Ah, summer! The perfect time to escape from the daily grind, hit the open water, and revel in the thrill of a summer cruise aboard your own yacht. The sun, the sea, and the potential for adventure await. However, what happens when the open water throws more challenges than you expect? This post recounts a dramatic summer cruise filled adventure, excitement, storms, unexpected injuries, and the sheer unpredictability of the sea. Pack your virtual bags, settle in, and enjoy this wild journey.
Setting Sail for Adventure
My story begins on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon in 1988 as my late husband, Don and I left our mooring on the River Orwell, Suffolk. Accompanying us was our friend Ray who would crew for us on our 10m Westerly 33 yacht, "Sundowner".

Ray was delighted to join us; we'd previously completed only short trips together. The plan was to head to Mandal at the southern tip of Norway where we'd eventually say goodbye to Ray to start his return journey home crewing for another boat. Don and I would then continue cruising along the southern and western coasts of Norway and exploring the fjords for a couple of weeks before our return journey.

There was a sense of excitement as we set out to sea. Although the weather was expected to worsen as we neared Norway on our projected fifth day of sailing, conditions were currently favourable and we anticipated a few days of smooth sailing before the weather closed in. We maintained radio contact with the crews of a few other yachts also heading north, hoping our routes might cross at some point. Gradually, we bid farewell to familiar landmarks along the east coast of England, and as our first night at sea came, we settled into a routine of three-hour watches.

Sunday dawned and with it our first sighting of a dolphin. It didn't stop and accompany us for long. We were motor sailing because of light winds; maybe it preferred peace and quiet like me! The rest of the day passed along nicely and was uneventful. As darkness came however, we found ourselves amongst a fleet of fishing vessels trawling and towing long nets behind them. It took several hours to negotiate them all successfully with various changes of course. Just when we thought we could relax a little, the night took an unexpected turn! We spotted a rig glowing like a Christmas tree in the distance. I started my watch as Don's finished. He mentioned he'd altered course a few times to ensure we'd safely pass the rig and his last words as he went down below for sleep, were "remember rigs don't move". I also altered our course a few times, still aiming to pass ahead of the rig. I reasoned that the changing tide was currently pushing us south and that it would turn again and push us north and ahead of the rig. Recalling Don's earlier comment, I maintained the calculated course trying to understand exactly what was happening. As compass bearings kept showing we were on a collision course, I pointed the bow of Sundowner to the rear of the rig. As we moved closer, I could see navigation lights both on the rig itself as well as tugboats positioned at each of the legs; the rig was actually moving. Mystery solved and I looked forward to questioning Don's assertion about rigs being stationary when he came back on watch!
Monday morning dawned and all was still and calm, which meant more motor sailing. It wasn't until night arrived that we could turn off the engine completely and make use of our sails. Our speed dropped a little, however we could now hear the the sound of water rushing past the hull, the creaking of the rigging, or the occasional slap of the boom as Sundowner lurched on a wave, rather than the rhythmic throb of a powerful engine.
Tuesday was again relatively uneventful; don't let anybody tell you that sailing can't be boring! We had a sudden squall to deal with and although there was a slight wind shift, it quickly died away again and the engine was back on. Night fell once again and in the early hours of Wednesday morning a yellow light flashing was spotted. I came up on deck for my watch and heard Don and Ray commenting that there seemed to be more than one light. I knew that there were sealed oil wells in the area and eventually we could see the lights arranged in a circle confirming such a hazard. To ensure we avoided any danger, we used our spotlight to scan the area. Imagine our surprise when the beam revealed a boat without navigation lights and a couple of men apparently hauling something from the sea. We didn't pause to investigate and nothing was said. Move along, nothing to see here! Before dawn broke, the wind began to intensify, signaling the arrival of the predicted worsening in the weather. It rained, the seas started to become angry and the size of waves increased. We battled the elements taking turns with two of us on watch at a time. As daylight came on this our 5th day at sea, the forces of nature had transformed the sea into a tempestuous playground of huge waves and whiteout conditions. It had perhaps been better when it was dark and we couldn't see with what we'd been dealing! Adjusting to the changed conditions, we were fully kitted out in survival gear. As navigator, I needed to check our progress and update the charts in the cabin below. Huge waves crashed down onto the deck; we couldn't risk water flooding the cabin. A system was developed to keep the boat as dry as possible. When I needed to go below, each of the two men grabbed one of the wash boards protecting the entrance to the cabin below and on their shout, I plunged through the opening to the inside and the boards were quickly replaced. It didn't matter that I was thrown about by the crashing seas, or that holding on to the navigational aids meant it took much longer to plot our course; the silence was balm to my soul! I couldn't tarry too long though, I had to give the helmsman the course to sail.
