How we survived our longest night marooned at North Atlantic

Dawn seemed never to arrive. It was the blackest night I had ever seen.

Mick and I would imagine the dawn ahead of us, to the east. We would then be convinced we could see it.

But it was always an illusion; or worse, another wall of white water.

We knew that dawn would bring the light with it, and that would mean we would be able to read the seas once more.

Finally, though, the night sky began to brighten in the east.

Together, shoulder to shoulder, Mick and I watched as dawn crept slowly over the distant horizon.

Also read - 5 travel secrets I don't tell other Indians

The wind was just as strong, and the waves were just as menacing; we were still in danger, but we knew that our greatest enemy, the darkness, was disappearing before us.

As the early morning of Friday, August 8, 2003 dawned over the Denmark Strait, it was indeed a new beginning.

I asked Mick to get all the guys up and huddle round. I wanted to encourage them. We could get through this now.

There was hope. We had been through hell together, but I felt we were emerging out the other side.

So we cramped together, all of us freezing cold, the others squatting behind us on the edge of the sardine tin.

I felt the cold chill of dawn on my face as I turned to them. It was 5.15am.

We were all exhausted and bedraggled, wearing full gear and helmets, squashed on this small boat in the midst of a still-heaving ocean.

"OK, guys," I began, shouting again to make myself heard.

"First of all, I am sorry that I broke the rota. I found a way of handling the boat, using the bucket to control her, so I wanted to keep going rather than stop in the middle of the night and have to explain how we could each do this."

"I know it's been a tough and bloody cold night for everyone, but we're going to get through this. It's daylight now. The sea has just lost its greatest ally - the darkness. There is no reason why we shouldn't make it out of this. We're going to reach Iceland."

"Only two things will stop us. The first is that we run out of fuel. But there is no need for this to happen. Andy has control of this, and we have enough to reach Iceland.

But, Charlie, help him. Look out for him. Get him something to eat. Help him manage the fuel systems. Andy, we need all your skill and attention for these last few hundred miles."

Also read - Horrors of a solo woman traveller in India (and why I won't quit)

Andy nodded.

"The second is that we flip the boat. But I am telling you, we will not flip her if we concentrate and helm her correctly.

We will flip if anyone loses concentration. Whoever is helming needs to be 120 per cent alert. There was margin for helming error before; that does not exist in this sea state."

"From now on, we go back to the rota. Everybody will helm for only half an hour at a time now, and we must help each other. We must all dig deeper than ever before. If we do this, we will reach Iceland before nightfall."

Together, we had survived our longest night.

(Printed with publisher's permission. Courtesy of Mail Today.)