He describes sailing across mountainous seas, lashed to the wheel the bare rigging overhead dancing with blue electricity, St Elmo's fire the sailors called it. His clothes so saturated with the salt water he can barely stand, would fall if he weren’t tied up. The ship heaves in the heavy swells and the waves crash endlessly over the deck. Anything that wasn't tied down has long slid into the churning maelstrom including three crewmembers that didn’t lash themselves up in time. He holds the wheel and steers so the prow is climbing the huge wave that has blotted out the storm clouds, so tall the ship is almost vertical as it crests the wave and slides down into the next tumultuous surge. He tells how he screams into the storm knowing that the sound will be snatched away almost before it escapes his mouth and will become lost in the turmoil. ‘There is no skill in manning your ship through seas that can smash it as though it were nothing but brittle planks of wood.’ Andre says, ‘Captains will boast of their prowess in a storm but you survive purely by the capricious will of the sea. She decides if you live or die, and in that situation all you can do is hold on for the ride and feel privileged that she has allowed you to see her at her most powerful.