We continued in this manner for the rest of the day. At one time, as we rode to the top of a wave, we saw a small coaster ship standing by to ensure we were coping. It watched over us for a while, however as we came closer to land, the sea became calmer and we could make headway; the ship continued on its way.
Eventually we sighted our destination; Mandal wasn't too far away. Although our course was set to land there, the raging sea was pushing us towards the Skagarrat and into the Baltic Sea. The narrower the entrance became, the higher the waves we had to negotiate. We had to ride across the waves unless one was breaking, when we had to alter course and run with it. In this crab-like fashion we gradually closed land where another surprise was in store; boats were in full sail and those on board in teeshirts and shorts. We felt we'd just arrived from another planet. The answer was the string of small island affording shelter from the raging seas beyond.
Making our way into Mandal and tying up alongside the harbour wall, we soon received visitors. People wanted to look at our yacht, some wanted to see if we had cigarettes or alcohol to sell, however one couple said they wanted to meet us as they'd watched us for hours coping with the huge seas and were relieved we'd made it.
One of the customs Don had established over our years sailing was to have dough prepared to place on the engine to rise as our journey's end approached. We always used the engine to negotiate a port entrance and the heat was ideal for ensuring the bread would rise and be ready to place in the oven There's nothing like the smell of freshly baked bread and a cup of tea to restore tired bodies and minds, especially so at the end of this leg of our trip.
Embarking on our Cruise Adventure
After a few days rest and saying goodbye to Ray, we were finally starting our journey cruising through the pristine coastal waters and hoping to visit the towering fjords of Norway.
Navigating the scenic Norwegian coastline was a dream come true. The lapping of waves against the hull created a soothing soundtrack. We were sailing gently along, anticipating new adventures with every nautical mile. However, little did we know just how dramatically our plans would change.
It had been just over a week since we set sail from the UK and from Mandal we decided to keep to more sheltered waters as the weather was still unsettled. We made made our way to Kristiansand and then to Lillesand. We wanted to navigate the west coast and visit Lysefjord fjord near Stavangar as soon as the weather improved.

We enjoyed exploring the towns we visited and perhaps tried to cram in too much. Suddenly, Don's back gave out. We returned to Sundowner, and he lay down to rest. A few days of prescribed medications and remedies had little effect; it was clear he needed time to heal. With the weather being unpredictable, we decided to stay put and reassess our plans. Already halfway through our time off work, we started exploring alternatives. As a qualified RYA (Royal Yachting Association) skipper, I was capable of sailing the boat back home, however I needed help with the physical tasks of managing the boat. We spread the word that we were looking for crew. A boat sales business was conveniently located near our mooring in Lillesand, so we asked the owner if he knew of anyone who'd crew for us. He and an employee offered their services, only requesting that we cover their return boat fare. We planned to start our journey back in a few days time because another weather system was heading our way and storms were forecast for the following week.
Heading Home
The Norwegian coast receded behind us as we navigated flat, still waters. With no wind to fill our sails, we motored onward, making the most of the calm by getting to know our Norwegian crew, Peter and John. Just as land disappeared over the horizon, we witnessed a breathtaking sight: a massive whale breached the surface directly in front of Sundowner, before diving back down with a powerful flick of its tail. Absolutely unbelievable and Sundowner danced on the disturbed water left by the now disappeared whale!
