Many times in life, we are presented with a crucial choice to say yes or no to an opportunity. The circumstances may vary widely, but the feeling is the same. The most important thing, time and time again, is when to say no. I have engaged in many extreme sports experiences in my life – alpine backpacking, desert trekking, distance kayaking, sailing, and diving. Since getting hit by a car while solo bike touring in Kauai on Labor Day in 2010, I have learned to practice safety within the realm of highly adventurous, risky activities by listening to my intuition. Or so I thought.

On Sunday, Nov. 1, seven of us were stuck on a sailboat without sails in the middle of a terrible wind and wave storm in the western Mediterranean Sea. As the storm system grew stronger earlier that morning, the skipper decided to replace the lighter-wind jib sail with a smaller “storm jib.” He likely waited too long, and we suffered repeated hoisting failures, as the forestay wouldn’t hold the luff in high winds (this would come back to haunt us). Not long after that, the mainsail fabric started tearing in two places near the mast, so he decided to take down the mainsail as well.

The next ten minutes happened in slow motion as the skipper pointed the boom into the wind, and two of our crew, clipped into safety lines, shuffled on all fours out to the mast in 40-knot winds. One person was almost swept overboard minutes later as the sail crumpled, captured wind, and violently whipped him off his feet. A third crewmember rushed out to help, but the wildly flapping sail resisted their attempts to secure the head of the sail to the boom. One crew member repeatedly screamed to the skipper for extra ropes to tie the sail down and preserve their progress. The skipper didn’t respond. I let go of the boom, which I was trying to hold stable, and leaped past the skipper’s feet to grab some ropes from within the back rear hatch. I tossed one forward and used another to secure the rear of the sail to the boom.

A few hours later, I found myself at the helm of our Soleil 43, heading west at 2-3 knots on engine power against a 40+knot headwind (gusting to 50) as we plowed straight up and over countless, endless sets of 17-23 foot waves. I drove the boat straight up each wave and angled her down the backside to gain distance and momentum before the next one. I was truly awed and in fear of the surf before me. A few of the bigger waves crashed over the boat as we neared their crests. We burst through walls of water, grasping tightly to the helm to avoid getting swept over. We were clipped into lines on the boat to avoid getting tossed into the sea, which would have likely been fatal, but I did not feel secure. I deeply regret not having my GoPro with me during this experience.

At one point, I had a vision that I was holding the joystick in a video game but only had one life. I noticed the sun high in the sky, heard the howl of the wind, and felt the salty sting in my eyes. I fully zipped up my shell jacket, feeling the wet, cold clothing that sagged on my body underneath and the gnawing in my belly from the lack of whole food. I shivered a little during a gust, felt the lactic acid burn in my thighs, and asked my watch partner to pass me some cookies to quickly devour during a lull in the swell. Otherwise, I was in the zone…. maintaining a 280-300 degree course, meditatively present and instinctively aware. It was a thrilling ride. I turned fear into dark humor and sang American Pie by Don McLean (“this will be the day that I die…”) out loud to myself.

Helming at night was more difficult, as we had less than half a moon setting before midnight to light our way. This time of year, there are more dark hours than light, so I spent the majority of my watch time using the stars to maintain our course. Unable to see the waves until the last moment, my decisions were guided by the feel of the boat underneath, which was still pretty new to me. If I could angle her in time after we topped the wave, I could avoid the slap of the boat on the sea, which reduces sea spray and gives the sailors below a more comfortable ride. Inevitably though, I was drenched in seawater by the end of an hour at the helm at night. I had to accept that the goal was to do more to endure.

But the hardest times for me were when I was lying in one of our rotating bunks below (i.e., grabbing whatever is free) after changing into my remaining pair of mostly dry clothes. That Sunday night, lying there, I knew that if the engine failed us as the sails had, our lives could be over. Our satellite system had failed the day before, and it took effort and luck to get the portable antenna working, so rescue seemed a distant possibility. I had never felt so powerless as I did lying there in the belly of that sailboat. I was deeply saddened that my life might end prematurely due to poor decisions. I thought of family, friends, and communities I was close to and the deep sadness that I would never see them again. All of this could have been avoided if the crew’s safety had been the number one goal or if I had been wise enough to listen to my intuition.

Over the course of our seven-day sailboat delivery from Malta to Cartegna, Spain, I worked 2-hours on/4-hours off rotating watches (1-3 & 7-9 am/pm). The first few days on the way to Sardinia were relatively uneventful, and we all relaxed in our daily regimen, sleeping after most watches, enjoying freshly caught tuna from the fishing lines that trailed our path, reading books in the sun, and making meals for one another.

As we sailed into the southern port of Cagliari in Sardinia just before dark on Day 2 to refuel before the final push to Gibraltar, the sea and the sky were both eerily calm and grey. Extensive lightning strikes illuminated the horizon in multiple directions but were too far away to hear. As we motored to the port, I had an ominous, intuitive gut feeling that danger lay ahead. Minutes later, 3G smartphone coverage returned. I received a few What’s App messages from my friend Suzanne, an experienced Atlantic/Mediterranean skipper, writing, “You don’t want to be in this…. with the elements fully against, I don’t see why not shelter?” When I explained that we were already behind schedule and the skipper was determined to keep going, she suggested maybe I should consider getting off the boat if I had a bad feeling.

She sent screenshots of the weather forecast covering our intended course, and while I shared them with the 1st Mate, I deferred too much to the skipper’s strategy and confidence. I knew that our sail plan was to head SSW toward the African coast from Sardinia and then tack our way west offshore from Algeria to avoid the main storm system as long as possible. The skipper’s technical expertise during our uneventful sail from Saint Tropez a few weeks prior had encouraged me to accept his expertise. But that bad feeling did not subside.

I could make excuses that I had been suffering from a head cold since we had left Malta and was feeling passive or that I felt bad about leaving the rest of the crew short-handed if I suddenly jumped ship. But the hard truth is that I ignored my intuition and rationalized myself into continuing the trip without expressing much concern. I did not give enough weight to far-away warnings from a yacht captain I trusted. I did not debate with the skipper to encourage him to wait out the storm in Sardinia for a few days. And I did not get off the boat. I will never forget the dread and regret that weighed heavy on my soul during those dark days and nights in my bunk between my turns at the helm. I will never ignore my intuition again.

Each day now, as I go about my life, I am reminded of this experience. It has inspired me to act rightly as if every day could be my last. I am also grateful, even though I would have preferred to avoid the situation, that I gained a lot of experience sailing in difficult conditions.

While it happens less often as time passes, I still catch myself alone, looking vacantly into the distance, softly saying, “I’m alive…I’m alive.” I have been given a new opportunity to live in this amazing world and get to enjoy deep, powerful connections with truly extraordinary people and places. I feel more humbled by and in tune with the natural world than I have in years. Most importantly, as future life opportunities invite me to embrace the mystery, I will not ignore my intuition. I will know when to get off the boat.

Knowing when to get off the boat.