The Times

Reporter - Jonathan Gornall


The freak wave that sank a transatlantic dream


RIGHT NOW I’m feeling pretty good. I’m on the bridge of the Scandinavian Reefer and I’m alive — together with the rest of the crew of the Pink Lady.
Earlier today I thought I’d had it. I thought I was about to drown. Sitting here now, alive, I feel reborn.


The last I saw of the Pink Lady, which had carried four of us from Newfoundland to within grasping distance of breaking the record for crossing the Atlantic in a rowing boat, she was in pieces. It was by luck and preparation that we survived.

We — Mark Stubbs, the skipper, Peter Bray, John Wills and I — knew we would be facing bad weather but when it came we’d never seen anything like it. We had to fight for our lives.

We’d put out the sea anchor — basically a parachute under water — to ride out the end of Hurricane Alex for 24 hours. It’s a routine we’ve done quite a few times without trouble and it’s reasonably safe because the bow of the boat takes the waves.

On Saturday night we started to experience heavy waves breaking over the boat and they weren’t just coming over the bow. Disconcertingly, freak, rogue waves were coming on to the beam, over the side of the boat.

John and I were in the aft cabin and Mark and Pete were in the other cabin. Normally one of us would have been on watch with the sea anchor out but the waves would have swept anyone away in the open, even strapped down.

At about 2.30am John and I could hear the roar of a particularly big rogue wave. It sounded like an express train and hit the boat like a missile in the dark. That’s the only way I can describe it.

Suddenly the whole world exploded as this tremendous wave crashed down on my back as I lay in the cabin with John. It was a monster, tonne after tonne of water. I’ve never known or heard of its like.

The next thing I know I’m underwater unable to breath. I didn’t immediately think I was dead. It was an unreal nightmare. All I could do was try to swim.

I didn’t know which way was up, how to get out or where I was and I was aware I was about to drown.


As I was scrabbling around my hand brushed against a water pipe so I knew I was near the exit. I just kicked powerfully and found myself outside floating in wreckage. As I surfaced the first thing I saw was one half of the boat, the front half upside-down.
I was shouting out John’s name. Then I saw him so I started shouting out for Pete and Mark. Both of them appeared — it was such a relief.Because we had all been told to expect bad weather we’d all put on survival suits. But I found it so hot in the cabin that I’d loosened mine and this nearly killed me.

I was in the water with huge waves still hitting us when I realised there was a lot of water in my suit weighing me down. One wave hit me against the boat and I started sinking.

I was struggling like mad to reach for the safety rope round the boat when Pete grabbed my elbow. Mark helped and I have no doubt I owe my life to them.

Our problem was what to do next. It all happened so quickly that we hadn’t been able to get the liferaft or the grab bag of equipment we’d need to help us to get rescued and survive. It was still in the upturned remains of the boat.

Pete, who’s an ex-military diver, went under the boat to get them. I don’t know how he did it. It was dark, the weather was like nothing we’ve seen, and the boat was upside down under water.

First he came up with the liferaft which Mark grabbed, then he went back to fetch the grab bag. While they were doing that John saw the emergency beacon just by chance and held on to it for dear life.

We had to be careful not to puncture the life raft so had to keep it away from the wreckage, then get in.

We’d all done survival training. There’s one exercise where you have to get in a liferaft with the lights off while water is sprayed at you and to get in takes quite a lot of effort. With the adrenaline of being in the North Atlantic in a storm I managed to shoot into the raft like a salmon.

It was surprisingly comfortable in the raft all crushed together but by that time I was in some trouble with hypothermia. I was shaking. My teeth were chattering.

The guys were great. They helped to keep me warm and we all told stupid stories. We called the Falmouth coastguard on the sat phone. They’d already picked up our automatic Mayday call from the beacon and it was a relief to know help was coming. There seemed to be a lull in the storm between the time the boat was wrecked and the time we got into the raft but then it deteriorated again.

The thing that brought a lump to my throat was hearing the roar of a Nimrod flying towards us. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
We were told it would be another couple of hours before the helicopter reached us. That might have been too long for me so it was lucky there was a ship not far away.