Ruby Anderson

Conditions should be calmer in Durian Bay, a wide, curved inlet just beyond a scattering of islands to the east of their current course.

Sailing through the relative calmness of the bay will allow them all to recover their sea legs.

Decision made.

Glenn turns the wheel and steers the yacht through a passage between two of the small islands.

It's about 20 minutes later.

Glenn grips the wheel as the yacht forges on through the passage.

The ocean remains a confusion of waves charging in different directions.

Some sweep towards land, while others careen westward, borne along by the powerful undertow.

The result is messy, foamy, and jagged, waves smashing into each other, sending up plumes of whitewater.

These are dicey conditions, but nothing that an experienced skipper like Glen can't handle.

The yacht plows forward, jerkily pitching and swaying through the muddled seas.

Glenn keeps his eyes fixed ahead.

Visibility is poor.

The spray off the ocean mingles with a low-lying mist, creating an opaque screen of grey.

He has to use all his senses to navigate, hearing and feeling his way through the passage.

Ruby sits beside him in the cockpit, shuddering with nausea, life jacket zipped to her chin.

Glenn glances down to make sure she's alright.

Which is when he hears it.

A freak wave, dwarfing those around it.

In the seconds before impact, Glenn has time to take in the size of this immense wall of water hurtling from the mist.