For two days we motored, constantly monitoring our diesel reserves and calculating how much further we could travel without a favourable wind. We'd never had such a long period motoring although were careful not to "whistle for wind", a centuries old nautical superstition that to do so would stir up the wind and cause it to increase to gale levels.
Peter and John enjoyed the relaxed pace, with little more to do than keep an eye on our heading during their 2 hour watches. We tried a few different sail setups in an attempt to gain some speed, but despite our efforts, one knot was the fastest we could achieve without resorting to the engine.
The Calm Before the Storm
As we ventured further south, everything was going well. Don's back was slightly improving although he still had to lay down much of the time. The two Norweigans took it in turns to keep a lookout and steer the boat. I went below for a few hours' rest.
My sleep was shattered by a tremendous racket outside. I scrambled to the cockpit and my blood ran cold as I took in the scene. A massive oil rig loomed shockingly close, a monstrous silhouette in fog. This rig was definitely not moving! The two Norwegian crew had steered us into a perilous situation as fog came down and now the claxons and horns from the rig were sounding warnings. A glance at the chart revealed a dangerous situation: we were in the middle of an oil field in thick fog. Reacting quickly, I took the helm and guided Sundowner out of immediate harm's way, alert for more rigs appearing in the gloom of the fog. Only one more rig became visible and once safely negotiated I maintained a course out to sea and away from danger.
The crew's confident claims of sailing expertise and owning their own boats, proved misleading. Their vessels were motorboats and their "sailing" experience was primarily in protected island waters. Nevertheless, I felt partly to blame for the situation as I should've instructed them to inform me of any change, whatever my circumstances.
The incident cast a long shadow, silencing us for hours as we all processed what had happened. From that moment on, I felt a constant unease about leaving the crew alone. Just as the light began to fade, the fog cleared as a light breeze picked up. Don and I discussed options. With the arrival of wind we could sail and turn off the engine with the knowledge that we had sufficient reserves to get us much closer to home. Don would keep the chart up to date and keep spirits up as the miles reduced. Despite my misgivings, I instructed the crew on how to hoist the sails under strengthening winds and we were able to make way. It was so good to be sailing; it was what Sundowner was built for.
Crew Dynamics Under Pressure
The wind strength quickly increased and it wasn't long before the amount of sail had to be reduced. What started as a gentle breeze turned into strong head winds; our serene experience was quickly overshadowed by waves crashing violently into the yacht.
The unpredictable movement of Sundowner quickly took a toll on the Norwegian crew, causing severe seasickness. Don managed the charts while I stayed on deck, steering our course and keeping watch. Our progress was slow due to the headwind and we were still 80 miles from our mooring and safety. Navigating the shifting sandbanks between us and safety demanded constant vigilance. The thought of facing these challenges alone, after 48 sleepless hours, filled me with despair. We sailed to within 20 miles of a major port with which I was familiar and I decided to contact the local coastguard for help in order to find the buoyed channel leading us in; the chart I had didn't have sufficient detail.
I radioed the coastguard, to seek coordinates for the channel. The coastguard responded and we had a brief chat about the situation. He then informed me that given my exhaustion, the near gale-force winds and the dangerous seas, he had ordered the Great Yarmouth & Gorleston lifeboat to launch to tow us in. He also told me that the Master of a nearby lightship, the Smith Knoll, had overheard our conversation and suggested that we moor alongside his lightship until the lifeboat arrived. A wave of relief washed over me as the immense responsibility shifted. Now, my task was getting the crew prepared to moor alongisde the lightship. I positioned one at the bow, armed with a rope and another at the stern. I brought Sundowner alongside perfectly, shouting for them to throw the lines to the waiting Smiths Knoll crew. Then, sheer horror; the lightship crew hauled our ropes aboard but my crew hadn’t tied them off on our boat. We had to cast off again with the swell rising and go through the manoeuvre again. After another perfect approach, Sundowner was finally secured alongside the lightship. A 3-4 metre swell made for a chaotic scene, the yacht alternately sinking far below the deck gate of the lightship and then rising to touch it. The ship's crew called for us to jump when they said. I deliberately sent the Norwegians first, my patience with them completely gone. Don was still below. Ignoring protocol, I told him as skipper that if he didn't move himself off Sundowner, he would need to become skipper again himself - I was getting off! The thought of sitting for hours on this pitching yacht was unbearable, I needed somewhere steadier even for just a short while.
