reading effectively squashed that diversion.