all the boat’s main rib frames were smashed down to the keel. In fact, there was nothing holding up a whole section of the starboard hull except a few cupboard partitions. We had survived for hours since the wave hit, but Wavewalker wouldn’t hold together long enough for us to reach Australia. I checked our charts and calculated that there were two small islands a few hundred kilometres to the east.
One of them, Ile Amsterdam, was a French scientific base. Our only hope was to reach these pinpricks in the vast ocean . But unless the wind and seas abated so we could hoist sail, our chances would be slim indeed. The great wave had put our auxilliary engine out of action.
On January , after hours of continuous pumping, we reached the last few centimetres of water. Now, we had only to keep pace with the water still coming in. We could not set any sail on the main mast. Pressure on the rigging would simply pull the damaged section of the hull apart, so we hoisted the storm jib and headed for where I thought the two islands were.
Mary found some corned beef and cracker biscuits, and we ate our first meal in almost two days. But our respite was short-lived. At p.m. black clouds began building up behind us; within the hour the wind was back to knots and the seas were getting higher.
The weather continued to deteriorate throughout the night, and by dawn on January , our situation was again desperate. When I went in to comfort the children, Jon asked, “Daddy, are we going to die?” I tried to assure him that we could make it. “But, Daddy,” he went on, “we aren’t afraid of dying if we can all be together — you and Mummy, Sue and I.” I could find no words with which to respond, but I left the children’s cabin determined to fight the sea with everything I had. To protect the weakened starboard side, I decided to heave- to — with the