I was heading towards the middle of the ship when I saw Don, on his hands and knees, coming along behind me. I steadied him for his jump and the crew made ready to receive him. Then, a scream rang out, followed quickly by my own leap. We were taken inside and while Don was being examined, the need for a helicopter was being considered. I finally had a chance to speak with Don. He explained that the scream was caused by the incredible pain of his back going back into position, he could now walk upright!
We settled down to await the arrival of the lifeboat, estimated to be a few hours hence. The Norweigans had been taken to another part of the boat and we recounted our ordeal with the ship's crew over numerous mugs of tea.
I drifted off and was startled awake when a door opened and two large figures entered. It was the lifeboat crew, Geoff and Dave ready to coordinate the tow back to port. Their presence was immense and their bright orange weather gear made them look like nautical Father Christmases. The plan was that Don and I would board Sundowner with one of the lifeboat crew while the Norwegians would travel in the lifeboat with the other crew.
We were asked to leap from the stable deck of the lightship onto the pitching deck of Sundowner in the dark! We were caught by the the two lifeboatmen who had already transferred. Within minutes, I was back in charge of Sundowner as we cast off and a towline was attached. Dave and Geoff set up a watch system and insisted Don and I get some sleep. Back in my bunk on Sundowner, I felt completely drained. I could hear the murmur of Don conversing with the Dave, but my head was swimming; I soon slipped into a deep, blissful sleep.

A Safe Landing
According to my log, we departed Smiths Knoll at 00:30 and returned to Great Yarmouth Harbour at 05:30. Once the lifeboat crew ensured our safety and security, they left to resume their day jobs; all of them are volunteers and do not receive payment when called out. We briefly conversed with the Norwegians, who began to complain that we had returned to land a day later than they expected and demanded compensation for their flight costs home. We refused and adhered to our original agreement to fund a boat ticket, which was refused. Shortly thereafter, a journalist approached and asked if I would give an interview. Normally, I would decline, but this time I had two reasons to agree. Firstly, I wanted to publicly acknowledge the assistance provided by the lifeboat, and secondly, I suspected the Norwegians had spoken to the press and wanted my perspective recorded!
Then it was time to get Sundowner shipshape again and head back towards our mooring and home. We had a few days left before work beckoned again.
Afterwards
We received an invitation from the crew of the Great Yarmouth & Gorleston lifeboat, the Barham to go out with them on maneouvres one Sunday. It was great to see them again and watch as they went through their paces. I was given the chance to 'drive' the lifeboat on my own! The thrill of such powerful diesel engines under my control was so tempting. I asked permission to throttle forward and the sensation was one of taking off! Apparently I was impressive in my handling of this 44ft life boat and was at the helm when a 'man overboard' exercise was carried out!
We made contact with Brian Coleman, the coastguard who took my call and he invited us to the coastguard premises to meet him. It was a really interesting visit to see how and from where support is given when needed at sea. I was very happy with the comments he made about the contact he had with me. In his Incident Action Report he said: "During the whole of this operation, including the initial call, Mrs McNeil remained very cool and calm, although very tired and worn out her radio procedure was very good and the information that was asked of her came back in a very professional manner. Having talked to them both since the incident, they informed me that they had been reluctant to call the Coastguard because they did not want to be troublesome, but on reflection were pleased that they did. Both of them have yacht masters tickets and the training for these showed up in the professional way in which they handled the situation"
Reflections on the Journey
While our adventure didn’t go as planned, it turned out to be truly memorable! The unpredictability of situations serves to test our limits and reveal our resilience. Surviving a storm can become an exhilarating experience, even amid troubles at sea.
When Don and I reminisced about the events, laughter was often the result. The sea may be full of surprises, but so too are the memories we create while navigating its challenges.
Here’s to safe travels, sunny skies, and unforgettable journeys of whatever kind! 🛥️
Comentários